Ava was pretty damn sure that the fire wasn’t going to do anything for the person sitting at the desk, reclining in the chair, his hands holding to his chest a large, leather-bound book.
The fire wasn’t going to help him…namely because he looked like he’d been dead for at least a hundred and fifty years. His skin was dried and desiccated, lips pulled away from teeth that were stained yellow from rot and time. Eye sockets weresunken, the skin over them only giving the barest impression of something still lingering underneath. Matted, stringy, bits of hair clung to what remained of a scalp.
His clothes were Victorian, or maybe a little older? Georgian? Ava specialized in buildings, not clothing, but the two often went hand-in-hand. The white shirt was mottled and browned from the decomposition of the body, the fabric of his once-likely-beautiful suit eaten away by insects.
If this was a dream, she needed to go back to a therapist as soon as she could afford it. Because as horrifying as the corpse was, she seemed to be unable to focus on it. Instead, she couldn’t stop staring at the book he clutched in his hands. No.Bookwas too small of a word for it.
Tome? No. That kind of thing was what the wordgrimoirewas invented for. It was enormous—with what looked like…rust?—that had tarnished whatever metal treatment had been done to the page edges. She had never seen anything gilt with anything thatrustedbefore.
It was four inches thick, at least, and probably a foot across by eighteen inches tall. The corners were capped in what looked like…more rusted iron. And holding the book shut were two iron straps that were the kind that would latch shut or lock shut, though she couldn’t see anywhere for a key to go from where she stood.
The leather cover was stamped in a twisting pattern of jagged shapes that were both beautiful and eerie. They matched the same kind of odd mockery of patterns that she had seen around the building.
And even though she had never seen the book before in her life, not even in a dream?—
Sheknewit was hers.
Simplyknew it.
As if pulled by a thread, she walked closer. She had to see it better. It must be worth a fortune.
But she’d never sell it.
Because it washers.
She reached out a hand to touch the book.
If you had asked her to place a bet, prior to that night, on whether or not she could tell the difference between a living person and a two-hundred-something year old corpse, she would have taken it.
And, apparently, she would have lost.
It was as she leaned over to touch the book that she heard it.
The familiar sound of someone breathing.
The corpse…wasn’t a corpse at all.
Jerking her hand back, she stared down at the body in disbelief. The sound had snapped whatever weird hypnotic state she’d just been in, and she really focused on the body.
It was the corpse—no, itwas a living man.His eyes were shut, the sockets sunken. The skin was as dry as parchment and recessed, like a mummified body in an old cathedral in Europe.
His jaw was just slightly open, revealing that his tongue was long since dried away to little more than a stump.
The fingers that clutched the book were skeletal things with only the barest stretch of paper-thin skin over them. It looked as though any movement at all would crack the surface and render his flesh to dust.
It was the same noise her mother had made as she lay dying in her last moments. It sent a roll of fear through Ava so visceral it sent her staggering back a step.
Should she call an ambulance? How? With what phone? What could they do for him? He wasdead.But alive. Butdead.
Besides, she was trapped in a…this wasn’t real. None of this was a real world—there were monsters, and all of this was impossible. Entirely impossible. She was just dreaming.
Yeah. She was dreaming. She’d hit her head. Or maybe she was dead. Either way…maybe she should just go along with it…
Ava was shaking. Trembling like a leaf. Her heart was racing, and her thoughts were a jumbled, spinning mess.
She should leave the room. Figure out where she was. Find a way to escape. Get out of here. She didn’t belong here. But she didn’t want to leave without the tome. That tome washers.
Leaving without it felt like the greatest sin she could possibly commit in the world. Like leaving a pet behind in a burning house when she had the ability to save it. What choice did she have?
