Smoke and Mirrors
Content
Smoke and Mirrors – Chapter 1 Gerard brushed his fingers across the books cracked-leather binding. As a lifelong bibliophile, everything about old books had always excited his senses – the feel of the pages, the musty smell that emanated from an ancient tome when opened, the scars and depressions that marked a books covers like healed wounds, the crackle of a timeyellowed page as it was turned. Texture, colour, scent, sound. Every book had its own character and presence. This book, however, was special. Before his Awakening, Gerard had not even been aware of its presence on the dusty shelves of Open Eye Books. Having carried out numerous stock checks and inventories of the store in the past, Gerard wasn’t even convinced the book had been there before his discovery that the world was not as he had been led to believe. But after that night, after Lauren… The first time he’d re-entered the store after that night, he’d found himself in the storeroom, standing before one of the sets of bookshelves that held all those books that, for one reason or another, hadn’t made it to the shopfloor yet. Fingers running absently along the spines of the books, mind not wholly there in the moment, his fingertips had come to rest on the spine of this one particular tome. Opening the book he’d been surprised to find that its pages were blank. Likewise it had no title or binders mark. The book was empty, like a journal that awaited the first stroke of an authors pen. Initially dismissing the tome as a curio, Gerard had nonetheless found himself drawn to the book and its blank pages. Since first discovering the book, Gerard had learnt a great deal about the hidden things in the world. Ghosts, spirits, magic… it had all proven to be real. As time went by, Gerard had met others that held fragments of the puzzle that was the Supernal Realms. Strange forces worked in the world. Eventually he’d found that this book was one of them. The book held more than just empty pages – it manifested power, supernal power that could be tapped only by those that understood how to use it, as Gerard had learned. The book was a hallow, a manifested well-spring of insubstantial energy, and all hallows were different in form, function and potency. This particular hallow only shared its power at midnight, and only then on a clear night where the moon shone directly upon its aged pages. Gerard had relocated the book from its storeroom shelf to the book stores attic, where the skylight windows could best allow Lunars carress to fall upon the book. The added security of having the book in a less accessible part of the building was a considered and welcome secondary effect – hallows had value commensurate with their power, and there were many in the Awakened world that might covet such a resource as this nameless book presented. Checking his watch, Gerard watched as the second hand swept its way around towards 11:57. Still too early to open the book. Having enacted this ritual many times in the past, Gerard knew that opening the book early would yield nothing, an opportunity wasted until another suitable night arrived.
Dr. Ryan Cobble cast a last analytical gaze across his “operating theatre”. The bright halogen lamps suspended from the basements ceiling cast sharp pin-point reflections of light from the edges of the various metal implements arranged carefully around the reclining bed. Metal stirrups projected from the beds frame, polished and clean, looking like some weird insect-like antennae projecting from the black, plastic-coated padding that made up the beasts chitinous body. Clean, sterile, everything present and correct and within easy reach. Just because he wasn’t allowed to work from a proper hospital anymore didn’t mean that proper standards of hygiene and efficiency shouldn’t be maintained. Crossing to the wall-mounted CD player, he flicked through the collection of discs that he kept handy for when he was working. With only himself and a “patient” in the room, the music was a comforting presence, injecting a modicum of calm into an intense and uncomfortable atmosphere. It also helped him block out the sobs and whimpers of his patients. The girl in the next room was barely 16. By listening carefully, he could hear her frightened sniffling and the murmured words of reassurance of the woman that had accompanied her here tonight through the plasterboard partition that he’d erected to separate the basement into two rooms. Ryan was sure that this woman wasn’t the girls mother, although why he was so sure escaped him. It didn’t matter. Discretion was a major factor in Ryan’s favour when it came to performing the services he offered, and the less he knew the better. The older woman was paying the bill. That was all that really mattered. Selecting a classical CD, one of Chopins, he loaded the CD player, skipping the first two tracks before hitting the players pause button, ready to restart when he began working.
Roxy Boa stamped his way through Bostons snow-clogged alleyways. The seasonal February snow flurries had ceased late in the afternoon, giving way to drizzling rail and leaving the snow to melt into a brown slushy residue that soaked into trouser legs and insinuated itself into the bloodstream, chilling to the core. Cursing the cold and wrapping his lurid scarf tighter around his chin, Roxy stuffed hands red with cold deeper into the pockets of his fleece-lined coat.
Dr. Ryan Cobble cast a last analytical gaze across his “operating theatre”. The bright halogen lamps suspended from the basements ceiling cast sharp pin-point reflections of light from the edges of the various metal implements arranged carefully around the reclining bed. Metal stirrups projected from the beds frame, polished and clean, looking like some weird insect-like antennae projecting from the black, plastic-coated padding that made up the beasts chitinous body. Clean, sterile, everything present and correct and within easy reach. Just because he wasn’t allowed to work from a proper hospital anymore didn’t mean that proper standards of hygiene and efficiency shouldn’t be maintained. Crossing to the wall-mounted CD player, he flicked through the collection of discs that he kept handy for when he was working. With only himself and a “patient” in the room, the music was a comforting presence, injecting a modicum of calm into an intense and uncomfortable atmosphere. It also helped him block out the sobs and whimpers of his patients. The girl in the next room was barely 16. By listening carefully, he could hear her frightened sniffling and the murmured words of reassurance of the woman that had accompanied her here tonight through the plasterboard partition that he’d erected to separate the basement into two rooms. Ryan was sure that this woman wasn’t the girls mother, although why he was so sure escaped him. It didn’t matter. Discretion was a major factor in Ryan’s favour when it came to performing the services he offered, and the less he knew the better. The older woman was paying the bill. That was all that really mattered. Selecting a classical CD, one of Chopins, he loaded the CD player, skipping the first two tracks before hitting the players pause button, ready to restart when he began working.
Roxy Boa stamped his way through Bostons snow-clogged alleyways. The seasonal February snow flurries had ceased late in the afternoon, giving way to drizzling rail and leaving the snow to melt into a brown slushy residue that soaked into trouser legs and insinuated itself into the bloodstream, chilling to the core. Cursing the cold and wrapping his lurid scarf tighter around his chin, Roxy stuffed hands red with cold deeper into the pockets of his fleece-lined coat.
