CHAPTER EIGHT
I hustled down the street, holding the slipcover and journal close to my chest. No one gave me a second glance.
I felt like a guy who'd stolen a suitcase full of cash from a drug dealer--I was a small fry who'd just come into some serious gold, and I knew what would happen to me if I got caught. Annalise should have killed you after all.
The only protection I had was inside this book, if I could figure out the magic inside.
Damn. I'd thought the word. Magic. It was frightening and ridiculous at the same time. I touched the bandage on my neck to make sure it was still there.
No. I couldn't keep doing that. I couldn't keep doubting my sanity.
I dug into pants pockets and produced two five-dollar bills, three twenties and a handful of change. Callin hadn't taken my money, at least. The sidewalk was full of people bustling to their jobs. I tried to blend in, knowing it wasn't going to work.
My stomach grumbled; I hadn't eaten anything since last night's handful of fries. There was a coffee shop on the corner but I passed it by. The line was too long to risk for a bagel and I needed to talk to Jon.
I walked block after block, looking for a pay phone. No luck. Everyone had cell phones now. Everyone but me. I kept glancing over my shoulder as I went, but I didn't see Callin coming up on me. Every motorcycle that passed made my heart skip, but none of the riders were Annalise. If they were after me, they were taking their time.
Unless Callin had some other way to track me. Maybe there was something about the book or the bite that linked us, and he was waiting for me to lead him to Jon.
Maybe maybe maybe. I had no idea what they could do. Guessing was not only pointless, it was paralyzing. Better to do what seemed right at the moment and muddle through.
I finally found a pay phone outside a convenience store and fed it two quarters. I hadn't called Jon in fifteen years, but his parents' phone number was still bright in my memory.
The line was busy. Of course. If the outside of the house was besieged with reporters, cops, and sick people wanting cures, the phone would be, too. They'd probably taken it off the hook. At least I got my quarters back.
I hadn't memorized Theresa and Karl's phone number so I had the perfect excuse not to call. If Karl knew about Echo, he would already be looking for me and would already know I'd spent the night away from the apartment. If I turned up there, I'd be in cuffs again in no time.
I needed to see Jon. Jon would let me explain, if I could think of a way to contact him safely.
On impulse, I ran into a Starbucks and bought a bagel and a daily paper. I sat near the back door, well away from the windows, and flipped through the main and local news sections of the paper twice, then the other sections. Echo wasn't mentioned. Of course, people got themselves murdered all the time without any serious coverage, but Echo's friendship with Jon should have interested the local media. Maybe no one had made the connection, or maybe the police were asking them to hold off.
Maybe they were looking for me.
I tucked the paper under my arm and went back onto the street. Heavy clouds had rolled in off the Sound and I knew it would rain soon. I found a bus stop that would take me to my own neighborhood and waited for it.
A patrol car rolled down the block. The officer looked right at me and drove on by.
Maybe they weren't looking for me. Maybe I'd gotten lucky and I could still go back to my apartment. But good luck never lasts. I had to start acting like I had a brain in my head.
I caught a bus, picked up a transfer and, 40 minutes later, walked into the copy shop. I hadn't met any of the morning staff, of course. I went to the counter and asked for the blue legal paper. The clerk was reedy and had more adam's apple than chin but I suppose his narrow glasses were supposed to make him look smart. He also seemed to recognize me, which didn't make me happy.
I took the paper to a self-serve machine near the desk, fighting the urge to flee. If the chinless counter guy picked up the phone, I was going to bolt for the sidewalk.
I opened the journal then laid the legal paper across it. As I'd hoped, the paper covered both pages of the book.
I glanced at the first page, which had To Look Into the Empty Spaces and See the Great Predators carefully written across the top. Then I laid it face down on the glass, fed the blue paper into the machine, and made three copies.
The chinless clerk collected money from the last customer in line and walked over to me. "Aren't you the new night guy? Watcha copying?" He leaned over and craned his head to align it with the pages in the output tray.
I was already jittery and I didn't need some stranger prying into my business. I almost told him to fuck off, but I worked here now. "Spell book," I said.
"Really?"
"When the demonic forces of evil are out to get you," I said, letting a little more of my raw nerves show than I'd intended, "a little magic might help you fight--"
"Uh, I gotta pee." He fled behind the counter.
Maybe that had been a stupid thing to do, but there was no taking it back. I lifted the journal, turned to a new page and made three more copies.
When I was finished, I paid, fled the shop and jumped on the first bus I saw. It didn't really matter where it was going; I wanted distance between my new job and whatever was going on with me. And I still had sixty-three dollars in my pocket.
I didn't know where the bus was taking me until it turned up the Magnolia Bridge. I'd never been to this part of the city even when I lived here. Good. I stared out at the train yards passing below and marveled at how mundane it all looked.
I climbed off the bus at the first shopping district we came to and was pleased to see a small post office across the street.
Six people stood in line at the counter, but the lobby full of post office boxes was empty. I went to an empty table and began collating my stack of blue pages.
It was calming work. I only glanced at each page, trying to avoid the temptation of studying them. Someone, presumably Callin, had numbered each page in a flowing, delicate hand. I made three stacks, the page numbers counting down. Fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one... It was easier than thinking.
When I finished, I took four free priority envelopes down from the wall and laid them out. I wrote Do not open. Please hold this for me. I'll call soon. Thanks. on a Tyvek envelope, then slipped the first stack of pages into it. On a second envelope I wrote the address for my cousin in Maine. Duncan had been the only person in my family to send me mail while I was inside. I didn't know why he'd done it, but I'd been stupidly happy to get them.
In any event, Duncan's last letter said he would be in Madrid until next summer, and that a friend would collect his mail. I put the Tyvek envelope inside the second one and sealed it. Callin's spell book would be tossed into a pile in the corner for a couple of months, and that was just what I wanted.
I slid the second and third stacks into cardboard envelopes and headed for the counter.
The smallest post office box cost more than half the money I had left, and the postage to Maine wasn't free, either, but I had to do it. I opened the box, curled one of the envelopes up tight and slid it inside. Then I took the book and the last remaining envelope into the rain, to look for the next bus home.
It took nearly an hour to get there and made me ache for my own car. My aunt and uncle were out, so I dug through their fridge and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It wasn't really stealing, since Theresa had told me to help myself, but I felt like a thief anyway. I'd stock my tiny fridge as soon as I got my first paycheck.
It was nearly one o'clock by the time I climbed my creaking stairs and stumbled into my cramped living room. I ate the sandwich, feeling fear and tension draining away, leaving me exhausted. I heard a motorcycle engine from somewhere nearby, but what did it matter? I was off the street.
The cops weren't after me. If they had been, Karl or someone who dressed just like him would have been waiting for me. Since there wasn't, I knew they had
n't put my name next to Echo's yet. Payton must have lawyered up. Or something.
I'd been too paranoid to read Callin's book on the bus, but here in the relative safety of my darkened room, I felt ready. I opened the cover, feeling the torn leather and cold metal.
The stairs creaked.
I stood, grabbed my empty backpack off the floor and stuffed the envelope inside. Through the window, I could see Annalise's BMW parked at the mouth of the alley. Damn.
I tossed Callin's book, still in its slipcover, onto the couch. Now that I had copies, they could have it back. I hurried into the bathroom and swiftly, silently opened the window.
The front door of my apartment burst inward. I could hear splinters of wood bouncing off the walls and floor. I eased my legs out the window and felt for the top of the neighbor's iron fence.
"Here's the book," Annalise said from the other room. "Think you can hold onto it this time?"
"Why thank you, my dear," Callin's voice responded. "I shall do my very best."
Both of them? My hands began to tremble. My feet touched the railing; it was farther away than I'd expected. I eased my weight onto it, then jumped backwards onto the neighbor's lawn. I hit the grass hard and rolled beneath a bush.
I stayed very still, wishing I could have closed the bathroom window above. I could smell something nasty, and remembered too late the Scottish Terrier that lived in this yard.
If Callin and Annalise could track me like bloodhounds, maybe the smell of dog shit would throw them off. Then again, if they had x-ray vision, they'd see me cowering in the bushes.
My hands began to shake even more and my stomach felt unsteady. I needed to study that book, if only to get an idea of what they could do.
I backed away on my hands and knees until I reached the far edge of the yard, then I hopped the fence. I sprinted between two houses, crossed the street and went between two more to the next block. They had vehicles and I didn't, which meant I was in trouble. I had to get off my feet or off the street. If I'd had the right tools, I might have stolen a car, but I'd deliberately not spent any of my gate money on them. Of course, any of these houses I was passing might have the tools I needed in their garages...
I turned a corner and saw a bus rumbling toward me. I didn't know where it went, but it didn't make any difference. It was better than stealing again.
I hurried to the corner and took out my transfer. It had already expired. Annalise didn't zoom around the corner and burn me down to my bones while the bus approached, so I climbed on, flashed the transfer, and took a seat when the driver nodded.
The smell of dog shit returned. I tried to check my clothes without looking like I was checking my clothes, but couldn't find the source of the odor. Great. I'd become one of those bus people.
After a short while, the bus reached the University District. I jumped off, thinking it was crowded enough to mix in.
There was a smear of dog shit on the back of my jacket below my right shoulder blade. I scraped it against the edge of a trash can but couldn't make it come clean. This stupid jacket had gone to prison with me and I wasn't going to throw it away. I needed a sink and some soap.
I turned a corner and crossed the street onto the campus itself, holding the jacket in front of me like a bouquet of flowers while pretending that my backpack was like camouflage among all those students.
I felt ridiculous. My life was in danger. I'd seen amazing, terrifying things--I shouldn't be worrying so much about one little shit stain. But it was a small, mundane problem that I could deal with. This little mess was keeping me sane.
I mingled with the students, trying to convince myself that I didn't stand out, even though they all looked five years younger than me and they were all wearing heavy coats against the cold November drizzle. The trees made a green canopy above us, shadowing the paths.
As boys, Jon and I had planned to go to the UW. We were going to try out for the baseball team together--Jon had even picked out a fraternity to pledge, not that I could remember the name of it now. He had planned to be an architect and I thought I'd become an engineer, even though I didn't really know what that would mean.
Instead, I'd gone to juvenile hall, met Arne and fled with him to L.A. at fifteen. I'd spent the next ten years doing stupid things for money, girls and fun.
And Jon had gone into his wheelchair. Had he still gone to college? I had no idea. I didn't really know a thing about him.
The campus looked like a park. I tried to imagine myself enrolled here, taking classes and studying to become... whatever. The idea was so ambitious it was almost threatening, especially for a guy with a prison G.E.D.
I wandered for at least ten minutes before finding a sign with a map of the campus. Five minutes later, I had breezed through the security gates at the university library. Rows of bookshelves dominated the edges of the room, while a nest of desks and tables clustered by the windows in the corners. The students at the tables seemed to be falling over each other as they worked together. I didn't look at them too closely.
A sign indicated that the third floor was for silent, private study. That's what I wanted. I climbed the long, open stairway past the students packed like sardines around computer terminals on the second floor. No one challenged me or asked to see ID.
The third floor was a mirror image of the first, except that the tables had been replaced with cubicles. A sign at the top of the stairs urged me to study quietly. Glad to.
First, I went into the men's room. There was a nice resting spot on a shelf by the sinks. I squirted hand soap onto my jacket and began to wash it under the spigot. This wasn't the place to smell like a street bum.
When the jacket was clean, I rung it out. I grabbed my envelope off the shelf and noticed a cheap ball point pen sitting behind it. There was no one else in the bathroom, so I decided it was lost property and claimed it.
At the information desk, I smiled at an old hippy as I took a short stack of scrap paper. The hippy didn't seem to mind. Each was about the size of my hand--larger than I'd expected, but that was a good thing.
The cubicles were all taken, but I found a small empty table in the corner. I sat, the scrap paper under my right hand and the envelope under my left. The clock on the wall read forty minutes after one. I could spare an hour and a half looking over the book before I had to go to work but I was sure it wouldn't take that much time. It was barely 60 pages long.
If I was still going to work. If Callin's bit had told them where I lived, he probably knew where I worked.
It was too late to sweat that now. Once I knew what was in the book, I could share it with Jon. Then I could do whatever I had to do--skip town, face down the cops, whatever.
I opened to the first page. Written at the top was: To Look Into the Empty Spaces and See the Great Predators Whatever the hell that meant.
Two weird but simple designs had been drawn on the bottom of the page. Each was similar to Annalise's tattoos or the stitches of Callin's waistcoat. The design on the left was labeled 1 and the other was 2.
I wasn't looking for something that would let me "see." I needed a way to fight Callin and Annalise. For Jon.
I needed a weapon. The fact that I wanted power to help my friend didn't change the fact that it was power I was after. Seeing the world behind the world wasn't enough, and having Callin offer to give it to me in his way wasn't enough, either--I wanted to own a piece of it. I wanted to take it.
I turned the page. A Gift of Tongues, was written at the top. This page also had two designs.
Next page: A Path Through the Wilderness. Below, two designs.
Next page: The Shadow Walks Free.
Next page: Golem Flesh. That was more like it. The note below the title read: To harden the flesh. This was some kind of protection spell.
I studied the designs at the bottom of the page. Beside them was a small stack of five lines with musical notes on them. I couldn't read music. Reluctantly, I turned the page.
The Unwinding Spec
tre. Callin's description was simple. To Undo An Enemy And His Works. Okay. Whatever that meant. I turned the page.
Ghost Knife.
"Hello," I said aloud, forgetting I was in a library. The note read: To cut ghosts, magic and dead things.
That was the one. I bookmarked the spell with a sheet of note paper and turned the page. Then the next. I needed something that sounded protective.
The handwriting changed partway through the book, then it changed again. More than one person had put this together. Even if one of the others was Annalise, that meant there was at least a third person in their society.
I reached a page that had the words Steeled Glass at the top. The designs beneath it were very simple. The notation read: To Protect Against a Single Blow.
I slipped another bookmark into this page.
The steeled glass spell looked so simple I considered starting with it, but hell, the ghost knife sounded cooler. I flipped back to that bookmarked page.
The designs under the ghost knife were side by side. The only other notes on the page beside the one I'd already read were a tiny scribble marking design number one as For the mind. Design number two was marked For the hand.
Whatever the hell that meant.
I copied design number two onto a sheet of scrap paper, but there was nothing special about it when I was done. It looked like Annalise's tattoos and Callin's waistcoat designs, but there was no magic in it as far as I could tell.
I drew both designs beside each other, which had the same disappointing result. Next, I drew design two directly over design one. Nothing. I switched the order. Nothing again. I suspected that was not the right method anyway; the resulting glyphs didn't look like Annalise's tattoos or Callin's stitches. Too busy.
If this crap was easy, everyone would do it. I focused in on the pages again, skimming the first and last sheets in the hope of finding some kind of instructions. If Callin and Annalise could do it, so could I. They hadn't exactly struck me as geniuses.
Twenty Palaces: A Prequel Page 7