CHAPTER 11. MERCY, MERCY
I took my first breath, and it was heavenly. “What the–”
“It was the book,” Jane interrupted, rushing to the window. “The book! Did you see it?”
Gil sat up, wiping a sleeve across his bloody nose. “What?”
“Inside the scrapbook you found was a section of the other book. Of Y Ddraig Goch. I recognized the script. The language, too. I saw it when the scrapbook fell over there,” she pointed to the far wall.
“What?” Gil moaned. “How did you...?”
“I’ve been studying Y Ddraig Goch for months, do you not think I would recognize the text when I saw it? Even a fragment of it?” she growled. “At the very least, portions of it are transcribed inside of that book. I am certain.”
Gil stood. “So not such a waste of time after all, huh?” he asked. “If you’d given us the time to look through–”
“It didn’t matter at the time,” she interrupted. “Clearly he did not expect us to find the scrapbook, and when we did, he sent his servants to retrieve it.”
“He who?” I asked, still woozy.
“Fehr, of course,” Jane said. “Are you paying any attention at all?”
Gil took a breath. “Deacons Fehr. Here in Callowleigh. Well. I mean, it’s possible. Yeah, okay, it does make some sense.”
“Wouldn’t he be like...” I tried to do math in my head. “A hundred years old?”
“You already know that aging and mortality are far more complicated than you originally believed,” Gil said. “It is quite easy, especially for someone well-versed in the dark arts.”
“Prolonging your life, invincibility, nigh immortality, reincarnation, and bringing the dead back to life, are all possible with use of the dark arts,” Jane said with a disapproving look on her face. “In fact, that’s just the beginning.”
“All right, some of that I knew, some I didn’t. But could Fehr do it with this book you’re talking about?” I asked.
“He could do nearly anything with Y Ddraig Goch,” Gil said.
“Yes, that’s correct. Y Ddraig Goch would make most things possible. It is clear that Fehr has returned to Callowleigh for the book.”
“Why?” I asked. “If he’s been alive this whole time, why is he only coming for it now?”
“The impetus of an insane mind is not for us to fathom,” Jane said.
“You could just say ‘I don’t know,’” Gil said.
“Why do you think he’s insane?” I asked.
“Because he believes he can harness the power of Y Ddraig Goch. Any mortal who believes that is possible must be insane.”
A silence fell. Jane paced about the room like a caged lion. Gil rose to his feet and chewed on his fingernails. I was still on the floor, generally dazed and confused. It had been a rough night. We sat quietly, letting words sink in.
“Why are you here, Jane?” Gil asked finally.
She did not stop pacing, nor did she answer.
“You are a known thief,” he said. “But you are only known to dabble in occult artifacts. When I busted you at my penthouse, you were stealing a painting, just a regular old painting. I read the police reports on you, paintings and sculptures, they’re your thing. Art stuff, but that’s it. I mean occult stuff is lucrative, but it’s a niche market, and you’re pretty successful already. You don’t need this trouble. So why are you here?”
She stopped. “Why do you ask, Abercrombie?”
“You’re very well-informed for being so out of your depth,” he said.
“It’s just job-related research,” she said. “You can learn as much about Callowleigh with a few internet searches.”
“I understand that, and having done your relevant research–for months, as you said–you have learned a whole bunch, but not just about Callowleigh. You’ve learned about grimoires, too. Learned a lot, actually. Eighteen months ago you probably didn’t know jack shit about grimoires.”
Her eyes narrowed and her hands curled into two small fists. For the second time that night, she realized that she’d spoken too much, her arrogance showing her hand.
“You’re here to steal it, aren’t you?” he asked. “The Ddraig Goch, that is. I don’t know how I was so dense. As you yourself said, it’s not like it’s on the New York Times’ Bestseller list.”
Jane took a deep breath and calmed herself, after a minute sitting on the edge of a desk. I could see she was weighing her options. “Yes,” she said finally. “I am here to steal Y Ddraig Goch and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Honestly? I don’t care if you steal it,” Gil said. “Go ahead, take it and put it in a shadow box over your toilet. My only concern is who’s paying you to steal it.”
“What makes you think I’m not stealing it for myself?”
“You’ve already said about six times that this is a job,” I said.
“Yeah.” She smiled grimly. “It is a job.”
“Well, for who?” Gil asked.
“For whom,” she corrected.
“Who wants the goddamn book, Jane?” Gil persisted.
She folded her hands in her lap and studied her shoes for a long moment. Outside, the rain started falling once again.
“Who?” Gil asked again.
“I don’t know,” she admitted stubbornly. “I was commissioned and paid to steal it. When you receive a check as large as I received, you don’t ask questions. I’ve been pursuing it for five months, chasing rumors and legends all around the world. All communications with my employer have been via email.”
Gil squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “And now you’re here? Let’s for a moment set aside me making fun of your stupidity for stealing such a powerful grimoire for who knows who, and I’ll settle for an honest answer to this question: what information brought you to this scary old hospital in the middle of nowhere?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “The story... it’s strange,” she said softly.
“Try me,” Gil said. Despite his bloody nose and obvious fatigue, a hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“I was at a hotel in Prague, finishing a twelve-day research venture at the Strahov Monastery Library, when I received a telegram of all things, can you believe it? I didn’t think there were telegrams anymore. Anonymous. It said...” she trailed off, searching her pockets. After a moment she pulled a folded piece of crinkled paper from her pocket. She opened it and read, “‘You search ends in Callowleigh. Peach Bottom, Pennsylvania, USA.’ Anonymous telegrams sent to Czech hotels in the middle of the night. It’s ridiculous. Sounds like a spy film.”
Gil reached out and she handed him the telegram.
“This isn’t a telegram,” he said. “Do you see this?” he turned the paper to face her.
“It says Telex.”
“A Telex is like an electrical telegraph,” he said. “Not super old, but old enough to have been sent from here. I mean literally from here. From Callowleigh. Old hospitals and sanatoriums would customarily have some kind of long distance communication, especially if they were isolated, as Callowleigh was.”
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“If I had to guess?” Gil chewed his lip. “We both know that blood is required to catalyze much black magic, right?”
She nodded.
“Well, did you know that the type of blood is often just as important? Types O+ versus AB- or whatever.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Okay, well did you know that guy’s blood and lady’s blood do different things? I mean, they’ll respond differently in certain reactions. As will the combination of a man’s and woman’s blood and different ratios?”
She paused before shaking her head. “What are you implying, Abercrombie?”
“Killing two birds with one stone,” I said, breaking my silence.
Jane turned to look at me, eyes just a little wider than she would have liked. “What do you mean?”
Gil spoke up. “Fehr is here and h
e’s got his captive caretaker, but whatever he wants to accomplish with Y Ddraig Goch can’t be done with just Dawkins. So he figures he can get you off his tail and solve his blood problem at the same time.”
“Two birds with one stone,” I shrugged. “It’s what I’d do.”
Her mouth hung open for a moment. “You must be joking,” she said. “If he is even alive, how could he know that I am searching for the book?”
Gil smiled. “Do you really believe that word of your search wouldn’t get back to the book's owner? Old Abercrombian saying: If you start searching for dangerous things, dangerous things will start searching for you,” he said.
She turned to me. “And you? Do you believe this theory, as well?”
I shrugged. “It makes sense. And like I said, it’s what I’d do. I wouldn’t want a well-financed and highly experienced thief on my tail if I was in possession of something as powerful as this book.”
She stared off into space. For the first time that evening, she looked frightened.
“So you believe that I am wanted by this Fehr. I am wanted for my... my blood?”
Gil sighed. “Unfortunately, my dear, I believe we’ve all stepped in it by coming here tonight.”
“What do you mean? Fate?” she asked.
“If this theory’s right, this trap doesn’t only extend to you, it includes Dylan and me now as well. I’d imagine that Mr. Fehr is positively delighted that we’re here tonight. Now all that remains is for us to find him and for fate to play out.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“Fehr is obviously waiting for us,” Gil said. “That’s why he didn’t just have his Galla goons bring us to him directly. He is... what? Preparing for us? Maybe. And now all that we have to do is find him. If what he wants happens, we’re dead and something catastrophic and apocalyptic probably happens, right? And if what we want plays out? He’s dead and we get to walk out of here and go home.” He shrugged. “Fate. Honestly, I would rather it just have been the caretaker, you know? Unfortunately, sometimes it’s not the caretaker. Sometimes it’s an ageless, demon summoning sorcerer with infinite black magic powers instead.”
“Awesome,” I muttered.
Jane looked pale. “And now what?” she asked.
Gil smiled. “Now we find him.”