The Bookseller's Secret

by Catherine Jordan

  There was movement in every scene. Green eyes blinked, slender necks turned, white shoulders shifted as the woman in each picture changed pose. The portraits had two names etched onto a plaque underneath the frame. The first names were different, but my eyes caught the second names, and they were all the same: Lamia.

  My hands shook. I clutched them together to keep from touching anything that might creep or crawl out of the moving scenes in the pictures.

  “The whole house is alive,” Jeffrey said, stepping out from behind me. “Didn’t you feel her breath hit you in the face when you walked in the front door, through her open mouth?

  “Look at this one,” Jeffrey said as he pulled a black cloth away from a tall fixture in the room’s center.

  He revealed a life-size portrait of a nude red-head, her long hair covering her breasts and snaking in between her legs to cover her crotch. A reptile was wrapped around her bare foot. There were other strange animals in the portrait, and they all gazed at the heavens as the clouds rolled by.

  “Lilith,” Jeffrey said. “It’s her, from the beginning, before Eve.”

  I was thinking about what Jeffrey was saying, when I heard shuffling from behind.

  Boot tips poked out of the shadow by the attic door. At first, I thought it was Lowther and I said, “About time you showed up.” Then I realized my mistake. “Ah, shit,” I said, edging away from the attic steps.

  78

  “Don’t take another step,” McPhee said, gun aimed at Jeffrey. Sweat glistened on McPhee’s forehead. The book lay at his feet.

  “Well, there’s your book,” Jeffrey said to me. “He hit you on the head and stole it.

  “You tried to leave, eh, William? The main staircase peeked your curiosity. You climbed, saw the attic door open, and couldn’t resist. I pushed the door closed on you. You’ve been stuck up here, McPhee, haven’t you? How panicked were you when you realized it wouldn’t open from the inside? You heard us below, hid behind the door, and waited.”

  POP!

  Jeffrey’s head jerked back. Blood trickled from his forehead. I was about to congratulate McPhee, but then Jeffrey coughed and spit. The bullet landed at Jeffrey’s foot in a glob of red mucus.

  “You’re a good shot, ole’ chap,” Jeffrey said. “Wild game is your sport, isn’t it? South Africa is best for—”

  POP!

  Jeffrey slapped his hand over his bleeding eye. He sniffed, snorted, coughed again, and spit the bullet on the floor next to the other.

  POP! POP! POP! POP!

  Blood ran from the hole in his throat, down his neck. Red seeped through Jeffrey’s shirt from the bullet to his chest. He swallowed, whacked himself in the chest, burped, coughed, and spit four bullets to the floor. “You have one bullet left,” Jeffrey said.

  With the suddenness and speed of an antelope, Jeffrey ran and leaped across the attic, landing beside McPhee. He snatched McPhee’s gun and turned it on him.

  Jeffrey nudged the book with his foot.

  “You want this?” Jeffrey asked me.

  The book laid a kick away.

  “First,” he said, “you have to do something for me. Cut the attic rope and throw it over. Use your knife. Come now. No hesitation, not if you want to make it out of here.”

  I cut the rope attached to the attic door and hoisted it up.

  “Wait,” Jeffrey said. “Uncoil it until it’s twice the length. Then throw it.”

  I did as told.

  Jeffrey kicked the book over. I caught it, dropping my knife, and heard a screech from behind. The woman in the portrait behind me bled from her forehead.

  “Pull it out!” Jeffrey hissed.

  “Pull what?”

  “Your knife, imbecile! Pull it out of the floor.”

  I bent, and yanked my knife free, releasing a trickle of blood in the wooden floor.

  Jeffrey stared off behind me. I turned. The woman in the portrait, Lilith; her slow bleed continued.

  “Flesh wound,” Jeffrey said. “You’re lucky.”

  McPhee seized the opportunity and tried to jump. Jeffrey snatched him by the shoulder with one hand, and reeled him back.

  “I don’t like Americans,” he said, forcing McPhee’s hands behind his back. McPhee winced. “You, I hate. You shot Caroline. Not that she had much going for her, but all the same, it was not for you to decide.”

  He took the excess rope and made a loop, slipping it over McPhee’s head, then threw it over a ceiling beam. Taking the loose end, he tied it to the open attic door.

  “You are aware of the book’s weight?” Jeffrey asked me as he stepped away from McPhee, and stopped on the top step, ready to descend. “The board you’re standing on is counter weighted; the door will close within moments of you stepping off. As the door closes, it pulls up, and so will McPhee, by the neck. You’ll have just enough time to hustle down the steps before you are trapped inside, watching McPhee hang to his death. Better hurry.”

  Jeffrey took the steps with a smile plastered on his face.

  I let time tick by as I assessed my situation.

  Until I became aware of the portraits behind me.

  “So,” I said to McPhee, not wanting to waste any more time. Things were happening in all those pictures; I saw constant movement from the corners of my eyes. In my head, I quickly began going over my options. I wrestled with the conundrum as best I could.

  McPhee’s pleading eyes kept darting from me to the scene coming out of the portrait behind.

  “I’d help you if I could,” I said, “but I think we both know how this is going to end.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” McPhee said, struggling in the tight rope. “You’re going to die, too. We can get out of here—together.”

  I shook my head, hugging the book tight. “I can’t trust anyone. I’ve only got myself. Besides, I don’t have much of a choice.”

  I hated to do it. I jumped off the plank and ran for the top step. I tried to block the sounds I heard: the plank’s creak when it released, the whistle of the rope as it pulled, the whoosh of breath yanked out of McPhee, the gargle his throat made when tightly constricted, the beam creaking as he swung.

  I was down the attic steps by the time I realized the attic door did not slam closed, like Jeffrey said it would. I considered running back up where McPhee’s boots writhed and kicked from above, until the attic floor sagged overhead with footsteps. I crouched, looking up.

  Lilith’s naked, bare foot poised on the attic’s top step. The snake was no longer part of a picture; it uncurled off her foot as she took the next step.

  79

  The woman had stepped out of the painting and was on her way down the attic steps toward me.

  The book and the knife and my crouch were all too awkward. I lost footing and tumbled. I curled into a ball, shoulders and head bouncing off the padded steps, arms around the book, knife released. Lilith flashed before my eyes with each roll, bounce, and bump along the way.

  Hitting the hardwood main landing with a thump, I yelped, and the book popped out of my arms, the knife clanging to the floor. I lay in a ball, the wind knocked out of me. After I caught my breath, I rolled onto my knees. You can stand, I told myself, and I looked toward the front door, ready to bolt.

  Caroline stood inside the door, rotten and gawky, hunched to the side, ready to collapse in a heap. If McPhee’s bullet to her forehead had left a mark, I couldn’t see it from the wrinkles, scabs, and loose skin.

  My knife. It was on the floor within reach.

  I stole a quick look over my shoulders up the staircase. Shadows had gathered, and it was too dark to see whether or not Lilith was still there. I turned back to Caroline.

  She took several steps toward me, and I squirmed away, until I saw her reaching toward my book.

  80

  Caroline leaned over the book.

  “That’s mine,” I said, my hand stretching toward my knife. “People keep giving it to me and taking it away.”

  She teetered, then ke
eled on top of the book.

  “I said it’s mine!”

  I brought the knife over Caroline’s back and plunged it as deep as its hilt allowed. Caroline and I touched briefly, my hand to her back, enough to send shivers up and down my legs, making them feel like jelly. I sprang back, crawling away with my book, until I backed up against a wall.

  A tall, young girl appeared in the foyer’s center. She had a child’s youthful face, but held the stance of someone much older and wiser. A thin, pink scar gleamed at her temple. Caroline’s blood was spattered in black-red polka dots across the front of her white dress. Her bare feet were exposed, and from the angle where I sat, I saw a tattooed snake around her ankle.

  An invisible hand reached inside me and gripped my inner feelings. I was no longer afraid. Instead, I had an inclination to stand and bow before her. “Lilith,” I said with awe. Then asked, “Lamia?”

  “Nora,” she said, curtly.

  Nora grasped the blade handle sticking out of Caroline and pulled. Blood spurt from the wound, soaking the front of her dress.

  Blood continued to flow from Caroline’s wound. Instead of spreading out around her, the blood seeped into the floorboards underneath. Her body twitched.

  I pressed myself against the soft, warm wall, and felt myself sinking into it. How I longed for it to envelop me in a secure hug. Holding tight to my book, I closed my eyes, ready to languish inside the mold at my back.

  Now I knew what Jeffrey felt when he spoke of her and the house. Love and fear, pride and shame. I was ready to be a part of their world, to hole up inside and never leave. This was home.

  “I want you to leave.” Her shrill voice woke me from me fantasy.

  “I don’t want to go,” I heard someone say. That someone was me.

  I shuddered, not knowing at first where I was or how I got there. Then I saw her, and remembered, and I couldn't believe the previous words had come from my mouth.

  The wall behind me hardened into a knot and pushed me away. Without any further hesitation, I rose to my feet, the book bulky and cumbersome.

  Staring at her face—her sharp nose, her severe jawline, unblemished skin, white hair tucked behind a delicate ear—I caught her eye. My heart stopped beating as my body went cold. I struggled to tear my gaze away from her's, knowing I would not take another breath until I did.

  She blinked, releasing me.

  I sucked air in through my nostrils, and my chest fluttered back to life. The sensation made me dizzy, and hot. It was so hot. I needed out of the house.

  I took a step toward the open door, then stopped.

  “Where am I supposed to go?” I asked, dumbly.

  “Away from here,” she said with a shrug. “I misjudged you. I was given poor information, and considering my circumstances, I cannot be blamed.”

  The invisible hand that had gripped me suddenly loosened it's firm hold. Fear, distrust, and confusion came flooding back inside me. “I don't think I can make it out of the forest,” I whined, giving thought to the zombies traipsing through her woods. I could hear the occasional bark from where I stood. “They sound... hungry. Maybe if you were to feed them before I go?”

  I glanced at Caroline's body on the floor, remembering what Lowther had said abut them feeding on each other.

  Nora's glance followed mine, her cold face filled with approval. But I hadn't expected what came next.

  Nora lifted Caroline by the neck like she was an empty sack and carried her to the open door. She stepped onto the porch, turned to the side, and wound up her arm, throwing Caroline. The body soared high, whistling through the air over the woods. I watched until Caroline descended inside the treetops, dropping out of sight.

  “She’ll feed the barkers,” Nora said. “That should give you plenty of time.”

  “Won’t Jeffrey be angry?” I asked, taking a step back inside the house. “Where’s Jeffrey?” I asked, suddenly aware of his absence.

  “You’re more afraid of Jeffrey than you are of me, aren’t you? Good. Ease his anger.” She handed me my clean knife. “Get rid of your companions.”

  “What companions?” I asked, slipping the stiletto in my pocket.

  “The banker, two police officers, and a priest.” She rattled off their names as she tallied them on her fingers.

  “But, I didn't know I was followed.”

  “Like I said, I misjudged you. This is turning into what you might call a ‘cluster fuck.’”

  I looked out the door and into the dark, quiet woods. “McPhee is dead.”

  “That leaves three more,” she said, as if I needed reminding.

  “I'm not... this big book... and the fall, my leg.”

  “You’re stronger than you think,” Nora said. “Your friend will guide you.”

  “Lowther. Yeah, you know him, too, don't you. Is he really my friend?”

  “You and Lowther are more than friends. If you want to leave with the book, then you’d better stop them before they get to my door.”

  81

  The door slammed shut behind me.

  I called for Lowther over and over. But, I wasn’t going to linger on her porch. There was enough light left in the early evening to make my way across the yard.

  I got as far as the forest’s edge, and then succumbed to fear. The book. Was there a spell in its pages to fly me over the trees?

  I felt someone standing next to me and looked up.

  “Lowther?”

  “Hello, friend,” Lowther said, smiling, spear at his side.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, clinging to the book. “You left me alone in there? Do you have any idea what I’ve just been through? I’m tired. Everything hurts. I want to go home and forget this night.”

  “I’m disappointed in you,” Lowther said. “I thought you trusted me.”

  “McPhee is dead,” I said. “I practically killed him. And, and I met her, Lilith, Jeffrey’s daughter. She came out of a painting, but then she changed, kind of, into a different version of herself, Nora, a young girl, but freakishly tall. And Caroline! She came back. I stabbed her after I fell down the steps. But she’s probably still alive ’cause she’s a zombie. Nora threw her in the woods for the zombies to eat! Yeah. Just picked her up and tossed her like a rug. Jeffrey is going to be mad. Mad.”

  “Will you shut up,” Lowther said.

  “No, I won’t. Want to hear something else? Jeffrey says he’s Samiel, now. The devil. And he might be out here, somewhere.

  “We were followed. Did you know that? Why didn't you warn me? I have to get rid of them, or I can't leave with my book.”

  “I think I twisted my ankle, maybe broke it. I don’t have any muti with me. And I have this book to carry.”

  “Are you done complaining?” Lowther asked before I had a chance to launch into another tirade.

  I had plenty more to say, but instead, I asked, “Can you get me out of here?”

  “If you’re done, I can.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll carry you on my back. We’ll be faster that way.”

  Lowther didn’t give me a chance to argue. He picked me up and swung me around like a backpack.

  “I’ll hold the book,” he added as I fumbled with it.

  “That’s okay, I got it,” I said, still fumbling.

  “It will be safer in my hands. Trust me, Mason.”

  It was hard to hold onto Lowther’s back and the large book. I was sure Lowther could handle it. But then I pictured the volume secure in Lowther’s grip, unwilling to give it up when the time came. Lowther would act like he was doing me a favor, not handing it over, carrying the load.

  “Well?” Lowther asked, hand in the air, waiting for me to hand him the book.

  I pressed the book between my chest and Lowther’s back. “I got it,” I said.

  “Fine, be that way.”

  Lowther walked for a long time, and I was lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his bounce.

  I awoke when I felt Lowther stop. “What a
re we doing?” I asked.

  Lowther dropped me carefully to my feet.

  Caroline’s body lay on the ground in a dark puddle, her head deflated. Parts of her had already been torn away. I thought I heard sloppy gnawing overhead in a nearby tree.

  “Don't look up,” Lowther said. “There's more than one ready to feast.”

  “Is she still alive?” I asked.

  “She is, believe it or not.”

  “I don't how she could still have so much blood. She bled like crazy all over the floor after I stabbed her.”

  “Hmm,” Lowther said with a great sigh, poking Caroline’s head with the tip of his spear. “Her skull must have caved. I think that’s her brains underneath. No brains, no function.”

  I hated to admit I actually felt sorry for her.

  “Look at you,” Lowther said. “Feeling all sympathetic for a zombie.”

  Regardless of what I had seen in the forest and on her property, I was unable to stop the sounds from above, the lip smacking, the crunching, from pulling at my last shred of moral fiber.

  “What do we do?”

  “If you want to keep a dog content, never take away its bone.”

  “We could take what's left and throw her in the sea,” I said.

  “Where there’s no body, there’s no zombie,” Lowther said. “They'll finish her off before you and I reach the gate. You wouldn't want her polluting the water. She's a disease. Those nasty infections spread no matter how hard you try to contain them.”

  “Are you saying zombies are contagious?”

  “In a sense.”

  “Zombie infestation isn’t something to worry about, though, is it?” I asked.

  “Let’s suppose zombies were to infest over fifty percent of the population,” Lowther said while walking away from what was left of Caroline, gesturing for me to follow. “Uncontaminated people would become harder to find. Zombies would stabilize in number, and since zombies continue to rot, their numbers would begin to drop.”