Bookburners

by Max Gladstone

  “Who knows?” Menchú said.

  “My guess?” Liam said. “We’ll never find out.”

  • • •

  Menchú left the Vatican to clear his head. It was a habit he was beginning to fall into. After the mission, after the briefing, after they’d sifted through the details for scraps of knowledge, tactical lessons, he found a little time away helped. The streets of Rome—the collisions of ancient and modern architecture large and small, the tourists and harried businesses, even the street vendors selling cheap hats and selfie sticks—brought him a strange clarity. A reminder that there was life outside of what he was doing. Life outside the Church.

  “You remember what the foreman said, right?” a voice said behind him.

  Menchú turned. There was another girl at his side, this one in a school uniform, a backpack slung over one shoulder. But there were the same pale, pale eyes. A pang of fright passed through him. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

  “About what?” he said.

  “About the world. That it may not survive if they do not do their work.”

  “I remember,” Menchú said.

  “It’s not an exaggeration. There is a great project that is in danger of failing.”

  They were walking down a busy street, surrounded by people. No one around them was paying attention, and Menchú realized how normal they looked, how anonymous.

  “Is that why you’ve killed so many people?” Menchú said.

  “We are on the same side,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s not important to me whether you believe,” Hannah said. “What is important is that you continue to play your part. Do this, and all will be well. I’ll even help you.”

  “I don’t want your help,” Menchú said.

  “But Father,” the girl said, “you need it.”

  Menchú looked down at her, intent on giving Hannah a piece of his mind. But the girl’s eyes began to darken to a chocolate brown. Her expression changed, and she began to cry. And Menchú felt some of the old horror and rage, all over again, even as he knelt down to help.

  Bookburners

  Season 3, Episode 5

  Time Capsule

  Mur Lafferty

  1.

  Liam shuffled through papers on Asanti’s desk while Asanti frowned at his computer. This role reversal threw Sal, and she stopped at the door, startled. The door swung and hit her in the back. She grunted.

  “You—you guys haven’t changed bodies, have you?” she asked them, stumbling out of the door’s way. Liam made a face at her, while Asanti merely glanced up and then back at Liam’s computer.

  Sal put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Relax, Asanti wanted fresh eyes on these notes. I didn’t want her looking over my shoulder so I found her some videos to watch online.”

  “Videos?” Sal asked, glancing at Asanti. The archivist nodded, smiling at a romping bunny. Sal sighed and peeked over Liam’s shoulder at the papers. “And eyes on what?”

  “The usual, Orb activity. It seems to be implying that something’s going to happen right on top of us, but it’s not clear when,” Liam said.

  “How can it not be clear? Isn’t it ‘right now’ when the Orb goes off?” Sal asked.

  “That’s just it,” Asanti said, not looking up from a video of an affectionate cat being pinned by a Saint Bernard. “It glows, and then dies, and then glows again.”

  “Almost as if something is just fucking with us,” Liam said grimly.

  • • •

  “Lies of omission are still lies, Father,” the voice on the other side of the confessional grille said.

  Menchú knew this, of course. But one couldn’t confess to oneself. “I do it to keep them safe. I also want to be completely sure of what we are up against.”

  “In your past, how many times have bad things happened because of too much information, and how many times from not enough information?”

  Menchú thought for a moment, realizing the question wasn’t rhetorical. “I’ve never thought of my experiences in those terms. I can think of times when both of those choices were the wrong way to go.”

  “They are your team. They have been able to deal with the secrets of the Vatican, and magic, and demons from the Adversary thus far. Why not trust them with this?”

  “Because this is my burden,” Menchú whispered.

  “Look within yourself,” the voice said. “Consider your team, and ask the Lord for guidance. You will know the right thing to do.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  They finished the sacrament quietly, and Menchú exited the confessional quickly. He knew he had spoken with Father Omelas, but didn’t feel up to talking to him face to face.

  He had to tell them, but he didn’t quite know how. The guilt of what the monster did to his village still bruised his soul, and he didn’t want to dredge that up. Asanti would want to know everything about the beast and what its abilities were. Sal would be skeptical. Liam would be terrified, but capable of violence. Grace would be too kind and ready to punch Hannah—but Grace wasn’t with the team anymore.

  He sighed. He did them a disservice. He knew that they would want to help him carry this burden, even if it wasn’t their cross. They did that for each other, time and again. It sometimes backfired, badly—he thought of his attempts to help Asanti during the trial a few months back—but overall no one on the team let any of the others suffer alone.

  And if they knew he was keeping it from them …

  He hurried to the Archives, hoping for something to take his mind off things.

  • • •

  Menchú greeted them as he walked into the Archives. He looked tired. No, that wasn’t right, Sal thought. She had to reassess how she thought of him. “Tired” was how he always looked now. He looked normal. It would have been remarkable if he’d looked happy and well rested.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, looking from Asanti to Liam.

  “There are baby polar bears at the Oregon Zoo,” Asanti offered.

  He stared at her.

  Liam waved his hand, dismissing her. “Don’t mind her. The Orb is flaring up at odd intervals, telling us that something strange is maybe just starting to happen right on top of us … and then it goes away.”

  “It’s like heat lightning. No storm, but alarming,” Sal said.

  “We don’t know if there’s a storm,” Menchú said, and held out his hand for the papers. Liam handed them over.

  Sal studied the bags under his eyes. “When was the last time you slept?” she asked.

  He didn’t glance up at her. “I dozed for about two hours last night. It was enough.”

  “Enough for med school, maybe,” Sal said. “Not enough for demon hunting.”

  He handed the papers back. “Doesn’t look like this is a demon. So nothing to hunt. I need to see to something,” he said, and walked out of the Archives.

  Sal looked at Liam, who stared after him. “That was odd. It’s not just me, right? That was odd.”

  “Not just you,” Liam agreed.

  “I think I should follow him,” Sal said.

  “Of course you shouldn’t, that is a breach of trust,” Asanti said. She was still glued to the laptop. Sal looked at her and frowned. Asanti’s eyes rose from the screen and met hers. She no longer looked completely enthralled by baby animals. She gave Sal a small nod.

  Sal followed Menchú at a distance until he disappeared behind a closed oak door. She checked to make sure the hallway was deserted and then put her ear to the door.

  “I think we’ve identified a threat to the museums,” Menchú said, his voice slightly muffled.

  “The museums?” Fox’s voice was high and alarmed, much different than Sal had ever heard.

  “It appears so. It’s hard to tell what part of Vatican City is being targeted, but I’m guessing, with all the historical relics, it will be the museums.”
/>   “There are relics everywhere,” Fox protested. Why do you not think this is a threat to His Holiness?”

  “Because His Holiness is in Spain right now,” Menchú said, an edge to his voice. “If something wanted to attack him, it would do it in Spain. I think the museums are under fire. This is a nightmare on a public relations level, a monetary level, and a magical level. We must get Team Three into place.”

  Sal left before she could be discovered, running lightly down the hall and back to the Archives. She reported what she’d heard to the others.

  “What’s the big deal? I mean, I know we don’t want anywhere hit with a magic bogey, but what is so very bad about the museums?” she asked once she had told them everything.

  Asanti closed Liam’s laptop. “The Vatican receives its money from tithes from churches all over the world. It’s a very wealthy organization, even aside from its countless treasures from history. But if you look at the everyday accounts of the Vatican, the money that makes the whole place run comes largely from the museums’ income.”

  “So the money keeping the lights on, the money that pays us, that’s all from people buying knickknacks at the museums?” Sal said incredulously. “Rosaries and saint medallions keep us in business?”

  Asanti nodded. “And tickets for tours. When there’s a threat to the museums, it’s larger than threatening the treasures, the tourists, or even the Vatican’s reputation. Threats to the museums are threats to the everyday workings of our very establishment.”

  “Wow, whatever is out there knows how to hit where it hurts,” Sal said. “Do we have any details?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Asanti said. “We just have to be vigilant.”

  “Like always,” Sal said. She chewed on her lip a moment. “Why do you think he didn’t want to tell us this right away?”

  Asanti’s eyes narrowed. “I honestly don’t know.”

  Sal’s phone buzzed with an email and she fished it out of her pocket and read it. She swore loudly just as the Orb flared to life again, and then died again.

  2.

  One week later, there still hadn’t been an attack on the Vatican. Sal stood at Fiumicino Airport and fingered the cross at her neck. She checked her phone for the time, and then her airline app for arrival updates.

  She’d fought demons. She’d been possessed. She’d seen horrors that haunted her dreams. And yet today her hands felt clammy in a way they rarely did.

  Sal’s parents were coming to Rome.

  She had done everything she could to push them away. She’d reminded them she’d seen them last summer, and that they’d seen Perry, too—leaving out the part about how she’d been trying to hunt Perry down at the time. She’d told them they wouldn’t be able to speak Italian and wouldn’t have any fun. She’d told them she was swamped with work. She’d told them Perry wouldn’t be available and they should visit when he was in town. She threw lies and pleas and modified facts at them, but their minds were made up: If the children wouldn’t come see them, they would come and see the children. They were due a vacation anyway, and had never been to Rome.

  It hadn’t helped that the surrogate parents of Team Three had pushed her to welcome them. When Asanti and Menchú had found out that her parents were coming to Rome whether she liked it or not, they said that she owed it to her parents to see them, and she owed it to Team Three to keep her parents away from them.

  It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her parents, or that they wouldn’t understand the dangers of her job. Sal sometimes wished it were that easy. It was that her parents were both in law enforcement, her mother with the Coast Guard and her father with a history as both a police detective and a private detective. They understood about dangerous jobs, but they didn’t have a lot of experience with the dangers she faced frequently. At least, she didn’t think they’d had such experiences.

  She had worked hard to make them proud of her, but figured telling them about Team Three might take it too far.

  And then there was Perry. Her brother-not-brother, who could blow this whole charade right open, or make things worse by not showing up at all. Once their parents had insisted they were coming whether Sal liked it or not, she tried to figure out how to contact Perry.

  Infuriatingly, he called her.

  “I need you,” she’d said bluntly into the phone. “And then I need to know how you fucking do that.”

  “What’s wrong? I’m not aware of any local magical disturbances,” he had said.

  “It’s worse than that. Mom and Dad are coming, and I can’t convince them to stay away.”

  He’d remained silent for a moment. She sighed into the phone. “You know, Mom and Dad, the people who raised us? You remember them, don’t you?”

  He snorted in amusement. “Of course I do.”

  “They’re going to expect to see you, and expect you to, you know, act like you. Do you think you can handle that, or should I tell them you’ve got the runs?”

  “I’ll be there. When do they land?” he said.

  She clenched her jaw in despair. She had been hoping he would refuse. She gave him the flight information and hung up. Collapsing on her bed, she wondered how she was going to get through this. She couldn’t take any of the team with her. Liam would say the wrong thing. Asanti or Menchú might be good allies, but they had actual work to do. Grace—wasn’t on the team anymore.

  Her phone beeped, and she glanced at the screen. It was a message from Asanti, spread over multiple texts.

  Sal, if Perry will be joining you to spend time with your parents, then you will need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t give anything away regarding our work here.

  He walked up behind her as she was putting her phone in her pocket. “How’s it going, Sal?”

  “Asanti wants to make sure you don’t give anything away about all the shit we get into.”

  He grinned. “Is she really that worried? You’d think she could trust me by now.”

  “Why would she be able to trust you?” Sal asked. I don’t, she added silently.

  “Because I am a trustworthy being,” he offered.

  “Which one of you?” Sal asked bitterly.

  He just smiled at her.

  While they waited, she worked on her story. She couldn’t lie about her job, not outright. Things were too complicated, and the scars, both physical and mental, ran deep.

  She spotted her parents in the crowd of international tourists exiting customs. Bradley, her father, was tall, slim, and straight-backed. Her mother, Jennifer, was petite and slim, with long brown hair and eyes that were just a little wide. It made her look innocent. She preferred it that way.

  Despite all Sal’s misgivings, seeing her parents awakened an ache in her chest that made her realize how much she missed them. She laughed and ran to hug them. Her father dropped their bags and swept her up like when she was a girl.

  Her mother was smothered in Perry’s embrace. “My baby boy!” she said against his neck.

  “It’s so good to see you guys,” Sal said.

  “Ciao! Come stai oggi?” her father said proudly.

  Sal laughed. “You’re learning Italian?”

  “Si. For the, ah, trip.” He pulled out his phone and poked at its screen, frowning. “Dammit, I need to get a SIM card before I can look anything else up online.”

  “Let’s get you settled, then we can shop for a card,” Sal said.

  “I’m starving,” her mother said. “I guess it’s breakfast time? I don’t know anymore. It feels late at night.” She held Perry at arm’s length. “You look good.” She glanced at Sal. “He looks really good!”

  Their parents didn’t usually fuss over their children’s weight, but Sal could tell that “good” meant “not like a strung-out junkie” to their mother. Her glance meant, “Is he clean?”

  Sal nodded slightly. Clean? That’s a matter of opinion. He’s clean of drugs. But he’s also made of so little human that he can’t sustain himself and needs the help of an incom
prehensible creature to prop him up and half the time I can’t tell if I’m talking to my brother or that other thing.

  Perry slung an arm around Jennifer’s shoulder and left Sal to help their father with the bags.

  Bradley wasn’t so subtle. “Perry. Is he still clean?” he asked Sal.

  She nodded. “Yeah. He’s doing well.”

  “You’re sure,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced. Sal winced, remembering the stories he had told of his mother’s alcoholism. Perry’s problems had hit Bradley hard.

  “Yeah, Dad, I take care of him as best I can, and he’s clean,” she said.

  Their parents were an odd couple. Since both had jobs that included noticing every damn thing around them, they couldn’t turn it off when they came home. During Sal and Perry’s teen years, their parents knew immediately when Sal experimented with pot, when Perry got drunk at a party, when Perry had forged a signature on a bad test paper, when Perry skipped school …

  In Sal’s experience, children of detectives and cops either grew up to emulate their parents, like Sal, or grew up rebelling in the complete opposite direction, like Perry.

  But here they were in the airport, trying to concoct the biggest lie possible about the obvious terrible things that sat right in front of their parents’ noses.

  Sal had to hope that they would be so used to looking for hidden things, they wouldn’t notice the very big thing that wasn’t hiding at all.

  • • •

  “Arturo.” The voice was soft, but it made his skin crawl.

  He was taking a walk away from the Vatican, trying to distance his mind from everything going on, trying to find some peace. Trying to decide how and when to tell the team about Hannah.

  He turned. She stood in front of him, her eyes silvery in the dusk light. This time she inhabited the body of an olive-skinned woman with a nose ring.

  “What do you want now?” he asked.

  “I’m curious what you are going to do about my next move,” she said.

  “And what is your next move?” he asked. Dread filled his chest; he already knew.

  “The Vatican has something that’s mine,” she said. “And I’m going to get it.”