Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
T he following day, Luke woke up feeling fully lucid. In place of scattered fragments, and loops of thought that refused to close, he could follow a clear narrative. He remembered the delivery guy turning up and unpacking the box of books. He remembered unwrapping the tissue from that last package. He could see the pale brown of the book’s cover and feel the strangely soft and silky texture of the thin leather. He had flipped it open, the binding opening easily so that the pages splayed flat. He had been expecting blank pages and there had been a moment of surprise at the archaic typeface. And then pain.
Luke realised he needed to read more in Alvis’s book. He tried not to think that if he had gotten further with her scrabbly handwriting, he might have avoided… whatever had happened to him. A book that knocked him flat for three days.
He got out of bed, his legs still a little wobbly, and opened the top drawer of the dresser to locate clean underwear, jogging bottoms and a fresh t-shirt. Wrinkling his nose as he pulled it over his head, he added ‘shower’ to his urgent to-do list. He was happy to be vertical and functioning, though, after so long lying down. A horrifying thought crossed his mind. He must have got out of bed to use the bathroom at some point, but he didn’t remember it. He hoped he had managed it alone. The thought of Esme helping him with that side of things made him flush red with embarrassment.
Pushing that horror show to the very back of his mind, Luke concentrated on getting down the steep spiral stairs to the bookshop. That accomplished, he made it to the front room, wincing at the bright sunlight coming through the window. The leather books were packed back into the cardboard box and there was no sign of the slim volume.
Alvis’s red book was sitting on his reading pile next to the armchair, though, so he fetched a glass of water and settled himself comfortably.
Flipping past the cryptic references to the ‘vault’, Luke found a neat list of addresses. Some had been crossed out or amended, some had asterisks next to them, others little crescent moon symbols. He paged forward and found notes for the symbols. An asterisk meant ‘friendly’ according to Alvis, a moon meant ‘vault’ and a darkly scribbled dot of ink meant ‘do not use’.
There were more notes, too. A full-page screed on the ‘rudeness’ and ‘ignorance’ of somebody called Genevieve at Bookends in Truro.
All in all, Luke was building a picture of Alvis’s work as both a custodian of books and slightly grumpy individual. She also seemed extremely suspicious of other people in the book world, keeping a list of ‘bothersome scribes’, which she had underlined several times. One of the names on this list had a note underneath which just said ‘WATCH’.
He wanted to speak to Esme and to show her the book, but he also knew she was probably asleep. He didn’t want to disturb her rest, so he carried on puzzling through the difficult-to-read handwriting.
Luke’s eyes were getting dangerously heavy and, more than once, he had felt himself jerk awake. His drowsiness was interrupted by the bell on the shop door jangling. A moment later, the mayor appeared in front of him, looking dapper and energetic.
‘You’re up!’ His voice was jovial, but Luke could detect concern in his eyes. ‘Don’t get up.’
Luke stopped his half-hearted attempt to rise from the chair. The exhaustion made his bones ache. ‘I feel like death.’
‘No wonder. You nearly died,’ Tobias said. His voice betrayed no emotion.
Luke looked at his serious expression. ‘That bad?’
‘But you didn’t.’ Tobias broke into a gentle smile. ‘And that is good news.’
Given the weight of the conversation, Luke felt a little bit petty asking, but he had to know. ‘When I was ill… I don’t remember much. I know Esme was there a lot, looking after me.’
Tobias’s smile grew a little. ‘I had to be quite stern to get her to take a break.’
‘I wasn’t in a state to do… anything. For myself, I mean. I was wondering whether Esme had to do full nursing.’ He really didn’t want to use the words ‘bed pan’ or ‘toilet’ or anything related, but Tobias’s look of incomprehension was not promising.
‘Ah,’ Tobias said, realisation dawning. ‘Don’t worry about that side of things.’
‘Okay,’ Luke said, not feeling reassured.
‘I helped you to the commode.’
Marvellous. Luke tried not to imagine his sweaty frame leaning heavily on the elderly Tobias and all the rest of the indignities.
Tobias turned serious. ‘How is your chest?’
‘I have some weird cuts there. Was that…’ He had been going to ask ‘was that Esme?’ but he knew that couldn’t be right.
‘Lucy. You owe her now.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ Luke said, trying to sound unconcerned. His chest was throbbing with remembered pain and he rubbed it with his fist.
The mayor just nodded, which wasn’t reassuring. ‘Bee will be along in a bit. We’re all taking it in turns to check on you.’
‘Thank you for the warning.’
The mayor patted the counter and left with a ‘cheerio’.
Luke stayed in his reading chair and allowed himself a doze. Exactly one hour after the mayor had departed, Bee arrived. She had a small succulent in a hand-painted pot, which she placed onto the shop counter. ‘For you. A get well soon present.’
‘I’m all better,’ Luke lied. ‘But thank you.’
Bee gave him a look that told him he wasn’t fooling anybody. And then hoisted a plastic bag next to the plant. ‘Soup from Seren. Two minutes in the micro. There are some cheese scones in there, too.’
He opened his mouth to say another ‘thank you’, but Bee wasn’t finished.
‘She said you can pay her later.’
‘Right.’
‘And no skipping town before you do.’
‘I’m not skipping anywhere.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Bee pursed her lips.
‘Do you know who tidied up the books? There was one that I think… that I remember opening before I got ill.’
‘You had better wear gloves when opening deliveries in the future,’ Bee said. ‘I think Esme’s taking care of it.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Making it safe if she’s learned anything at all.’
Well, that made very little sense. But Luke would be the first to admit that he wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. Bee often spoke in riddles and he wasn’t about to make an enemy of one of the Three Sisters. He wasn’t as addled as that.
Bee made to leave. ‘Esme will be by in an hour and then Tobias after that.’
‘It’s very kind, but I really am fine.’
Bee shrugged.
Before she could walk out, Luke took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. ‘Tobias said that your sister saved me. Lucy.’
Bee stopped. She spoke without turning around. ‘She did.’
‘So I owe her?’
‘You do,’ Bee said, finally turning to look at Luke. ‘But I wouldn’t rush to pay her back. If I were you, I’d keep well away. Let her forget about you.’
Well, that sounded more promising. ‘Will she?’
‘No,’ Bee said cheerfully, ‘but sometimes delaying a problem makes it disappear.’
The landline rang an hour later. It was Esme, checking in. ‘I’ll be by in a little while, but I’m just trying to sort something.’
‘You don’t have to check on me,’ Luke said. He wanted to see her, but he didn’t want her to have to look after him. And he had something else on his mind. ‘Do you have the book?’
‘I do. It’s safe. I got a metal box from Hammer. It’s padlocked and I’ve got the key in my pocket.’
‘I don’t like you having to deal with it. It’s my responsibility.’
‘I’m more interested in how you’re feeling. What are you doing out of bed?’
‘You called the landline,’ he said defensively.
‘It was a test. And you answered after three rings, which means you are downstairs.’
‘All right, Columbo.’
‘Go back to bed. Rest.’
‘I feel fine. Better than fine. I might go for a run later.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
Hanging up, Luke couldn’t help smiling. He didn’t think Esme was entirely convinced by his breezy tone, but he felt he had done a decent job of acting normal. And well. He was neither, he could admit that to himself, but he really didn’t want Esme worried. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Esme was strong enough, but more that he wanted to protect her. He didn’t know if he was supposed to think like that. It might be toxic masculinity, a phrase he had heard and fully intended to look up the meaning of, but hadn’t quite got around to. He was pretty sure the definition might just be a picture of his dad.
Instead of following Esme’s orders, he searched for the delivery note that had been included with the box of books. First thing on his list was who had sent the damn thing. Second was to ask them some very pointed questions. He found the delivery slip and called the number listed with the address of the sender. A computerised voice informed him that the number he had dialled ‘had not been recognised’. He tried it a couple of times to make sure he was dialling correctly, but got the same result.
Using his phone, he searched for the address. Maps showed it, the pin description matching the business name on the slip – The Shambles Book Emporium. He breathed a little easier realising that it was a real place. That the books hadn’t just appeared from the ether. There were limits to what his brain could accept in any one week, and a book infecting him with a deadly virus had him at his limit. That was what he had decided. There was a pathogen on the book. A poison or a virus. Tobias had called it a curse, but that was old world suspicion. Perfectly acceptable in an old gent like Tobias, but not something that belonged in Luke’s lexicon. Witch, his inner voice whispered. Unholy Island. Wards. A magic bookshop .
Ignoring his insolent mind, Luke focused on Google. The modern kind of magic. The sort that everybody believed in.
He used Street View to look at the outside of the building. It was a good size second-hand bookshop with an attractive display in the window and exterior woodwork painted in a smart racing green. In any other circumstances, he would put it on his mental list as a place to visit if he was ever in York. The Google results showed the business as ‘closed’. He clicked on the shop’s website link. It opened a Facebook page which hadn’t been updated for two weeks. Which could be significant, or it could just mean that the business wasn’t big on social media.
Looking back at the search page, a news story was the third result on the page. The headline showed in the link text. Beloved York institution in blazes.
He tapped the story and was greeted by a picture of a burned-out building. It was unrecognisable as the cheerful painted shop front and he felt his stomach drop at the sight and the throbbing in his chest increase. Fire. It had been burned away.
He didn’t want to read the story beneath. Not after the first line: Owner perished in freak fire. Forcing himself to scan the news article, he tried to take in the details. The owner had died. Nobody else had been hurt. Investigators at scene said that the paper had acted as fuel but the accelerant was unclear ‘at this time’. He could feel the burning heat, his flesh cooking and skin melting. It felt like a memory, not pure imagination and, for a very bad moment, he thought he was going to be sick. Swallowing hard, he wrapped his arms around his body and took a few breaths until the danger passed.
Scrolling, he found a picture of the owner, Graham Townsend. An unsmiling man with brown hair and black-rimmed glasses. It was clearly a posed shot, maybe for a driving licence or previous corporate job, and it had the unfortunate air of a mug shot. He stared at it and wondered whether this was the man who had sent a book to kill him.