Booke of the Hidden

by Jeri Westerson

  Them. I realized that Erasmus was wrestling with the creature.

  “Kylie!” he yelled.

  “Erasmus! I’m here!”

  “Shoot!”

  “I…I can’t see it. I don’t want to shoot you.”

  “Dammit, woman, I said shoot!”

  I squinted at the whirling mass of leaves, dust, shadow, and light. “But—” I had to trust him, didn’t I? I lifted the crossbow up to my shoulder, closed my eyes, and fired. It kicked back a little and I blinked as the quarrel shot forward with a twang of the string.

  There was a shriek, a howl that I had heard before, and the churning mass roared and whipped, leaves flying like a giant blender. I raised a hand to my face to defend against the scratching leaves as they flung at me. Something shot outward and the leaves froze in the air for a long second before they simply fell to the ground, like cut puppet strings. The meadow was suddenly silent again, and it took another few moments for the first tentative crickets to begin their song once more.

  A dark lump remained in the center of where the cyclone had been and I stepped closer, aiming the crossbow, now armed again. The closer I got, the tighter my hold of the weapon became, until I stood right over it. But when the moon passed beyond a cloud and cast its light, I could see that it was Erasmus.

  “Oh my God!” I dropped the crossbow and fell to my knees. “Dammit, you said you’d be all right!” He was lying on his side. I ran my hands over him. “Erasmus! Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”

  A groan. My heart jumped. I gently turned him, looking for the quarrel, expecting to see it in his chest. But nothing was there.

  I glanced at the crossbow and all quarrels were back in their sheaths.

  “Erasmus.” I pushed his hair out of his face. He opened his eyes and blinked, looking a bit dazed. I caressed his cheek, feeling how cold the skin was. His eyes focused on mine and he seemed to realize his position. He shot unsteadily to his feet and dusted himself off.

  “It got away,” he said.

  “Did I graze it?”

  “No. You grazed me.”

  “Erasmus!” I grabbed his shoulder to turn him and he winced.

  “The shoulder,” he said and gently removed my hands.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. I told you to shoot.”

  The adrenaline high I had been running on was leaving me, making my limbs feel heavy. “Do we follow it?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  But Erasmus shook his head, rubbing his sore shoulder. “No. It’s spooked. In hiding. The good news is it might not kill tonight after all.”

  “Well…that’s…something.”

  Without another word, he turned away and headed back the way we had come. At least, I thought it was the way we had come.

  I picked up the crossbow and followed him. With the weapon tight to my chest, I clutched my arms. I was cold.

  We trudged back through the woods and I was never so relieved to see asphalt. We reached my shop and I unlocked the door. I didn’t need to ask. He came through as I held it open for him. Once I switched on the lights, I saw the dark patch on his coat.

  “Are you bleeding?”

  He stared at the patch curiously, dipped his finger in it, and brought it to his lips and tasted. I swallowed down the tang of bile.

  He raised surprised eyes. “That appears to be correct.”

  “You’re such an idiot. Get that coat off and let me look at it.”

  His hand clutched protectively at the collar of his duster. “Why?”

  “So I can fix you up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean what do I mean? You’re hurt. I’m going to bandage you. You don’t want to get an infection.” His face was still perplexed as I grabbed for the collar. “Come on. Get it off. It does come off, doesn’t it?”

  He pushed my hands away and unbuttoned the coat. Carefully, he peeled it over his good shoulder and then even more carefully over the hurt one.

  “Let me help—”

  “I can do it!” He winced, shutting his eyes tight as the coat slipped to the floor. The patch of dark was even bigger on his black long-sleeved shirt, which was torn where the quarrel hit. The fabric was strange, like silk but it wasn’t shiny at all.

  “The shirt, too,” I said.

  He looked at me as if I had suggested he do a striptease on the city hall steps. And then my mind went there. I blinked, getting rid of the image as best I could. “I can’t very well bandage you over your shirt.”

  He sighed again and reached for the first button, undoing them mechanically. I was worried about his arm, sure, but I realized I was also staring in anticipation. He parted the shirt, revealing a well-toned abdomen with a little dark hair on his chest. But as he pulled it back, I also noticed a strange tattoo reaching from his chest down his torso. I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  He grunted when he dropped the shirt. Naked from the waist up, he wasn’t what I expected. Not like any demon I’d ever imagined. More like an underwear model.

  “The wound is up here,” he said.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, turning my attention to the blood-streaked graze on his shoulder. At first it seemed like the quarrel had cut a good chunk off of his skin along the shoulder, but it wasn’t as deep as I first thought. There was a lot of blood, or what I took for blood. In the light, his blood wasn’t quite as red as I expected. It was darker. Red, but almost black.

  I maneuvered him to a chair and urged him to sit. “What about the poison?”

  He shook his head. “It’s only making me a bit woozy, nothing more.”

  “Let me get my first aid kit.”

  I ran to the kitchen to fetch the little white box hanging on the wall. I pulled it free and set it beside the sink. Grabbing a towel from the drawer, I wet it under the faucet, squeezing out the excess water.

  Erasmus was sitting stiff and straight in the chair when I returned. I set down the first aid box and knelt beside him. “This might sting,” I warned, laying a gentle hand on his arm to steady myself, and then I bathed around the wound with the wet towel. He didn’t wince. I cleaned it up and lay the towel aside, and then I opened the box and rummaged for a bandage. There were antiseptic wipes in little packages, and I picked one up and looked from it to his wound. With his physiology, would it do more harm than good? I opted for leaving it aside, deciding on a large sticky bandage alone.

  I tore open the package and laid the gauzy part over the wound, smoothing the adhesive over his warm skin. My hands might have wandered unnecessarily over his arm, but I left him alone when I was done, sitting back to look at my handiwork. “Is that all right?” I hadn’t noticed he was staring at me until I had finished. He was looking at me strangely and used his other hand to tentatively poke at the foreign object now stuck to his arm.

  “Thank you,” he said in a roughened voice.

  “You’re welcome.” I gathered the detritus and took it all to the kitchen again, setting the box and towel down on the counter. When I returned he was still examining the bandage. I didn’t mind at all watching the muscles flex under his skin. I stood in the doorway a long time, it seemed, and I felt my face warm when he looked up, catching me in the act.

  “No human has ever helped me before.”

  I folded my arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “It couldn’t be your sparkling personality getting in the way, could it?”

  A ghost of smile passed over his face but he turned away and grabbed his shirt. “Certainly not.”

  I busied myself fiddling with knick-knacks on shelves while he dressed. When I glanced over my shoulder, even his duster was back in place. He said, “I’ll leave you now.”

  “Oh.” I followed him to the door. It was late. I didn’t have to look at the clock to know that. “You don’t want any coffee or something? Wine?”

  He straightened his collar, flipping it up before he reached for the door handle. He stopped and angled his
head. “It’s late.”

  “I know.” My hand reached the door and slid up the molding. Clumsily I leaned against it. “But it wouldn’t take long…”

  He grasped my hand from the door and he was suddenly holding both of them. “Kylie,” he said gruffly. “What do you expect from me?”

  “Expect? I don’t really expect anything. Well, I expect you to help me with this Booke thing. That’s all I meant.” I was babbling and closed my mouth before I truly embarrassed myself. But I couldn’t stop the trembling he could surely feel. His hands were warm enclosing mine, as warm as his amulet, resting heavy and hot against my chest.

  He smiled again. It changed his face to something brighter, less world-weary. “I will help you with the book. But nothing more.”

  I tossed my hair back with what I hoped was nonchalance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He let my hands go, and his smile faded. “No, of course not.” He pulled open the door and hesitated in the doorway. “Stay safe,” he said without turning around. And then he plunged into the night and vanished.

  “Neat trick,” I muttered and closed the door. I slammed the bolt in place.

  • • •

  I woke far too early the next morning. I had had a hard time getting to sleep and when I finally did, I dreamed of pale arms and long weedy hair chasing me into the shadows. I felt pretty rough and even a hot shower didn’t vanquish all the cobwebs. But the routine of making coffee and pricing and sorting tea helped. Though the monotony gave me time to dwell on last night, going over it too many times, thinking of how it felt to kiss Erasmus and how I felt in his arms. I shook my head.

  The phone rang and got me out of my funk. It was Marge from Moody Bog Market.

  “Thanks for taking me under your wing yesterday. It was good to meet the villagers.” Though as I said “villagers,” I instantly formed a picture in my head of Ruth Russell and John Fairgood with torches and pitchforks, leading the others to a tar-and-feathering.

  “It was my pleasure. I think you bring a breath of fresh air to this place. But that was yesterday. Since I’m the new manager, Bob Hitchins—may he rest in peace, the poor man—had a note to call you about some kind of deal with baked goods, selling them at your shop?”

  I explained what I wanted and we agreed on a price and a delivery schedule. She talked me into ordering the apple pecan loaf as well. I felt guilty about Bob, because I knew what happened to him and I felt a little responsible. As Erasmus was fond of telling me, I had opened the Booke and released the succubus.

  I hung up, a little poorer but looking forward to fresh baked goods on opening day. However, it did remind me that I hadn’t yet heard from Ruth Russell about her Knitting Society.

  I got out my phone and checked. Sure enough, there was a terse email from her.

  Our Knitting Society meets at 2 o’clock. 559 Mill Pond Road. Don’t be late.

  Was this an invitation or a slap on the wrist? I tucked the phone away just as the bell over the door tinkled. I poked my head out of the kitchen to spy Sheriff Ed picking up a delicate saucer, turning it this way and that. His large fingers overwhelmed it and his face seemed to say, “Why would anyone want this?”

  “Hey,” I said, and giggled when he jumped.

  He set the cup down and tipped his hat. “Hey, yourself.” He glanced around. “It’s looking good. Are you open yet?”

  “Friday’s the grand opening. But you’re welcome to come in. I have coffee. And a little apple pecan loaf.”

  His eyes brightened. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Not at all.” I fetched the loaf from the pantry. “It’s better heated. I can just pop it in the microwave.”

  “That would be fine, thanks.” He took off his hat and shrugged out of his heavy jacket, draping it on the back of the chair.

  “So, what brings you here, Sheriff?” I cut a generous slice from the loaf and placed it on a plate, licking my fingers. I slid the plate into the microwave and switched it on. Then I poured the strong Ethiopian Harar into a mug. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Cream and sugar, please. I know I’m not supposed to but old habits die hard.”

  I placed the sugar bowl in front of him and set the mug on the table. The microwave dinged; I pulled out the plate and laid a fork beside the warmed slice.

  I sat opposite him and watched as he scooped three sugars into his mug and picked up his fork. “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  “I just ate.” Two slices, but he didn’t need to know that.

  He drank his brew and mmmmed over the mug. “That’s good coffee. You know your beans and teas, I guess.”

  “You could say that.”

  He chewed a forkful of apple pecan loaf and grinned. “Moody Bog Market. Finest bakery this side of the Mississippi.”

  I picked at a ravel of my sweater sleeve. “So…you were saying? You dropped by because…?”

  He swallowed and set down his mug. He looked a bit sheepish. “Well, you said to drop by and I hoped…it wasn’t just talk.”

  It was my turn to smile. Sheriff Ed was handsome, broad-shouldered, and tall. I didn’t yet know the quirks of his personality, but he seemed the opposite in just about every respect to my former boyfriend, the One-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

  While I was admiring Sheriff Ed’s dimple as he chewed, I felt a twinge of guilt. It was just last night that I had kissed Erasmus and harbored some mighty intricate fantasies about the man. Demon. He wasn’t a man, not really. But this one was. A human man. And Erasmus had closed the door on anything that was poised to develop. And here was another opening up. It reminded me how lonely I had been the last two months.

  I brushed my hair back over my ear. “No, it wasn’t just talk.” I smiled. I was a little rusty at this but I knew it would come back to me. Like riding a bicycle.

  • • •

  He cleaned his plate and turned down a second slice, but said yes to more coffee. I watched with widened eyes as he scooped more sugar in and drank that down, too. We talked for about half an hour, about the village and some of the personalities in it. He shook his head when I asked about the Wiccans. “Doc and his Wicca.” His tone was cynical.

  I sat stiff-backed. “You disapprove?”

  He stirred his coffee absently. “Not…in theory. I just…it’s silly, is all.”

  “Some people don’t think it’s silly,” I said a little too primly. “Even Reverend Howard gave it his blessing.”

  Ed snorted. “Love thy neighbor,” he muttered. “Look, don’t get the wrong impression. I respect Doc. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. And the others are nice enough. But I think that there are just some things people should not mess with. Things they don’t fully understand.”

  “The same could be said for all religions.”

  His gentle smile was back. “That’s certainly true.”

  “Besides, they don’t do any harm.”

  Ed’s eyes darkened behind his coffee cup. “I suppose,” he muttered. “You’re not getting into that stuff, are you?”

  I didn’t meet his gaze. “Well… I mean I think they’re interesting people and they seem to like to use my place. I think they’ll be good for business.”

  “I see.” He set down his mug and checked his watch. Rising, his chair scraped back.

  Uh oh. I hoped I didn’t scare him off. Perhaps he saw the worried look on my face and smiled to allay my fears. “As long as that’s all it is. Not every day should be Halloween. No offense to Doc’s Wiccans.” He wiped his lips on the napkin and set it down. “Look, I’ve got to go. I don’t want to, but I’ve got to.” Lifting his jacket from the chair he punched an arm into his sleeve.

  “I’m glad you dropped by.”

  He smiled and stuck his Smokey Bear hat on his head. “Me, too. Ms. Strange, I was wondering if I could take you to supper some time. Maybe tomorrow night?”

  “It might be a bit tight time-wise. I’ve got to be ready to open Friday.” He blinked, hesitant. “But I
am getting help today. From those Wiccans you so disparage.”

  “Now wait a minute—”

  I laughed at the worried look on his face. “I know. You like Doc and his friends.”

  “I did tell you that.”

  “Okay, okay. I give.”

  He rocked on his heels. “So? Tomorrow night?”

  I grinned. “Yes, I suppose that would be fine. But you are going to have to start calling me, Kylie, Sheriff.”

  “Then you’re going to have to start calling me Ed.”

  “Okay. Ed.”

  I walked him to the door. He smiled down at me. “Tomorrow night, then. Pick you up around seven?”

  “Sure.”

  He shook his head. “Okay.” I closed the door after him and watched that spring in his step as he got into his black and white Interceptor.

  A real person. Not some vanishing demon. You couldn’t build a life with a demon, after all, now could you? Erasmus had ended it before it had begun, and I was fine with that. Really fine with it.

  • • •

  At 1:15, I rushed around Moody Bog looking for knitting needles and an instruction book. At 1:30, I tried to knit something, anything, but it looked more like a refugee from a washing machine disaster. At 1:45, I cut the label out of one of my favorite old sweaters and stuffed it into my coat pocket, and with keys in hand, locked the shop door.

  I found Mill Pond Road without much trouble and parked along the grassy edge of one of the older neighborhood streets. There was, in fact, a mill, a stream, and a pond on Mill Pond Road. Gotta love those literal founders. The Russells lived in a house that was made to look as old as mine, but considerably larger. There were a lot of expensive cars parked in front of the manicured lawn that stretched up a rise to the house, and I hurried along the street and up the flagstone pathway. There was a decorative medallion on the porch right before the front door in in a mosaic of tiny glass tiles. No expense was spared for the Russells.