The first Saturday in September is always a busy one for places like this, but Gerard has never minded. It means he’s less likely to be remembered.
Luckily, too, this being in the area of a university just over a week before start of term, he blends in neatly. He’s twenty-two, and even if he can pass for older if he needs to and always has been able to, he can pass for a uni student, too, or at least a graduate student. Being in Melanie’s company helps with that, too, especially since most of these kids are her classmates; Martin, too, fits right in, which is probably why Gerard can’t spot him right now. He’s not particularly worried. There’s been no whisper of anything regarding the Fourteen for ages, and certainly no hint of anything here.
“I’m glad you two could come up with me,” Melanie says, bumping her hip against Gerard’s. “Even just for a couple of days.”
“Hey, I owed Martin a birthday present. Someone to look in on Uncle Roger and Aunt Lily so he could have the weekend off was the least I could do.” Gerard winks, making Melanie laugh.
Melanie’s university is only about two hours from London by rail, but for various reasons, this is the first time Gerard and Martin have ever both been able to get up there at the same time. Gerard put in the effort because it’s important they both be here for this. This year, Melanie’s not living in a dorm hall, but in a flat nearby the campus that rents cheaply to students. It’s small, run-down, and not particularly safe, in Gerard’s opinion, but it’s something she doesn’t have to share and she can afford it for the fall term, at least. The flat came furnished, sort of—a sagging futon, a rickety table with two wobbly chairs, a cheap lamp with no shade—and Martin and Gerard came along to help her move in. They’re here to pick up a few things she needs to make it at least a bit more comfortable.
At least, that was the plan when they arrived. Melanie and Martin both have a gift for picking up good quality items relatively inexpensively, and she’s now holding a basket with several towels, a few dishes, a kettle in remarkably good shape, and a few other bits and bobs. Gerard wore the lampshade she found as a gaudy hat—briefly—but he’s currently carrying it, along with the galvanized metal bucket that was probably once for milk but which Melanie intends to use as a rubbish pail. The two of them have only just reconvened and are strolling more or less aimlessly, exclaiming over the displays at the booths and keeping an eye out for Martin. One part farmer’s market, one part swap meet, one part carnival, the attitude is upbeat and joyous, and in spite of the couple of people circulating with armfuls of pamphlets trying to recruit for their church or cult or whatever it is, Gerard is enjoying himself.
He stops to examine a table bristling with flower arrangements, which look like the last of the summer blooms. “Want a bouquet to brighten up the place, Neens?”
Melanie starts to shake her head, then stops and reaches out to touch one lightly. “Oh, look, lavender!”
“It’s potted,” the stall owner says eagerly. “Not cut. You’ll have it all winter and beyond if you treat it well.”
Gerard doesn’t even think about it. “How much?”
He’s just completing the transaction when Melanie waves at something behind him. Gerard turns to see Martin making his way towards them, the area rug Melanie picked out earlier over one shoulder and something gripped tightly in his other hand. His lips are set in a thin line, but he manages a smile when he reaches them. “Hey. Sorry.”
“You’re fine.” Gerard shifts the lampshade to his other hand and takes the potted lavender. “Where to now, Neenie?”
Melanie peers up at Martin. He can’t quite read her face. “Actually, I’m okay to just go home. I think I’m done here.”
Gerard is a bit surprised, but he acquiesces easily enough. He’s even more surprised when they walk the entire way back to Melanie’s new flat in silence.
As soon as they’re all inside with the door closed—it’s tiny, there’s barely enough room for all three of them at once, but there’s enough space for what Melanie will need—Melanie whirls on Martin. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“It’s not—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you leave early. It’s not…an emergency or anything.” Martin doesn’t look at her, though. “Where do you want this?”
“Just drop it. I’ll set it out in a minute. Martin, what. Is. Wrong?” Melanie asks emphatically.
“Martin?” Gerard touches his brother’s arm gently. If Martin’s saying it’s not an emergency, it doesn’t mean it’s not serious—it just means that whatever it is isn’t immediately resulting in one of the Fourteen coming after them. It could mean he overheard an unkind remark or saw someone he didn’t care for, or it could mean someone made an improper advance or actively hurt him. It could mean the caregiver Gerard hired for the weekend had called to say something had gone wrong, or it could mean that Gerard’s mother had called to say something nasty or order them back—she’s been in a twist lately. It could also mean something is actively after or just hurt Martin specifically and he doesn’t think it’s an emergency because it’s not after the others.
Martin takes a deep breath and sets the carpet down, but not the object in his other hand, which is wrapped in brown paper. He looks up at them. “I found a Leitner.”
Two bright red spots have appeared on his cheeks, and Gerard inhales sharply. He’s not blushing. Martin blushes from the shoulders up, something they discovered the first summer they were all at the seaside together after the onset of puberty and someone whistled at him when he took his shirt off. For the red to start on his face…Martin is angry.
“What is it? Who had it? What did they do?” Gerard fires off questions rapidly without really thinking about it.
“Did they hurt you?” Melanie balls her hands up into fists.
Gerard lets the pail slip off his arm with a clang and sets the potted lavender down with perhaps unnecessary force. “How much did it cost you? I’ll make sure Mum pays you back—”
“It was fifty pence, don’t worry about it. That’s not…” Martin presses his lips together tightly and closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to force himself to calm down. “It’s…it wasn’t the guy selling it. He didn’t even seem to realize he had it, didn’t know where he got it.”
“That sounds familiar.” Gerard takes a deep breath, making himself calm down. “Is it one that…you know, we’ve already run into previously?”
“No. It’s the Web. That’s…that’s not the problem either.”
“Martin.” Melanie pushes him lightly to make him sit on the futon, then sits next to him and gestures for Gerard to join them. Usually she’s in the middle, but she’s arranged things so Martin is in the middle this time, which is probably helpful. “Just spit it out, huh? Unless you read it, in which case I’m going to scoop your eyes out with a grapefruit spoon, it can’t be that bad.”
Martin doesn’t even smile. He spreads his hands over the package on his lap, which he still hasn’t unwrapped. They’re trembling faintly, and Gerard is worried. Before he can prod into it, Martin spits out in a voice so laden with disgust the words are practically physically present, “It’s a fucking picture book.”
“What?” Gerard grabs the parcel from Martin, who doesn’t really try to resist him, and yanks off the wrapping paper. It’s a square black book; judging by the location of the spine, he’s looking at the back of it. There are no words, only a crudely-sketched drawing of a spider, entirely black and white save the red bowler hat on the top of its head. “Jesus fuck.”
“How old is it?” Melanie takes it from Gerard, or at least partially, dragging it back onto Martin’s lap, then flips it over and flips it open before Gerard even has time to register the title. Opposite Jurgen Leitner’s familiar bookplate is a title page with the book’s name, the author’s name, and a copyright date. “1933. Shit, that’s…what, three generations? Four?”
“If it was all in one family. Which it wasn’t, if Jurgen fucking Leitner had it.” Gerard scowls. “And it’s been floating around for at least a decade. What kind of sick bastard would inflict these things on a child?”
“I mean…Lily. Aunt Mary. A whole fucking lot of people,” Melanie points out. “People are fucking assholes. And cults, like, bring kids in all the time, right? Think about the Lukases, or the…Fairchilds, right?”
“Fairchild’s just a name. They’re not actually a family,” Gerard says. “Closer to a cult.”
Melanie wipes her free hand over her face. “I just…they’ve all been nonfiction up ‘til now, haven’t they? Scholarly stuff. I didn’t…I didn’t know it could be fiction.”
“They can be anything,” Gerard says. “It’s not the book, it’s…it’s whatever the entities think will draw people in. Or whatever the people who serve that entity thought would draw people in, I guess. I dunno how it works really.”
“I hate this,” Martin bursts out, shoving his hands into his hair and gripping so tightly Gerard almost wonders if he’s going to rip it clean out of his scalp. “I hate that these books exist. I hate that the Fourteen or their agents or whatever have figured out the perfect way to lure people in and that it’s going to be different for different people. I hate that so many of these books are rare or unusual editions of books that do exist to the wider world so people wind up falling into them completely innocently because they can’t afford a new copy of a book they need for a course or think they’ve found a cheap edition of a book they loved in childhood. I hate that for every person deliberately pushing them on some unsuspecting sucker, there are three more who have no idea what they’ve got just trying to make a quick profit, and all of them are equally culpable in whatever happens next. I hate that there are people like your mum and Leitner who know what kind of powers these books have and just believe they’re stronger than them. I hate that books like these don’t end up staying in the family because so few people survive reading them and the ones that do aren’t interested in sharing. I hate that we’ve spent the last decade running around collecting these like we don’t know what they are, and I hate, I fucking hate that I can’t think of what to do with this goddamned book other than bring it to your mum and pray she doesn’t put it up for sale, because I don’t know what I’m going to do if this falls into another child’s hands now that I know it exists.”
Gerard sits in stunned silence for a minute. He doesn’t know why it’s never occurred to him that Martin is so…viscerally opposed to the existence of these books of power. He’s always seemed perfectly willing to go along with the hunt for them, handed them over with a hopeful look in his eyes even if he hasn’t been praised for it since that first time. Gerard resents them, maybe a little, because his mother loves them more than she loves him—not that he needs her to love him, he’s got Martin and Melanie for that—but to his shame, he’s never thought about the impact of the books themselves. It’s never occurred to him that his mother doesn’t keep the books for herself, not usually; she pores over them, gets the information she wants, and then offers them up for sale. He’s just never thought about it before. And Martin’s right, this one especially is the worst possible kind of book to fall in the wrong hands—which would probably be any hands, but especially the tiny ones it’s designed for.
How many children has it claimed? How many young parents trying to find something new for their babies? How many grandparents preparing to welcome the joy of their old age? Have teachers read it to classrooms, baby-sitters read it to charges, older siblings read it to younger ones? The thought comes to Gerard that if he’d known Martin and Melanie all their lives, truly all their lives instead of just it seeming like it, if he’d at age six and proud of his having learned his letters found this book and sat somewhere with Martin and Melanie cuddled up on either side to read it to them, he might have doomed all three of them—or worse, just doomed the two of them and had to live with knowing he sacrificed his much-loved brother and sister to a dark force he didn’t understand. Would it have been worse if he hadn’t liked them, if he’d had the guilt of having wished they’d go away but not really meant it and then been the one to cause it?
It’s terrifying. And nauseating. Gerard puts a hand over his mouth while he struggles to come up with an answer.
Because there isn’t one, not really. Martin’s right. He can’t just keep the book, because sooner or later he’ll be tempted to read it or someone else will. If he gives it to Gerard’s mother, it won’t garner high praise and it won’t help matters. Even if she doesn’t put it up for sale, she’ll donate it to some charity shop in London, or worse, give it to a child directly, just to see what happens. And there’s not really much else they can do.
Or is there?
“Would it hurt us if we ripped all the pages out, do you think?” Melanie asks. “Just turn it into confetti? Shred it into tiny pieces and drop it all in the rubbish bin?”
“I wouldn’t put it past the Web to have printed this on something you can’t just tear,” Gerard says. “And then there’s the cover. It’s cardboard, sure, but…I don’t think even Martin’s strong enough to rip it up.” He pauses, then reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls out the brass lighter with the eye design on it Melanie gave him for his twenty-first birthday. “But I do have this.”
“That—” Martin begins, then stops. Slowly, his hands unclench from his hair, and a smile begins to spread across his face. “That could work.”
Melanie leans over. It takes her a couple tries, and why she doesn’t just get up Gerard isn’t sure, but she manages to snag the old milk pail she picked up at the market and holds it out to Martin. “Here. Burn it in this. That way it’s controlled.”
Gerard hands the lighter to Martin as well. “You found the book. You do the honors.”
Martin takes it, opens it, and flicks the wheel twice before thumbing it to catch. The flame burns hot and steady, and he touches it to the corner of the book.
In a way that would be shocking if Gerard thought this was a regular book, it catches instantly and burns like tissue paper—or like cobwebs. Martin quickly drops the small fireball into the pail, and all three of them stare into the depths as they watch it burn to ashes.
Gerard is surprised at how good it feels.
It’s probably less than a second before it goes from flame to embers to smoke. Martin shakes the pail a couple of times, then seems satisfied the fire has gone out completely. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and when he speaks, it’s quiet. “I’ll wash this out for you in a minute, Neens.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Melanie takes it from him and bangs it against the floor, then turns and hugs him fiercely. “Why the fuck didn’t we think of doing that years ago?”
“Because we were stupid kids who still thought Mum would love us if we ever managed to do something exactly right?”
“I hate that you aren’t wrong about that,” Gerard admits. He hugs Martin, too, and reaches over to hug Melanie; Martin hugs them both, and it’s a bit awkward but it feels right. They sit like that for a long time.
Finally, Gerard pulls back. “So. When Melanie comes home at half-term we’re setting Pinhole Books on fire, right?”
Martin actually laughs. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hand. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, unfortunately.”
“We can dream.” Melanie smirks at Gerard. “And since you’re not busy, you can spend the time figuring out the right approach. How to do it without your mum finding out, how to make sure we don’t make things worse if there’s a Desolation book in there, if Desolation books will actually burn—”
“They’re not all fire, you know,” Gerard points out.
“—and how to make sure we don’t accidentally burn down the whole block,” Melanie continues relentlessly. “It’s not a total solution, but it’s a start, right?”
“It’s worth a try.” Martin takes a deep, slow breath, then opens his eyes and offers them a genuine smile. “Thank you. Both of you. I was afraid…I don’t know what I was afraid of.”
“We’re never going to prioritize knowledge over you,” Gerard says. “Or Leitners. Or Mum and Aunt Lily, or anyone else. And keeping the world safe…it’s a good goal. Melanie’s right, we should have thought of this years ago. But now that we have, we can do something about it.”
“Exactly.” Melanie picks up the pail and gets to her feet. “Let me go rinse this out, and then you two can help me make this place look like somewhere I can actually live in. And when we’ve done that, let’s go out for ice cream or something. I don’t feel like eating a full meal tonight.”
“Ice cream sounds good,” Martin says. He heaves himself off the futon as well. “Now then. For the second time, where do you want that rug?”
He seems almost like himself. Almost. But Gerard watches him closely for the rest of the evening, and he can tell Martin’s still upset about the picture book.
Gerard can’t blame him.