Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(190)

Jack nodded.

“And seeing a unicorn was worth being beaten?”

“I’ve been beaten before. But I’ve never seen a magical beast. Except for the lion in the emperor’s menagerie. And Mistress Roydon’s dragon.” Jack looked horrified and clapped his hand over his mouth.

“So you’ve seen that, too? Prague has been an eye-opening experience for all concerned, then.” Matthew stood and held out his hand. “Give me the keys.” Jack did so, reluctantly. Matthew bowed to the boy. “I am in your debt, Jack.”

“But I was bad,” Jack whispered. He rubbed his backside, as if he had already felt the punishment Matthew was bound to dole out.

“I’m bad all the time,” Matthew confessed. “Sometimes good comes of it.”

“Yes, but nobody beats you,” Jack said, still trying to understand this strange world where grown men were in debt to little boys and his hero was not perfect after all.

“Matthew’s father beat him with a sword once. I saw it.” The firedrake’s wings fluttered softly within my rib cage in silent agreement. “Then he knocked him over and stood on him.”

“He must be as big as the emperor’s bear Sixtus,” Jack said, awed at the thought of anyone conquering Matthew.

“He is,” Matthew said, growling like the bear in question. “Back to bed. Now.”

“But I’m nimble—and quick,” Jack protested. “I can get Mistress Roydon’s book without anyone seeing me.”

“So can I, Jack,” Matthew promised.

Matthew and Gallowglass returned from the palace covered with blood, dirt, and soot—and bearing Ashmole 782. “You got it!” I cried. Annie and I were waiting on the first floor. We had small bags packed with traveling essentials.

Matthew opened the cover. “The first three pages are gone.”

The book that had been whole just hours before was now broken, the text racing across the page. I’d planned on running my fingers over the letters and symbols once it was in our possession to determine its meaning. Now that was impossible. As soon as my fingertips touched the page, the words skittered in every direction.

“We found Kelley with the book. He was bent over it and crooning like a madman.” Matthew paused. “The book was talking back.”

“He tells you true, Auntie. I heard the words, though I couldn’t make them out.”

“Then the book really is alive,” I murmured.

“And really dead, too,” Gallowglass said, touching the binding. “It’s an evil thing as well as a powerful one.”

“When Kelley spotted us, he screamed at the top of his lungs and started ripping pages from the book. Before I could reach him, the guards were there. I had to choose between the book and Kelley.” Mathew hesitated. “Did I do the right thing?”

“I think so,” I said. “When I found the book in England, it was broken. And it may be easier to find the fugitive pages in the future than it would be now.” Modern search engines and library catalogs would be enormously helpful, now that I knew what I was seeking.

“Provided the pages weren’t destroyed,” Matthew said. “If that’s the case . . .”

“Then we’ll never know all of the book’s secrets. Even so, your modern laboratory might reveal more about what’s left than we imagined when we set out on this quest.”

“So you’re ready to go back?” Matthew asked. There was a spark of something in his eye. He smothered it quickly. Was it excitement? Dread?

I nodded. “It’s time.”

We fled Prague by the light of the bonfires. The creatures were in hiding on Walpurgisnacht, not wanting to be seen by the revelers in case they found themselves flung onto the pyre.

The frigid waters of the North Sea were just navigable, and the spring thaw had broken up the ice in the harbors. Boats were leaving the ports for England, and we were able to catch one without delay. Even so, the weather was stormy when we pulled away from the European shore.

In our cabin belowdecks, I found Matthew studying the book. He had discovered that it was sewn together with long strands of hair.

“Dieu,” he murmured, “how much more genetic information might this thing contain?” Before I could stop him, he touched the tip of his pinkie to his tongue and then to the drops of blood showering down from the baby’s hair on the first extant page.

“Matthew!” I said, horrified.

“The inks contain blood. And if that’s the case, my guess is that the gold and silver leaf on these illustrations is applied to a glue base made from bones. Creature bones.”

The boat lurched leeward, and my stomach went along with it. When I was through being sick, Matthew held me in his arms. The book lay between us, slightly open, the lines of text searching to find their place in the order of things.

“What have we done?” I whispered.

“We’ve found the Tree of Life and the Book of Life, all wrapped up in one.” Matthew rested his cheek on my hair.

“When Peter Knox told me the book held all the witches’ original spells, I told him he was mad. I couldn’t imagine anyone being so foolish as to put so much knowledge in one place.” I touched the book. “But this book contains so much more—and we still don’t know what the words say. If this were to fall into the wrong hands in our own time—”