Chapter 8: Lucas - Bound to Ruin

PERIPETEIA BOOKSHOP, HAVENPORT, DELORNIA

I’m rummaging through my pocket for my keys as I take my last right turn to stroll down the block to reach the bookshop. Yelling and crashing interrupt my effort, and I frown when I look up.

My bag of pastries smashes to the ground. Tor’s awful, overly spiced bear claw that she’s obsessed with is ruined, which is a fucked-up thought to have in this moment. People are screaming and shoving past me, my shoulder knocking hard back when someone crashes into it.

The bookshop is in chaos. The green front door is a pile of splinters with smaller books nibbling on the wood like strange bugs. The truck I saw driving past Francesca’s is parked outside, and the small army of Magistrate officers rapidly switch between trying to evacuate the streets and battling errant books. Tor’s golden sign dangles from one hinge, Peripeteia glinting in the morning light before crashing down when a cursed grimoire smashes into it.

This can only mean one thing: Peripetia’s pentagram is broken.

I exhale harshly, panic thrumming in my veins. Tori. Jinx. I break into a sprint, shoving panicked pedestrians out of my way, not caring if I knock them down to the ground. I should’ve known this would happen. I saw Jinx’s flat, boneless body myself. She was clearly in bad shape. A grimoire could’ve taken advantage of her weakness while Tori was out.

Or maybe something happened at Monument Park, and Jinx left to save Tori. I gasp. This is all my fault. Tori told me something was wrong last night, and what did I do? Fucked her and left in the morning.

I’m a stupid fucking idiot. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve gone with her to the park. I should’ve, and I didn’t. All mistakes I can’t change. All I can do is make sure Tori is safe. If she’s not in the shop, then I can use the circle in her loft to travel to Monument Park. It’ll be the fastest and easiest way to find her.

Magic crackles before me, and my rings burn in response. I grit my teeth against the sizzle of my flesh beneath them, and snarl at the officer who dares to block me, “Move!”

The magician glares at me from beneath her bowler hat. A black, singed wand points at my face, and my molars grind. Fuck me sideways, not this bitch. Hobnob or whatever her name is. I left the Guild when she was starting to make a name for herself. Nothing gets Dimitar harder than a fanatic with a high tolerance for pain.

Her officer partner steps up beside her, his thick mustache twitching with a sniff. “Is this Lucas Flint?”

“In the flesh,” I say as the magician nods in confirmation as well. My eyes narrow on her. I’d flip her off if her partner wasn’t staring at me so intensely. Dimitar’s pawns, all of them.

“I am Corporal Jagger. We’re dealing with a very volatile situation at the present⁠—”

“No shit.” A scream echoes as a book launches out of the shadows of the awning to wrap its bindings around a magician’s face. My brows lift. Damn. That must sting.

Jagger clears his throat. “We have some questions for you. I need you to come with us to headquarters.”

My jaw drops. The audacity of these assholes. “Can’t it wait? I’m busy right now.”

“This is an official⁠—”

My patience is wearing thin, and I snap, “Is Aster Rosemont at headquarters?”

He straightens his jacket and grumbles, “No.”

“Does anyone know where Aster Rosemont is?”

He shifts. “That’s⁠—”

I cut him off with a growl, “Then with all due respect, Corporal, get the fuck out of my way.”

I go to step around him, but his cursed magician partner counters me. My temper snaps and I roar, “Aster is in there!”

Jagger tries again with an attempt at a sympathetic tone. “We have not confirmed that.”

“Trust me. He’s in there probably fighting for his life, so unless you have him in your custody, I am not going anywhere with you.”

“I understand that this is upsetting⁠—”

“Upsetting? My partner could be dead right now because you’re wasting my time with this bullshit. Upsetting doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling.”

I take a threatening step forward, and the magician’s shield crackles. Smoke rises from my clothes to burn my nose, but my rings flare, and their warm, sweet magic engulfs me. The shield sparks lightning and the Magician scowls. Hobbs. That’s the cunt’s name.

I growl, “Out of my way.”

Hobbs’ gray eyes flick over me, and she assesses her odds. I don’t have time for this. Usually, I would back away and try a different, sneakier method, but that would take time, and time is not on my side today. Tor and I are in deep shit. All the evidence the Magistrate has been trying to get their hands on since Tori opened business is fighting them in broad daylight.

Tori was right. This is Dimitar’s revenge against us. There’s one thing in this whole world Tori loves more than anything else, and it’s Peripetia. It doesn’t matter if the smuggling is useful to him, Dimitar would rather scorch-earth their alliance than permit the insult to stand.

I hoped we had more time before it came to this. There’s no way we can go back to the way things were. We’ll have to flee the city and start over.

However, that does mean there’s no reason to be careful while we’re already knee-deep in shit.

My rings click together as I weigh my options. I could take Hobbs. My rings could find a way to break her amulet, then her wand will take care of her for me. I’ll admit I’m not sure how quickly an Entropy wand will devour the wielder’s soul, but I’m betting it’s fast.

But there are Magistrate officers crawling all over the place. I can’t risk being overwhelmed and subdued. Perhaps, a sneakier attack…

Tiny, thin threads slide along my palms to follow my body beneath my clothes. They slip out of my pants leg to slither unseen along the cobblestone cracks to the shop door. Hobbs senses something. She scans me rapidly, trying to puzzle it out. I smirk, head tilting down. Sweat shines along her face.

At least my reputation within the Guild is as strong as ever.

There are three grimoires within those stacks that aren’t imprisoned within Astoria’s vault that really should be. A little failsafe in case everything went to shit like it is right now. My sweet Torment is vicious like that. She made sure her nasty books would slaughter anyone who tried to steal her inventory.

The Magistrate’s officers are oblivious to the kind of cursed hell that is awaiting them. Jagger is too busy trying to deescalate the situation, but Hobbs locks eyes with me. She doesn’t break our intense staring match as if she can puzzle out my next move through my pupils. I don’t blink, don’t change my expression, as my threads slide up the three steps to the main shop floor. They rise up a few inches to wiggle like juicy, glowing worms. Magic radiates from them, the kind grimoires love to feast on.

Here kitty, kitty, kitty.

My fingers twitch. Hobbs’ gaze is drawn to the movement, and her head tilts down when she catches the tiny glint of the threads. My smile widens. She gasps, shifting back, but it’s too late.

A rasp, like pages ripping, whispers through the street.

My threads retract, the ends whipping up to smack into the back of Hobbs’ skull. The force of it knocks her hat off to reveal the raw, open sigils that will never fully heal. My threads sear into one of them. Her mouth stretches in a silent scream, blood pouring down her shaved scalp as my rings tingle with the surge of magic from the inflamed sigils.

A beast bursts from the shop, widening the doorway in a spray of woodchips and brick shards. Four legs that are more like curved blades crack the streets as the creature slams into the daylight. Its face is like a jungle cat’s, with black pits for eyes, its body plated with pages of the book it’s made from. The heart of the creature is the wide-open spine of the grimoire. Black ink drips from its open maw and pieces of another grimoire fall to the ground in a wet splat.

The grimoire was created by a Transformation weaver who was burned alive for her sins against humanity. Tor would not shut up about this story for months and then isolated herself in her vault to study the thing for weeks. I had to bribe Jinx to give me updates to make sure she was still alive down there.

Fire sprays from magician tokens, but the beast shakes its body. The rustle of book pages mixes with the sound of rain as water sprays forth from the shredded paper that resembles fur. The fire douses on impact. Fear ripples through the magicians. I crack my neck and loosen my shoulders. Good luck with that thing, fuckers.

The soggy book slams its blade arms into the ground with another earth-shattering shriek. Then its black eyes swivel to land on me. My rings deactivate, and that disturbing gaze drops to Hobbs instead, and the magic radiating from her scalp. It charges, paper jaws spread wide to show rows and rows of very real spiral teeth. I dive to the side as Hobbs lashes her wand towards the grimoire.

I hit the ground in a roll and launch back up into a sprint. The officers leap into action to save Hobbs, and the static of magic crackles through the air. The wet sound of slicing flesh and a sick, unknown gurgling combines with the clack of blades on stone. My back prickles with the awareness of the creature, and cold sweat drips down my spine. I don’t dare activate my rings, even if it would make me move faster. The last thing I need is to draw the creature towards me when it’s doing a great job at keeping the Magistrate’s officers busy. Grimoires feed off of magical energy, and my rings are potent sources of it.

The books crawling along the ruined doorway hiss at my approach and launch towards me. I dodge, spinning and rolling until I skid through the shop’s entrance. The books descend, like angry crows flapping their wings. I smack a few away to jump up the three steps.

My breath catches. Holy fucking shit. The shop is in chaos. The mortal front’s standard non-magical books are torn to pieces, a few smaller spell books fighting over an encyclopedia to rip into some sort of nest. Worse, there’s blood all over the ground. Ice-cold fear drenches me in sweat, my body swaying with the force of it as my mind spins.

Oh fuck, Tor⁠—

But realization hits me fast. My jaw unclenches and shoulders slump. That’s old blood from last night. I scrape my hands over my face when a book bites my leather jacket. It growls like a dog with a bone, but it doesn’t have the power to crack through Tor’s enchantments on it. I smack it off and kick it away before dodging another.

Frowning, I mentally check off my list. Made it into the shop? Done. Find Torment? Pending. Avoid the three books that will ruin my day? One down, two to go. Get the bolt packs under the floorboards…

I eye the front counter where a gang of nasty-looking spell books with dripping fangs eye my soul hungrily. There’s no way in hell I can take on the monsters, pull up the floorboards to get the packs, and keep all my fingers. What I need is a partner so one of us can keep the books at bay and the other can get our provisions. They’ll be essential for our new life on the run. I made sure we would have everything we could ever need in them.

A flash in my vision has me spinning in time to punch a book to the ground. I shake out my hand and lunge back with a “WOAH” when another takes advantage of my distraction. These little bastards are everywhere. I need to figure out if Tori is here and fast.

Against my own sense of self-preservation, I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “TOR!”

If she responds, it’s lost in the echoing hisses of the books. Ah, fuck. Here they come. A rumble of clawing, growling cursed paper and parchment crashes through the stacks. My rings flare gold and I spread my fingers wide. Threads explode out, weaving together like a net just in time. A small army of smaller books collide into it. They hiss and squeal in rage while they writhe in my trap. I ripple my fingers, my rings warm and tingly, as I secure the ends of the net to the walls, floor, and ceiling to create a barrier.

I’ve bought myself precious minutes. I run to check the back room to make sure she’s not hiding in the basement, the silk curtain long gone, and skid to a stop with a groan. I cannot catch a break.

Dangerous book two out of three stands before me. The grimoire beast is as large as a bear with the jaws of a croc. It hisses, eyes glowing the signature gold of Creation. Its maw chomps loudly on dried herbs as it drops an empty drawer from Tor’s potion ingredients cabinet with a loud clatter.

I dart a quick glance to where the basement iron door is hidden. About fifteen books are crawling along the perimeter of it, suckling at the illusion hungrily. Maybe I’ll come back if I don’t find Tori at the park. The iron will hold strong and keep her safe if she is down there.

A loud thud has my attention snapping back to the grimoire. Its massive paws have hit the ground, and its crocodilian tail swishes as it rumbles, gold eyes trained on me. I back up slowly, speaking lowly to the book.

“Remember me? I was the one who wrecked your nest in that village. Don’t I look tasty? Come on, now. Follow me…”

Maybe I can lure it outside for the Magistrate to deal with. I back into the foyer, not taking my eyes off the grimoire with each slow step. My threads slither out of my rings to circle me like a nest of floating snakes.

Clicking from the darkness of the stacks raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Ah, fuck me. Here comes the third book to ruin my plan. Typical. I hit the ground when it rips through my net like it was made of nothing more than wet paper. The mass of black smoke collides with the walls, and I roll as it tries to launch itself at me again.

My threads smack it, and it crashes into the bear grimoire. But they’re not distracted by each other. Why would they be? It would mean I’d have some luck left, and I fear that my well has run dry.

Well, nothing left to do. I scramble to my feet and bolt into the stacks. The two books give chase, crashing and thundering behind me. The final dangerous volume, a ghostly book, has me worried. There’s no way my attack will work a second time. When I hunted it down for Tori, I had a chalice that she procured for me to subdue it back into book form.

Of course, she didn’t tell me where she put the chalice after I secured the book. Oh no. That would be too easy.

I dodge and slap books out of my way. Claws slice down my spine, my back arching and feet stumbling, but the magic Tori wove into my jacket flares to life again to protect me. My threads crack against the errant spell book and slice clean through the grimoire. That’s the second time my jacket has saved my ass. Fuck, I do love my sweet Torment. Now where is she?

“Tor!” I try yelling, but there’s no response over the chaos. My only hope is to make it to her loft and check the park. If she’s missing, I’ll come back with a plan.

I turn and double back when the black smoke surges forward. My threads pass through it uselessly, and I yell, “Oh come on!” Tor’s wrath be damned, my threads crack together, and fire ignites, forcing it back. Fucking books. Why couldn’t Tor like something docile? Like kittens. What I wouldn’t give to be fighting a shop full of kittens right now.

Jinx would probably kill them all. She gets jealous like that.

I take off again. The spiral iron staircase comes into view. I grab the railing and launch myself over it, but something grabs my boot and yanks. My ribs crack into the iron hard, and I tumble to the ground. Turning, I drag myself to my knees before freezing. Dark green vines slither along the ground, wrapping around smaller grimoires and dragging them back into the shadows. My jaw drops as I follow the vines. A ghastly carnivorous plant grows from a splayed-open book, its bulbous head opening to reveal a pool of sizzling liquid within. A tendril drips liquid, the wood sizzling upon impact.

Oh, hell no. I launch off the ground, my hands gripping the railing to heave the rest of myself up and over, but it’s no use. A thorned vine wriggles out and grips my boot. I grit my teeth and dangle from the iron railing, captured leg pulled towards the hungry bulb.

Panting, I calculate my odds of being able to crack my threads together fast enough to ignite before losing my foot. I don’t recognize this book. It must be from before Tori and I were partners. For all I know, it could consume me before I have time to piss myself.

My rings spill forth threads, but their lights splutter and go dark. The damn iron of the handrail is interfering with my magic. I’ll need to let go with one hand, but the plant won’t release me.

Fuck it. I release my left arm, my right aching from the vine’s strength. Threads burst from my left hand’s rings like they were waiting for this moment. They dive towards the tendril on my boot, slipping under its grip. With a gasp, I whip my arm up in a clenching motion as hard as I can. The vine shreds and my legs swing hard back to the iron to collide kneecap first.

Pain explodes where my body collided, weakening my grip. Somehow, I manage to heave myself over the railing.

I crawl my way up the stairs and let out a long breath when I find the loft’s door still intact. Finally, a good sign. The door unlocks, and I stumble in before slamming it closed behind me. The tamer books along Tor’s shelves sing their greeting, but I ignore them, hollering, “Tor! Jinx!”

Silence. I flop back against the door. Of course they’re not in here. I try to swallow down the surge of dark thoughts threatening to break me, but it doesn’t work. They grow louder and louder, and I brace myself. They’re already dead. You’re too late. This is your fault. You’ve failed them all. They’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you.

I gasp, chest pumping to fight against the growing tightness. My shoulders are curling, and I force them back against the door so I can breathe easier. I rub my chest where my scar hides beneath Tori’s glamour. My rings hum softly, tingling as my threads inspect my sweet Torment’s magic. It’s still there, as strong as ever, which means Tori is still alive. It’s not too late to help her.

But first, I need to fix my leg so I can get to her.

With a groan, I lean over to assess my swollen knee. What I wouldn’t give to have Nora nearby to patch me up. My threads slip out to wrap around the joint. I close my eyes and concentrate as I weave a brace for myself. It will hold up for a bit. Hopefully, that’s plenty of time to find Tori and start a new life as fugitives.

I scrub my face before pushing off the door. The rug that usually covers Tori’s slate floor is rolled back and a chalked circle sits neatly in the middle. My knee twinges under my brace when I step over the chalk. Wasting no time, I withdraw my handy notebook from my jacket’s inner pocket and jot down the rune Tori used to anchor the circle to her loft. She changes it every time she returns so that no one can ever slip through her wards. As long as she doesn’t beat me back here and wipe the chalk clean, I can use it to come back.

Tucking away my notebook, I reach out and flex my fingers. My threads wind along the chalk, powering it like a weaver would. I breathe slowly, careful to ensure each etching is perfectly lit so not one dust of limestone is left untraced.

I say the ancient word for travel, and the magic consumes me.