Bookburners: Season One Volume Two

by Max Gladstone

  Hands were on him, strong, small hands. They gripped his shoulders and pulled him up. Grace.

  He expected worse abuse than her quick slap on his cheek. Her voice was oddly gentle. “Come on. I know it hurts. But Sal needs us. Can you do it for her?”

  Liam nodded mutely. He picked up his bag and ran after her down the hall.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed that his jeans were filthy with the gore that soaked the carpet, but his backpack was pristine.

  5.

  The light pushed through Sal as if she were a window, and she felt the Hand’s hold on her lessen. Then she realized it was because the Hand was easing out of her body, into the body that lay before them. Once it animated that monstrosity, who knew what it could do?

  The Hand had been clear enough about one thing: Tearing her to pieces would be the first order of business. Weaponless, teamless, and surrounded by demons, how could she fight him? She had to stop wishing for Grace. That wasn’t a good use of a wish.

  Not that she had any wishes. If she had, she would have prevented this from happening, all the way back to Perry taking up his weird hobbies in high school. If the Hand hadn’t possessed Perry, she would have avoided Team Three, numerous flirtations with death, and a very unsuccessful love affair with one of her only friends in a foreign city.

  Yes, prevention was better than cure. Good old vaccines. A fence at the top of a cliff instead of an ambulance below. A condom instead of Plan B.

  She realized the madness surrounding her was causing her to retreat into her thoughts. She forced herself to see the world around herself. She could see the Hand now, a red mist creeping from her pores into the body in front of her.

  The eyes opened, a purplish red; they looked around and fixed on hers.

  Soon.

  • • •

  Grace rapidly took in the scene. A room that clearly was too large for the building that held it. A portal made of bone, glowing as it slowly opened. An inert demon body on the floor, and scores of demons, most of them so transfixed by the spectacle in front of them they didn’t realize humans had arrived.

  And Sal in the demons’ midst, immobile, with the demonic light shining straight through her to illuminate the body.

  Most of the demons were human-sized or smaller, and Grace figured they’d be little trouble to kill, so long as they didn’t swarm her. She’d leave the portal to Menchú. Liam would have to deal with Sal.

  The demons hadn’t noticed her, but Sal, or whatever was in her, did. Her eyes flicked to them and held Grace’s. They were desperate and afraid. They were Sal’s.

  Liam had seen it too. “She’s still in there,” Liam said from beside Grace. His voice was soft with wonder.

  Menchú frowned, his mustache drooping low. “Liam, help her. Grace, keep the demons off us. We have to destroy that portal.”

  They began inching behind the demons along the wall, toward the portal. Grace crouched between the men and demons, ready to be noticed. One thin head with an incredibly long beak, or maybe it was a stinger, had begun to turn when Sal screamed.

  “Go!” Grace said, and they went.

  Clever Sal. A diversion, to keep the demons focused.

  At least, Grace hoped it was a diversion.

  • • •

  Sal didn’t want to enjoy a few moments of freedom just to be devoured. If that was her choice, she’d stay with the Hand a little while longer. But how?

  It had been weakening all day, after using most of its power to escape with the Codex Umbra. Since then the Hand had used the power of its sacrificed friends, not itself. She could feel its fatigue, its desperation to move into its new body and the strength it offered, to tear open the portal and welcome more demons into the world. Sal could even control her own body now, focus her eyes elsewhere, like on the door opposite the portal, which was sliding open to reveal Liam, Grace, and Menchú.

  She looked at them, met their eyes, and saw each of their faces change. Grace looked relieved, Liam anguished, Menchú determined. They took in the scene and began to move.

  The Hand was slipping away from her, as if it had gotten its head and shoulders through the birth canal and now the rest was easy.

  “Not that easy,” Sal said, determined. And then she laughed. She had control of her mind again. She wanted to keep the attention of the demons, so she screamed as loud as she could, and they moved in eagerly. It was almost feeding time.

  A few demons near the back noticed Grace and Liam and Menchú, and bodies began to fly. Menchú and Grace had reached the portal, close behind Sal.

  The light intensified. It was nearly open, and the Hand was nearly out of her.

  • • •

  Grace was fighting the demons with more finesse than Liam had ever seen. He wished they could take a moment to enjoy this, because she truly was a master. She had grabbed a small humanoid demon with a crocodile head by one hand and leg and was swinging it around like a weapon, impaling demons and stabbing them right and left with the spines on its back.

  Menchú studied the arch briefly, and then touched Liam’s arm. “How do we dismantle it?” he asked.

  “Find the keystone,” Liam said, his eyes flicking around the gory arch, seeking the bone that held the thing together. “There,” he said, pointing at a ribcage at the top. “Bust that up. I’m going to go help Sal.”

  He had no idea what he was going to do. She didn’t seem to be held by anything he could break, not even a magical tentacle.

  Something screeched, and Liam looked up to see the crocodile demon flying over his head, then crash straight into the ribcage keystone. It shattered, and the bones tumbled to the ground. The portal faded. The light went out.

  Sal stumbled and sank to her knees. Liam rushed toward her. He put his hand on her shoulder.

  “You’re OK now, we got it closed,” he said.

  “No, we’re pretty damn far from OK,” she said. “It’s out.”

  Liam blinked. “What do you mean?”

  The remaining demons around them were staring at them, unmoving. They had even stopped attacking Grace (who hadn’t let that stop her from attacking them).

  “The Hand. It’s not inside me anymore,” she said, staring at the bloody carpet.

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  She raised a shaking hand, dirty and lacerated, and pointed to the body in front of her, which had begun to stir. The demons hadn’t been staring at them. They had been staring at the body on the floor—not dead, like Liam had thought. Alive. Animated. Rising.

  “It’s very, very bad.”

  That was the Hand—in a fresh body.

  Liam saw her, now. One hundred percent Sal. The possession hadn’t been her fault, and she’d been fighting this whole time.

  He could still trust her. This was his test. If there had been any test at all.

  He reached into his bag and grabbed the knife.

  The Hand got to its feet, flexing its new limbs. Its eyes still glowed with hatred as it surveyed the damage Team Three had done, then it fixed its eyes on Sal.

  “My vessel,” it said, its voice so deep that Liam felt it in his chest. “Your time has come.”

  Liam pushed the knife into Sal’s hand. “From Asanti,” he said. “I don’t know what it does. But I bet you can figure it out.”

  Her eyes met his, and then she looked at the knife. She smiled. “You’re okay, Liam.”

  The Hand had raised a fist and uncurled its fingers, like a very sharp, very venomous flower. Each claw dripped with venom, and Liam shouted to Grace and Menchú.

  Sal stood up suddenly, pushing the knife into the Hand’s belly and up into its chest.

  “Not your time yet, asshole,” she shouted.

  Usually, at moments like this, the demon’s eyes would grow wide, and it would crumple, or shower the humans with blood and goo. Liam had seen enough death that he thought he knew what to expect.

  He didn’t expect the demon to outright explode.

&nb
sp; • • •

  Sal opened her eyes. A severed demon arm lay in front of her face, and she grimaced and pushed it away. She was covered in demon gore, and hurt all over.

  Her mind was full of screaming. A rage unlike any she had ever heard, or felt. No words, only emotion. It had worked. Sort of. She had killed the Hand’s new body—so it seemed to have gone back into hers. But she was still in control. The Hand had weakened.

  Great.

  Beyond the screaming, she could hear Grace finishing off the demons. From the looks of it, some had fled, and some had gotten caught in the blast when the Hand exploded.

  As for Sal, except for the bruises from where she had hit the wall, she seemed relatively unscathed. The knife was still in her hand, twisted and blackened. The Codex Umbra, the book they had nearly died for multiple times, lay to the side, burning with a white-hot fire.

  Should have gotten a book sleeve for it, she thought. Asanti’s going to be pissed.

  Liam ran toward her through the demonic mess. “Sal! Are you all right?”

  She nodded and tossed the black and twisted knife on top of the Codex Umbra. Might as well stack all the ruined magical items together. “We stopped him.”

  “And that fucker is dead! Piles of demon meat!” Liam grinned.

  Sal shook her head. Menchú hurried over to her.

  “It’s still here,” she said. “Back in me, now.” She tried to point to the body, then realized it was spread out all around her.

  Menchú nodded. “The lesser of two evils,” he said, and reached down to help her up. “We’ll figure this out together, Sal. Come on, we need to get you somewhere safe.”

  Sal looked up. “Safe? What do you mean?”

  Menchú’s mouth compressed into a straight line. “Come on,” he said again.

  They had almost reached the door when it flew open. Team One soldiers rushed in, training rifles and spears on Sal. Two familiar figures trailed Team One into the room.

  “Good job,” said Balloon.

  “We’ll take her from here,” said Stretch.

  Episode 14: An Excellent Day for an Exorcism

  by Brian Francis Slattery

  1.

  Sal woke to a night sky. Stars, traces of cloud. She couldn’t move.

  At first she thought she was still asleep and having an irritating dream. But there was the Hand in her head, talking. You’re awake, it said. We’re in trouble.

  She lay on something uncomfortable. A wooden board. She tried to take a deep breath. A leather strap across her chest pushed back. There were straps at her wrists, another at her waist, another at her knees. The last one at her ankles. They were all nailed to the board beneath her. As if whoever did it wasn’t expecting her to get up again. Four men she didn’t recognize ranged around her, two on either side, each of them holding identical little red books. Beyond them, forming a vague perimeter, were guards with machine guns. At her feet, a man she did know: Stretch.

  Uh-oh, she thought. “Where am I?” she said aloud.

  “A monastery,” Balloon said. “Or at least the ruins of one.” He was standing at her head, closer than she expected. Way too close for comfort. He had a small, dark red book in his hands, and he wetted his lips before speaking again. “This courtyard, I am given to understand, used to be a garden, full of herbs and vegetables. On the land outside the walls, the monks had a vineyard. According to the people in the town nearby, the wine was very good. But this monastery hasn’t been used in more than a century.”

  “Declining enrollment,” Stretch said.

  “It’s just as well, though,” Balloon said. “This place has become very convenient for us to conduct rituals of this sort without . . .”

  “Overbearing oversight?” Stretch said.

  “Thank you, yes,” Balloon said.

  The four men shifted a little. They’re uncomfortable with this, Sal thought.

  “Junior colleagues,” Balloon said. “This is their first exorcism, and we’re glad they’re seeing this one.”

  Stretch produced a small bowl of holy water and walked around the circle, blessing each of the men with it. When he got back to his spot at Sal’s feet, he flicked the water across her body. It was cooling, a small comfort.

  “It is a small mercy to us that you’re awake,” Balloon continued. “In our experience, an exorcism is more effective when the subject is conscious.”

  “It lets us know when it’s working,” Stretch said.

  “So what are the men with guns for?”

  “In case things get out of hand.”

  “Get me out of these straps,” Sal said.

  Stretch smiled.

  “You’re going to be glad we restrained you,” Balloon said. “The demon inside you is very powerful, and there’s no telling what it may try to do to you. Or to get you to do to yourself.”

  “You’re not going to be so glad when I get out,” Sal said.

  “Now, now,” Balloon said. “We’re on the same side, remember?” He addressed the four men at Sal’s sides. “You may begin.”

  The men all opened to the same page in their red books and began chanting. Their voices blended in the night air, quickly found the same note, and relaxed into a rhythm that let them all fall together at the end of every phrase, a little sigh that spoke of peace. The music reached the crumbling stone walls around the courtyard; it soaked into the grass; it rose, like thick, sweet smoke, toward the sky. Even Sal could hear that it was beautiful, pure. Like the singers themselves, so full of good intentions.

  Stretch produced a thick leather crop with seven long tails on it.

  “I thought you said we were on the same team,” Sal said.

  “We must weaken the demon through the mortification of the flesh,” Balloon said.

  “But it’s my flesh,” Sal said.

  “The mortification brings you closer to Christ’s suffering, which repels the demon.”

  “I’m not sure I buy that.”

  “And I can’t be sure whether I’m talking to you or the demon. Mortification is one way to find out.”

  Stretch lifted his arm behind his head and brought the crop down on Sal, hard. She had no idea it would hurt so much. The wounds it left first stung, and then burned. She felt cold wetness creeping down the sides of her ribcage. Stretch whipped her again. A long string of obscenities flew from her mouth. The chanting continued, still serene, but a little more uncertain. Sal made eye contact with one of the men and gave him an imploring look. The man held her gaze. He understood. He was doubting this whole thing, Sal was sure of it. But he didn’t look like he was about to speak up.

  Stretch lifted his arm a third time.

  I can get us out of this, the Hand said, somewhere behind her eyes.

  Then do it, Sal said.

  She felt a rustling in her mind, the Hand trying to expand. It could take over again if she let it. She gave it a push back and the rustling subsided. All that business with the Codex Umbra must have weakened the Hand. It was healing, gaining strength. Soon enough it would be able to assert control over her. But for now, it was Sal calling the shots. At least in her own skull.

  Stretch’s arm fell. Both Sal and the Hand had to wait for the wave of pain to pass before speaking again.

  You’d rather be whipped to death? the Hand said.

  I was willing to throw myself off a balcony instead of living with you, Sal said.

  I haven’t forgotten, the Hand said. But I don’t want to suffer the indignity of dying at the hands of this clown, and I don’t think you do either.

  Better than dying at yours, Sal said.

  Humans. Threaten to eat someone once, and they never let you live it down.

  At her head, Balloon produced a pair of gloves from his pocket and pulled them on.

  “Those aren’t magic, are they?” Sal said to him.

  Balloon gave her a tiny smile.

  “You hypocrite,” she said.

  He shrugged and passed his hands through the air over
her. She could not see the flames sweep across her skin, but she could feel them. She shut her eyes; the pain was so convincing that she believed if she opened them again, she’d look down and see herself as only a mass of seared flesh, her clothes turned to charred scraps.

  If you let me, the Hand said, I can pay him back for that.

  No, Sal said.

  Stretch raised his arm to whip Sal again. The four men at her sides kept chanting, though she was sure she could hear their confidence collapsing.

  They’ll put a stop to this, Sal said.

  Not soon enough, the Hand said. They’re too weak. You’ll be dead first.

  Menchú will find me, Sal said.

  Perhaps, the Hand said. He is a capable man. But will he work fast enough?

  The whip came down. Balloon’s hands passed over her and the flame closed in. Sal was sure she blacked out, came to again. It was impossible to know how long she was unconscious.

  If these straps were off and I could reach to touch him . . . the Hand said. Oh, the things I could do. It sounded almost nostalgic.

  I’m not releasing you, Sal said.

  I don’t understand why you would be willing to die out of spite, the Hand said. Meaninglessly. On this table.

  We’ve been over this before, Sal said. It’ll be worth it to take you with me.

  Even if you don’t get to see your brother again?

  There was never any chance of that. I see that now.

  I can take you to him right this instant, the Hand said.

  What? Sal said.

  That’s right. I’ve been able to do it all along.

  Sal did the math. If you take me to wherever you’ve put him, that means I become a vegetable here.

  Possibly, the Hand said. I’m counting on it seeming that way just long enough for them to take those straps off.

  The chanting continued. Balloon and Stretch were both raising their arms again.

  If it doesn’t work? Sal said.

  Then at least you and your brother will be together, the Hand said.

  How do I know you’re not just going to go back home and leave me there?

  She heard a rustle, somehow, as if the Hand were shifting a little in her brain.