by Krista Walsh
She tilted her head back to stare into his sunglasses. “It’d be a lot of wasted work if this fails.”
The corners of his mouth curled upward. “Then I guess we’d better make it count.”
12
The hours passed, and the extra-large pizza on Gabe’s desk slowly disappeared.
Vera focused on the work, limiting her interactions with Ara to those that involved the book, still too angry to open herself up to her friend’s apologies or explanations.
With the blinds and curtains closed tight, the onset of dawn was largely hidden from view, but the clock served as a reminder of the passing time. Vera’s stomach clenched when it finally reached nine o’clock in the morning — the time when her shop was supposed to open. In five years, she’d never opened late. Never had to hang up the sign advising that the store was closed due to unforeseen circumstances. Even when her father had passed away, she and Ara had split the shifts so she could take the time to pack up and sell his house.
Work had always been a balm for her soul.
Now, she told herself, this fake book was her greater work. Far more important than disappointing a handful of customers whose lives could be in danger if she didn’t do a proper job.
Page by page, the three of them worked through their assembly line. Vera transcribed the words, Gabe traced the pictures, and Ara took on the task of making the parchment look as dated as possible, then bound each stack together once the ink dried.
No respectable book appraiser would be fooled for long by the presentation, but Vera prayed that whoever Rega had hired to read it for him would be too focused on the authenticity of the cover to notice the inferior quality of the interior.
As for the ancient power…
Vera swallowed her doubts and hoped that they were too old to know what the book should look like after all this time.
When the last page was in sight, Gabe rolled his neck, creating a soundtrack of pops and crackles. He stretched out his hands to crack his knuckles and reached for his bottle of whiskey. Only a few drops remained. He poured them into his tumbler, then dumped the empty bottle into his garbage can.
After draining the glass, he set it down, and his fingers lingered on the surface. Vera watched him out of the corner of her eye as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, preparing to speak. She could guess what he was going to ask.
“So once this book is done, what’s the next part of your plan?”
Vera dropped her gaze to the page in front of her and finished scribbling out the current sentence, wanting to choose her words carefully. “I’ll take the book back to the shop and put it in the staff room safe. Then I’ll wait until either Rega’s gang or the skeleton men come around to grab it.”
“What will you do if they show up?” asked Ara.
“Ideally, stay out of their way. We know they’ve been watching the shop, and they’re bound to have figured out by now that I have the book with me, so they need to see me at home. I’ll hide the book in a way that looks like I made an effort to keep it from them, and hopefully they’ll walk away with their prize.”
Gabe’s eyebrow quirked. “You plan to do this on your own?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Of course. I’m perfectly capable of handling this by myself. As I’ve always done.” She forced herself to relax. “Besides, they might be suspicious if someone else is with me. I don’t want them looking too closely at the book before they walk out with it.”
“What if they don’t buy it?”
“Then I’ll fight,” she said. “I’m prepared for them this time, so they won’t take me by surprise. I have more defenses at my disposal than they realize, and I intend to use them.”
His brow furrowed as he stared at her and asked, “Let’s say they fall for your plan and walk out with the fake. What will you do with the original?”
Even though she had anticipated the question, she dreaded giving her answer. Part of her was surprised that both he and Ara had put off asking it. Maybe they’d already guessed what she would say.
Steeling herself against their response, she raised her gaze to Gabe’s sunglasses. “I’ll do what you two suggested in the first place. I’ll run. With the time I gain from their distraction, I’ll disappear. I’ll go somewhere safe and do some research of my own. I can’t find the information I need if I stay here.”
“Where will you go?” Gabe asked. When Vera didn’t reply, not sure of the answer herself, he said, “The farmhouse is always available.”
“Thank you,” she said, and left it at that. She didn’t know if he had intentionally misunderstood her words or if his offer was his subtle way of trying to change her mind, but she wasn’t about to push the issue.
The voice in the back of her head called her a coward for hiding her real plan. It grated on her, but it wasn’t wrong. In many ways, she was a coward. She didn’t want to hear the hurt in his voice when she told him that this moment marked the end of their involvement together.
Or at least put it on hold.
Her eyelids were weighed down with lack of sleep and her head throbbed with the effort of keeping the ancient power out of her mind. By the time she finished penning the final page, her cramped fingers dropped the quill, unable to bear the weight another moment.
For the last few hours, the pressure of the unseen power had waxed and waned, squeezing and releasing her mind. She’d done her best to keep the shield strong, and the effort had left her exhausted.
She buried her head in her arms and fought off sleep as Gabe and Ara completed the last of the book. Finally, the duplicate and the original sat on the desk in front of them, the fake wearing the beautiful old cover with its silver-leaf chain and etched wolf, the original a simple beige accordion file folder. When she had the chance, Vera would bind the older pages with a plain leather cover to protect its fragile condition, but for now, the file folder would suffice.
“I’ve never been much for artsy stuff,” said Gabe, his voice gruff with fatigue, “but I think this looks pretty damned good.”
Ara looked more awake than the rest of them, her eyes sparkling and alert, her movements quick and nimble. She ran her fingers over the cover, then flipped open to a random page. Even to Vera’s trained eye, it looked close enough to the real thing.
In spite of her triumph, her insides twisted, and she clenched her aching fingers in her lap. They had spent a tedious number of hours putting this book together. They had persisted through sore backs and hands, heavy eyelids and grumbling stomachs. And yet they had only accomplished the easy part.
Now came the part that mattered. Vera released a breath and reached for her long-forgotten glass of whiskey. She knocked it back in one gulp.
Dear gods, please let this work.
***
Gabe and Ara took a cab back to the shop, but Vera declined the offer. After all she’d learned, and after the emotional rollercoaster of the last twenty-four hours, she needed some time to herself. The pressure in her mind hadn’t returned with the full force it had shown when she’d arrived at Gabe’s office, and she wanted to take advantage of the mental peace to find her bearings.
Gabe and Ara had argued with her decision, declaring it too dangerous, but in the light of day, her fears over running into those skeletal creatures didn’t hold the same power as they had the night before. Vera tilted her head back into the warm midday sun and trusted her exposure on the city streets to keep her safe.
They probably can’t even come out in daylight, she thought as she walked past the road that led to Wishrock Harbor. They’re probably like ghouls who would burst into dust at first contact.
As for Rega’s gang, they had so far limited their attacks on her to when there would be very few witnesses. Whatever their reasons were for wanting the book, she guessed they didn’t want to draw too much human attention to themselves.
Her arms felt empty as she walked, having grown used to carting the book around. She hadn’t wanted to let it out of her sight, but Gabe h
ad pointed out the wisdom of taking it directly to the shop, just in case. Vera had finally agreed, trusting Ara to put it somewhere safe.
They’d already called Ezel and asked her to meet them at the bookshop. Vera had no clue what else the Ghurgzic demon could do to improve the quality of the security system, but she trusted that Gabe would have a few ideas. It didn’t pass her by that only after she’d taken all these other steps was she finally taking him up on his original piece of advice. She just hoped it made a difference.
Anger still simmered under her skin from Ara’s confession. Beneath that rested a layer of anxiety, not only over whether her plan would work, but over what she would find at her shop when she returned home. Ara had said Rega and his men had been inside for a while. There had been nothing to stop them from tearing everything apart with their search. How much of her life would she find reduced to tatters when she stepped inside?
All of these thoughts and a dozen others chased after her as she walked across town.
As her muscles stretched and loosened, a fresh confidence rose within her.
Based on everything she knew, there was no reason her plan couldn’t work. Even as she’d talked out her next steps with Gabe, she’d heard the logic behind them. Rega wanted the book. While he might have a grudge against her for playing with his mind on his last visit, she doubted he’d risk his life to take revenge on her when he could just grab what he was looking for and run.
As soon as the book was out of her hands, she would leave town. If the ancient power returned to her to ask where it was, she would tell it that someone else had already stolen it. She would offer a projection of Rega’s face, and send the ancient after him. She would wipe her hands of the whole mess, take the original, and disappear.
Unless the skeleton men get there first…
Vera stumbled over a crack in a sidewalk.
She tried to assure herself that nothing would change if they did, but with what she’d learned about the book’s history, she couldn’t actually be sure.
Forcing out a breath, Vera turned another corner, heading into the heart of the city’s downtown core.
The streets were busy as she walked along the main road and cut through Folly’s Park. A desire coursed through her to grab Vidar and Baxter and run along these familiar paths, but a sharp pain squeezed her chest as it sank in that such a run would have to wait.
She watched the dogs tear through the park, and her heart ached for her own faithful companions. Had Gabe gone back to feed them? She was sure he would do so, but that didn’t stop her from worrying that they missed her. At least they’d have Gabe for company.
A longing for Gabe to be there beside her came over her so suddenly it stole her breath, and she pressed her hand to her heart.
How had it happened that she’d formed such a strong attachment to the man already? Was it just because of the shape of his face and the intensity of his stare? She brought his features to mind — his roguish smile mixed with his desire for her, the high cheek bones beneath the sharp green-and-gold eyes that melted with such warmth when he talked about his family — and knew her emotions ran deeper than superficial lust. She loved the side of herself that came out in his company. He made her believe she had more to offer the world than the number of promises she was able to keep.
He would have known exactly what she needed to hear right now to fight off this overwhelming fear that she wasn’t good enough to win this, and the sense of betrayal that continued to follow her even now that Ara was out of sight.
But he wasn’t here, and she didn’t want to think about other people’s points of view to calm herself down.
Her parents had lied to her. Her best friend had lied to her. And not about something trivial, but about something that had affected every corner of her world, influencing the greatest decisions of her life.
How was it not relevant to protecting the book to know the truth of where it came from? The need appeared so obvious to Vera that she couldn’t imagine how her intelligent father and intuitive friend could have been so blind.
A book older than seven hundred years meant more history, more people who might know about its existence. It meant that all the research she’d asked Percy to do had been based on false assumptions. No wonder he hadn’t been able to find anything useful. The story she’d believed had been about as real as the replica she’d created.
As she reached the edge of the park, she saw that a few people had turned to stare at her. She realized she’d squeezed her hands into fists, the muscles between her shoulders so tight her head had started to ache. Breathing out, she did her best to relax, working out the stiff muscles in her jaw and shaking out her hands.
Wanting to remain unnoticed, she turned down a side street and set off down the back roads.
Ara claimed her father had believed the truth would put Vera in danger. She scoffed at the idea. Not having the full story, that’s what had put her in danger.
If the book hadn’t been passed down from the gods, then where had it come from? Who had written it and who had maintained it all those years before it came into Vera’s family’s care? She thought of her surprise at the state of the binding, how it was apparent on closer inspection that the book had been rebound at least once. Who had done the original work? Why? To keep it safe the same way she was trying to do?
She lifted the hair off the back of her neck as she thought, wishing she had more information. Could Ara have held something back in her efforts not to break her whole promise to Vera’s father?
The possibility caused more anger to prickle beneath Vera’s skin, and she shoved her hands into her pockets. She imagined the two of them sitting together in her father’s study, the large room full of natural light that gleamed off the dark built-in bookcases. His study had been his haven when the girls were younger and his wife was alive. He’d go in there after dinner and read, pretending to be uninterested in helping Vera and Ara with their games, then emerge an hour later and take on whatever role they needed him to play.
Vera reached out to take hold of a tree and squeezed her eyes shut as grief and pain threatened to steal away the rest of her energy.
She missed her father every single day and wished more than ever that he was still here. She’d march into his study and demand the full story, prying all the facts she needed from his reluctant lips. Without that knowledge, she doubted she’d be able to escape the ancients for longer than a few weeks.
Opening her eyes, she looked around her to make sure she hadn’t drawn more attention to herself. Her gaze fell on a wrought-iron gate across the street, a large sign curving over the top. Belle Reve Cemetery.
Had Vera intentionally turned her feet in this direction without realizing it, or were some of Gabe’s Fates playing with her?
Either way, she couldn’t imagine a more appropriate place for her to wind up.
Checking the road for cars, she crossed the street and kicked her way through the dead leaves that covered the brown grass. No one had taken a pass at this end of the graveyard yet to tidy up, which Vera hoped meant she’d have some privacy.
She had a few issues to work out with her dad.
***
Gregory and Susan Goodall’s gravestone sat on an unassuming plot near the end of a long lane, close to a fence covered in bare vines and a few lingering golden leaves.
I know that I've been blessed
To have been one whose life he touched
With warmth so infinite.
The unknown poet’s words were inscribed deep into the light gray marble, and Vera knelt down to clear out the mud that had caked into the grooves since the last time she’d visited. It was long enough ago that she felt guilty for her neglect.
Then again, she had been busy running a shop and protecting a book she’d been told was one of the most important responsibilities she’d ever be given in life. She was sure her parents would understand.
The thought came to her with more than a touch of cynicism, and she h
ardened her heart against the emotions rising within her.
Straightening up, she crossed her arms and focused on her father’s side of the headstone.
“If your secret was that important, then you’d better be glad you’re not here right now, because I would make you tell me every single detail.” She looked to her mother’s side. “And the only reason I’m not just as upset with you is because you were already dead when he chose to take Ara into his confidence instead of me.”
She passed back and forth in front of them, composing her thoughts, and then finally stopped and threw up her hands. “Why not both of us, Dad? What possibly could have gone through your head to make you think you couldn’t trust me to know the truth?”
Even as she said it, she knew that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t kept the details from her out of a lack of trust. She believed Ara when she’d said their only goal had been to keep her safe. She was beginning to understand they’d spent their entire lives protecting her, just as she’d believed she was doing for them.
“I just don’t understand why,” she said, tired of having to work these puzzles out on her own. She dropped to the ground, her knees bent in front of her, and stared at the cold stone that was supposed to represent the lives of the people who now rested beneath it.
“How did the book come to you, Dad?” she asked, praying she would hear some kind of answer, although she held no expectations. Some people had the gift of speaking to the dead, but she was not one of them.
Memories that had been stirred up by Gabe’s powerful gaze floated through her mind. Birthday parties and scraped knees. Her early vengeance missions. Her mother teaching her how to draw and cook, her father teaching her how to ride her bike and balance her books. She remembered Ara coming into their lives and how happy she’d been that she had someone close to her own age who knew what she was. She used to lift the heavy branches to form the structures of their forts in the woods while Ara encouraged leaves to grow over the roofs and doorways.
