Sometimes he wondered if the author of the Harry Potter books was a witch, she described these streets with some accuracy. But there was no secret way of getting in. Humans just couldn’t see it.
He hoped the witch was in, she had some questions to answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: RED
Pulling her suitcase along behind her to the train station she could feel the need to start figuring out the new eReader as if she were a kid with a new toy. But she still had to catch her train and didn’t want to start unpacking it and risk losing bits on the platform.
She’d agreed to house-sit for her aunt and it was going to be a long journey. Picking up a few things from the kiosk, she headed to the platform to wait with all the other travellers. She was just wondering whether to go back for a coffee when the tracks began to whistle, and the announcer began to speak, signalling the train’s imminent arrival.
The scenery was beautiful and as she drank the coffee she’d finally bought at the buffet car, she watched as fields gave way to towns and back again.
As lunch time approached so did an ever-darkening sky and as they sat in a station the heavens opened. Thick sheets of rain poured down, obliterating the view Heather had been enjoying. The carriage lights flickered on as the first ear-splitting rumble of thunder shook the air and with a smile, Heather gave in, took out her new eReader and unboxed it.
After a little bit of playing around she tapped open the only book on the device and slithered down to get comfortable, a small frown creasing her brow as she tried to come to terms with the way it was written.
The announcer called out her station just as she reached the chapter entitled day one, and she began to pack everything away. She’d picked the colour red because it seemed to jump off the page at her.
She stepped out into the freezing rain and turned her collar up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: MAËL
The shop, when he entered, was in disarray.
‘What on earth happened?’ he asked the bobbing redhead girl between the piles of books. ‘And where can I find the owner?’
‘She’s out on a call.’ A face appeared. ‘It’s all change day. That is, all the books are being assessed, rearranged, and realigned.’
‘Realigned?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it helps make them more visible to customers who, perhaps, haven’t perused the section they were in before.’ She stood and smiled. Reaching out a hand. ‘And you are?’
‘Mike. I sold her some books the other day.’ He shook the proffered hand. ‘I was hoping to ask about the older books. I went home covered in sulphur.’
‘I’m Milly, her assistant.’ She smiled. ‘The sulphur is, or at least can be, the result of being around some of the older books. Particularly if you handled them.’
‘I may have picked up one, but mostly I just looked. I was here to sell, not buy.’ He smiled to soften the words a little. He didn’t want to be insulting.
‘The other reason could be, of course, that you are an old Demon of the higher levels.’ She raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Or perhaps you passed an old Demon in the street outside.’
He was beginning to get uncomfortable. The way she was looking at him, suggesting he was one of the much older Demons, when it was quite clear he wasn’t, made him think she was trying to flirt with him. Which was weird.
‘I don’t remember passing anyone.’ He frowned. ‘Perhaps…’
‘Perhaps?’
‘Oh, nothing, I bumped into an old friend. Perhaps it was transfer from him. But I’ve never seen so much.’ He glanced out of the large windows. ‘The owner said she had a particularly old volume by T.G. Master. I wondered if it was for sale?’
‘I know the book you mean but I’m not sure she would be willing to sell. It’s from her personal collection. There are several other, older books if you are looking to read out of print volumes.’ She was gesturing to a pile of mended and repaired tomes that had seen better days.
‘No, it was that author in particular.’ He half smiled.
‘We have his most recent…’
‘Yes, I sold them to her.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s fine, thank you for your help.’
‘Oh,’ she said as he turned to leave. ‘She’ll have your number then, I’ll ask her to give you a ring if she’s willing to sell the book, or perhaps lend it to you?’
‘That would be lovely,’ he said picking his words. ‘Are the books I sold her selling well?’
‘Very well, we’re waiting for a new delivery, due today actually.’ She smiled.
‘Well, I’ll let you make some sense of this chaos before they arrive.’ He smiled again and left, glancing back with a frown. There was something dark in there.
‘Hey, Mike!’ Milly was running after him, flat sandals slapping the cobbles, her long gypsy skirt flying out behind her.
‘Did I forget something?’ he asked.
‘No, but I thought perhaps you might like this.’ She held out a small disc of battered copper, a cord threaded through a small hole and twisted about itself in a pattern he recognised. ‘It will prevent the build-up of sulphur. As good as it is for the skin it’s not a pretty smell.’
‘And this will work, will it?’ He smiled, accepting it.
‘Yes, it won’t stop it completely, but it might be better than nothing. I wear one.’ She pulled it from where it hid under her lace top. Glinting in sunlight filtering through the clouds, making him wonder if it would be warm to touch. He almost reached out to check before catching himself.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘What do I owe you?’
‘Nothing, a favour perhaps, sometime in the future?’ she smiled shyly and he found himself unable to resist.
‘If it’s only a favour of equal value, and nothing massively extravagant by comparison.’ He always felt weird saying this but over the years he’d found it necessary to lay boundaries on favours. It was a common payment method amongst Demons but you had to be clear about what the favour could include. Equal value was a compromise between what the giver considered the item to be worth, and what the receiver found of worth in the item.
One woman, a long time ago, had given him seclusion in her home when he most needed it; providing protections and food. She thought that warranted his hand in marriage when he woke from his long sleep. The value of what she’d given was high but not equal to owning him the rest of his life – and a long life it was. Luckily there had been an arbitrator to suggest an alternative.
He’d never made such a rash agreement since, covering his back the best way he could. The trouble, of course, is that sometimes the value of seemingly small items could be insurmountable. It was the reason why he accepted so few trades of this nature. Doing business with Demons always had its hidden pitfalls, even if you were a Demon yourself.
Instead of walking back out into the main city he went further into the Demon streets to find those out-of-the-way stores he hadn’t covered yet. He would test the necklace. The bookstores in the Demon streets were always numerous, catering to different trades and species, often becoming known for a particular type of book. It wasn’t uncommon in some cities to have whole streets of bookstores, short streets, but whole streets. As for the human world, he was glad he lived in a big city, otherwise his sales would be much, much, lower.
It was a struggle to walk past the apothecary without venturing in. He passed an artisanal dressmaker, which tempted him in with the intricate stitching of a women’s long coat. Joy kept going on about how gorgeous the coats in the period dramas were. How much she’d love an ankle sweeping coat for the autumn. He was never sure when or where she planned on wearing it but just seeing the smile on her face when she opened the box was almost enough to make him push open the door and go in. A lot of stores had attraction charms on them, to help you decide to go in and spend your hard-earned cash.
But he was saving for an engagement ring, not a coat. He turned away and continued to the end of the street where a more modern bookstore resided. The wi
ndow was already full of cut-outs of the author and books on display.
‘It’s a wonderful book.’ A tall older man told him; he’d come out to put a street sign beside the door.
‘Yes, I came to see if the store wanted to stock the book.’ He smiled. ‘But I see you already have it.’
‘We’re on a specialist list to get the most up to date and chart-topping books around. As soon as we heard about this one we placed an order. I met the author once, a long time ago. Very nice man.’
‘Perhaps you know of another bookstore not currently selling them?’ Mike asked, hopeful. Why would they send him to their competition?
‘You could try Sparky’s. He hardly ever has anything new. I’m surprised he’s still in business.’ The man chuckled and gave him directions.
Mike was surprised, even if the book shop he was heading for was everything the man had said, it didn’t mean it wasn’t competition. It wasn’t until he stood in front of it that he realised this store could never be competition with the other. This store was something else. The sun fighting for dominance between the ever-increasing clouds was losing the battle and had even less chance of shining its light on this store front. Although the tip of a sunbeam was warming the worn step in front of the door.
The top of the building reached in over the street as if it was built in the medieval period. The wood dark and coated in thick black paint. The windows murky, as if the outsides were never cleaned. And on the insides sulphur deposits collected like black snow on a winter window. Inside he could see the comforting glow of oil lamps. But the flickering of the flames made the interior look as if it were on fire.
He watched as a hunched-over man moved across the room. Thick curling pepper grey hair sprouted up from above his ears. A farmer’s shirt under a cord waistcoat with matching trousers gave him a look of time ageing slowly but surely. It was the face that suggested a man with murderous intent. Narrowed eyes peered about, at titles and corners and things Mike couldn’t see. The nose curved out and down the way children imagine a witch’s would. The mouth narrow and thin but smiling, always smiling. He shooed a fat ginger cat off a table piled high with books, then span swifter than imaginable toward the window. The window Mike peered in through. And smiled, if it was possible, even wider.
Mike felt more curious than afraid. The little bell jingled as he opened the door. And a strange familiarity greeted him, as if he knew it without ever having been here. A place known without knowing often meant a past life. But he had never had a past life.
‘Welcome, welcome, young man,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘How can I help you? I’ve got books from all centuries and from both sides of the divide.’
‘I was hoping to interest you in a new book actually,’ Mike said glancing around. ‘Have I been here before?’
He couldn’t shake that feeling of familiarity.
‘Not that I remember, but then my memory’s not as good as it once was.’ He smiled and shuffled further back into the shop. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and you can tell me about this book over a nice cup of tea. Do you like scones?’
‘I, yes actually I do, thank you that would be lovely.’ Mike was smiling at the smiling old man, wondering why he had thought he looked so evil. He was just a nice old man. Very old man.
He glanced at the spines of the books on the shelves as he waited. He’d hadn’t heard of many of them. Second-hand books perhaps.
‘Here we go. Just shoo Bombardier off that chair there.’ The man gestured to the ginger cat. Mike went over and wrapped his hands around the fat feline and lifted the spitting angry thing to the floor. ‘Aw, I think he likes you.’ The man set the tray down. ‘I’m Sparky.’
‘Mike,’ Mike said, holding out his hand to shake. A shiver went down his spine as their hands connected. Sparky didn’t show any indication of having noticed.
Sparky poured tea from a pink and white china teapot into matching tea cups that seemed out of place in this shop. Creeks came from the floor above and they both looked up.
‘Ah, this old place makes the strangest noises sometimes.’ He shook his head. ‘I have cream and jam for the scones.’
They ate half a scone each before Mike started talking. He told Sparky about the author, as much as he knew at least, and about the book. How it was designed to help people improve their lives and reach their full potential. Already he had heard stories of people’s situations improving through reading the book and attending the talks.
‘Son, I don’t think this book is what you think it is,’ Sparky said with a smile. ‘What book, what self-help book, could ever be suitable for both humans and Demons?’
Mike looked at him. Not talking, just thinking.
‘I’ve read thousands of books in my time, both human dimension and the Demon. Some are no longer in print and others are buried in the deepest depths of hell. I have never come across any single one that crossed the divide and spoke to both human and Demon.’ He shook his head and took a delicate sip of tea. ‘How can such a thing be possible?’
‘I don’t know.’ Mike frowned. ‘I guess someone figured it out, this T.G. Master.’
‘How many books have you seen by him? How many times did you hear about him before you were given this job selling his books?’
‘There is one other I’m told; I’m trying to get a look at it.’ Mike said, thinking he’d answered that problem at least. ‘Before being hired for this job I was just drifting, doing things I shouldn’t, and trying my hand at anything that came along.’
‘What made you change your ways?’ he looked genuinely curious as if the answer mattered to him.
‘A woman named Joy.’ Mike felt himself blush.
‘Ah, it’s always a woman.’ He smiled. ‘And how does your inner darkness feel about that?’
‘It’s kept at bay, quiet and tempered,’ Mike admitted. He was beginning to wonder what the man had put in the tea. The next question was going to be about his parents.
‘I have a book that might help you. I tried the same thing once for a woman. But there’s always something that comes along where the only solution is to let our inner darkness surface.’ He got up from his seat and pondered the stacks, pulling free a small, black, leather-bound book. ‘Here you go.’
Mike traced his finger over the engraved cover before flicking through the pages. It looked intriguing, and anything that might help him get a better grip on the darkest part of him was welcome.
‘I’ll trade you,’ Sparky said.
‘I already made a trade today,’ he fingered the necklace.
‘I’ll trade you that book for one of the ones you want me to sell. I’ll read it and if I think it’s any good I’ll sell a couple.’ Sparky grinned. ‘We get more customers than most other bookstores in this quarter.’
Mike looked up surprised.
‘Oh don’t let first impressions deceive you. My opening hours are through the night.’ That wicked grin returned, the one he’d first seen through the window. ‘Some folk don’t want others to know what they’re up to.’
‘Oh,’ was all Mike could manage.
‘So, do we have a trade?’
‘Yes, okay.’ He pulled his tattered copy from his bag, wondering why he hadn’t replaced it with one of the new ones. ‘I don’t have any of the newer copies with me.’
‘It looks well read,’ Sparky noted.
‘It’s lived in this bag since I first got the job. I’ve never done more than read the cover. One or two store owners have had a look through, and the more tattered it’s looked the better sales I’ve made.’
‘But you’ve never read it?’ Sparky asked, a little surprised.
‘No, not yet.’
‘I suggest you never do if the feel of it is anything to go by.’ Sparky said turning it back and forth in his hands.
‘The feel of it?’ Mike was perplexed, it felt like any book he might have on his shelves at home.
‘Don’t you think it’s more tattered than it should be for a book you
’ve never read?’ Sparky asked.
‘I suppose, I just assumed it was because my bag gets banged about a lot.’
Sparky drained the last of his tea and finished off his scone, encouraging Mike to do the same.
‘Let me read it. If I think it’s something you should read, I’ll let you know. But in the meantime you need to stay out of its pages.’ He was shaking his head and getting up. ‘I need to take a closer look at this author.’
‘Should I stop selling them? I mean, there are humans reading this.’ Mike was growing concerned.
‘No, continue as normal. You suddenly stop doing what you’ve been doing and you could put your woman in danger. Not to mention yourself.’ He was wrapping the book in a black cloth. ‘Leave me your card, in case I need to call you.’
Mike got up, aware that he was being dismissed, and pulled out the business card the company had provided.
‘One last thing, when you tamp down your darkness you stop seeing everything you should see. And you have a great darkness within you, a darkness that many would want for themselves. Be careful.’ With that, he turned away from Mike.
Mike stood for a moment wondering if there was anything else for him to say before nodding and placing his new book in his bag. ‘Thank you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: RED
Task: Go out of your way to eat whatever you want in excess, order pizza at work or take in a picnic hamper with food and drink just for you.
Eat and drink as if you can’t get enough and everything you can’t finish, throw away. Do not offer to share.
As she read she realised it was going to be difficult. She was going to have to find somewhere to go to do what they asked. After all, it seemed the point was to have people notice you stuffing your face. There was always that indulgent cake shop the next town over she’d always wanted to go to. There would be people there.
The Soul Game Page 7
