I feel the lick of shame, like I broke the cardinal rule of college by copying off someone else's paper. Plagiarism is taken very seriously at this level. James is different though. He doesn't get in my face about it. It takes me a minute to figure out what grates my grill about this guy. I came in here thinking he was going to have a snobbish attitude like the college types get sometimes. I should be giving him credit where it is due, but it bothers me he has answers that might help us figure out how to fix Lowell and I don't.
"Trina, would you stop being an ass and help us out?" Lowell tosses me a book.
I catch it and flip open the front cover. I could never get through all the begets in the second chapter or the third. I can never remember. Genesis is mildly entertaining, like reality TV I think Eve should have baked a pie with the shit. They say a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, so in this day and age when everyone is offended by everything, I give the girl kudos because she was trying to keep it real and share with her man but, no. Himself the Lord Almighty got offended he was being ignored by Adam and Eve and then there was no more yummy apples, just a big stinky pile of rotten fruit and someone got offended. It's interesting to see humanity emulate discontent on social media now, but I skip my favorite drama duo and the begets to head right for Revelations.
I nod off a few times and a few versions later. I can't help it. There isn't anything revealing about Satan being cast from Heaven in this version then there was in the previous version, and the one before that. Lowell and James don't seem to be having much luck either, and about half the bottle of Scotch later, we're still no closer to an answer, but at least we're feeling good about it.
I toss the Bible back on the desk with the rest of them where the thud makes Lowell and James glare at me. Ignoring them, I get up to do a walk around the office. James has started delving into some of the deeper theology books. It's been so long since I've touched a standard bible, I hate playing catch up to James and Lowell. I glance at some of the titles on the shelf and my eyes seem to be swimming, or maybe I'm swimming in the alcohol when I reach the far corner in the office. It's the darkest part of the room. These books haven't been dusted off in a while and I run my finger through the film on the cherry bookcase as it reminds me of something I once read about the Devil's mark when Mrs. Anderson was hounding me about consorting with the “wrong types.” Modern day witch trials would have been right up her alley.
I turn back around and ask, "What does lore say about the Devil's mark? If the one on Lowell isn't the real thing, then what does it look like?"
Lowell looks up from the Bible he has been pouring over. “You don't know?"
"Nope. I tried to get tight with the Devil but…you know how it is when you're a solid five on the scale and he's pulling nines and tens. He's completely out of my league so I don't see him much, or well, ever.”
"The way you view the world is astounding, Catriona.” Lowell shakes his head and continues reading.
"Yeah, well, you're about as dry and dusty as some of these old books here.” I point to the shelf behind me. “Life can't always be viewed through rose-colored glasses. For real though, what does the mark look like?" I change the subject. I don't want to end up skipping down that road with Lowell, especially since it leads to his brother, the “wrong type.”
"Well, the Devil's mark was a sign of the compact with the Devil. It was associated with witchcraft. Inquisitors often used it as a means to interrogate women and make them confess to a compact with the Devil. It has many forms, more commonly thought to be a blue or red claw mark from the Devil, and it was hidden on the body, orifices, armpits, under the eyelids. The accused was shaved of all body hair, so the Inquisitors could identify it and, woe be it to the accused who had a birthmark. Those were said to have been caused by the Devil licking the person and marking them thusly. Even scars or blemishes were considered and accepted as evidence.”
"Not gonna lie, I would have Double, Double Toiled and Troubled as a teen to get rid of some of my acne. But it still doesn't tell us what his mark actually looks like.” I’m refusing to entertain judgement because the prof just used the word thusly. He seriously needs to crawl out of this turn of the century style office and into this century. His explanation does nag at me though.
I turn away. I hate feeling like there's a major step I am about to miss and fall flat on my face. This is that moment. Why is this so important to me? We're trying to figure out how to ditch Damien's digits, not Lucifer’s. I stare at the place where I swiped at the dust. It reminds me of some of those patchy birthmarks. I have one myself on my lower back where my spine meets the shanks of my ass. I'm just glad it's back there where I don't have to see it because knowing I have a tramp stamp au naturelle annoys me to no end. Tats are permanent and to each there own, but I choose mine wisely and only have two. The date Gigi died and then the date I died. I wanted someone to remember me. I watched my own funeral. It was as bad as I could have imagined. Only one person came and I can't think of her without tearing up. Of all the friends Zeke and I supposedly had, none of them came, not even him.
In the next instant, I feel the anger flare up. Why am I so keen to draw this out then? Why bother saving his brother? Zeke didn’t care one bit about me and here I am trying to save his one and only family member left living. Is it because I think I can somehow save him in the end too? Is it really a mark for my redemption and will get me to Heaven even quicker? What bugs me about this business is I’m usually tight with my motivations. Conflicted is so not my color. Not knowing why, I feel the need to stick my neck out for this one soul, it’s what has my panties in a twist about it all.
To try and take my mind off it, I read the spine of the book just above where I made the mark in the dust. What a weird name. Codas Gigas. It’s a black book with gold calligraphy letters, which I chuckle at the irony. Maybe this is the little placard I bemoaned not having been handed after walking through death’s door. I misread the spine of the book, thinking Gigi dropped a line at some point. I pull it off the shelf and flip it open, frowning deeper and deeper the more I read.
"Hey, James, what's this book? Gigas reminds me of Lowell and Zeke's Gigi, but I gotta say, these pics aren't the epitome of a sweet old lady's musings.” Apparently not my personal invite. There are folios, primitive looking, making me think of what would be in Grimm’s fairytales.
"The Codex Gigas? The Devil's Bible.”
I drop the replica of the 13th century manuscript on the floor like it's lit with the fire and brimstone of Hell itself.
7
"The Devil's Bible? Why is it called that?" I bend and pick the book up with trembling fingers. It feels hot in my hands, which is strange given it didn't a moment ago. Is it like the marks? Can it sense I am a mercenary for Lucifer and the second the beacon is lit up like Time's Square on New Year's Eve, the object itself responds to the presence of a demon? I want to put it back down and never touch it again, but it feels relevant to all this madness, so I slowly walk back to my chair and place it on the desk in front of me. I hairy eyeball the thing, waiting for it to burst into flames or front with some other ominous portent. I think it's more foreboding when it sits there all ordinary and boring. I rub my hands together, feeling the energy of the heat as it spreads up my fingertips. It isn’t unpleasant, just different, like I dipped my hands in icy-hot and I’m getting all the perks of the hot and not any of the uncomfortable cold.
"It's an illuminated manuscript. Said to have been written by the Devil himself. The original is anyway.” James stands up and flips the front cover open. I lean forward, wondering if it's like a portal to the Underworld. This feels like one of those moments in a Horror movie that pisses me off and I'm always screaming, "Don't do it! Don't open the door of doom, you dumbass!" Obviously, I'm not one to take my own advice.
"If this isn't the original, where is it?" How can a replica have such a hold over me? If I ever come across the original, I’m running, far, far away and I’m not coming back. I
don’t even want to know what that kind of power feels like. There are some people who answer those questions like, if you could have one super power what would it be? Most people say mind reading, the ability to fly, extreme strength. My answer? I would have the power to nap like a boss.
"It was seized as a spoil of war after the Thirty Year's war and is now housed in the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm.”
"Sweden?" Good. I never wanted to travel there anyway. Egypt has always been more my game. All the old stuff kind of looks cool in the movie with the cute actor. Sweden makes me think of the story with the boy who saved the town by sticking his finger in the dyke. Or maybe it’s Finland. Either way, I’ve never been a save the town kind of girl so they can have their boy-hero.
"The original is the largest known illuminated manuscript in existence. Its cover is wood and leather and there are 310 leaves of vellum from over 160 donkeys or calves. Now, there is speculation, when Lucifer possessed the monks who created it, donkeys and calves weren't used. It has been theorized the vellum was made from the skin of Satyrs from Hell.”
I sit back in the chair and stare at the book, chewing on one of the prof's pen caps. It would explain why the satyrs are bent on delivering the most torture and evil. All that rage pent up at serving the Master of Hell and what do they get? Satan skinning Uncle Billy for his skin to make a lousy book. Anger issues are easy to work out in the Underworld.
“I’ve seen the Satyrs. Depending on the level of Hell they are assigned to run, they are the ones who dole out punishments to the occupants.”
Lowell shudders and takes a sip of liquid courage. I one-up him once his glass is full and pour some for myself. Man, it's getting deep here.
"Why is this book relevant? Why do you have it?" I look over at James. I can’t place the nagging feeling like the answer is staring me right in the face. I’m being face-palmed by a knock off second edition. Why am I always pulling second string line up? I look at Lowell and shake away the curiosity about what life would have looked like if I dated him. There is no use traveling down that road. It only has emotional thorn bushes and I’m only slightly masochistic, not the whole hog.
"You tell me why it's relevant. You're the one who picked it up off the shelf.” James reaches for the bottle and pours himself the rest. “As for why I have it, with any field of study, there is the good and the bad. The dark and the light. I prefer to focus my academic pursuits in the lessons of light. I obtained the copy because it is interesting to my students to see how one influences the other.”
I stand and begin pacing the space just to the right of the desk in the middle of the room. The carpet, once blue with golden fleur-de-lis on it, has been worn down. I half expect James to jump up and end up in a vortex with me playing follow the leader. “I don't know why it's relevant. I just saw it and the cover reminded me of Gigi because of the word Gigas.”
"Codex Gigas literally means giant book. It's over three feet long and weighs 165 pounds.”
Lowell stares at the liquid in his glass. “It certainly fits Gigi's personality. Larger than life and a wealth of knowledge. I always thought I would see her in the afterlife. It appears it's not the case.”
"Don't say that. We'll figure this out.” James reaches across the desk and pats Lowell's hand. I'd never asked Zeke about his parents. I always figured there was some unwritten rule for those of us who ended up screwed out of having parents. You didn't say mum about it to one another. You know, respect for the grief and life of hard knocks. Gigi meant the world to Lowell, just as much as she meant to Zeke.
"When you told me the book was the Devil's Bible, it grew hot in my hand.”
"I suppose it would react to an agent of the Devil.”
James' musings make me feel totally Double-O.
"So, if Lucifer possessed the monk who illuminated it--"
"I suspect it was the entire monastery. These books took years to complete and some of it is missing from the original.” He swallows the rest of his Scotch.
I close my eyes, stowing the desire to stretch out on the rug and dig my claws in. I'm in desperate need to dig into something and the good professor is irritating me with the big revelations because it's only complicating everything already going on in my head. I have to figure out how to remove the mark and now worry about a demonic book? I feel like I'm wading in a Satan infused swamp and he knows the rules of the board game, but I'm demonic gator-bait. “It From the Pit.” It was the name of the game. I'm well on my way to being sucked into a vortex for sure.
"He must have imprinted himself into the book somehow. If I can feel his power, even in a copy.”
"It is interesting you say that. We were just discussing the Devil's Mark as it pertains to Witchcraft. There are illuminated letters throughout the Devil's Bible that are also blue and red. There are other signs Lucifer has influenced the text. Folio 290 recto is an entire page comprised of an illustration of the Devil. This one folio has stumped academics for centuries, as it is directly across from a full-page depiction of Heaven. There is no explanation as to why the two illustrations portray the dichotomy of the two realms, but perhaps it is explained in the missing pages.” I flip to the Folio he is talking about and feel the heat of the Satan depicted there, staring back up at me. I quickly shut the book and snatch my hand away, afraid I just gave away our position by looking into the eyes of Hell’s creator.
"Missing pages? What's missing?" Lowell's speech is slurred and I glance over.
Great. Three sheets to the wind for this guy, or rather, folios. Should have kept a better eye on him, although if I were in his shoes, yeah, I'd totally drink me under the table too. Might make the prospect of facing Hell not even a little less piss your pants terrifying.
"Alright, Lowell. Time to put the Scotch away.” James grabs his glass quickly before Lowell's basic motor skills tell him it's time to function. “If we knew what was in those folios then they wouldn't be missing. But the best guess is it is the first half of the book of Genesis and pages displaying the monastic rules of the Benedictines.”
"Well, good on them!" Lowell flails his arms and tries to stand. It's kind of like watching a fish flop around on land. You know you shouldn't stand there and watch it because of animal cruelty, but you can't deny you've done it just once. Just to see if the poor bastard makes it back into the water. Lowell is no different. He ass-plants himself on the floor, which is probably a good place for him to be until it's time to sober him up. The way I see it, less damage will be inflicted this way. “Who gives a damn what their rules are, unless one of them knows how to get this mark removed!" Lowell's voice echoes somewhere around the rear left side of the desk.
"Are you going to take care of this?" James looks uncomfortable, like seeing a grown man break is not something in his brilliant mind he is equipped to deal with.
Lowell peeks out from under the desk at me.
"Why?"
"He's drunk and sitting on my office floor.”
"So?"
"We can't just leave him there! It wouldn't be right.”
"He's a big boy. He'll find his way back up when his brain tells him this is all for real and he can either man up, or wallow in his misery until the Hounds come for him. Besides, I'm no martyr. Right or wrong, he put the bottle to his own lips.”
James opens his mouth to argue and sucks in a breath, but then closes it and shrugs instead.
"I suppose you're the one who I should be talking to about this anyway.”
"True. If there are pages missing, and Lucifer has them or knows where they are, it might mean there is something in it he doesn’t want anyone to find out about. Like how to get rid of the mark.”
"I was thinking exactly the same thing.”
"It's always got to be about a book.”
James snorts and begins collecting bibles. I watch him and taunt the drunk man under the table because it makes me somewhat happy. I hold the bottle above him and wiggle it, letting the contents slosh around inside,
kind of like his brain. He swipes for it and I pull it away, making him miss. I can't ride, so I figure I have to take my stress relief somehow.
When the game grows tired, or possibly after getting the stink-eye from James for taunting a drunk man, I put the bottle back on the desk and dig my phone out of my pocket. Still no Auntie J and still no check in from my girls. Did Damien get hold of them? I figured he would have called to taunt by now. Panic threatens the edges of my psyche and I shove my phone back into my pocket along with my fears and kick at Lowell who is trying to hug my leg.
“Get off!” He’s worse than Fran touching my colors back in Limbo. The savior saga is not my tale, but there's no point trying to tell him. “What the Hell are we gonna do?"
I click the next pen I come across under the rubble of James’s desk. The sound is deliciously annoying, so much to the point even Loaded Lowell crawls out from under the desk and pulls himself into his chair and glowers at the pen. He sways dangerously for a minute, but James has his back when he walks up and sits again. He places a steady, comforting hand on his shoulder and Lowell closes his eyes. I wonder if the room is spinning or his head or if his whole self has just gone Tilt-a-Whirl. I love that ride.
"You tell me."
He keeps tossing the ball back in my court. I suppose I can't blame him for the hot potato pass. This is a match I started.
"I'm trying to help him.” I thumb in Happy go Lucky's direction and I think he drools at me a little. Very awkward. “Look, James, I know my deal and why I ended up where I did. I could have ripped your spine out and beat you with it in front of the acolytes in your classroom, but I didn't.” James stiffens and I click the pen again, but it gets jammed. I toss it on the desk where it leeches ink onto some important looking files. Maybe beating him with his own spine is a bit of a strong assumption of my strength, but point made. “If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
"What's in it for you then?" Maybe the man does have a spine.
Highway to Hell Page 8