The Bookseller's Secret

by Catherine Jordan

  “How?”

  “You should have enough brains left to remember what Caroline said about Nora’s blood. Life is in the blood.”

  “If her blood was in Caroline, and I ate Caroline, then her blood is inside me.”

  “Her blood is inside you,” Lowther repeated.

  I slapped a hand across the book’s cover. “The necromancy chapter. All I have to do is say the words.”

  “Just say the magic words.”

  “I can do this.”

  “You can do this.”

  “Wait. Will I have to stay? Can I go home?”

  “This will be your new home.”

  Nora had wanted me to leave, but now I would get to stay. I was barely able to open the book. “I can’t read.”

  “You have to be able to say the words.”

  My eyes fluttered. My mouth moved. I tried to sit upright.

  Lowther pulled on the book. “If you let go, I can read this out loud. All you have to do is repeat after me. I’ll come back, like I said, with others.”

  “I can't,” I whispered.

  “You need me,” Lowther said, pulling on the book. “I need you. Let go.”

  I slowly released my grip.

  90—Inspector Tseme Dusu

  Dusu put his fingers to Mason’s neck. “Dead,” Dusu said. “He died babbling, and afraid.”

  Dusu looked over Mason's face and body. Mason had turned into a monster, like the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and barely resembled the man he once was.

  “Will he turn back into himself, now that he is dead?” Dusu asked, waiting for a transformation to wash over him, for Mr. Jekyll to turn back into Dr. Hyde.

  Father Charles did not answer, and Mason remained unchanged. Dusu looked up at Father Charles. “Did your exorcism work?”

  Father Charles sighed. “Death came for him before salvation.”

  “I would offer to bury him,” Dusu said, “but the ground is too hard.”

  “The book, Officer Dusu.”

  The large, metal volume lay in Mason's arms.

  “We can't leave it here,” Father Charles said.

  Dusu bent and tried to lift it, but could not. It was stuck.

  “Step aside,” Father said. He then dumped a portion of his water over the book.

  Dusu leaned in, astonished, as he watched the book shrink in size. Its thickness reduced, and the metal cover turned to leather.

  “The book has no power in water,” Charles said. He picked it up and dropped it in the bucket. “Here, you carry the bucket. Allow me to carry your friend. We are almost at our destination. See where light parts through the trees?”

  91

  Dusu did not care how they had managed to make it out of the woods and onto her yard.

  He saw what looked like an abandoned home. It was small, no grander than a shanty, and was centered in a wide field of dead grass. The Table Mountain stood off in the distance behind the home.

  The bright sun blinked, then diminished, setting behind the mountain. The house seemed to draw closer to the mountain. Dusu thought it was a trick of the setting sun, until he saw the mountain looming directly behind the house.

  “Did I just imagine that?” Dusu asked aloud.

  “I saw it, too,” said Father Charles.

  The mountain's shade crept across the rooftop like a black fog. The rooftop widened, and the house grew. Broken windows healed, dirty wooden siding turned creamy white. The splintered, unhinged front door smoothed and stretched, and took its center position over the stoep.

  Flowers popped to life along the perimeter of the house. The shade extended from roof to field, colouring the dead grass a deep, thick green.

  “This is an illusion,” Father Charles said, as if he needed convincing.

  Father Charles respectfully laid Thuzien on the ground. He touched the green blades. “They feel withered and crunchy, like dead grass.”

  “Is Jeffrey in the house?” Dusu asked.

  “Jeffrey is with her. They know we are here.”

  “Then you must hurry with your exorcism.”

  “What is the woman’s name?” Charles asked.

  Dusu blinked. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I must lay my hand upon the possessed.”

  “The house? Or the woman?”

  “Jeffrey said she is one in the same,” Father Charles said, staring at the house. “All I need to do is place my hand on the door.”

  Father picked up the bucket.

  “Wait. What about Thuzien? I can't carry him, Father. I am out of strength.”

  “Leave your friend. He’s safe, I’m sure, now that we are out of the woods. Here, he will remain far enough away from the house's influence.”

  92—Mason, the Reporter

  I inhaled and took one breath from many lungs. I sat up.

  Dusu and the priest were gone. The pain was also gone. In its place I felt … nothing. I opened and closed white fists. Worked my jaw. Stretched my neck. A spear lay at my side.

  I saw myself from a fresh, green light. I was finally able to perceive what I had never acknowledged—pure evil, one will, cessation of truth, a dark reasoning deeper than the abyss, the violation and acceptance.

  It wasn’t my eyes I saw through. The eye hanging from my barbed wire necklace was still alive, as Lowther had said. My hand went to my eyes; the sockets were shrunken and wrinkled.

  The book was gone, taken while I drifted in and out of death. Stolen. I grasped the spear and stood.

  The woods seemed vacant at first, but the eye twitched as it moved, looking into the treetops.

  A naked, two-headed toddler sat on the end of a branch. One head leaned inside the tree, eager to hide. The second head leaned toward me, curious. Both heads strained at its neck, widening an open tear where the heads connected.

  “I see you, four eyes. Where is my book?”

  Both heads barked out of protest.

  I threw my spear. I heard a distinct thud as the spear sunk into its target. The barker flopped forward and dropped to the ground at my feet. I ate the thing in three bites.

  Others watching from the nearby treetops began to whimper and mumble. I aimed my spear.

  “Where is my book?” I hollered.

  93—Father Charles Thurmont

  Charles stepped up to the front door. He placed his bucket on the red cement stoep, invoked Saint Michael the Archangel, and laid his hand's against the door's thick facade. “Defend us in battle. Protect us against the wickedness and snares of the devil.”

  He then stuck his Eucharist crumb inside the door jamb.

  The ground shook, knocking Charles aside, but not away. His hand remained firmly on the door.

  The ground stopped trembling. The persistent ringing finally stopped. Charles thought he heard a bird chirp in the woods. There was a feeling in the air, and Charles wanted to call it peaceful, but that wasn't how he really felt.

  “Is that it?” Dusu asked.

  Dusu backed slowly off the stoep and said, “Father, I don't like to question a man at his craft, especially a man as yourself, but assuming there is a procedure to this exorcism, are you following it correctly? I ask not just because of your failure with Mason, but also because it seems too peaceful.”

  “Peaceful?” Charles turned the word around and around in his head. “I was tempted to say the same thing, but you're right. This can't be over.” He removed his hand from the door.

  “Exorcisms have no exact formula,” he said, examining the large, dark wooden door, not wanting to turn his back on it. “They are a ritual, and have general instructions that one must follow, an unbroken tradition. The use of prayer and sacramental or holy objects are essential.

  “An exorcist only has to have two things for success; permission from the Church, and faith. I obtained permission from the South African Bishop years ago. And my faith is unquestionable.”

  “Back there, in the woods, you asked Mason his name,” Dusu said. “You said you needed
the demon's name to force the spirit to separate itself from Mason. Did you get its name?”

  “No. There are two types of exorcisms, one for people, the second for places. I don't need the name for a place.”

  Charles closed his eyes to think. He was missing something. But, what?

  “She is the house!” Charles exclaimed as he opened his eyes. “And we already know her name; Lilith. We must go inside,” Charles said, filled with new hope. “I will do the exorcism in the house.”

  Dusu shook his head. He remained beyond the stoep, arms crossed. “I’m not sure.”

  “I want to start from the beginning,” Charles said, lifting his bucket. “I have to repeat it from inside. We will put her under pressure, forcing the demoness to manifest. Then I can successfully exorcise her.”

  94—Jeffrey Thurmont

  “We haven’t had this many visitors in a long time, have we, Nora?”

  A body lay out on the lawn.

  A police officer stood with his arms crossed, staring at the window where I watched through a part in the curtain.

  The priest was at the door.

  “We’ll blame everyone's death on the American, Mason. Let the governments hash it out. That will fit into your plan, won’t it, Nora?”

  “The priest is performing the rite,” Nora said. Her heavy footsteps shook the floor as she walked up behind me. “He has the book.”

  “Yes, the priest. I told you I saw him, didn’t I, at the church? Did I tell you he didn’t recognize me? Humph. An exorcist who doesn’t recognize the devil when he sees him face-to-face is not one whose adjuration I would ever fear.”

  “I will deal with the officer,” Nora said, turning toward the door. “You handle the priest.”

  95—Inspector Dusu

  “Psst!”

  Dusu turned.

  “Inspector,” whispered a deep voice.

  Around the side of the house, Dusu recognized the familiar blue cap. He even caught a glimpse of the SARS pin on the brim just as the blue-capped head ducked out of sight in the bushes. Police reinforcements had arrived!

  Dusu did not give Father Charles a parting glance—the priest would not get inside the house. The door would not open for a man of the Church, and his exorcism would be another failure.

  If he could escape the property with the priest in tow, then they could return someday, stronger, wiser, and his venture would not have been wasted.

  96—Father Charles Thurmont

  “Good evening, Father Charles,” a man’s voice said as the front door cracked open.

  Charles stepped back, startled. The door opened no further, and Charles couldn’t see who the voice belonged to.

  “Would you like to come inside?”

  Yes, Charles thought, I would. However …

  Charles turned, looking for Dusu, but he was gone.

  97—Inspector Tseme Dusu

  Dusu crouched down and stared at the back of a police officer. He breathed a sigh of relief—yes, for a fleeting moment, as he turned away from Father Charles, he thought he might have walked into a trap. Many questions formed in his head for the officer, all of which he told himself he would ask later.

  “Come closer,” the officer said, facing the cement wall. “Look at the foundation.”

  Dusu crawled though the bushes up to the wall. It was etched in a design he could not decipher. He reached out to touch it.

  “It’s moving,” the officer warned.

  Dusu yanked his hand back.

  The design swirled in different directions. Portions of the wall raised and swelled forming a three dimensional picture. He made out a diamond-shaped head. The head snapped forward; its wide jaw locked around Dusu’s hand and wrist.

  Dusu cried out for help. He turned. Instead of an officer, he faced a girl with bright green eyes wearing Massu Thuzien’s ripped, blood-stained uniform.

  98—Father Charles Thurmont

  Where did Dusu go? Charles looked toward the woods.

  “Looking for the officer?” the man asked, stepping outside the house and onto the stoep, leaving the door open. He was dressed in a white, button-down shirt and white trousers. His face was drawn, skin tight, bones angular and pronounced. His green eyes focused on Charles.

  Charles attempted eye contact, but could not; there was too much hatred.

  “Dusu must have found something else to investigate. What is that on the grass?” The man looked from Charles to the yard. “What did you drag out of the woods with you? Tatwaba! Come here!”

  A dark-skinned woman came to the door. She wore a purple headdress and had a white apron around her ample bodice.

  “That’s not the body Nora threw out, is it?” he asked her.

  “What are you talking about?” Charles’s chin quivered. “That is a fallen police officer,” he said, emphasizing each word. “We would not leave him to the forest.”

  “Fetch that off the grass,” the man said to Tatwaba.

  She wiped her hands on her apron and then shuffled out the door.

  “No one is touching him,” Charles said, blocking her way with his body. “Who are you?”

  “You don’t know me,” the man said. “Not anymore. This is Tatwaba, the housekeeper. You caught us at just the right time. She’s about to prepare supper.”

  “You are covered with dirt,” she said, raising a corner of her apron as if to wipe his neck. She dropped the apron, and placed her hand on his bare skin. “Forget the other officers,” she said. “Put down your bucket.”

  Her cold palm felt good on his warm neck. Relaxation washed over him, as if she were kneading out the knots behind his ears. A shot of warning pricked his mind. As he was about to pull back from her, she gripped him tighter, though not hard.

  “You look hungry,” she said. “Come inside, and I will prepare you a plate.”

  99—Inspector Tseme Dusu

  The snake consumed Dusu up to his elbow. He pulled against the suction, feeling throat muscles constrict with each swallow. On the foundation, other reptiles came to life. Their white cement skin twinkled in the moonlight as they uncoiled.

  “Father Charles?” he called. If only he had Father Charles’s bucket of water to throw against the wall. “Father!”

  “Scream all you want.” The horrid girl smiled. “He’s in the house, exactly where he wanted to be. He can’t help you.”

  Dusu tried putting himself in Father Charles’s shoes. What would Charles do right now if he were the one being swallowed alive. Turning to the snake that had him up to his shoulder, he cried out, “In Jesus Christ’s name, release me!”

  The snake gagged, regurgitating the upper half of his arm.

  “You’re not a priest,” she said, though a grimace replaced her smile. “Your words have no authority. The religious ministers may have a chance using his name, but not you.” She raised her chin. “You think I would be that easy to deal with? I am offended. He can't save you. Only I can. Fall on your knee, worship me, and I might let you go.”

  True, the snake had not released him entirely, but the words he spoke had an effect. Even the other reptiles on the wall had shrunk away. “I don’t genuflect to anyone,” Dusu said in a husky drawl.

  She tilted her head, her eyes like slits. A knowing grin spread across her face. “Everyone, no matter how high they sit on the throne, answers to someone. When you were a child, you had to do as your parents said. As a young adult, you did as the school instructors said. At the academy, you did as your captain ordered. For the most part, you did what Captain Thuzien told you to do.”

  He felt the pull again from the snake making an effort to gulp his arm.

  She was trying to bargain with him. Why bargain if you know you have the upper hand? “I will kneel to God, not you.” And Dusu fell to his knee. The snake pulled him back, twisting his shoulder. Dusu cringed from the pain. “Release me, by the power of Jesus Christ!”

  The snake belched, and Dusu felt its suction loosen. He snatched his arm out of the snake
’s mouth, free. Dusu stumbled toward the girl and saw that she was on her knees, her head bowed, face twisted in anger.

  The snakes recoiled onto the foundation, tails shifting, but otherwise still. He was able to skip past the girl as she reached out, but she did not raise her chin or stand. Her knees seemed like they were glued to the ground, her chin attached to her neck.

  Dusu ran toward the front of the house. Father Charles’s bucket sat on the stoep where he had left it.

  No sooner had he reached the stoep when he caught sight of a large figure storming out of the woods. It moved across the lawn toward him quicker than he thought possible, muscled arms raising a spear.

  “You were dead,” Dusu whispered, backing up the step.

  100

  Mason's eyes were swollen shut, the skin around them black. Dusu didn’t think the man could see, but he had ran purposefully and now aimed his spear directly at Dusu.

  “Where is my book?” Mason bellowed, the spear’s tip pressing against Dusu’s chest.

  “It’s right there,” Dusu said, pointing to the abandoned bucket on the stoep.

  Mason wore a grisly necklace with a small, bloody ball strung through. The center of the ball was green with a black dot—an iris and a pupil; it was an eye. Mason was using the eyeball to see.

  “Give it to me,” Mason said.

  Dusu tiptoed up the steps. He bent over the bucket and withdrew a sopping book. He presented it to Mason.

  The eyeball jerked and strained with movement toward the book. “It’s wet!” Mason screamed.

  Although wet, Dusu imagined getting hit in the face with a large, leather hardback would break a nose or knock a tooth loose.