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“A message from beyond, eh? Well, well.”

Napoleon stood, one shoulder against the wall, his mouth open. “You aren’t suggesting we take Dr. Wagman seriously?”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Mr. Solo.” Waverly faced the narrow window, gazing at events far beyond the city. “I’ve seen things in my time, things that were ‘out of this world,’ as you young people might say.”


Napoleon swallowed a smile. “Yes, so have I. But not this far out of the world.”

Waverly sighed and returned his attention to the present. “Where are the professor’s notes?”

“In the briefcase.” Napoleon swung a bent arm toward them.

Waverly rotated the table as he passed, bringing the case to rest before his chair. He withdrew a yellowed sheet and skimmed over it. “So that was the language of the dead, was it? ‘Open Channel D,’ indeed.”

Waverly looked up at his chief enforcement officer, who stared back speechlessly. Clearing his throat, the Old Man returned his eyes to the case. “What’s this?”

Napoleon pushed himself off the wall as Waverly drew out an ornate box. “Sir, I wouldn’t open that.”

Waverly lifted the lid. His brows shot up. Napoleon shut his eyes and waited for the hammer to fall. “A hand of glory. I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

Napoleon opened his eyes. “You know of it?”

“As I said, Mr. Solo, I’ve seen many things in my time. A pub I frequented during the War had one on display. We used to cajole the barman into telling us the story.”

“If he was anything like the bartenders here,” Napoleon said, moving closer, “it didn’t take much cajoling.”

“Quite right. Centuries earlier, as his story went, a thief had used the hand to break in and put the owner and his family into some sort of trance. A servant girl, for one reason or another, remained unaffected. She managed to extinguish the hand and raise the alarm.”

“Extinguish it?”

“Oh, yes. That’s how you operate it.”

Napoleon frowned and worked his fist as Waverly picked up the withered appendage. “That might not be a good idea. I hate to admit it, but Dr. Wagman snuck that in there without my knowing.”

“So I gathered.” He tapped the instrument panel, where a light blinked steadily. “We’ll have to trust our scanners are more reliable than your powers of observation.”

“Ah, yes, I guess we will.”

Waverly sniffed the air. “Wormwood.” He drew a wax taper from the corner of the box and fitted it within the grasping fingers. “You light the candle, then go about your dark deeds.”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I think I’ll stick with our modern methods.”

“This does seem more in Thrush’s line than ours.” Waverly disassembled the gruesome object and returned it to the box. “What do we know about this Cliff House?”

Napoleon took the seat next to him. “It’s about two hours north of here, one of those Victorian resorts they built overlooking the lakes. This one had an unfortunate reputation of being haunted.”

“Did it? Very interesting.”

“Probably a rumor started by a rival hotel. And it worked too. Business was never good, and the owners eventually gifted the property to the local Diocese. For the next few years, the Church used it as a school.”

“The unfortunate reputation persisted, I presume.”

“Yes. Most students wouldn’t stay more than a year. It’s now home to a small order of cloistered nuns.”

“A monastery? Hmmm. A bulwark of prayer. Very sensible.”

“A bulwark? Against what?”

“The dead, Mr. Solo. At least that’s what Dr. Wagman would have us believe.” Waverly held up the paper. The writing scrawled across it was the color of dried blood. “He says here that there’s only one other place he’s heard the language on that transmission. That’s at this Cliff House.”

“Well, did he at least give us a hint at what I’m looking for up there?”

“Just get yourself to this cloister. I have a strong feeling that once there, whatever we’re after will come looking for you.”

Napoleon grimaced. “Yes, sir.” He rose from his chair and headed for the door.

“Mr. Solo, aren’t you forgetting something?” Waverly returned the box to the silver briefcase and spun it toward the agent.

“I should take that thing with me?” he asked, incredulous.

“Oh, I think so. Dr. Wagman seemed to believe it would be useful.”

“What about modern methods?”

“By all means, bring those as well. A lighter, in particular.”

Napoleon reluctantly retrieved the briefcase. “Is it alright if I use my communicator, or would you prefer I report via carrier pigeon?”

Waverly, his attention back on the professor’s notes, did not answer.

Napoleon had just crossed the threshold when Waverly asked, “This order of nuns at Cliff House, what are they called?”

“The Sisters of the Mighty Hand of God.”

“Are they, indeed? How interesting.”
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Section VII Propaganda and Public Relations

April 2024

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