Howard nodded indecisively. “Ya know, I’m worried about Glory and us. I’m holdin’ on to my pistole.”
“I believe her fit is over,” said Smith.
As Lovecraft grumbled in pain and retreated to examine his hand,
Glory turned her head and blinked at them, her eyes and expression now quite normal. “What am I doing up here?” she asked.
Smith helped her sit up. “Don’t you remember?”
“Remember what? Where are we?”
“In my kitchen,” said Smith. “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”
Glory stood up, feeling her face and looking puzzled. She turned her back to the men to tuck her blouse in, and while they were preoccupied with decorum, she quietly retrieved another large kitchen knife from a countertop knife holder. She matter-of-factly turned back around and stretched her arm over the ancient book with the intention, it seemed, of slashing her wrist.
Howard reacted instantly. He leaped toward Glory and tried to grab the knife before she could harm herself, only to receive a slash across the top of his hand. Part in reflex and partly in desperation, he swatted her across her face again, his blood spraying across the open book and the glowing Artifact. Smith and Lovecraft caught Glory as she staggered, then collapsed into a chair, mumbling in a strange tongue. In a moment she was quiet. Her eyes seemed to clear, and she looked at them as if she had just woken.
Smith was the first to see it. Where the blood from Howard’s hand had soaked into the vellum like surface of the page, a jaundice-colored script was beginning to form in the space between the printed lines. “My God,” said Smith. He moved the lamp closer.
Lovecraft and Howard stared in amazement as Smith frantically smeared the blood across the page, revealing more of the formerly invisible text. “Quick!” said Smith. Before Howard knew what was happening, Smith grabbed his injured hand and squeezed, extracting a large gout of blood that splashed across the facing page.
Howard grimaced in pain, momentarily stunned. “What the-!”
For a split second it was unclear whether he understood Smith’s impulsive act, but then his eyes Hashed with a deeper anger that suggested he was reacting with a willful violence. He drew back and slammed his good fist into Smith’s jaw.
And now it was Smith’s turn to be stunned. He reeled against the desk, then fell to the floor semiconscious. Lovecraft understood the urgency of Smith’s act. As he groaned on the kitchen floor, rubbing his sore jaw, Lovecraft quickly stepped forward with a butter knife and proceeded to spread the blood evenly across the surface of the two facing pages. Slowly, numerals began to appear, the jaundice turning into a deep purple color against the dark red that now completely blotted out the original text.
Smith rose unsteadily to his feet. “It’s a palimpsest,” he explained, massaging his jaw to determine if it was still properly attached. “I’m sorry, Bob, but it had to be done quickly in case there was a limited time for the catalysis.”
“What the Sam Hill are ya talkin’ about?” Howard nursed his bloody hand. “That hurt like hell.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.”
“What’s a palimpsest?”
“Most commonly a holy text,” said Lovecraft. “In the days when paper and parchment were rare, it was customary to write over a preexisting document. Some, of course, were created on purpose to give symbolic meaning to the layering of text upon text.”
“In this case, the surface gives instructions for how to reveal what’s underneath,” said Smith. “I’m sorry we didn’t figure out the meaning of iron fluid’ until it happened to fall on the page.”
“What?” said Howard.
“Iron fluid. Blood. Blood is red because of its high iron content.”
“It’s a damn shame you eggheads and monkish types don’t have any thin’ better to do,” Howard grumbled, turning to give the text a look.
The numerals had become more defined, filling out a series of what appeared to be coordinates. Hermetic and alchemical symbols, runes, and a hideous, unrecognizable text began to appear, including what appeared to be a webbed letter H and an ominous seven-pointed star that bore the same image as the Artifact.
“These numerical tables look like astronomical charts,” said Lovecraft. “Clark, do you have any astrological books in your library?”
“You can take your pick,” said Smith.
Lovecraft lifted the book, still open to the same page spread. “Bob, Clark and I will retire into the study to attempt a deciphering of these familiar figures. Would you be averse to guarding Glory during that time?”
“No, I don’t mind,” said Howard. “But how about givin’ me some rope or somethin’, Clark? I don’t reckon she’ll take too kindly to bein’ clobbered again.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Glory.
“I’m sorry. Terribly sorry. It ain’t in my nature to hit a lady.”
“I’m hardly a lady, Bob. At least not by your standards.”
“At least not when a demon is riding you,” said Smith, putting a coiled length of utility rope on the table. “I’m glad I didn’t try to take that knife from you.” He handed Howard a towel for his bleeding hand. “You might Want to dress that wound now. There’s water over here. Medical supplies here.”
“I can take care of myself,” said Howard. “You two go on ahead.”
“Call if you require assistance,” said Lovecraft.
“Yeah.”
Smith and Lovecraft retired into the study with the Necronomicon, leaving Howard and Glory alone in the kitchen, illuminated by a single lamp.
“Let me help you with that hand,” said Glory. “I’m really sorry Bob. I don’t know what came over me, and I don’t remember a thing.”, “Well, then you don’t recall my hittin’ YOU?”
Glory shook her head. “But I feel like shit, if that helps.”
Howard grimaced at her language.
“No, the demon didn’t make me say that.” She approached him, and while he considered her with suspicion, she washed his hand in a water basin and then painted it with iodine. Howard hissed through his teeth and then whistled a few bars as she applied a salve and dressed the cut with gauze and a clean cloth.
“How do you feel?” asked Howard. “A normal person woulda had a busted lip or some bruisin’ from how I hit you.”
“My face feels a little numb, but I’m all right.”
“Musta been the demon protectin’ ya.”
“Either that, or your right hook isn’t what it used to be.”
“I’m sorry,” said Howard. “I was just reactin’, ya understand?”
“Maybe I would a done different if I thought it through.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Glory. “It’s a good thing I don’t remember. I don’t have it to hold against you.”
“You don’t remember nothin’?” Howard said, blushing.
“Nothing.”
“Well, that’s good then, ‘cause I don’t reckon Novalyne woulda approved.”
“Approved of what? Who’s Novalyne?” Glory poured the blood tinged water out into the rigged sink and placed the iodine back on the shelf.
“Oh, nothin’,” Howard said with a laugh. “Novalyne’s my girl friend. Wonderful gal.”
“Why, I’m surprised, Bob.”
“Huh? You surprised I got a girlfriend?”
“No, it was your tone of voice. You sounded so romantic and wistful.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Howard was quiet for a moment. “It’s too bad Ma don’t approve of her. Can’t figure women, you know.”
“Maybe she feels threatened.”
“Huh? Why would she feel threatened?”
“Oh, you know,” said Glory. “Mother is always the central woman in a man’s life. You’re always her baby, no matter how old you are. It’s natural for any mother to feel like her baby’s girlfriend is an intruder. After all, who’s going to take better care of her baby than she could?”