Codex Born

ball. Once it stopped moving, two other figures appeared at the edge of the clearing.

“They’re blurry,” said Lena. “Can you zoom in on their faces?”

“It’s not that simple.” One of the men moved forward, but his face remained stubbornly out of focus. Other details were horrifyingly clear, like the ice ax he used to hammer away at the wendigo’s frozen hide, and the skinning knife he pulled out next.

“Jumalauta,” whispered Helen. I heard the meaning in my head, both a curse and a prayer, somewhere between “God dammit” and “God help us.” Both were appropriate for what followed.

“Is he wearing metal?” asked Nidhi.

I had noticed the same thing. The gleam of sunlight on polished metal, pebbled like oversized scales. Armor, maybe? Though it looked nothing like any historical mail I had ever seen.

The man’s companion held back at the edge of the clearing. I studied him instead, trying to determine if he was in charge of this butchery, or merely the guard.

Darkness flowed over both men, as if someone had moved to block our view. I looked more closely, focusing not on the men, but whatever hid them from us. Static danced over the rest of the scene, but the shadow remained. “Am I crazy, or does that look like a woman?”

“I see it, too,” said Lena. “Isaac, look at the man in back. His left hand.”

The shadow moved to one side as if it had heard, but not before I spied the book the second man clutched in his hands. It was far larger than the paperback I had used.

“Is that another libriomancer?” Helen breathed.

The shadow continued to grow—no, it was moving toward us. “I think she’s reacting to my spell.”

“How?” asked Lena. “I thought we were looking at the past.”

No, we were looking at a magical recreation of the past. The spell itself existed in the present, which suggested that whoever or whatever this woman was, she was here with us now, working within the spell to block my efforts.

“You need to end this,” Nidhi said sharply.

I had come to the same conclusion. How long had I been standing here? Ten minutes? Fifteen? My arm was numb, and my eyes were so dry I could barely see anything beyond the chronoscope’s window.

A flicker of red light told me Smudge had reacted to the threat in his usual way. Lena had moved him onto the trunk of a tree, presumably to keep him away from the Moly’s effects. Hopefully he wouldn’t set anything on fire.

I tried to collapse the spell, but whoever or whatever this was, she was fighting me. The images stretched and distorted, and black fingers reached toward us.

“Move,” snapped Lena.

I ducked aside as Lena snatched The Best of Isaac Asimov from Nidhi and hurled it directly through the center of the chronoscope’s image. A pained scream stabbed my mind, and I stumbled backward. The spell collapsed to a single point of silver light, then disappeared.

Lena caught me by the arms. I forgot sometimes how strong she was. I started to pull away, but the world had gotten much more wobbly, and I thought better of it. “Give me five minutes to rest. I’ll be fine.” Then I could try to figure out what the hell we were up against, and exactly how much trouble we were in. “Nice throw.”

Lena grimaced. “Touching that stuff makes me want to vomit. But I figured whatever was trying to come through wouldn’t like it any more than I do.”

Nidhi peeled back one of my eyelids, then checked my pulse. She didn’t look happy. “I told you to be careful.”

“Yeah.” I sagged against Lena. “I really need to start listening to you.”

3

The oak is ever divided. Reaching deeper, to the cool waters of Earth’s lifeblood. Reaching skyward, to the warm breath of the sun.

Within this tree waits home.

Within this tree waits solitude.

She is my mother. My twin. My center, cleaved in two.

Yearning to be one. Yearning to be my own.

I was born into winter. Yearning to sleep through the cold. Yearning for one whose warmth would awaken me.

Within his need, I found myself.

Within his desire, I found joy.

His body takes root within mine.

I reach inward to safety. I reach outward to his need.

I bring my Creator to his knees and receive his prayers.

—In memory of Frank Dearing

I AWOKE ON A low cot, gasping for breath. My feet and legs were tangled in an old wool blanket. The pillow was damp from sweat, as was the side of my face. The lights were out, but the safety-glass window in the door provided a hint of fluorescent illumination from the office outside.

“You’re safe.” Nidhi had a hand on my shoulder, holding me down with more strength than I would have expected. “What do you remember?”

The flickering magic of the chronoscope. A wendigo twisted in agony. An armored man hidden by the shadow of a woman. I remembered resting while Jeff and Helen discussed what to do with the body. They had decided to bury it in an unmarked grave behind the church. I had stood up too quickly. “Did Lena…she carried me here, didn’t she.”

“That’s right. We were worried at first, but then you started snoring. Do you know where you are?”

“Tamarack. We’re inside the school, right?”

“What’s your name?” Nidhi asked in that calm, clinical tone I remembered from our sessions. She kept her hands folded over the black leather purse in her lap.

“Isaac Vainio.”

“What’s the date?” She was firing questions faster now, and I found myself responding in kind.

“August fourth. Unless I was out longer than I thought?”

She ignored me. “What’s my name?”

“Nidhi Shah.” I shook my head before she could continue. “It’s me. Just me.” I closed my eyes, listening for the whispers that were the first sign of possession, but my mind was my own. Whatever other damage I might have done, I hadn’t ripped Asimov’s story open that badly. Not that I could blame Nidhi for her fears. She had seen libriomantic possession close-up, as well as the damage that kind of madness could cause. “Where’s Lena?”

“With the werewolves. I wasn’t sure what was going on in your head.”

“So you sent her away. Smart.” I sagged back into the pillow. Lena’s personality adjusted to the desires of her lover. Or lovers, as we had discovered earlier this year. The process wasn’t supposed to be immediate, but who knew what it would do to her if any fictional characters moved into my brain?

An orange glow pulled my attention to Smudge, who climbed down the wall and stopped on the metal frame of the cot. The tips of the hairs along his back glowed like embers, and from the way he was watching me, I was the one who had spooked him. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a box of Red Hot candies. I shook one into my left hand and held it out.

The allure of hard cinnamon candy was enough to overcome his nerves. The burning glow had dimmed, but his feet were uncomfortably hot as he crept forward onto my fingers. He hesitated, then snatched the candy. His body cooled as he ate.