Page 40 of Book of Night
Rand wanted the man to be a little disgusted with him. People trust that when someone is doing something terrible, the reward must be real.
All Charlie had to do was provide the special effect. She just had to be an intimidated, quiet girl until her eyes rolled up and she vomited beet juice all over everything. Finally, she was going to give them “the gift of the devil.”
The rich believed they were lucky, and that any good fortune they didn’t already have could be bought. They had so much already, disappointment became inconceivable.
“You should teach me how to drive,” she said, looking out at the highway and the lights glittering across the Connecticut River.
Rand snorted. “You’re not old enough.”
“You mean it’sillegal?” She shrugged. “Oh no.”
He made an annoyed, huffing noise. “I guess I could. I’ve got time next week. You never know when it might come in handy.”
They pulled off the exit, heading from city into suburbs and then stretches of woods beyond, where mansions had been nestled back when Springfield was a production hub.
Charlie bit her nail, looking out the window. Feeling a little sick to her stomach from a combination of beet juice and nerves.
She saw the mansion coming into view as Rand took the turn onto the drive. She’d never seen a place like it. It was like a museum, or a place out of a fairy tale where cursed princesses slept.
“This is a bad idea,” she muttered, but Rand ignored her.
He got out and opened the door for her. “Stage fright,” he said. “You want a swig of whiskey?”
“I’m fifteen,” she reminded him.
“Oh?” he said, mimicking her voice. “Is it illegal?”
The front door opened. A small red-haired man stood there, squinting at them. Charlie realized she had no idea what Lionel Salt looked like.
“Is there anything I can help you bring inside, sir?” he asked, making it clear he was a butler or something.
“We don’t haveprops,” Rand told him, as though the very idea offended.
Charlie had her game face on, and so didn’t roll her eyes.
Inside, several old men were sitting around on green leather chairs in a large library. The real Lionel Salt was an old man with a shock of white hair. A silver-tipped cane rested beside him. One of his friends appeared to be close in age, while the other was maybe twenty years younger. Rand introduced himself to them all, and then indicated Charlie, as though she were some kind of trained lemur instead of a person. She tried to surreptitiously read off the titles of the books.
The one they were supposed to get had a red spine and was titledThe Book of Amor Pettit. But from a glance at the shelves, she didn’t see it. She did spot an interesting section that had a few books with “Grimoire” in the title. That seemed promising.
The plan was supposed to go like this: Rand set things up. Charlie gave her performance. If the book was in the room, Rand took it. If it wasn’t, he used her to distract them and made some excuse to search the other rooms on the first level. The person who’d hired him had assured them that he’d seen it there.
Charlie acted her part. Shy. Reserved. When she got possessed, she planned to really let go.
They were invited to sit down. The red-haired man took drink orders. Rand talked over several different magical theories, a glass of whiskey in his hand, while Charlie sipped her water.
“Have you heard the saying ‘no man can jump over his own shadow’?” Salt asked.
Rand had not.
“It’s a German saying. It means everyone has their limits.”
“But you don’t believe that,” Rand said.
“No,” said Lionel. “I’ve always believed there was a secret to the universe. A path by which man can acquire godhood. And that path is through shadows. You claim you can wake mine.”
Sensing this was the moment, Rand stood. “Shall we begin, then?”
“Ah, yes, indeed,” said one of the other men. He smiled in a way that Charlie didn’t like.
