Shadows of Redemption: Book of Death Series Book 1

Chapter 8

“The Book of the One True Game? What’s that?”

“That was the title it used last time,” Mortlake replied, throwing the book onto Ellen’s kitchen table. “Now it’s an old guidebook. Better call it the Book of Lies.”

“Or the Book of Death,” Lynn said bitterly, gazing at the scarred cover.

Seeing Ellen’s puzzlement, Mortlake explained that they had encountered the book the previous year. Then, the book had contained a vast amount of information about mystical phenomena. The problem was that, amid much correct data, the book had interpolated some dangerous lies. These were calculated to pander to a person with some political power and who wanted a lot more. The resulting crisis had killed and injured many innocent people.

“A book that writes itself?” said Ellen, gazing down at it as if the tome was some poisonous reptile. “That’s what put all those ideas into the Reverend’s head?”

Mortlake explained that the book was possibly a demon. If not, it might be some other kind of entity or an extension of some malign being into the earthly plane. He started to discuss possible ways to limit its power.

“An iron cage might work,” he theorized, “with the correct invocations and symbols. If only we could be sure what sort of enemy we’re dealing with.”

“You should burn it!” said Ellen.

“Well, that is a nice, direct approach,” Mortlake said. “But of course, it’s not that simple because… well, because we…”

He hesitated. Why couldn’t they burn it? The fact that it bled proved that it lived in some sense. But whether it could be killed was another matter. Deep down, he also hated the idea of destroying a book, even an evil one like this. Part of him wanted to preserve it, study it. Possess it, even. But that, he knew very well, was part of the book’s allure. It was unique and, therefore, priceless.

Of course, it should be destroyed, he thought.

“Actually, it is an excellent idea, Ellen,” he said. “Have you got any paraffin or something that will create a good, hot flame?”

The landlady opened a cupboard under the sink and produced a bewildering array of cleaning products. None seemed to be flammable, though.

“The downside of all those safety regs, I guess,” Lynn commented, setting aside a plastic bottle. “Whatever happened to the good old days when stuff caught fire all the time?”

“I do have some rubbing alcohol,” Ellen said unsurely. “For my aches and pains. Not a very big bottle, though.”

She went upstairs to get the bottle. Lynn and Mortlake pondered the book. As far as they could tell, it couldn’t move. It exerted a certain psychic fascination, but couldn’t control people, only deceive them. It certainly seemed to be made of paper and other mundane materials.

“If it is a demon,” Lynn mused, “it must have been working with the Lost One—the book organizing a kind of jail break.”

“Yes,” Mortlake said. “It would seem so. A reasonable hypothesis. And the fact that it’s so close to Cambridge is more than a coincidence, I think. It’s gunning for us because we thwarted it last time.”

Lynn frowned, picked up the book, and turned it over.

“A little experiment,” she said.

Then she opened it and ripped out a few pages at random. Mortlake flinched but could hardly blame her.

“It can’t defend itself,” she mused, tearing out another handful. “Pretty pathetic for a demon, right?”

Mortlake had to agree. But then the pages Lynn had let fall to the table changed. They were no longer brownish rectangles of paper covered in faded print. They shrank, darkened, and shriveled. Then a hot gust of wind blew the withered remnants away. They vanished in the air.

Lynn threw the book down and took a step away from the table.

“Impressive,” Mortlake said, picking the book up and flipping it open. “Ah, yes, the pages have already regenerated.”

Ellen reappeared, smiling nervously, holding up a plastic bottle. She shook it, producing a slight sloshing noise.

“Do you think this will be enough?”

Mortlake took the bottle, smiling.

“We can but try. However, I must admit that I am not optimistic. Still, we will learn by doing.”

Half an hour later, they had established that the book couldn’t be burned.