Book of Night(75)

That evening, the shadow made the scholar an offer. He could live with them and be wealthy all his days if he would tell everyone that he was the shadow, and the shadow was the man.

The scholar refused. He said he would go to the princess and tell her everything. But the shadow told him that if he tried, the shadow would tell the princess and her guards that the scholar was a liar.

Be reasonable, he said. I am the one who is going to marry her, and they will listen to me instead of you.

But the scholar insisted. And all was as the shadow predicted. The shadow told the princess’s guards to seize the scholar and they did. By the time the shadow and the princess were married, the scholar had been put to death and was no more.



* * *



Charlie closed the book and saw that they had left I-91 and were weaving through back roads toward Blue Ruin. Putting her hand on the leatherette cover, she tried to put aside the story itself and focus on why Salt had given it to her.

He wanted her to believe that Red wasn’t just a threat to the world, but to Vince. She shouldn’t care, but she had to admit that she did.

Hatred of Salt burned in her gut, but no matter how much she despised him, no matter how sure she was that he was deceiving her, she was equally certain that he hadn’t lied about everything.

The chauffeur pulled into the lot and parked beside her Corolla. She got out, taking the book and the hundred-dollar bookmark with her. Salt had promised to pay, after all.

The matte black Rolls-Royce was back on the road, speeding away into the late afternoon, as Charlie opened the door to her car. She held her breath until the engine started its usual miserable sputtering. Her purse was where she’d left it, in the back seat. Her phone was there too, with a missed call from Posey and another from work.

She ignored those and called UMass’s bursar’s office to try to straighten out whatever was wrong with Posey’s account. She got a busy signal. When she tried again, the call went to voice mail. Between one call and the next, the office had closed and was going to stay that way through Veterans Day.

Frustrated, she drove home. It was just after four in the afternoon, and the house was quiet. Her sister either hadn’t risen from bed, or had shut herself up in her room. Exhausted, Charlie went straight to her mattress and face-planted on it. When she woke, the house smelled like something was burning. She found that she’d been clutching the red book to her chest, as though it were a stuffed bear.

In the kitchen, Posey glared at a sheet pan of blackened cookies. “You didn’t come home last night,” she said. “Neither did Vince. And … what are you wearing?”

Charlie looked down at the athleisure the spa had picked out for her. With a shrug, she sat on a chair and tried to pry up a cookie. She could use some sugar. “Vince left. Packed up his stuff. He’s gone.”

She’d expected Posey to be thrilled, or at least smug, but she appeared shocked instead. “You dumped him?”

Charlie shook her head. “No. I told you. He left.”

“But why?”

“Because his name isn’t really Vincent Damiano. He’s Edmund Carver, and he’s filthy rich, and he’s supposed to be dead.” Charlie sighed, gave up on the cookies, and went to pour herself some cereal.

All they had were bran flakes, boring, and purchased by Vince at her request. She poured them into a bowl.

“Seriously?” Posey said.

“I think he’s in trouble,” Charlie said. “I mean, obviously he’s in trouble. But he’s in more trouble, and it’s got to do with his missing shadow.”

Vince had been thirteen when Salt took him in, troubled and probably desperate for stability. What might he have been willing to do for that?

She bet the answer was absolutely anything.

Posey poked at the burnt cookies with a slightly melted plastic spatula that was probably leaching toxins into their baked goods. A chunk of one came off. “Who’s after him?”

“It’s a little bit of a complicated story. Do you remember Mom’s old hocus-pocus friend Rand?”

Posey wrinkled her nose. “That old guy that was always hanging around with you. Didn’t he die in some really weird way?”

“He was murdered,” Charlie said.

Posey shook her head. “No, that’s not it. They found him with another body in his car. Suicide. Or murder-suicide. I remember now. Dad blamed Mom for letting you go off with him all those times. He was worried that guy had done stuff to you like everyone figured he did to that girl before he killed her.”

Her father had, of course, said absolutely nothing to her. Until this moment, Charlie hadn’t known he’d been aware of Rand’s existence. It was hard to balance her surprise with annoyance at Posey, who apparently thought that Charlie just misremembered one of the most horrific events of her life.

“Rand was murdered,” she said. “I know, because I was there.”

Posey began to open her mouth, possibly to object, and then abruptly closed it.

“Vince’s grandfather killed him. Lionel Salt.”

“Why were you there?” Posey asked, her voice much quieter and less sure.

“Because Rand was a con artist,” Charlie said. “And I was his helper. Like a magician’s assistant, but for crime.”

“So nothing like a magician’s assistant,” Posey said.