Page 2 of Fleshbound
He scanned the next few aisles, but they, too, were empty. Frowning, Quillam lifted the book off the floor, dusted it off,and read the title.Fleshbound. His frown deepened. He didn’t recall that particular book arriving at the store, nor having seen it before. Carrying it, he crossed to the front counter and opened the computer. According to their system, there was no such title in stock. He pulled the invoice from the newest shipment, wondering if Perry had accidentally missed it, but alas, it wasn’t listed there, either.
He tapped the cover.
Another mystery. One he had no time to explore.
Fleshbound.Well, you’re covered in plum velvet and golden clasps, not flesh at all.Your title lies.
Opening the cover, he found the pages inside blank. Not one single word on any of the many vellum pages within. They did not seem to be made of flesh, either, much to his relief. Over the years, he’d had a few books written on stretched skin and it was not something he enjoyed handling.
He closed it, caressing the outer golden, gilded edges of the pages, curiouser still. Where had it come from? Books mysteriously arriving at the shop was fairly normal, but they usually came mixed within shipments of others. They didn’t land on the floor of his shop in the middle of the night. He considered the item stored below, deep in the catacombs under the Enchanted Ink building.The Hammer of the Witches, an evil tome, filled with vile, dark magic had arrived and nearly destroyed Atlas before he and Cassius had learned it was there.
From the moment he’d locked it in its specially prepared cage, he’d been expecting others to learn of its location and attempt to steal it. While the runes protected them, the type of beings who would want a book so contemptable had the kind of magic that could potentially break through their fortifications.
Was Fleshbound snuck in to learn their secrets from the inside?
He scanned the front and back again, searching for signs of hidden magic, but there were none. While there wassomethingcharmed about it, the book itself was not cursed or bespelled. Still, he wouldn’t leave it to chance. He marched to the back to lock it somewhere safe. He couldn’t take it to the book cage below the building—that would be too dangerous. He had a strongbox where he stored lesser valuable books that did not need to be on public display. Once it was behind the enchanted steel, he eyed his pocket watch again and huffed.
One in the morning? With a sigh, he darkened the stars, turned off the fire, and turned off any other lights. He left, locking everything tight behind him. Once upstairs in his apartment, he walked past the towering piles of books lining the walls and started a kettle of water. His cat, Mouse, curled his lithe body around one of Quill’s ankles, purring loudly.
After the cat had been fed and given plentiful head scratches—and a cup of Valarian root tea made—he got ready for bed, where he settled in with another book before drifting off to sleep.
2
The following evening, Quillam flipped the lock and the sign at closing time, wishing he’d taken Perry up on his offer to work. The day had been bloody busy, so much so that he’d not been able to continue his hunt through the genealogy volume at all. Finally closed, he could devote a few hours to it before bed. Eyeing the desk in his back room, he contemplated taking the book upstairs to his apartment. Mouse needed company and his comfortable chair in the reading nook was calling his name.
Before he could exit the back door, he heard a thud very much like the night before. He paused with his hand on the knob, another cold chill racing up his spine. Turning, he laid down the book and ambled out into the darkened shop, a ball of magic in his palm lighting the way.
Again, he lit the sky and the fire. He searched the shadows.
He found no one inside with him.
Another book laid in the same exact spot where he’d discovered the one the night before. After another worried check around him, he lifted the heavy tome. Flipping it, he frowned.
Fleshbound.
Rushing to the backroom, he yanked open the strongbox. He dropped to his knees to search inside the small, spelled metal vault but found the copy he’d placed the night beforewasn’tthere. Digging through the tomes, he pulled every single one out to be sure it hadn’t slid under another.
It wasn’t there.
Rolling back on his haunches, he looked at the book lying beside him. He opened the cover, confused. He’d been tired, of course, but he hadn’t dreamt the event.
Had he?
Quill gasped as he turned the pages.
They were no longer blank.
He stood, carrying the book with him, unable to take his eyes from it. He rested it on his desk and stared, absolutely sure it had been empty last night. Turning to the front matter, he found little there. Antique tomes rarely had copyright pages, or sometimes not even title ones—so that wasn’t surprising. He turned several pages, noting it was most definitely hand done calligraphy that looked centuries old to his skillful eye.
Fleshbound didhave a title page. A medieval illustration of golden curlicues and reddish black dragon with red, fiery eyes. No author was listed. No calligrapher, either. There was no introduction. Page two went right into the beginning of its tale.
The mysts of Evonium did cloak the portal ‘twixt man and fae upon the day of Corven's birth. It was spoken that he descended upon the earth with a crown of crimson locks, tinged with onyx, bearing the visage of a serpent. His eyes, aflame and blood red as those of dragons. All who beheld the bairn did tremble at its presence and the curse which it must needs have herald upon the realm.
Yet, as he did mature, Evonium did gather vast riches. The babe did blossom into a noble knight, stout and comely, who did guard those within the castle's embrace with cunning andmight. Corven's wondrous deeds were many, echoing across the land.
In sooth, he was ever accursed. Love did allude him. No wife did he take, nor did he beget heirs. His charmed existence did span far beyond others, yet there be none who would hold his heart dear.
Within this tome lie the legends of Corven and his quest for a love that might eclipse all loves. A love so rare, it doth transcend the very weave of time—as did Corven himself.
