The Bookseller's Secret
Page 21
The dark, marbled meat looked like beef. Chunks of pumpkin, onion, and cabbage sat alongside a dollop of porridge.
The creature was salivating as Nora tied the end of its leash to the table’s leg.
“Tatwaba loves to cook a braai,” Nora said, referring to the traditional barbeque and porridge on their plates.
Charles pushed his dish aside.
“Eat,” Tatwaba said, placing her hand on his.
Charles brought his plate back, picked up his fork, and lifted the porridge to his mouth.
Suddenly, there was a slight commotion from the staircase. Heavy feet pattered across the foyer. The front door opened and closed. Whoever was there was now gone.
Charles put down his fork.
“William McPhee,” Nora said. “He broke into my house and tried to steal from me. And now, he's going home. I can be reasonable, you see. You can leave as soon as you’ve taken a bite. Tatwaba made a delicious meal.”
The front door opened again.
Jeffrey entered the dining room, sat, and said, “All's well that ends well, eh? What's on the menu for desert?”
“Minced meat pie,” Tatwaba said.
“Sounds lovely. Have you made a decision?” Jeffrey asked Charles.
“I have,” Charles answered.
Charles picked up his fork again, though not the least bit hungry, and took a small bite. He swallowed, unable to taste. Tatwaba stood beside him, hands folded in front of her. The creature’s wet eyes bulged and rotated in its head as it looked from plate to plate, hungry, but taking care not to beg.
“I’m sure you worked up an appetite,” Jeffrey said, “ambling like you did in the woods, carrying that copper out. Tatwaba went through the trouble of dragging him into the house, the least you could do is have a few more bites. He’s quite tender.”
Tatwaba, Jeffrey, and Nora exchanged a knowing look.
“Wait.” Charles dropped his fork with a clang onto his plate. “What did I just eat?”
“You mean, who?” Jeffrey said with a wink.
He didn’t know who. He was supposed to know, but couldn’t remember. The housekeeper—his forgetfulness and willingness to comply, to sit and eat alongside these people had something to do with her touch.
“It’s settled,” Jeffrey said, raising his glass in a toast. “You ate enough.”
Charles threw his plate on the floor.
“Regret does not factor into the equation,” Jeffrey said, taking a swig from his glass. “A deal is a deal.”
Charles’s dish landed within the creature’s reach. It lowered its face to the plate, opened its mouth, jaw unhinging with a crack. The corners of its mouth tore as they stretched ear to ear. A forked tongue rolled out onto the plate and scooped the heap into its mouth. The creature leaned back onto hind legs, the heap bulging in its throat, and swallowed hard. The lump lowered. It swallowed again. The lump dropped.
Charles watched the spectacle as if from a dream, his mouth clamped tightly shut, unable to scream.
Nora stood, dropping her napkin to her seat. “I should follow McPhee and make sure he boards his plane. Charles, you may leave. Your car is waiting for you outside the gate. You will remove Mason's rental and the police cars. Drive them down Victoria Road and park them on the beach next to McPhee's.”
Tatwaba placed her hand on Charles, leaned into his ear, and repeated Nora’s request.
That was the last time he remembered seeing Jeffrey as he drove toward the airport, headed back to London.
106—Nora
Her mundane appearance—the one she took on in the evening with blonde hair tucked under a hat, smooth skin, and large green eyes hidden behind sunglasses—gave the perception of innocence and beauty. People unwittingly avoided her by skipping in their tracks. Yet there was one man who shared her space on her way to town.
Her gaze struck his back, and he turned to face her.
She knew him. Rather, she knew the being within him.
He wiped his running nose with the back of his hand, turned, and continued his direction, cell phone to the ear, briefcase in hand, hurrying to the airport.
Nora watched William McPhee blend into the small crowd of people hurrying along to their destinations.
Life is in the blood, and Mason's switchblade had drawn enough of her blood on the attic floor when McPhee fell from the rope. Infected. He would spread her disease in America, ripe and ready for her.
“Hey, lady.”
She turned to face the homeless man calling out to her.
“Got some change?” He leaned against a brick building, advertisements and graffiti taped over its facade. A closed sign hung in the door window. He sat wrapped in newspaper, his knees in his face, a couple of plastic bags filled with his belongings at his side. Scratching at his lice-ridden head, he upset the brown, knit cap he wore. He turned the cap inside out before placing it back on his head and pulling its cuff over his eyes, forgetting her. Infected.
Nora took long strides to catch up with McPhee.
So many of these people infected with her disease. Few knew how rampant it spread and none would believe even if they were told. If they did believe, what could they do? Not much.
She smiled to herself as she walked. Psychologists. Scientists of think. What exactly did they think about the possessed?
South Africa did in fact utilize one of the highest numbers of exorcists, second only to Rome. Still, many doctors in the country, especially the American members of Doctors Without Borders, diagnosed possession as insanity.
That was why she sent William McPhee back home, back to the Americans; their progression and modernism were her cohorts. Her disease will spread there like an epidemic. The plague? Nothing compared to what she had in store.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
1—Mason, the Reporter
2—William McPhee
3—Jeffrey Thurmont
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13—Mason, the Reporter
14
15
16
17
18
19
20—Jeffrey Thurmont
21
22
23
24—Mason, the Reporter
25
26
27
28
29
30
31—Mason, the Reporter
32—Mason, the Reporter
33—Mason, the Reporter
34
35—Mason, the Reporter
36—Mason, the Reporter
37
38
39
40—Jeffrey Thurmont
41—Mason, the Reporter
42—Mason, the Reporter
43—Mason, the Reporter
44—Mason, the Reporter
45
46
47—Father Charles Thurmont
48
49
50—Inspector Tseme Dusu
51
52
53—Father Charles Thurmont
54—Mason, the Reporter
55—Inspector Tseme Dusu
56
57—Mason, the Reporter
58
59
60—Father Charles Thurmont
61—Mason, the Reporter
62
63—William McPhee
64—Inspector Tseme Dusu
65—Father Charles Thurmont
66—Inspector Tseme Dusu
67
68—Mason, the Reporter
69
70
71
72
73—Jeffrey Thurmont
74—Mason, the Reporter
75—Jeffrey Thurmont
76—Mason, the Reporter
77
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79
80
81
82—Father Charles Thurmont
83—Inspector Tseme Dusu
84—Father Charles Thurmont
85—Mason, the Reporter
86—Father Charles Thurmont
87—Mason, the Reporter
88—Father Charles Thurmont
89—Mason, the Reporter
90—Inspector Tseme Dusu
91
92—Mason, the Reporter
93—Father Charles Thurmont
94—Jeffrey Thurmont
95—Inspector Dusu
96—Father Charles Thurmont
97—Inspector Tseme Dusu
98—Father Charles Thurmont
99—Inspector Tseme Dusu
100
101—Father Charles Thurmont
102
103
104—Jeffrey Thurmont
105—Father Charles Thurmont
106—Nora