Book of Night(71)

“That can’t be true,” Charlie said, not even sure to what part she objected.

“The Liber Noctem details the method by which a Blight can acquire and maintain enough substance to pass for human.” He looked across the table at her, as though willing her to understand. “The author presented this as the secret to immortality. But what no gloamist attempting to re-create the ritual realized was that it wouldn’t be their consciousness that survived. And so, they were deceived unto their own deaths, and their shadows, swollen with stolen energy, walk among us. To all appearances, human. Perhaps to this day.”

That sounded like internet creepypasta.

Impossible. Ridiculous.

But Charlie couldn’t help remembering how Vince had told her that what he’d done was worse than her accusations. Something so bad he refused to explain it.

“You don’t want to believe me,” Salt said. “But you do.”

The waiter came in, interrupting them to bring in the wine. He filled all three glasses with the deep pink rosé, then wrapped a towel around the neck of the bottle and rested it in a silver ice bucket. Finally, he set Charlie’s tea in front of her, a thick lemon wedge decorating the side and a sprig of mint in with the cubes.

Lionel waved him away when he began to ask if they needed anything.

“What did you do to Vincent, Mr. Salt?” Charlie asked.

Adeline gave her a sharp, surprised look.

“What did I do?” he asked, as though trying out being offended.

“Something caused him to leave when he did. Do you really expect me to believe it was because you had a crisis of conscience over him experimenting with his shadow?”

Adeline took her wineglass and drained it in one long swallow. “This is awful. Just tell her—”

“I am, my dear,” he said, with slightly too firm an emphasis for the words to be true. He turned to Charlie. “Edmund was unreasonable about Red. You know enough of Blights to know how horrifying they are. They’re made from the worst parts of us. They can be enormously powerful. And they are invariably insane. That’s why some Blights are disposed of, and others are caught and tethered to new wearers. Controlling them is the only thing that keeps humanity safe.”

Charlie knew a few gloamists wore Blights instead of their own quickened shadows, although it had never seemed like the wisest idea. Gloaming was too young an art for its practitioners not to attempt dangerous paths to power, though. Posey might be willing to do it.

Who was she kidding? Posey would jump at the chance.

But it didn’t seem like Vince not to be aware of the danger in letting a Blight roam free. And it didn’t seem like Salt to worry about the safety of humanity.

Charlie was glad when the waiter came back with the food, forcing the conversation to a stop.

Salt directed him to set the lamb loin in front of her. Charlie took an absent bite and chewed mechanically, barely tasting what she was eating.

“It’s true I had a hand in what happened next,” Salt said, once the waiter had refilled their wineglasses and departed. “I tried to save Edmund from Red, but my grandson released his shadow before I could destroy it. Now it’s loose in the world. You see why I must have my book before he manages to complete the method outlined in it. What Edmund intends cannot happen. A Blight who could pass for human, with an endless hunger … would you want that walking our streets, doing to others what it did to Paul Ecco and Knight Singh?”

“Vince wouldn’t do that,” Charlie said.

“He won’t,” Salt said. “Because you’re going to bring The Book of Night to a gathering this Saturday, and we are going to keep it safe. Do we understand each other?”

Charlie was still stuck on his accusation. “Why would Vince’s shadow—Red—have killed those people?”

“One of them got a piece of the book, which it wouldn’t like,” Salt said, with a twist of his mouth and a glare. “The other knew too much about the contents of the Liber Noctem. But Red needs to kill. The more blood and shadow energy it consumes, the more powerful it becomes—and the more ready for the ritual.”

By the time Charlie looked down at her plate, the only thing that remained were smears of red from the rare meat. She wiped the edges of her mouth with her napkin. She didn’t recall eating any of it.

“This book has been missing for a year or more. What makes you think I can get it by Saturday?” Charlie asked.

“You know Edmund. You can do what no one else can—determine where he could have put a book he didn’t want anyone to find. I am having a little soiree for the gloamist community in celebration of my elevation to the Cabal. Having the book would be a worthy proof of how successful I will be in my new position.”

Charlie stared at him in horror. Sure, the Cabal was a bootleg governing body, but it served to identify threats to the community—like loose Blights, or laws meant to regulate gloaming—and employ a Hierophant. It also kept the local gloamists in check. Someone as monstrous as Salt on there, to be one of the five people making decisions, was going to be bad for everyone.

No, one of four people, Charlie realized. Because Knight Singh was dead.

“I appreciate the offer of work, but the job’s not for me,” Charlie said. “I have no idea where Vince is or what he did with your book. For all I know, he got rid of it. And besides, I don’t like you. You kidnapped me at gunpoint. And you’re kind of a dick.”