Ring of Solomon


 
 
 
 Praise for Ring of Solomon
 “Jam-packed with action and humor, Ring of Solomon is a rip-roaring good read. Buoyed by the fast pace and excitement of this Jewish mythology-inspired adventure, I plowed right through until there was no more left. I already miss Zach and the endearing cast of characters. Please, I need more!”
 —Graci Kim, author of The Last Fallen Star
 “This exploration of a boy’s self is full of fun, humor, and Jewish mythology that I never knew could be so cool.”
 —Rex Ogle, author of Free Lunch and The Supernatural Society
 
 
 Aden Polydoros is an author of MG and YA fiction. Although he enjoys going to flea markets and antique fairs, he hasn’t yet had the fortune of finding a magic ring.
 AdenPolydoros.com
 
 
 Ring of Solomon
 Aden Polydoros
 
 
 
 Dedicated to all the kids who are still waiting for their enchanted cupboard, haunted house, or magic-school admission letter.
 
 
 Contents
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgments
 
 
 1
 Naomi was gone.
 One second, she was there, smack-dab in the middle of San Pancras’s downtown flea market, wearing her huge pink sunglasses and the baseball cap Mom had bought her at Disneyland last summer. And then I turned around just for a moment. By the time I looked back, she had vanished into the swarm of bargain hunters and chattering tourists.
 My stomach dropped. No, no, no. Mom was going to kill me.
 “Naomi?” I pushed past a man haggling over an overpriced snow globe. By sheer luck, I avoided crashing into a vendor selling plates and bowls. Considering how ugly the dishes were, breaking them would’ve been an act of mercy.
 I swiveled around, searching for Naomi in the crowd, which was so densely packed that it wiggled down the street like a blob of Jell-O. She wasn’t crouched over the battalion of stuffed animals and action figures lined up on one man’s carpet. She wasn’t tossing her empty soda bottle into the trash can or scraping gum off the bottom of her flip-flops.
 “Naomi?” My voice cracked like an old record. It had been doing that a lot lately, ever since I turned twelve, but it wasn’t just puberty this time. My throat tightened in panic. “Naomi?! This isn’t funny.”
 A hand yanked on my sleeve. I turned, not knowing how nervous I’d been until I swallowed and felt my lips tremble. There Naomi was, just standing there with her stupid sunglasses and Minnie Mouse cap, her blond hair poking up in random directions. She inherited Mom’s upturned nose and serious eyes, but her dimpled chin and goofy smile were all Dad’s.
 “Where were you, you dolt?” I asked as she slurped down the rest of her Coke. “I told you not to wander off.”
 She grinned. “Zach, you have to come see this. I found the perfect thing. Mom’s gonna love it.”
 Naomi pulled me down the rows of vendors. The sun beat down on us, the air ripe with the smells of pizza grease and coconut-scented sunscreen. All I wanted was to go back home and play video games, but Mom’s birthday was this Monday. Turning forty seemed like it deserved something special. Roses and drawings wouldn’t cut it this time.
 Every month, Mom would drive nearly an hour up to San Francisco to drag us to the famous Alameda flea market. Next to it, the San Pancras swap meet was a cheaper knockoff than the plasticky purses a pink-haired woman was hollering were real Gucci. There were only three things our coastal town was known for—its quiet streets lined with Spanish mission–style houses, the abandoned cement factory at its outskirts, and having a name that sounded suspiciously like a human organ.
 Naomi led me to an old man stooped in front of a card table heaped with musty paperbacks, brass vases, and picture frames. There was so much stuff, I expected the table legs to collapse at any moment, drowning everything within five feet in a tsunami of junk. The fire department would have to dig us out.
 “Naomi.” I looked at her. What did she expect to find here, except for rat droppings and mothballs?
 “One second. It’s right around here somewhere.” Eyes sparkling in excitement, she dug through the tangle of jewelry sitting in a glass ashtray. Mostly just Mardi Gras beads, plastic bangles, and brooches so gaudy even our mom would turn her nose up at them. Naomi fished a ring from the bottom of the pile and showed it to me.
 It was a thick golden signet ring. The circular panel on top was engraved with a six-pointed Star of David and surrounded by crimson stones. Garnets maybe, but probably just glass. Hebrew letters encircled the band, though for all I knew, they could’ve been an advertisement for Burger King.
 I tried the ring on my finger, but it slipped right off. “Naomi, it’s going to be too big for her. It’s a guy’s ring.”
 “But don’t you think she’d love it?”
 Mom went a little crazy when it came to Jewish stuff, even though she was about as religious as a bacon cheeseburger. She collected menorahs and dreidels, Yiddish pamphlets and Hebrew books none of us could read, corny old paintings of wizard-bearded rabbis and clarinet-playing klezmer musicians, and more. An entire corner of the kitchen was devoted to her hoard, but over the years, the stuff had overflowed into the rest of our home as well. Somehow, one of her weird oil paintings had ended up in my bedroom. You think Nosferatu or