And he had died anyway.
Liam keyed in a different series of words that included Key West, Satanism and books.
He scanned another site quickly. “A ship called the Queen Caroline wrecked off Key West in the 1840s, and a large majority of her cargo was salvaged by a local character, Peter Edwards, a man known for his love of magic and his reputation for using occult practices. As a young man, he was feared for his abilities to ‘curse’ his fellow Southerners, thus helping the South’s defeat in the Civil War. Edwards was a staunch Unionist. While many in the area were suspected of abetting Southern ships during the blockade, Pete was known to report any possible activity of Southern ships to the Union military. It was an uneasy time in Key West, since Key West was part of the state of Florida, which had seceded from the Union, but with the Union firmly holding both forts in Key West. The activity at the forts is believed to have been effective in preventing numerous blockade runners from bringing needed supplies to the South, and Peter Edwards was credited with supplying the officers at the forts with valuable information. Historians suspect that his alliance with the Federals caused a great deal of hatred among his fellow citizens, and so his reputation for the practice of ‘black magic.’”
“There. That’s him. The Pete Edwards prowling the Key West cemetery,” Bartholomew said.
“Makes no sense,” Liam murmured.
“Here,” Liam noted, pointing to another reference. He moved onward. “The end of the ‘War of Northern Aggression’ was as strange in Key West as all else. Old hatreds died quickly. Northern soldiers went home, and little of what was suffered in areas of the Deep South was felt in Key West. Peter Edwards soon began a practice of magic again for the purpose of entertainment. It’s during this time when he told friends that he had turned to his book—the book he had salvaged from the Queen Caroline—to make amends for whatever deaths he might have brought about during the war. He was living for a long time in peace and harmony and the eccentricity known to exist in many a conch when another visitor headed down to Key West, Abel Crowley, a man who claimed to be related to the notorious Aleister Crowley.”
“Aleister Crowley,” Liam murmured. Sadly, he remembered his days of studying rock bands who had been obsessed with Aleister Crowley better than some of Crowley’s history. But he knew that Crowley had practiced black magic, supposedly worshipped Satan and, according to some, offered up human sacrifices in his pursuit of dark arts. During his time, he had been known as “the wickedest man alive.”
In retrospect, he might have been nothing more than an extreme exhibitionist, rebelling against the Victorian society into which he had been born, Liam thought. Give a man enough money, enough time, boredom and curiosity, and he might delve into anything.
Not to mention the fact that he was fond of hallucinogenic drugs.
Liam noted a link on the page to a book—possibly the book that Bartholomew had learned about from Pete Edwards. Liam hit the key to the link and found that a book had been published titled Key West, Satanism, Peter Edwards, and the Abel and Aleister Crowley Connection.
Liam hit the connection and began scanning the publisher’s and reviewers’ information on the book.
“An intriguing look into little-known historical figures who brought the dark arts to the bright sunshine of Key West!” read one review.
Another touted the book as “A little-known treatise on some most unusual men.”
It went on:
Aleister Crowley is a well-known figure in the chronology of the supposed “Anti-Christ” movement. He began to live with a tenet of “Do What Thou Wilt,” believing his wife was a mystic and that an Egyptian exhibit—numbered 666—specified the year of the beast. Whether his claims to possession of power and magic were in any way real has never been proven or disproven. His exploits in Great Britain and elsewhere were legendary. History cannot even prove or disprove whether Abel Crowley was or wasn’t a bastard cousin of Aleister. Some people believed Abel Crowley was an eccentric, an accepted personality in Key West, a man like Aleister also rebelling against the Victorian principles of his day, and others suggest that he, too, was a human-sacrificing devil worshiper.
Bartholomew poked Liam and whispered, “I think you need to check this book out of the library. I’m thinking Key West may be one of the only places to have this book now.” He sighed. “Maybe I can get you to see the fellow I met. Pete Edwards. Pete Edwards believes that he remains walking the streets of Key West because he tried to practice some of Aleister Crowley’s rites—taught to him by Abel Crowley—in his house on Margaret Street that was bulldozed years ago—at the end of his life. He tried to use the book, In Defense from Dark Magic—which had been salvaged off the Queen Caroline—in order to atone for his actions during the war, and for the evil he had done during his time with Abel Crowley. Pete Edwards believes he began his way back to goodness and grace through the use of In Defense from Dark Magick—but he died before he could fulfill his task of freeing others.”
Liam looked at Bartholomew, grateful and yet not sure of what the information might give them that they didn’t already have. He knew, whether Kelsey ever wanted to admit it or not, that Cutter Merlin had suffered his fatal heart failure because he had been afraid.
Liam had returned the book and the reliquary to Kelsey, but Ted and Jaden now had the reliquary and would hopefully find out what they could about it. He needed to get In Defense from Dark Magick back from Kelsey, read it and hope that the library had the other book, about Pete Edwards and his friend Abel Crowley, as well.
The librarian was a friend—Key West was a small community. Jeanie Fry was tall and slim and tanned and loved books. She was surprised when he asked about the book and told him that they didn’t usually lend it out. “It’s in the room with our special editions. It’s very old, and we only have one copy.”
“Oh,” he said, looking at her with disappointment.
She smiled and shrugged. “But you are an upstanding citizen, and I suppose we could trust you with it. After all, we trust you with our lives, right?”
He smiled appropriately in return. “Thank you. I really appreciate it, Jeanie.”
“Follow me,” she said, heading for the reserved and special-editions section of the library. “This isn’t your usual reading, Liam,” she said as they walked. “In fact, it’s not the usual reading for anyone I know. Is this all about Cutter Merlin?”
“Yes, he was a strange old fellow, and once, he was my friend.”
“I heard his granddaughter has come back. And I saw the announcement that there’s a viewing tonight, and he’s going to be buried tomorrow.”
“True.”
“So—was he practicing some kind of dark magic?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Then why the interest?”
“I’m not sure.”
“He died of a heart attack, right?”
“Yes. There were a couple of break-ins over there, though. I’m just trying to hunt down what someone might have been looking for,” Liam said.
Jeanie rolled her eyes. “That house must be like a mystery treasure trove, delving into an attic of lore!”
She used her passkey to allow them entrance, and then signed in at the stand that held a ledger keeping track of all who entered the section holding the library’s rare editions.
“Hmm. Looks like we’ve been busy in here lately.”
“Oh?”
“Cutter himself was here about a month ago,” she said. “There—see where he signed in?”
“Yes, and there are a half a dozen entries after—or seven,” Liam noted, frowning as he read the names. He was surprised to see several that he knew.
“Barney Thibault. He’s a professor who comes down from the University of Miami. And Mary Egans—she teaches high school down here. Actually, Liam—”
“Yes, I know Mary. She was my high-school English teacher.”
Jeanie nodded and then shook her head. “Ah! Old Joe Richter was in here. The attorney. I don’t know George Penner. I do know Jonas Weston—oh, so do you, I’m sure! Here—your friends Ted and Jaden were in, but that’s not in the least surprising—Jaden uses the library frequently. And I don’t know this last fellow or woman, maybe? This Bel Arcowley.”
She shrugged and moved over to the shelves, searching along them until she came to an empty position.
“Oh my,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s gone.”
“The book is gone? I thought you said that you didn’t lend it out,” Liam said.
She turned to look at him, shaking her head. “We don’t. I’ll talk to my fellow librarians, Liam. I’ll get right on it.”
“Maybe it’s just out of place,” Liam suggested.
Jeanie nodded. “Well, you can help me search,” she told him.
Bartholomew was in the room with them, of course. He searched along with Jeanie and Liam. But the book wasn’t on any of the shelves. They looked thoroughly for at least thirty minutes.
“I suppose it might have gotten put back outside the room,” Jeanie said, sounding weary. “We’ll start a general search for it.”
“Thanks. Tell me, is someone always with visitors in this section of the library?”
“Sadly, no. We don’t have the funding.”
“It would be too much to hope for a security tape, right?” he asked, looking around. He didn’t see any cameras.
“No. We don’t have the—”
“Funding, right.”
They looked at each other for a minute. Liam grimaced. “All right, let me take that list of names. I’ll give all the visitors a call after you check with your coworkers.”
“Thanks, Liam. Do I need to fill out a report or something? I mean, once I find out one of my coworkers didn’t suddenly decide to read up on Satanism in Key West?”
