The Doorkeepers by Graham Masterton Page B

a key away. Every time you find a key, keep it. You never know when you’ll come across a clock you need to wind up or door that you badly need to open.”
    Nancy pulled a stool across and sat down next to the table. In the muted light from Ella’s lamps, she looked even more Modoc than usual, her hair drawn back into a blue and white beaded headband, her eyes slightly hooded, her cheekbones distinct. She was wearing jeans and fringed suede boots, and a necklace of silver medallions and colored beads. That necklace carried its own magic: it was said to have belonged to the Modoc shaman Curley-Headed Doctor.
    Nancy’s medallions jingled as she sat down; and there was an answering rattle from the metal box. Josh looked at Ella cautiously.
    â€œThis has only happened once before,” she said. “And that was when I met a man whose brother was in prison, and he desperately wanted to get him out.”
    Nancy’s medallions shivered again, almost excitedly; and the box rattled again, much more furiously this time. Abraxas lifted his nose over the edge of his basket but he didn’t venture out.
    â€œAre you ready for this?” asked Ella.
    â€œI don’t know if I’m ready or not. It depends what it is.”
    â€œIt’s the power of artefacts, that’s what it is. Like pots and pans. Like keys. On its own, metal’s just metal, isn’t it? But when we make it into a shape, we teach it something, don’t we? In a very spiritual way, the metal learns what we want it to do. The pot understands that it was made for cooking. The key understands that it was made for opening doors. That’s why these keys are making such a noise, Josh. They know that you need them.”
    She unfastened the catch. From inside the box came a clicking, stirring sound, as if a collection of live crabs were trying to climb out. She hesitated for a moment, and then she threw back the lid. In a clattering rush, twenty or thirty keys hurtled out and stuck to Josh’s right hand as if it were a magnet. He shouted out,
“Jesus!”
but it was out of surprise, not pain. He lifted up his hand and it was bristling with keys of all sizes and shapes – clock keys, padlock keys, trunk keys, music-box keys and some keys that were so old and blackened that it was impossible to tell what they might ever have opened.
    Josh turned his hand this way and that, staring at the keys in disbelief. He shook it two or three times, and two or three of the keys dropped off onto the table, but they immediately jumped back onto his hand again. Ella grinned and shook her head in sheer pleasure.
    â€œYou must want those doors opened so bad,” she said. “Even that fellow who wanted his brother out of prison, the keys didn’t stick to him like that.”
    Abraxas barked once, but when Josh turned to look at him, he ducked his head below the edge of his basket. Josh said, “This is static electricity, right? This is a trick? Like Uri Geller or something?”
    â€œPerhaps it is. Perhaps Julia’s disappearance was a trick. We won’t know, will we, unless we find out?”
    â€œAnd how do you suggest we do that?”
    â€œWe do what you really came here for. We ask the one person who knows the truth.”
    Nancy whispered, “You mean Julia, don’t you?”
    Ella shrugged.
    â€œYou want to hold a séance, is that it?” Josh asked her, sharply.
    â€œ
Moi?
Oh, no.
You’re
the one who wants to hold a séance. You came here to see me tonight because you need
so
badly to find out what happened to Julia and you didn’t know where else to turn. Why don’t you admit how overwhelming your need is? Why don’t you admit that you’re willing to believe in anything and everything? The cards told me you were coming, the keys told me why. You might as well carry a placard.”
    Josh took a breath. “We went to the library today and found out a whole