The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson #12)(7)

“Dude,” I said, interrupting him mid-rant, “her shirt says HO.” I pointed to make my point pointier. It was right there on her shirt. The letters H-O.

He let out an annoyed sigh and scooted back against his headboard. “Hope, Charles. It says Hope, as in Hope Christian Academy.”

That time I gaped. “You’re sleeping with a high school student?”

“She’s a teacher,” he said through gritted teeth. It was funny.

“At a Christian academy? Isn’t that kind of, well, unethical?”

“She’s a teacher, not a nun.”

“Point taken,” I conceded even though his point wasn’t nearly as pointy as mine had been. “Why are you in bed with someone who is not your baby mama?”

Garrett had had a baby with a lovely girl, and because she’d set him up to purposely become impregnated by him, as they had a similar remarkable heritage, he distrusted her. Go figure.

“Why are you here, Charles?”

“I need your help, but first, why’d you call?”

“I told you in my message.”

“Yeah, I don’t really do messages.” I did, actually. Something about a children’s book? But I’d been busy at the time chasing the ball and chain all over the world. Dude was fast.

He ground his teeth—I did that to people—then looked at the floor. “You really brought cupcakes?”

*

Fifteen minutes later, Garrett was a new man, all freshly washed and smelling like an Irish spring. Not that I’d ever been to Ireland in the spring. Or any other time of year, for that matter.

“I stumbled upon these by accident,” he said, handing me a set of three children’s books.

“You’re finally learning to read? Good for you, Swopes.”

He strode to the coffeepot and poured two cups. I didn’t want to tell him that I’d already had twelve cups that day. Mostly because one could never have too much of the dark elixir I considered more of a lover than a beverage. But also because it had been a long day.

He brought the coffee back and tore into the cupcakes. “Who made these?” he asked.

“Maybe I did.” I examined the books he’d given me. The covers were beautifully illustrated with sparkling stars over a colorful kingdom.

“No, really.”

“Fine, Cook did. What are these?”

“That’s the first one,” he said, pointing to the book in my hands.

It was titled The First Star and was written and illustrated by a Pandu Yoso.

“This is the English translation. They were originally published in Indonesia and have been translated into thirty-five languages.”

“Cool. They look awesome, but why are they so interesting to you?”

He finished his first cupcake, took a draft of coffee, then said, “Because they’re about you.”

I frowned in suspicion and studied him a long moment before I let out a soft laugh. “Seriously, Swopes.”

“Seriously. I couldn’t believe it either at first. Until I read them.”

“Okay, so what? They were written by some ancient prophet and only recently found and published, becoming an overnight international sensation?”

“Right on all counts save one. An ancient prophet didn’t write them. A seven-year-old one did, and he—I think it’s a he—is deaf and blind and lives in Jakarta.”

I put the book on the table and offered him my best impression of a Doubting Debbie.

“Read the bio. His parents believe he’s a prophet. He signs the books to them, and they write the stories down.”

“It says the author also illustrates them. If he’s blind—”

“He does. All by himself.”

I ran my fingers over the embossed cover. “But if he’s never seen these things … I mean, has he always been blind?”

“Since birth. But you’re missing the point, Charles. Read the back cover.”

I turned the book over and began reading as Garrett got up for more coffee.

I read the blurb aloud. “A long time ago in a faraway land, there was a kingdom with only seven stars in its sky. Of the seven, none were more beloved than the First, for though she was the smallest, she was also the brightest and most caring. The other stars were jealous of her and angry with the people of the kingdom for loving her the most. They decided to punish the people. They caused earthquakes and floods and made volcanoes erupt. The First Star was heartbroken, but what can one tiny star do? Anything to save her people.

“Okay,” I said, opening to the first chapter. “Intriguing, but I’m not sure I’m seeing the resemblance.”

“Read it,” he ordered. He sat back in his chair and waited.

So, I took the next few minutes to read the book. And the more I read, the more I realized Swopes might be onto something.

Told from the perspective of an omniscient seer, the gist of the book was in the blurb. Seven stars watched over an ancient kingdom, but none were more beloved than the First. The other six were jealous and teased her. They knew that the First Star, who loved her kingdom and her people so much, would do anything to protect them.

The six stars began creating mischief in the kingdom. They summoned earthquakes and storms and volcanoes. People in her kingdom were dying, and the stars were growing more malevolent by the day.