She found the library easily enough, exactly where the old nun had told her it would be. From the outside, it looked like any other brownstone on the tree-lined street, with its old-style iron fence and gate leading up to granite steps offset by twin columns. Ivy grew on the bricks, spreading its long dark green tendrils all over the masonry.
The front door was unlocked.
Lauren pushed in and at once found herself in a large hallway complete with a white marble floor and a vaulted ceiling painted in antique white that contrasted with the rich chestnut brown of the wooden walls. The entrance seemed to radiate a certain coolness about it. Almost as if God himself had laid a hand across this place.
A single door led out of the main hall. But right before the door, just off to its left, sat an old woman in regular clothes at a small oak desk. She had a book open in front of her and didn’t appear to take much interest in Lauren.
Should I say hello? Lauren frowned. Or would that mark her as an intruder?
She walked closer. The old woman turned the page of her book and kept reading. Lauren’s heart hammered in her chest.
Any minute now she’ll look up and demand to know who I am…
Lauren reached for the doorknob.
Turned it.
Heard the click and the door swung back on well-oiled hinges.
Lauren walked through.
She exhaled in a rush, relieved to be past the front door.
As soon as she stepped across the threshold, stacks of books seemed to sprout up everywhere. Books lined every wall. Doorways branched off of this room, each leading to a new room containing more books.
And what books they were! As she walked through the stacks she could make out hand-bound journals of priests and missionaries several hundred years old. Faded limited editions of varying translations of the bible. Historical accounts of the Church not ordinarily released to the public. And so much more.
As Lauren walked through the rooms, she saw only one other person: an elderly nun with her head bent deep into a thick book.
Lauren kept walking. She had no idea where to start.
She frowned. Better to wander around and see what I can discover on my own before I risk asking for help. Besides, she thought, the key the old nun gave me has to open something. Maybe it will be obvious.
It took her thirty minutes to make a pass at all the rooms. As she walked, her footsteps echoed off the floors. At any moment she expected to see people running for her, shouting about trespassing.
But no one came.
Gradually, her heartbeat calmed down and Lauren set about trying to find the locked room she knew she’d have to locate.
It was on the third time through each of the rooms that she saw the small door at the rear of one of them. It seemed to be disguised to look more like a painting than a door. Lauren wasn’t even sure it was one until she got close enough to run her hands along the edges and felt the lip of wood jutting out of it. Peering closer, she saw the lock.
Her heartbeat increased.
Was this the room?
The key felt hot in her hand and she realized she’d been clutching it within the folds of her palm since the old nun had pressed it there hours ago.
Now or never, she thought. She held the key up and then aimed it at the keyhole.
It stuttered into the lock, coughing for a blast of graphite dust to smooth its passage. Lauren turned the key and heard the heavy deadbolt slid back into its recess with a solid thunk.
She opened the door.
A long thin wooden table stood before her, polished to a dull sheen from years of sleeves and elbows resting on it. Around the table, more bookshelves. But the books in this room differed greatly from the rest of the library.
The books here had strange titles.
Some were in foreign languages.
And some didn’t seem very Church-like at all.
As she looked at the titles, she knew she’d found the repository of information she’d need. In this room, the Church apparently kept its documents related to Satanism, exorcism, old legends, witchcraft, supernatural studies, and all manner of accounts on dealing with the occult.
Lauren inhaled, tasting the stale musty air mixed with old leather and smiled. The room seemed to pull at her. It’s as if, she thought, God wants me to be here. Like he wants me to study these subjects.
So she could help Steve.
Detective Curran, she corrected herself.
And smiled in spite of it. Certainly he was the best looking man she'd seen in a long time. Not that he would have ever graced the pages of a fashion magazine, but the rugged features of his face and body made him seem carved out of wood. Tall and strong. And she'd even detected a hint of emotion lurking somewhere far beneath his ironclad exterior.
She laughed almost out loud at the thought of a dalliance with him before pledging herself to God forever. But she quickly abandoned that idea, knowing her path lay elsewhere.
Before her, books stretched out in either direction.
Where to start?
She chose the shelf closest and began scanning the old Latin titles. She’d studied a number of ancient languages in preparation for her Church service. But she still didn’t know what she was looking for.
For the next three hours she proceeded to pull each book off the shelf and scan through it as fast as she could. In that time she saw all manner of personal accounts of the occult. Enough to convince her that even though it was the 21st century, evil had always lurked on the fringes of society and would most likely continue to do so.
In her fourth hour, she found the book.
Written in the twelfth century by a monk named Gerhardt in the monastery at Schwarzwaldheim, a small town in Bavaria known for its close proximity to the Black Forest, the book catalogued every known creature and demon available to help the Devil in his work.
Even as Lauren scanned the pages, roughly translating in her mind what she read, she felt a shadow of fear pass over her. The names and spells within the pages told of incredible evil and untold power for the person who swore eternal allegiance to the Dark Lord.
They also warned of the unbearable agony inflicted upon those in his service.
A cold gust of air swept through the room.
Lauren shivered and looked up.
The room had no windows.
The light hairs along her forearms stood up straight.
Where had the wind come from?
She bent back over the book and read some more.
Another gust of cold wind swept over her, this time flipping the pages of the book in front of her. The old paper crinkled and crackled as sheets flew by under her nose.
The wind died.
And Lauren looked down.
The book now lay open at a chapter dealing with servants of the Devil.
Lauren looked up again.
There was no one in the room with her.
The wind had vanished.
Her heartbeat had drummed up again to a steady staccato rhythm. She tried to grin. Get a hold of yourself, Lauren.
She turned the pages, reading and translating. Toward the end of the chapter, she stopped and felt very cold. But this time she felt cold on the inside.
Soul Eaters.
She ran her finger down the page to the text and began reading…
Little is known of the Soul Eaters except that they have been
imbued with the ability to steal the very essence of man from
him with little more than a touch of the hands. All that makes
up the man himself, his memories, his thoughts, his very
emotions, is robbed from him. For what purpose the
Soul Eater exists is not yet known, but care must be taken
in dealing with them, for their power is truly directly
given from the Devil himself.
Lauren sat back and inhaled a long deep breath.
A Soul Eater.
What if…?
What if there were one actually living here in Boston? What if he had killed her brother? What if he was planning something right here in the city itself?
But what?
She frowned. Would Steve believe her? He didn't necessarily appear to be a very trusting soul himself. She'd never met many cops who were. Most of them stuck to hard facts only. It was understandable, being a prerequisite for the job. They couldn't put someone away on speculation or the supernatural.
And Steve himself had told her he was firmly rooted in facts and logic. He would be difficult to convince.
Still, she wondered.
After all, Steve had invested years of his own life trying to get to the bottom of the strange murders that plagued him. Perhaps he would be able to see the possibility.
Perhaps.
She traced her finger lower on the page reading again…
The Soul Eater himself is apt to be cunning in his own right.
By virtue of his job for the Devil, he must be careful to remain
hidden. If discovered, he would be unable to complete his
nefarious objectives, whatever they may be.
Something had been written in pencil in the margin of the book and then erased. Lauren peered closer, barely able to make out the letters and what they spelled out.
Graham Westerly — 1907
She frowned again and continued reading, but there was little else, except for several documented cases that happened during the third, seventh, eleventh, and nineteenth centuries. The nineteenth century instance was hand-written in German scrawl, which Lauren could not read. She knew it must have been details of the Soul Eater for that time.
She made a quick notation in the small red notebook she carried and then closed the book.
The air in the room suddenly changed.
It felt heavy.
Oppressive.
Lauren felt glued to her chair. Like she couldn’t get up.
She tried taking a deep breath. It did little good. The earlier joyful smell of must and leather cloyed at her, now almost suffocating her as she tried to breathe.
It felt like…something was in the room with her.
Lauren glanced up at the door. Was someone outside watching her?
The air grew cold again.
But a line of sweat broke out along her hairline.
And then she heard it.
A soft sound that snaked through the stacks, slowly circumventing the room as it came closer to her, caressing her ankles and slithering up her body past her shoulders until it kissed her ears.
Sooooooooooooooooon.
Lauren sat very still. She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling and saw a small crucifix on the wall. She closed her eyes and pleaded.
God, don't let anything happen to me here.
She kept her eyes shut and began praying softly. After a dozen Hail Mary's she felt better and opened here eyes, able to breathe again.
Whatever she felt had passed. She gathered up the book and placed it back on the shelf, pushing it back into its resting place with care.
Pushing the chair back to the table, she gathered her things and left the room. As soon as she opened the door, the air seemed lighter. She could breathe again.
She walked back through the rooms, but paused when she saw the same nun still bent deep in study.
“Excuse me, sister?”
The nun, older than Lauren, looked up. “Yes?”
Lauren smiled, almost embarrassed. “Just a few minutes ago…did someone else come through here?”
“Someone else?” The nun looked closer at Lauren. “No, I’m afraid not. It’s just us in here today, dear.”
“Okay.”
“Are you all right?”
“I…I'm not quite sure.” Lauren smiled. “I felt a little odd a minute ago.”
“Odd?”
“It was probably nothing. Sorry to disturb you.”
The nun smiled. “Now, don't you apologize. There are plenty of books in this library that can make you feel a little…suffocated. Some of the cardinals used to say the very knowledge of the world rests in these books. All the good, you know.”
And all the evil, thought Lauren. She tried to smile. “I heard that.”
“Have you entered the service yet?”
“Not yet, no. I’m preparing to, though.”
“How soon?”
“Probably next year.”
The old nun smiled. “It will be a glorious time for you. Don't worry about this old place. Just keep your studies up and make sure you've made your peace with God before you enter the Church.”
Lauren nodded. “Thank you. I'll do that.” She glanced around, suddenly wanting to call Steve. “I should go.”
The nun merely inclined her head and Lauren backed away, quickly turning the corner back toward the front of the library.
I need some fresh air, she thought.
Outside in the entranceway, she paused, leaning against one of the marble columns. It felt cool to the touch and she welcomed the temperature change. She realized her skin was hot and she felt her head.
Her hand came away wet with sweat.
What happened back there?
Briefly, she wondered if it was her period but she dismissed this. Ever since her brother had raped her, she'd stopped menstruating. The doctors all concluded that the psychological trauma of the event had jarred her system so much that she'd simply become barren.
Strangest thing, though, she thought. This does feel a lot like PMS.