Bookburners: Season One Volume One

by Max Gladstone

  “Do you remember anything from your tattooing process?” Menchú asked. “Anything at all about your tattoo artist or the show runners? Anyone?”

  “I found the show atmosphere very strange, but I had meant to get a nine-spire before I left Cambodia, and got too busy. I get a new protective tattoo every time I travel. It was a spur of the moment decision to get it on the show,” Keo said. “Why did you ask about the color?”

  Menchú wrote Liam’s cell phone number down on the notepad by the bed. “Your tattoo is gone, Mr. Keo. I believe it did its job admirably, protecting you exactly as it was meant to do. You’re a lucky, lucky man. If you have any more problems with your tattoos, call this number, Brother Liam will be happy to hear from you.”

  Liam didn’t look happy at all, but Mr. Keo wasn’t looking at him.

  “You believe in my tattoos? Aren’t you going to lecture to me about my blasphemous ways?” Mr. Keo said, his voice tired.

  Menchú smiled his priestly, calm smile. Sal knew by now how many emotions that smile could hide. “I have seen enough in my life to know that God works in various ways.”

  “You believe your God made my tattoos protective?” Keo said.

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe, Mr. Keo. You are alive, and I hope you stay that way for many years. Go forth, be kind to others, and God will sort us all out when we’re done with this mortal world.” Menchú rose and made the sign of the cross by the bed. Liam and Grace crossed themselves automatically.

  Keo touched his neck. “It’s gone?”

  Menchú unbuttoned the top of Keo’s hospital gown. The cut had healed, and the skin where the tattoo had rested was white and smooth.

  “It left a memory behind. Get well soon, Mr. Keo.” And Menchú gestured the others to leave.

  • • •

  The group went to the Denny’s across from the hospital. They took a booth, Liam and Menchú facing away from the door and Sal and Grace on the other side.

  Menchú sighed and ran his hand through his graying hair. “We saved one of, what, six?” He looked at Liam, who nodded. “How long before the next group?”

  “Two days,” Sal said, checking her notebook. It had, she noticed, soaked up a lot of the demon blood/ink. She made a face. Grace’s copy of The Remains of the Day was also ruined. She fanned the pages and dabbed at it with a napkin. She’d left her new books in the taxi, she had been dismayed to realize after the excitement at the hospital.

  The waitress came to the table with her notepad ready. Menchú ordered coffees all around.

  “I’ve had enough caffeine—” Sal began, but stopped when the door to Denny’s opened. Her eyes grew wide. “Never mind. Coffee, yeah.”

  Menchú looked up. “What’s going on?”

  But by then, the very large woman had reached the table. “All right. What do you want with Mama Tat?”

  • • •

  “I’ve had my share of stalkers,” Mama Tat said, leaning back in the chair the waitress had added to their booth. “Comes with the reality show territory.”

  In person, she was bigger than she looked on the show, tall and broad and muscular, her arms featuring those creepy baby tattoos. She grinned at them, completely unthreatened by the dirty, exhausted strangers in front of her.

  “I finally decided to turn the tables and stalk them back,” she continued. “My admin tells them where I’ll be so I can get a look. I tailed you when you left the parlor, but we wondered why you left early for the hospital.”

  “I thought it was too easy to meet up with you,” Sal said.

  “When we followed you to the hospital, we saw you were visiting that nice Mr. Keo. So I just wanted to straight-up ask you . . .” Mama Tat leaned forward, staring at Sal. “What do you want with Mama Tat?”

  Sal glanced at Menchú, who nodded. She took a deep breath. “Every person who has gotten a tattoo from your show, up to episode six, has died. They all died in different ways, and many died at home, so only a few people have connected the accidents to the show.”

  The color drained from Mama Tat’s face. “All of them? How do you know?”

  “We have spiders crawling databases to find connections between people,” Liam offered. People usually backed down when offered answers of a technological nature they didn’t understand, and Mama Tat seemed satisfied with the lie.

  “And who are we, exactly?” she asked.

  “We are a group of people affiliated with law enforcement and the Catholic Church, investigating strange coincidences,” Menchú said. “We acquired the data from the unaired show, and noticed that you had given Mr. Keo a protective tattoo.”

  Mama Tat nodded, looking both stricken and wary. “I did,” she said. “Listen, do I need my lawyer?”

  Sal held up her badge. “NYPD. I have no jurisdiction here, we’re just looking for information. And we are pretty sure that you saved him with that protective tattoo. He’s the only one from the sixth episode to survive.”

  Menchú leaned forward. “Do you know of anyone on the show who would have had reason to do this? Or the capability?”

  Mama Tat snorted. “Didn’t you notice that squirrely little bastard, Gardener? He was on my back from day one. I’m sure he has something to do with it.”

  “What was his difficulty?” Menchú said. “You don’t seem very unlikable.”

  Mama Tat grimaced. “He didn’t approve of me. Something about me was supposed to be revealed in episode seven. This wasn’t my first reality show.”

  Sal glanced around the table. “I’m the only American here, Mama, and I don’t watch a lot of TV. You’ll have to help us out.”

  Mama Tat took a deep breath. “About seven years ago, I was on the second season of Acceptance. The queer reality show, like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, only reality style.”

  Sal remembered the show. “Season two was the transgender-focused season. So Gardener wanted to out you?” she asked.

  Mama Tat laughed. “Not quite. The show was going to out me, they figured it would bring in some old Acceptance fans when we had a mid-season slump. I won the whole thing, see, and made a new life for myself with the winnings. Changed my name and came out here to Vegas. I started getting inked with all my babies. Didn’t want to let them think I had forgotten them, even though they forgot about me.” She smiled sadly and touched the head on her shoulder that was labeled with “Bryan.” “After about three tats, I was hooked, and wanted to learn the craft.”

  Grace, Menchú, and Liam all looked stunned. Liam opened his mouth and Sal kicked him sharply. “So what does this have to do with Gardener?”

  “He didn’t like that I had an edge, that I would have a new, massive fan following come mid-season. And he didn’t approve. He’s one of those religious assholes who think people like me are an ‘abomination.’” She raised large hands for air quotes. She glanced at Father Menchú. “No offense meant, Father, if you’re not one of those assholes.”

  Menchú nodded once. “None taken.”

  Mama Tat took a long drink of coffee and poured herself another cup, adding whiskey from a flask she carried in her purse. “I offended his orderly view of the world, he said. Said he didn’t believe in me. Like I was Santa Claus or something. So I got him back.”

  “You threatened him?” Sal asked.

  “I don’t threaten,” Mama Tat said. “One night after the third episode, I sat on his back and tattooed a gadfly on his forearm. He left me alone after that. Did you know he didn’t have any tattoos before the one I gave him? What kind of freak is that?” She took another sip of coffee and sighed. “Anyway, for the last show we had to tattoo each other, and as a peace offering I turned the fly into a rose, considering the little bastard likes plants so much.”

  “So he has an orderly view of the world, and might be putting something evil into the ink. Why did he need to be on television?” Sal asked.

  Mama Tat snorted. “Money and fame, honey. Why else do it?”

  Menchú sighed. “Of course.
The bigger he got, the more people he could tattoo and infect. It’s all about quantity.”

  “What tattoo did he give you?” Grace asked, leaning forward.

  Sal went cold. Mama Tat was likely on the same clock as everyone else on the show. She tried not to show her anxiety.

  Mama Tat pulled her tank top strap down and showed them her shoulder. “Asshole gave me a snail. Male and female parts, you know. Thought he was being clever.”

  It was a work of art, with blues and greens and small hints of pink in the shell. The snail glistened, if not attractively, at least realistically with slime, and it sat atop a purple mushroom that resembled a parasol.

  “So what’s this about people dying?” Mama Tat asked. Her voice was light, but Sal could hear the tension underneath.

  “People are dying four months after their tattoo,” Sal said. “The people from episode six are dying right now. We were able to help Mr. Keo, but the others are tourists, all of them back home already. We’re trying to figure this out before any more die.”

  “Including me,” Mama Tat said. “In two weeks. They filmed the last few episodes days apart.”

  “Probably you,” Sal said. “There’s a chance you’re safe, because we assume if Gardener was polluting the ink, he would have wanted to protect himself. But we can’t be sure. We’ll stop him tonight, one way or the other.”

  “Then I had better get my drink in while I can,” Mama Tat said, rising to leave. “Thanks for being the most interesting stalkers I’ve ever had.”

  “Mama Tat,” Sal asked. “Who won the show?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” she said, winking. “Even though the show was canceled. You should see those contracts they make us sign. Maybe that ink was cursed as well.”

  Sal thanked Mama Tat, and picked up the tab for her coffee. Mama Tat laid a business card on the table as she got up to leave. “You ever need any ink, you show that to Miss Priss at the front desk. She’ll get you in to see me that night. And if you need to ask me anything else, or tell me you’ve taken that little bastard in for something, just call that number.”

  “One moment, Mama Tat,” Menchú said, holding his hand up to stop her from leaving. “You seem to be taking this all in stride. Even the part about your tattoo saving this man’s life. Most people we discuss our work with call us insane at best.”

  Mama Tat avoided his gaze. “I knew about some of the deaths. I knew about my clients, and Gardener’s. I kept in touch with a few of them, and after three died I started getting scared. I just didn’t know it was everyone. Also, I don’t have to go far to believe this shit is magical.” Her hand went to the snail on her shoulder. “You folks go on and stop that little asshole, okay? I’d really hate to stop living right now. There’s so much out there to live for.” She winked again at Sal, then ambled away.

  Sal did a quick image search on her phone. She found what she was looking for. “That mushroom the snail was on, it’s deadly. Causes liver failure in a few weeks. That guy is all about the symbolism,” Sal said.

  “And Mama Tat is a man,” Liam said.

  “She’s a woman,” Sal said. “And that isn’t important except as it pertains to why Gardener hates her.”

  Liam shrugged, still looking uncomfortable.

  “Oh get over it, Liam,” Sal said, sighing.

  “Let’s focus on the problem at hand,” Menchú said mildly. “We find Gardener tonight, and stop these deaths.”

  “Or get Mama Tat to ink that spire thing on everyone who’s left,” Sal suggested.

  “It’s too late for protection,” Grace said, a touch of flat bitterness in her voice. “The damage has already been done.”

  “Right,” Sal said. “So let’s find Gardener, and undo it.”

  • • •

  If Mama Tat’s Baby Face had looked like a tattoo parlor and nightclub, Gardener’s shop, Ink Seeds, resembled a morgue. A freestanding building on the outskirts of town, with no windows and very little signage. And yet the parking lot was full.

  “This place is messed up,” Sal said as they exited the cab.

  Liam stepped ahead of Sal. “Let me take point on this one. I have an idea how these things work,” he said.

  Sal shrugged and stepped back.

  The door was locked. Liam knocked, and the door opened a crack. “Got an appointment?” The accent sounded Mexican and male.

  “No, mate,” Liam said. “I have a message from Mama Tat.”

  The door opened wider. A man with black vines tattooed all over his face looked out. “What is the message?”

  Liam crossed his thick arms, making all of his ink noticeable. “That’s for Gardener only. She says it’s about the gadfly.”

  The door slammed. Liam held up a finger to the rest of them, and a minute later, the door opened.

  The interior looked nothing like Mama Tat’s place, either. Sal wondered if it really had been a morgue once, or a funeral parlor. The walls and furniture were drab and understated, as if the whole building mourned something lost. The customers looked like they were in a waiting room for an STD clinic, jumpy and scared. Many of them had what looked like fresh tattoos on their arms, necks, and faces. Those with newer tattoos had an unnatural pallor to their skin, ranging from stark white to ashy gray, and they sat listless on their vinyl chairs. There was no front desk, no cash register, and no health inspection placard on the wall.

  “Creepy place,” Sal muttered to Liam.

  “This isn’t normal,” he said.

  The vine man bowed mockingly and led them through a door. “Gardener will see you immediately,” he said.

  “Does it feel demonic here?” Sal asked Grace, her voice low. Grace nodded once, a sharp movement of her head.

  Fists clenched, Grace followed the man down the dimly lit hallway.

  He led them to a small room with a chair, a sink, several tubes of black ink (no other color), and blank walls. Gardener sat in a rolling stool, latex gloves on, tattooing a woman’s forearm. Every few seconds he would dip the gun into a bucket of viscous ink at his feet. He didn’t look up when they entered.

  “Welcome,” Gardener said. “What are you looking for tonight? A rose? A forest? A seedling just breaking through the soil? I hear you’re walk-ins, but you come from a friend, so you are of course welcome.”

  He wiped away the ink on the woman’s arm, a demonic face peeking out from underneath the skin, and told her to take a break. She obediently went to the wall, slid down it to sit on the floor, and began to weep.

  He was smaller than he looked on television, with the same type of wrist-length shirt and long pants. His hair was slicked back and he looked as if he had just come home from dress-down Friday at an accounting firm.

  “Mr. Gardener, we are looking into the deaths of people on the show Ink Stainz,” Menchú began.

  Gardener looked up and took them in, still stained with the demon’s ink. His nostrils flared and he sprang to his feet, dropping the tattoo gun. “I can smell it. I can see it on you. My beautiful baby’s ink—it died tonight, it died. I planted its seed and it failed to grow because of that unnatural bitch.” He took a step forward, his hands curling into claws. “I felt it die. I didn’t think its murderers would deliver themselves.”

  Grace stepped in front of Menchú, shielding him.

  “We just want to talk,” said Sal, stepping forward, but then Gardener attacked.

  Before, Sal would have said that Gardener was so slight a stiff breeze could stop him. But of course she didn’t take into account whatever was possessing him, nor what was apparently secreted away under his skin.

  His perfectly pressed shirt ripped away as inky black wings burst from his back, changing quickly to tentacles which struck Grace aside. She went crashing into the tubes of ink, spilling one. When it hit the floor, it began to bubble and stream out, seeking something.

  Grace swore and held her arm. The skin was red and blistered where the tentacle touched her. “Don’t touch the ink,” she said, a
nd was on her feet again.

  “Liam, let’s get that client out of here,” Menchú said. “Sal, shut this down.”

  He and Liam picked up the woman and ran toward the hall, Liam yelling as a tentacle lashed his back, leaving a smoky black wound.

  Grace had her knife out, and Gardener picked up the tattoo gun, which whirred to life. Sal’s eyes darted around the room, looking for the source, the book, whatever drove this possession. The tentacles struck out again; Grace avoided one, but another wrapped around her forearm. It picked her up and she writhed in pain.

  Sal threw the rolling stool into Gardener’s face. He stumbled back, and dropped Grace. She was on her feet in an instant, running for the man.

  Gardener’s nose bled black fluid, like the abomination from Keo’s back. Sal searched the room frantically, and saw a cabinet with drawers. One drawer was open. She ran for it.

  Inside lay a book.

  Behind her, Grace and Gardener fought, his acid scouring her arms and face even as she struck at him, batting aside the tendrils that sprung from his back. She turned at a shout—Liam had returned to help, and was yelling to distract Gardener.

  “Find it in a hurry, Sal, Grace needs some help!” he said, then stumbled over the bucket of ink, tipping it toward Gardener.

  The ink splashed up with much more energy than any normal liquid would have done, splattering both Gardener and Grace. Immediately, tendrils began burrowing into their skin, smoke rising from their bodies. This was not the ink Gardener had used in the show, Sal realized. This stuff was much, much worse.

  Liam regained his balance, horrified, to wrest Grace away from Gardener. She kicked Gardener, who fell backward and released her. Liam pulled her to the side, said something to her, then ran back to face Gardener. Grace stood, panting for a moment, and then joined him.

  “Dammit, Grace, I said I could handle this!” he shouted, his attention divided, and Gardener struck.

  The tattoo gun slid across Liam’s shoulder, a line of black cutting into his skin. He screamed. Sal knew she had to figure out how to close the book, and fast.

  She pulled the book out easily, but closing it did nothing. She flipped the heavy pages with the tips of her fingers, and saw that the ink glistened wetly on each page as if new, and the pages varied from light peach to deep brown. Human skin.