Bring Me To Life #2
“It’s… not ink. More like the pigment is part of the page. Maybe it was soaked in something? The letters are raised, just a tiny bit.”
Aubrey notes it all down, then adds, “That book weighs more than it should—about fifty percent heavier for its size.”
Renard nods as he murmurs, “That could be a sign of either high magical density or a protection layer built into the binding.”
I turn the first page with the dowel carefully.
The page resists for a split second—just a hint of tackiness—then lets go, revealing another solid sheet of text, this time with a circular pattern drawn into the margin.
The circle is double-lined, with tiny triangles all the way around, and a single dot at the center.
I am about to comment on it when my vision goes a little swimmy.
Not vertigo, exactly, just a sense that my eyes are being pulled toward the diagram, that if I looked too long the triangles would start to move.
I close my eyes and say, “These diagrams have an effect on me. I don’t want to look at them too long.”
Renard gently pulls the book a few inches closer to himself, examining the page through the loupe. “You are not wrong. The diagram is a focal point, perhaps. I advise we proceed by scanning, not lingering. There is something layered into the pigment here.”
Aubrey is scribbling frantically, and when I look up, I see that his skin has gone a shade paler than usual.
He meets my gaze and shrugs, which makes me smile a little.
We work in silence for a few more minutes, turning pages one by one, cataloguing each, and not lingering on any particular diagram or phrase.
There are no illustrations of creatures, but there are increasing numbers of geometric designs—lines, circles, intersecting shapes, every one of them more complex and hypnotic than the last.
Halfway through, I pause. My hands feel heavy, and the gloves have started to pinch around the knuckles. “I need a break,” I say, and set the tweezers down on the cloth.
“Shall I get some water, ma petite?” Renard asks, and I nod, happy to accept.
I sit back, aware of the cold and the strange, dry taste in the air, and let my eyes wander. The dust motes spin in the lamp’s glow. The shelves press closer than before, or maybe it’s just the way the air is warping with the focus of our attention.
Once he returns, I take a sip of the drink after moving away from the tome. It slides down my throat easily, making me feel a lot better as I hydrate. WhenI finish the glass, I wipe my mouth on the hem of my shirt and look at my mates. “That’s better. Thanks, guys.”
“I believe there are codes and enchantments embedded within the text, the graphics, and even the materials of the book. It would not be uncommon, mes amours.”
Aubrey frowns, his fingers drumming the pad. “Can you break any of it?”
“Given time, possibly, especially with help,” Renard says, “but there’s no point. If it’s meant to be read, the answer is inside. We have to de-code the entire thing to find all the keys.”
“I’m ready to go again,” I say as I set my glass down and walk over to the table.
Sitting down, I sigh and get new double-gloves on, preparing.
Adjusting the tweezers, I slide them under the edge of the cover to lift it.
For a second, nothing happens, but as I tilt it up— I get zapped.
It’s not an electric shock, not even a burn, but a fine, hair-thin slice through both gloves.
The pain is so sharp and clean that I yank my hand back on instinct, flinging the tweezers to the table.
“Shit!” I yelp, shaking my hand like I can get the sting out.
All three of us freeze in place. Rennie is first to react; he grabs my wrist and yanks it into the light, his eyes laser-focused on the glove. At the tip of my index finger is a tiny, perfectly straight cut—through both gloves, down to the skin, and already leaking dark drops of blood.
“Impressive,” Renard says with clinical awe. “It cut through both layers, but barely touched you. Defensive warding of the highest degree, I’d guess. This has been touched by someone very old and very powerful.”
Aubrey exhales hard and pinches the bridge of his nose. “So we know it’s at least minimally able to harm us.” He manages to sound both deeply annoyed and relieved at the same time, though I’m not sure why.
My gargoyle keeps hold of my wrist, checking for my reaction to the magical spanking.
When he lets go, he grabs the soft brush and wipes down the cover.
“It’s probably safe now. The first touch triggers the defense, I believe, and then it’s clear.
That was how the old magics were—test the resolve, not kill the handler outright. ”
My heart is still hammering. “Should I try again?”
“You can double up on gloves again, if you wish to demonstrate courage, petit lapin.” Rennie winks at me and I snort.
“Cowards,” I say, wrapping my finger in a piece of clean cloth. “Real heroes bleed for their work.”
Aubrey smirks. “Yes, but they also learn from their mistakes. That’s something you have not yet mastered, lunchable.”
The tension drains all at once, replaced by a slightly hysterical giddiness. We’re all grinning like idiots as I shake out my sore hand and take up the tweezers for the next attempt.
“Wait,” the dragon says firmly. “Again, I would like to remind you not to read anything out loud.”
“Do you think we’re going to summon a fucking mummy, Flames? Come on.”