As she moves about, trying not to garner too much attention as she peers out from beneath the dark hoodie, she notices that the market does seem to have lessened somewhat in business. It’s still dark, of course, and she is left to wonder if the sun reaches this place at all. She spares a glance to the black, starless canopy overheard. What do they really know of the in-between places? How have they been so left in ignorance, when all these people here know of it? Are they even people? Her senses are running wild with this place, but she tries to calm them.
She hears the sound of a cough. It continues, growing. She glances around, but then as quickly decides against such notice. When she lowers her eyes, she sees a person at an empty stall staring back at her. She freezes, trying not to appear to be unsettled. The shape appears that of a man, but she does not feel certain of anything here. A knit cap on the head sports a meager bill, but it proves enough to cast shadow over the eyes. Regardless, she holds certainty of being this person’s focus. She finally looks away.
She continues, trying not to seem too suspicious, but she doesn’t waste time playing the role of shopper at any of the stalls. She finally reaches the structure, the one holding the books and the curious proprietor who claims to have the Book. She doesn’t trust him.
She wanders, keeping an eye out without appearing to do so. She’s broken into buildings before, but there are more people in the area than she had anticipated. They don’t seem to be giving her undue notice, but she is still left to wonder what she really knows about this place. Are there security measures she has no idea about?
She finds a shadowed corner, standing in it for a short time, just observing. A sort of isolation meets her, and the occasional passing of a person does not see their attention turning anywhere near her.
Is this worth the risk?
She’s come this far.
The glass gives easily enough and with minimal noise. She carefully deposits the pieces in the nearby grass then opens the window. Once inside, she pauses, standing there, attuned for any sign or sound of her entry having been heard. Quiet. She proceeds
The place is dark and presumably closed. She again feels a scratch at her own expectations. Still, if the place is yet open for business, she doesn’t want her presence known. She creeps further in, finding her way through this satellite room of atlases and into the main room. She had hoped to avoid this area, feeling it riskier, but a quick assessment shows her no other route. She remains crouched, moving slowly, senses on high alert.
She finally hears it.
The muted sibilance becomes whispers as she gets closer. At first, it sounds like a one-sided conversation, but she finally hears the other voice. Feminine. The other is the proprietor.
“This may not be unexpected to you, but it is to me. What do I do when they come back?” he asks.
“You know the plan. Your courage is failing now that you are being tested. Did you think we wanted this to never happen?”
“No, of course not, but-”
“But what?” the woman asks, her voice insistent yet holding an underlying calm cadence that is unsettling. She speaks again when nothing is further said. “They are prepared to take the bait. Eager. Now is the time.”
“I told them I would have the book for them tomorrow.”
“Everyone holds the shovel that digs their own grave.”
“Even you?”
A stretch of silence, and it bleeds the very air with its weight.
“You do yourself a disservice by letting the place in which you dwell lead you to think you are safe,” the feminine voice finally speaks. “You are yet mortal, and the trail may be found without your help.”
“I … apologize.”
“Your contrition means nothing to me. Be useful, and I see no reason to end your stage of existence.”
A bowed head is the only response.
She finally hears more sounds after a time that feels to take forever. There is no more discourse, only the noises of the shopkeeper going about some business. She burns with intention, unsure if she should confront him now, continue the surveillance, or head back. She decides to play it safe, knowing that she needs to tell Skot of this as soon as possible. She waits a short time longer as quiet descends, then Zoe makes her exit.
*****
Therese sits at the distant table, sipping her coffee. She likes this place. The saucers and mugs are all bland bone white, showing some stains and lines of age. The furniture is mismatched wood, plastic, steel. Everything carries a deliberate weight of no-nonsense. She appreciates the irony. She also finds it amusing that though the shop carries a none-too-subtle simmer of catering to a subculture, it finds an array of clientele. The people more on the “normal” spectrum usually just get their brew and muffin and leave.
It’s somewhat crowded, though she has seen it more so. She did manage to get this out of the way table, and she takes her time, hardly tasting the coffee, looking over information on her tablet. She looks up and catches some guy across the way looking at her. He averts his gaze instantly, looking down into his own lap. He wears a dark hoodie. Therese blinks once, slowly, and though the unerring line of her unamused-seeming mouth makes no change, she smirks inside.
She doesn’t leave right after paying the check, instead taking some more time to deal with some analyses and messages, then she stands. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the guy’s piqued attention. She takes a last gulp of the strong brew, then slips into her light jacket before heading out.
Her tablet now in the black rucksack, she lets her attention go to her phone as she walks down the street. Or so she pretends. The guy is following and too closely. She wonders that she made such a bumbling “investigator” on her first attempts. She decides to engage in some play.
She crosses the street to a bus stop, acting all the world as though she had been so engrossed in her phone that she almost misses the crosswalk. She rushes across as the pedestrian light turns red. Her tail rushes, too, proving horribly obvious, but he gets stuck on the other side. He finally finds a chance to catch up, jaywalking to do it, even though she has now stopped well in sight.
He hangs back, keeping a shadowed eye on her. A bus arrives. She continues messing with her phone, then acts as though she is going to board the vehicle. She sees a twitch in him as he prepares to rush to try to also get on, but then she turns on her heel and marches away, continuing on foot.
When he turns the next corner, she is standing right there, waiting. He comes up short, feet skittering, the jerk of his body more of a telltale sign even were the hoodie not insufficient. There are others around, but not too close. This is how she planned it.
“Kettle, why are you following me?”
“I – ah. Sparrow. Uhm …”
“Why are you following me?”
“I … ah, ah …”
She just looks at him, and he finally takes a reasonable breath.
“I really need to talk to you. I don’t think you know what’s going on. Especially with your bodyguard.”
“My bodyguard?” She narrows her eyes.
“Yeah, that guy you brought with you when we met.”
“You’re paranoid. I’m paranoid. I told you I was kidnapped two times, and I came close to being killed. So I brought along someone to help protect me when I’m meeting a new person. If you don’t like it, tough shit.”
He shakes his head, moving his hands.
“I don’t mean that. Fine. You brought somebody, but I don’t think he’s protecting you.”
“What?”
Kettle roots in his pockets, then brings out a clasped envelope. He opens it, producing glossy prints. Therese balks.
“Not digital. This is safer,” he says, proffering them.
Therese begins to scan through them. She recognizes the photos as from that fateful night when the vigilante rescued her the second time. These appear to be captures of what happened in front of the compound.
“Something big happened at this place
. Your bodyguard was there.” Kettle points, and Therese does indeed see the face of Duilio.
“I know.” This gets a sharp look from Kettle. “He … ugh … it’s complicated, okay?”
“You knew?”
“I was there, too.”
“Wha- … so you have to know what’s going on!”
“Keep it down, okay?” She waits a moment, and he nods, going silent after a quick perusal around them. “Sure I was there, but how does that mean I know what all was going on? And you weren’t there, were you?” He shakes his head. “Then how do you know what all was going on?”
“I … come on, Sparrow, you know we can find out things even if we’re not there. Sometimes we know more.”
“Okay, okay.” She gives in. “You said something before about demons. What were you talking about?”
Kettle just looks at her. The moment stretches. Awkwardness creeps unto her, and Therese reels back, slowly, the movement subtle, as though she doesn’t even know she is doing it.
“You said you knew about the monsters,” he returns, his tone laced with accusation.
She slits her eyes. “I do.”
“Okay. Maybe. You just said you were there but you don’t know what all was going on. I get it now. You’re aware of what they’re doing, but you don’t really know the monsters behind it.”
Therese feels her heartbeat try to pick up. Is he talking about the Malkuths? The question flies into her mind seeming of its own accord. She thought she had finally come to a point where she had things more under control, but she instead suddenly feels like she is a vulnerable, small thing in the path of a tidal wave.
“Are you sure you do?” she asks. The question is more plea than challenge.
“I’m sure I don’t!” he exclaims.
She stands there, looking at him, finally giving him a blink of her eyes.
“I told you how lost I felt when we first met. I figured I was one of the few people who knew who wasn’t … somehow … all tied into it,” he manages, moving his hands about. He then ceases the motion, eyes set upon her. “Then I saw your posts, and I figured I wasn’t alone. Of course, Sparrow knows.” He tries a smile on her, and it feels unsettling.
“I know what?”
He opens his mouth, then just stands there. He finally closes it beneath a slitting of his eyes. “Is this all some kind of test? You still don’t trust me?”
“I – what? Why would I trust you?”
He nods, slowly, inhaling.
“Fine. Demons are out there. Literal demons. Like from the Bible … maybe. I don’t know, but inhuman, supernatural … things, and they are killing people.”
“I’ve got to go,” she says, turning and stomping off.
“Did I pass the test?” he calls after her.
She barely hears the words, but even as much as she wishes to immediately dismiss him as some lunatic, she feels a deep urge to interrogate her “bodyguard”.
Chapter Ten
When they return to the curious book shop the next day, they are decidedly less polite.
“Greetings,” the shopkeeper welcomes them, hiding any trepidation he may feel.
They say nothing, walking up close. Zoe and David move to either side and somewhat behind, gaining a hint of unsteadiness to the man’s composure. He finally seems to notice the steely looks on the faces of his guests.
“The symbol is a trap,” Skot says.
“E-excuse me?”
“You said those who recognize the symbol are friendly, but what you’ve actually set up here is a trap.”
The proprietor’s eyes widen and he leans back.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes darting to each.
“I came back last night,” Zoe reveals, pressing in even closer. “I overheard your conversation with … whoever that woman was.”
“Who was she?” Skot pushes, even as the man tries to speak.
“I … surely you must understand …” he stammers, then takes in a breath, trying to firm himself. “I will not be treated this way in my-”
“I don’t know who you are, but it’s clear you’re trying to deceive us,” Skot interrupts. “I seriously doubt whether you have the Book at all. Your usefulness is rapidly dwindling, and if you are a threat, we can’t just leave you here.”
“Wha … what do you intend to do to me?”
Skot glances to David.
“We can interrogate him here,” David says, “just close up the place, so no one else comes in. We could also take him to your sister if things need to get serious.”
“You can’t take me away from here!”
“Why not?” Skot asks, his tone flat.
“This … this.” He looks again between those surrounding him. He takes a stuttering breath, then exhales, defeated. “This is an in-between place.” Lilja gives Skot a knowing look before switching her focus back to the shopkeeper. “It is here to protect the Book. The Book is a part of it, and if you take it, this place will cease to exist. All those who have come to dwell here will suffer for it.”
“I don’t believe you,” Skot replies after a short time of contemplation. “I do wonder thought what would happen to you if we take you from here.”
“But you must believe me! The Book is safe here. Leave it be,” the man pleads.
“Who were you talking to last night?” Zoe thrusts. “What’s the plan? What’s the ‘bait’?”
“Where is the Book?” Skot adds.
“The Guardian is here,” Lilja suddenly says, and everyone looks at her. She is no longer focused on the brewing interrogation, instead looking off toward the room housing the rare books.
“What?” Skot asks.
She points, her eyes appearing to have lost focus on the primal plane before her. “The Guardian lies in there. It’s a tomb.”
The other three drill stares into the proprietor. David and Zoe manage to close more of what remains of the scant distance, all but touching the man now. He sighs again.
“I will show you.”
*****
Duilio comes up short to the expression on Therese’s face. Her eyes bore into him, her arms folded over her chest. She wears a white t-shirt hanging loosely over black track pants, and her entire aspect is one of having been waiting for some time. He has arrived this morning bearing what he’d hoped would be a welcome gift – coffee and breakfast rolls. He all but forgets the paper bag as he looks at her.
He smells a cigarette, but he doesn’t see one in her hands. There atop the table rises a coil of thin smoke from within a coffee mug. How long has she been waiting?
“Therese? Is everything alr-?”
“I should have known.”
He emits a forced breath through an awkward smile. “Should have known what?”
“That you were keeping secrets from me.”
“Therese.” He tries a placating tone. “I’m only trying to protect yo-”
“Spare me,” she clips, finally moving away.
He breathes a touch easier, relieved to be released from that accusatory stare. She retrieves a packet of cigarettes, pulling one free, grabbing her lighter. She holds them both in her hand as she turns back to him. He has barely set the bag on the tabletop.
“The demons are real, aren’t they?”
His eyes widen, and he manages to get out some semblance of the word “what”.
She shakes her head, lips pressed together. “Jesus fucking Christ, they are real.” She finally lights up the cigarette, taking a deep drag.
“Therese,” he tries again, taking a half-step toward her, but she quickly raises a hand, silencing him.
She shakes her head, finally giving to again drilling into him with her gaze. “Unbelievable.”
“Yes!” he agrees.
“Don’t you keep lying to me,” she demands, pointing.
He holds up his hands. “I have … done my best to not outright lie to you, Therese.”
“What does that mean?” she asks, her lips barely mo
ving, jaw clenched.
“I …” he begins, pausing with yet another heavy sigh. “I have been as truthful as I can.”
She again goes back to the slow shaking of her head. She finally lights the cigarette, having a deep drag. He is thankful she does not blow it into his face.
“Are the demons real?”
It takes him some time, but he finally answers: “Yes.”
“Do the Malkuths know about them?”
“Yes. That’s how I found out.”
She glares at him then fishes through some papers on the table, producing one of the photos given her by Kettle.
“This isn’t how you found out?”
“What? Therese, no. I … knew something very unusual had happened that night, but I had no idea it was … demons.” He looks at her, and she looks back, unflinching.
“You weren’t going to sacrifice me to them?”
“No!”
She nods.
“Who else knows about the demons?”
“I am not sure.”
“Our government? The police?”
“No, no, Therese. The only other ones I know of are the Felcrafts.”
She shakes her head, brow furrowing. “The what?”
“They are a powerful family, like the Malkuths. They are, in fact, the Malkuth’s rivals.”
“What … the fuck,” she says, her head seeming incapable of stopping its slow movement of disbelief.
“How did you find out?” he asks, and she darts a look to him, eyes slitting.
“I met with Kettle again.” She is satisfied to see but a slight reaction of displeasure. “Honestly, I still wasn’t convinced. He gave me those pictures, too. None of it was any sort of evidence, but it all got under my skin.” She has another drag of her cigarette. “That’s all it takes, you know. So, I did some more digging, put together more pieces of the puzzle, and they began to fit.”
“Began to?” he prompts, eyebrows raising.
“The way you reacted when I confronted you, sealed it.” She gestures toward him with the hand holding the burning cigarette.
He sighs, realizing the trap. “I think I always expected you to eventually find out. I was trying to spare you.” He huffs out a chuckle shortly after saying this. He finally looks at her to find her already staring back. “You realize this changes everything, yes?”
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