Connor and I pushed through the front door. A red-lettered sign hung just inside it that read:
* Please check all extra dimensional objects at the counter.
* All undead are subject to a $10.00 cleaning fee following use of the Reference Room.
* Shoplifters will be dispelled.
Cyrus was busy ringing up a pretty young Goth and her grandmother, who were purchasing a deck of Tarot cards. He looked over at us from behind the counter, recognized Connor, and gave us a toothy smile than ran from ear to ear. Even a grin from Cyrus was enough to make me feel uncomfortable and I looked away. Connor, veteran that he was, looked at him unfazed.
“Gentlemen!” Cyrus said with a pleasant ring. He looked around nervously before thanking the two customers. As he sent the girl, her new Tarot deck, and her grandmother on their way, he reached behind him and pulled a loop that hung from the ceiling. The door swung open for the two exiting customers, and the elderly woman gave a startled looked back at him. She hurried the young girl out the door.
“Crone,” Cyrus said, the smile falling from his face.
Everyone knew that Cyrus ran a bizarre shop, but something that garnered him favor in the Department was that, surprisingly, he was a great supporter of literacy. While his appearance tended to frighten off many timid book buyers, he worked hard to make the store accessible. He’d even added a “newbie” section for young people who might be interested in all types of arcane matter. An inviting little area just to the right of the entrance had been set aside for it-a room filled with happy pictures of cartoon witches generating rainbows. Zoo animal warlocks were painted there as well, producing flowers and bunnies from top hats. There was even a little wizard-robed turtle sporting a Daliesque mustache melting a watch with his magic wand.
Cyrus flashed his toothy grin again-which simply made him look like he was guilty ofsomething. God only knew what it was.“Que pasa?” he said. He placed his enormous hands on the counter and leaned forward, towering over us not only because of his natural height, but from the built-in rise behind the cash wrap. He laughed when he saw the white stripe in Connor’s hair. “Got skunked, eh?”
Connor ignored the question and stepped forward, his confidence not wavering in the face of Cyrus’s imposing figure. “How’s it goin’, Cyrus?”
I could hear a hint ofI know something you don’t know behind it. I knew the routine, something so simple that even I could handle it given my limited amount of fieldwork at Connor’s side. It was time for a bit of the gently applied good cop/bad cop. They were roles that fit both of us surprisingly well-Connor, his seasoned badass attitude with the field experience to back it up, and my own role as, well…the gentle new kid on the block. Real acting stretch there, I know.
Connor raised one eyebrow, looked slowly around the front of the shop, and said, “You keepin’ your nose clean?”
“Cleaner than an elephant’s trunk, guys,” Cyrus answered, flashing his grin once again. This time I caught the full effect he had evidently been going for. His entire set of teeth was filed to finely sharpened points that reminded me of a shark. “I run a solid enterprise here. You gents know that.”
What this massive wall of a man said rang of the truth, but Cyrus was also high on the creepy scale-maybe not as bad as Wesker, but definitely first runner-up. He made it hard to believe that whatever went on at Tome, Sweet Tome was on the up and up.
“I hope so,” Connor said. He peered back into the darkened Stacks of the cavernous bookshop. I followed his lead, but from where we stood, it was near impossible to make out anyone or anything who might be lurking somewhere deep in the aisles…which was the whole idea behind the shop’s design, if I thought about it. This eclectic collection of grimoires dealt with everything-mysticism, shamanism, witchcraft, spellcraft, glamours, and other arcane matters. Those interested in such subjects probably fancied a little privacy, and the store’s layout reflected that sentiment. It was a maze of towering shelves and wild piles of books that stretched to the ceiling.
“Thought we’d throw some business your way,” Connor continued. “We need some time in the Black Stacks, okay?”
Cyrus gave a chuckle-jovial, but just evil sounding enough to send a shiver up my spine. “Don’t ask me if it’s okay, Connor. Ask the Black Stacks yourself. I am merely their proprietor. Don’t hold me responsible for what they will and won’t do.”
Connor strode boldly up to the counter. He leaned in close to Cyrus, craning his neck upward to meet his eyes. “Well, then,” Connor said. There was piss and vinegar in his tone already. “Asproprietor, you might want to consider exerting a little control over your merchandise. You start letting the Stacks run things, you might find yourself cleaning up a lot more than dust around this place.”
“Whatever,” Cyrus said dismissively.
Cyrus’s attitude toward wrongdoing reminded me of the people who’d led me down the wrong paths. He was imposing, but Connor’s lack of fear had bolstered something deep inside me, and whatever bullying charm Cyrus held over me broke with his flippant response. “Those books represent a hell of a lot of chaotic malevolence if left to their own devices,” I said, spurred on by my newfound bravado. “You think it’s simply a matter of magicians coming in here and taking advantage of the Stacks? It’s the other way around. Most of the poor saps who get wrapped up in the whole evil game are there because they were too stupid or too malleable, easily controlled by what’s contained in those very books! They were too stupidnot to get used by the Stacks.”
Our good cop/bad cop act had skipped straight ahead to bad cop/bad cop. That was what happened when one was new to fieldwork. I had tons of book knowledge with the occult, which made for great speeches, but I had little experience in dealing with it face to face. Still, verbally smacking down an occult book dealer alongside Connor was something I could check off my rйsumй of thrilling fieldwork. I wished Irene were here to hear how daring I sounded.
“Relax,” Cyrus said, too calmly for my liking. “Everything is under control here.” His eyes darted back and forth between the two of us. Suddenly, I did feel an overwhelming desire to relax-and I knew he was up to something supernatural. There had been power in his words. Connor’s grip tightened on my arm until the pain caused me to snap out of it. He forcefully pulled me out of Cyrus’s direct line of sight and stepped forward.
“Good,” Connor said. “I don’t want-”
“But understandthis, gentlemen,” Cyrus interrupted. He seemed miffed that his little trick hadn’t held us in his sway. “You know and I know that a lot of the hoodoo-voodoo we deal with is even beyond our comprehension. Our mortal lives are nothing in the face of the unseen world, and what comprises the Black Stacks has a life all its own. Things are only as under control or out of control asthey allow them to be. If you want to know the truth, or the truth as I believe it, I don’t think anyone can control what is in those books. And like I said, I am merely…a gatekeeper.”
Gatekeeper. I noticed the pride in his voice as the word rolled off the tattooed man’s tongue. Anyone, not just a paranormal investigator, could see the man took his dangerous dealings seriously. He’d had his say.
He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a ledger, picking up a pen at the same time.