This is Episode 4-5 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 4-5: Spines

It was like one of those cartoon or slapstick gags when someone opens a door that’s nothing but a brick wall behind it, except in this case, the bricks were thin and laid the wrong way. With my colour sapped Clockworld vision, all the book spines appeared grey or near grey. The shelf was almost completely packed, top to bottom, which made the empty slot especially apparent.

Fergus jabbed at it with the crowbar.

“Nothing wacky from this side,” I said. “I mean, past baseline wacky.”

Persi joined in on the poking, using the sharp tip of her knife. It stuck into a spine, then pushed in as one might expect. She yanked, and the book stayed put as the blade came free.

I was less concerned with the books, and more concerned with the lack of one book. There was only one gap in those dreary, dusty titles, and I knew the shape and size of it as sure as I knew that this whole situation stunk.

“Well, what time does the clock report?” asked Deluxe.

“Slight issue on that front,” said Fergus.

“What is it?” she said.

We told her. She asked for pictures. Their phones had trouble working. So began a visual relay of the bibliothecal barricade: we couldn’t move it, the books looked dusty but had no dust, there was one missing, we couldn’t read the titles on the spines (too faded), it sucked, we hated it, etcetera.

“Previous encounter, the room took on the characteristics of the possessed locale,” said Deluxe. “You must commit the details of the shelves to memory.”

“I need a favour too,” I said.

There was a fun moment when Persi and Fergus clearly wanted to turn around and ask me what I needed, but halfway through I remembered they didn’t know where I was. I let them be awkward and uncomfortable for a minute, because I really needed some comic relief at this point, then I said, “There’s a missing book, and I know where it is. Under the stairs when we first came in.”

“Oh, oh yeah,” said Fergus, eyes lighting up. “I’ll get it right now. Persi?”

“You go. I’ll study this,” she said.

He took off at a trot, and it was quiet as Persi stared down the bookwall. I heard typing noises from my other ears, as Deluxe busied herself with something. I also tried to see what about the bookshelf I might commit to memory, but it was so plain and, well, boring to stare at that I found myself more enthralled with the wispy boil of colour wafting from my friend. It was rich sunset gold, almost thick like it came from a tiny and expensive bottle of paint. It curled slow and fat as if she was a smoldering campfire, rising out of her and dying fast into the air, much too fast if you asked me or any respectable smoldering log. Like it was cut off, somehow.

“Persi,” I said.

“Hm?”

“You’re gold. Your glow, or whatever.”

The typing noises stopped. Persi looked down the hallway, or maybe at where she thought I might be, saying nothing.

“Every living thing in Clockworld does it blue,” I explained—I had explained before, but I was on some kind of autopilot now. “It’s thin usually, except when the thing is hurting. Or dying. But you, you’re the only one I’ve seen that is all sunny.”

“Is that,” came Fergus’ voice, through the headsets, “is that… what does that mean?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” I said. “But I’ve noticed it for some time and have felt weird for not mentioning it, so there we go. Sorry.”

No one said anything for an uncomfortable stretch of seconds. I was about to crumble into a series of backpedaling apologies when Deluxe said, “Curious, I suppose. If you sight another with a similar expression be sure to note them so we might draw any parallels.”

“There is so little we know,” I said, echoing Deluxe’s reaction from the first time I told her. Why did I decide to do this now? How could it have possibly been helpful?

Persi had silently returned her attention to the books, which made it much worse. I remembered I could snoop with impunity so I walked around her and tried to read her expression. She seemed to be genuinely interested in the shelves—her pupils were active, like she was reading, and her face had the light tension of someone who was totally keyed in to what they were doing.

Before her silence could make me too paranoid, the slam of the hallway door echoed along and Fergus soon followed it, blue book in hand.

“Weird empty book retrieved,” he announced. “Wee bastard has a nasty feel to it.”

“Did you open it?” I asked.

He bit his lip. “I was curious. Is that bad? Did I just fuck up?”

“I don’t think so, but was it all empty?” Last time, it was not entirely empty. The Minder had written me some notes.

“Looked as much, but I only flipped through it,” he said. “That was stupid, I guess.”

“A risk,” agreed Deluxe, “but at this stage we can learn from almost anything we do.”

“That’s a nice way of calling me a noob,” Fergus mock-whispered.

“Be happy your experience is limited,” I said. “If I’m not dead in a month or sooner, this ordeal is definitely going to melt part of my brain.”

“Well, we’ll be sure to be by your side at the loony-bin, eh Persi?” He nudged her with an elbow, then said, “What do I do with this book now then?”

“Hold it out for a sec,” I said.

He did, and I passed the Queen’s Band through it. Nothing felt out of the ordinary.

“Alright, open it for me, to the first page. Turn ‘em as I call ‘em.”

Persi broke her gaze from the books and watched as Fergus held The Secret to Living out and away from him. He flipped the pages. No words, alien or otherwise. I said as much.

“Do we do what I think we’re gonna do?” asked Fergus.

“If the shoe fits,” I said.

“Then it’s a good shoe,” said Persi, smirking.

This cracked Fergus up, and I felt myself grinning as well. If she was making jokes, then maybe she didn’t hate me for calling her out earlier.

“Can’t ask much more from a shoe,” giggled Fergus, wiping at his eyes. He approached the bookshelf and held the troublesome little tome up to the lone gap. It was at eye level.

“Have you inserted the book?” asked Deluxe. “Nothing fluctuating over here.”

“Not yet,” I said. “Band-aid style Fergus, no hesitation.”

“Fire in the hole,” he said, and shoved it home.

 

 

Continued in Part 4-6

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