“I’m inclined to agree,” said Menchú.
To everyone’s surprise, Grace spoke up. “We should do it.”
“What?!”
“If we do nothing, Norse gets the book. We don’t know what his aims are, but he still wanted the last book back after he knew that it was leaking demon ooze. If we let Asanti try to use the spring, it might go horribly wrong. She might die. We might all die. But if it doesn’t, the rest of the world will have a fighting chance.”
Liam shook his head. “There has to be another way.”
“How long will it take you to prepare?” Menchú asked Asanti. “And I mean properly prepare. Taking every precaution.”
Asanti considered. “Two hours.”
Menchú turned to Liam. “If you can use what we’ve learned so far to find a solid lead on the location of the Codex Umbra in three hours, we’ll follow it. Otherwise, I’m going to let her try. Grace, Sal, help with whatever either one of them needs in the meantime.” And with that, Menchú began picking his way down the path.
“What are you going to do?” Sal called after him.
Menchú didn’t look back. “Pray.”
• • •
Since all Liam needed was the fastest internet connection available in Delphi (surprisingly fast for a place that was so hard to get to, but Liam just muttered something about tourist traps and credit card processing and buried himself in his computer), Sal and Grace got a list of supplies from Asanti and then left her to meditate and cleanse herself pre-ritual while they went into the town.
Having learned that Grace wasn’t one for idle banter, Sal was prepared to spend the walk in companionable silence. Grace had other ideas, however.
“What’s Liam so pissed about?” she asked.
Sal’s step hitched, and she hoped Grace hadn’t noticed. “He was once possessed by a demon and now he’s touchy about even brushing up against magic?”
“That’s been his problem for years. This is new.”
“What makes you think I’d know?”
“You want me to open up to you? That goes both ways. If we’re going to be friends now, then we’re going to be friends. So. Share. Liam has a problem with you. Is it because you’re sleeping together?”
Sal nearly choked on her own spit. “I thought we were being discreet.”
Grace gave her a look. “My life is made up of patches of coherence surrounded by long stretches of unconsciousness. People don’t always think to summarize what I’ve missed. I’ve learned to observe details and get up to speed quickly.”
“Oh.”
“One reason I don’t tell people about my condition, by the way, is that when I do, they tend to give me looks like that.”
“Sorry,” Sal said. “I just—sorry.”
“What happened?”
“Well, mostly, we aren’t sleeping together anymore.”
This time it was Grace’s turn to say, “Oh.” And, a hesitation later: “Sorry.”
They walked together for a few more minutes until Sal realized that Grace was content to leave the topic there. And it wasn’t that she had been looking forward to the third degree. But . . .
“So you’re not going to give me the don’t-shit-where-you-eat speech?” Sal asked.
Grace raised an eyebrow. “Was your relationship the equivalent of a pile of dung in the dining room?”
“Well, no.”
“Was he trying to hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did you enter the relationship wanting to hurt him?”
“Of course not.”
Grace shrugged. “Then if you loved him, why shouldn’t you have pursued it?”
Sal wasn’t sure “love” was exactly the right word for what had been between the two of them, but maybe it wasn’t exactly the wrong one either. “But isn’t it messing up team dynamics now or something?”
Grace shrugged. “If this didn’t, something else would have. I’ve been around a while. Trust me.”
They had reached the town’s main street, and Sal was left to consider Grace’s words as they set about finding the items on Asanti’s wish list: a lighter, cigarettes, a wooden bowl, and a large box of salt. That last item made Sal think of the Fair Weather, and Katie, and she boggled at how many things had followed from a collapsed bookshop.
As they started back up the path toward the spring, Sal returned to their earlier topic of conversation. “What you were saying before, about Liam and me and pursuing chances?”
Grace nodded.
“If we’re friends now . . . were you speaking from personal experience?”
Wind rustled dry grass. They walked for a long time in silence. Then Grace spoke: “When I met Arturo Menchú, I had been alive for more than sixty years, and we looked like we were the same age.
“He worries about my candle. I’ve been watching his burn down for thirty years.”
• • •
A secluded clearing next to the Castalian Stream, three hours later
Asanti knew that Liam, and even Menchú, thought she was too cavalier about magic. But lack of care for the dangers magic presented wasn’t the reason why she consistently pushed for the Society to take a less abolitionist stance against the rising tide of the supernatural into the world. If the theories of the Society were right—and every part of her research and that of her predecessors indicated that they were—the question wasn’t if magic would break through into the world, but when. The time to learn how to harness, control, and manipulate those forces was now, not when they were all awash in the flood. The Mr. Norses of the world would be ready. The Society had to be as well.
Which was why Asanti had been studying the manipulation of magic and demons for most of her professional life. Still, even as she laid out her preparations, she searched her mind for an alternative to putting her theoretical studies into practice. If Liam came up with a lead, she would yield to him in a heartbeat.
In the end, she was glad that Menchú had allotted her three hours instead of the two she had requested. Magic was a lot like cooking, the mise en place always took longer than you expected. She was finishing when she heard Menchú’s footsteps approaching through the woods, alone.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
Asanti shook her head. “Of course I’m not sure. But unless Liam found something, I think we should try.”
“We don’t have to.”
“When the consequences of inaction outweigh the risks of action, the only possible course is to act.”
“Mandela?” Menchú guessed.
“My mother. When asked why she gave up a comfortable life as an expatriate to return home and fight for an end to colonial rule. I’ve taken every precaution I know. This is as safe as I can make it.”
“And if those precautions aren’t enough?”
Asanti raised an eyebrow. “Does Sal have her gun with her?”
“She’s still not cleared to carry in EU countries.”
“Then tell Grace to snap my neck quickly. If a demon tries to use me as a beachhead, killing me should send it back where it came from as surely as closing a book.”
Menchú gave her a solemn nod. “I’ll get the others.”
And with that, the time for doubts was over. Soon the rest of the team stood in a circle around her, one at each of the four compass points, centering them in a geographical system of mapping the world.
Correspondence. The map and the territory. The idea of the thing, and where it could be found.
A circle to create a border: magic within, mundane without. Making the circle out of salt wasn’t necessary, but it had historical precedent. Also, it was the substance that bound earth and sea. Air was present in abundance. For fire, Asanti lit a cigarette from the pack Grace and Sal had bought and left it on a flat rock to smolder.
Finally, Asanti ordered her thoughts. She called to mind everything they knew about the Codex Umbra. It wasn’t much, but she made the most complete mental picture she could, turning it
over and over in her head. Finally, she dipped her hands into the stream, brought the cool water to her lips, and drank.
• • •
As soon as Asanti drank the water from the spring, Sal felt a charge hit the air. As though the space was suddenly . . . filled . . . with something weightless and invisible but that gave the atmosphere a substance that it hadn’t had before. Like the feeling of a summer afternoon before a thunderstorm.
Then Asanti spoke. “The Codex Umbra: what you seek cannot be found, although you can reach its hiding place. Go to where dawn first lights this land, where a Titan once stood watch. The Codex lives in shadow. To protect the world, the wounded knights locked its prison, which can only be opened on the lightest of days.”
Asanti fell silent. Blinked. “I think that’s it.”
Sal caught Liam’s eye from where he stood around the circle to her left. He looked relieved, but quickly masked his expression when he saw her watching. “I suppose coordinates would have been to too much to ask for?” he grumbled.
Sal couldn’t stop the smile twisting at her lips. He smiled back. Maybe we’ll be okay, after all, she thought. Inside the circle, Asanti reached forward to stub out the cigarette, but as her fingers closed around the filter, the smoldering end flared into a jet of flame.
“Asanti!” shouted Menchú.
Her eyes gone completely white, Asanti didn’t answer.
“She’s going to set the trees on fire,” said Grace, her tone as calm as if she was commenting on the weather.
Sal looked at the stream. At least there was a source of water. She turned for their gear, looking for something she could use as a bucket. That movement saved her life.
An instant after she turned away from Asanti, a blast of heat impacted Sal’s left shoulder, and she smelled her hair begin to burn.
5.
Still by the stream, 3 seconds later
Asanti wasn’t responding. Liam stood transfixed. Sal was on fire.
Grace leapt into action. She had her complaints about what her encounter with a crazed magician in Shanghai had done to her life, tying her existence and consciousness to a magic-infused candle. But having a body essentially impervious to physical harm was not one of them.
She barreled straight into Sal, tangent to the circle, sending the other woman stumbling towards the stream, then dug in her heels, planting herself right in the center of the flame a tranced-out Asanti was launching from her cigarette. At least, that was the plan.
Grace felt the wash of fire distantly, as a pleasant warmth that told her the flames were there, even if they weren’t doing her any harm. And then the heat was gone. Asanti—or whatever was controlling Asanti—wasn’t mindlessly attacking. It had shifted its aim. Pursuing Sal. That’s not good.
• • •
Liam froze. If anyone should have been prepared for disaster, you should have been, he reproached himself. And yet when his worst fear came to life, when he saw the humanity in Asanti overwhelmed by the sheer power she had tried to bend to her will, he froze. He wanted to run to Sal. Stop this disaster before it could spread. But he stood rooted to the spot, heart pounding in his ears. He didn’t know what he had done or where he had been during his missing years. But that feeling in the air, the smell of fire that was different from any fire on earth. He could not remember having seen, or felt, or smelled those things before. But they were familiar nonetheless, and that terrified him to his core.
He closed his eyes. You’re clean. The Church says so. The Society says so. Menchú says so. This isn’t you. You’re clean—
“Liam!”
Menchú’s voice jolted Liam out of his reverie.
“Get in here and help me with her!”
Menchú had stepped into the circle with Asanti, trying to wrest control of the cigarette with one hand while wielding a bottle of holy water in the other.
Menchú’s voice cracked against Liam’s hesitation: “Now!”
Liam jerked into action. One foot in front of the other, and in two strides he was next to Asanti. Years ago, she had helped him find his way back to himself. Now was his chance to help her do the same. He pulled her body against his, her back to his front so that he could use his right hand to grip her right wrist, pushing it, forcing the flaming cigarette down. Farther, farther, until he jammed the tip against a large, flat rock. The flame sputtered and died. The dry leaves next to the rock began throwing off smoke, and he moved to stomp them with his boot.
“Let Grace handle that.” Menchú again. “Hold Asanti still.”
• • •
Exorcisms were not designed to be conducted in the middle of the woods, only a few hundred yards from a notable tourist site, and without weeks of extensive preparation. Good thing Menchú wasn’t planning an exorcism.
He was, however, praying for divine assistance. “Oh Lord, from the beginning, your act of creation was rooted in separation: light from darkness, heaven from earth, the waters above from the waters below. Help us now. Separate your earthly daughter from the foreign force that seeks to use her to breach this world, as the root does the wall that upholds the foundations of your Church and your creation. We ask this in your name, Amen.”
He distantly heard Liam echo his amen under Asanti’s wordless scream.
“Hold on, friend,” said Menchú, and he tipped the vial of holy water in his hand into Asanti’s mouth. She sputtered, choked. For a second of heart-stopping terror, Menchú feared he was about to see Asanti die like the Pythia. But then Liam was bending Asanti forward, and she was heaving up a stream of clear water from her throat. Much more than the vial of holy water had contained. And not a trace of food or bile.
“It’s from the spring,” said Liam.
As the last drops hit the dry earth, the heaviness in the air lifted.
“Are you all right?” Menchú asked Asanti.
She nodded. Her eyes met his. Her eyes that were once again a familiar dark brown. She cleared her throat. “Thanks for finding a way to do that without killing me.”
“Anytime.”
Cautiously, Liam let her go.
“Do you remember what you said?” asked Menchú.
“Yes. Sorry to be so cryptic.” Her eye fell on a very damp—but no longer burning—Sal. “And about that.”
“That wasn’t you,” said Sal.
“And as for the cryptic,” Liam added, “I’ve got some ideas.”
Menchú looked at his team. The cop. The haunted programmer. The indestructible woman out of her time who would probably outlive them all. The Archivist who held them all together.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
The Black Archives, aka “home”, 16 hours later
“Rhodes.” Liam looked up from his computer. “The Codex Umbra is at Rhodes.”
“You’re sure?” asked Menchú.
Liam nodded. “Farthest East of the major Greek islands, that’s where ‘dawn first hits this land’ if you’re in Delphi. Also, formerly home of a colossus that was one of the wonders of the ancient world.”
“Where a titan once stood watch,” quoted Asanti.
“That still leaves us a lot of ground to cover,” said Sal. “Well, maybe not in absolute terms, but I’m guessing a major Greek island has more than one place to hide an evil book.”
“Well,” mused Menchú, “if the book is at Rhodes, the wounded knights must be the Knights of St. John. Checking their records might give us a place to start looking.”
“And the brightest of all days?” asked Sal.
“The summer solstice,” said Grace.
“Which is fourteen days from now,” said Liam.
“So,” said Menchú, “that leaves us two weeks to discover the secret vault of the Knights of St. John, and come up with a means of keeping the Codex away from Mr. Norse.”
Liam looked over at Asanti. “It’s still more information than we used to have.”
Asanti nodded, accepting the implied apo
logy. “I have some books that might be useful.”
Menchú looked at the team. They’d been running ragged for nearly a month. At the moment, they were feeling the surge of energy that came with new discovery, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t last. “First,” he said, “everyone go home. Eat real food. Get real sleep. And if I see any of you in here before noon tomorrow, I’m going to force you to take two days off.”
Sal grinned. Menchú didn’t. “Ask the others if you think I’m kidding.” For a bunch of dedicated workaholics, it was an effective threat. While Menchú didn’t threaten frequently, he kept that one in his arsenal for emergencies.
Sal’s expression sobered.
It was a sign of how exhausted they all were that no one actually fought his suggestion. Even Asanti didn’t seem inclined to linger. And then Menchú and Grace were alone in the Archives.
“I hope that noon rule applies to you as well,” said Grace.
Menchú chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.” She poked him with her elbow. “Anything else?” he asked.
“Actually, yes.”
“Name it.”
“I need a break. We’ve been running from crisis to crisis too long. I’m rested, but I’m not getting any mental downtime.”
Menchú nodded, catching her meaning. “Are you sure?”
Grace nodded. “I want my day off, and this seems like a good time for it.” She looked to him, suddenly seeming unsure. “I can take noon to noon though, if you want to sleep in.”
“No, I can wake up. I know how much you like your mornings.”
Grace smiled. After all these years, Menchú still loved the way it lit her face. “See you in the morning, then,” she said.
He watched her go.
As the door closed behind her, he said, “See you in the morning.”
Episode 10: Shore Leave
Mur Lafferty
Prologue
Place: Maestri del Tempo
Time: Always
Nothing felt as right as a clock. Nothing was so perfect, and so taken for granted, as the little wheels and springs that measure that master of us all—time.
Bookburners: Season One Volume Two Page 4