It was kind of eerie, to see that the driver had personality. Even to the point of geeking out about something. I said, “I think I saw something about that in the Barber’s entry, in my grandmother’s books.”
“I read that. Yes. Good memory. It’s easier to bind them with something that naturally opposes them. In this case, you’d want something geometric and man-wrought to oppose beings that are more disordered and natural by their intrinsic natures. Which is most things out there. The more powerful they are, the more you’ll want and need in terms of protections.”
“Okay,” I said.
“That takes care of one of the local threats. I might suggest a protective sign on the ceiling, for another. And a ritual sprinkling of water at the perimeter of your apartment, on a regular schedule. Doesn’t really matter how often, but it should be at a set time or set times every day, and you can’t miss a day or it won’t have an effect.”
My eye fell on the door to Joel’s apartment. I really had to let him know I was okay.
But I focused on the man who was guiding me to safety. “Is there an explanation for any of this? Who or what it might be that I’m protecting myself against?”
“I’m already bending the rules by saying this.”
“Why?” I asked. When he didn’t give me a response, I asked, “Why tell me this? You don’t have to help like that.”
“I’m new to this. I’ve only been at it for- for a little while. I’m bound to make mistakes.”
“Why did you pause there?” I asked. “How long have you been at it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve lost track of the years. Smart phones weren’t a thing when I started, though, if that’s any clue?”
I nodded. “More than five years, then.”
“Five years,” he said, nodding slowly. He looked up at me, “You wanted to know why I’m sharing details? I like you, Mr. Thorburn. I feel bad for you, we haven’t exactly talked much, but I think you’re one of the good ones. Me taking you for a one-and-a-half hour drive into Toronto, getting stuck in traffic? It’s a nice break. It puts me in good spirits. I think they know it puts me in good spirits, and they divvy up jobs like this to keep the newbies sane.”
“During your centuries or thousands of years of enslavement to the firm,” I said.
“Yeah. From the clients who aren’t so fun. Clients who hoard and have places packed from floor to ceiling with knick-knacks and body parts, clients who deal in pain and suffering like a banker deals in cash, or who do things that would have turned my stomach, back when I had compunctions.”
“I see,” I said.
“You really don’t. But you might,” he said.
“You’re assuming I’ll take the offer your firm is making?” I asked.
“I honestly don’t know if you will. That wasn’t what I was saying. There are a good few people out there who try dealing in the real powers, the scary ones your grandmother trafficked in. Maybe a third survive, like your grandmother did. Another third, they meet bad ends and they probably take people with them. The last third, they get offered a way out, and they take that offer.”
“Like you did,” I said.
“I dabbled, I got in just deep enough to get into trouble, and get into debt,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the firm would like me to tell you the bill for the next deal you make with them.”
“The next deal? They’re looking into the future?”
“Nothing so complicated. This,” he said, handing me the book he held, “Is your payment for the supplies, the ride, the guarantee of safety and the arrangements we’ve made with the local Lord. This is how you’ll pay us, the next time you make a deal.”
He handed me a piece of yellow paper. Carbon paper. I read it over. A duration, a name, a two day duration, as well as notes made for any expenses being covered…
“An errand,” I said.
“Call it an internship,” he said. “Carrying out the sort of job you would be doing if you accepted a deal with the firm.”
“Like you did, driving me,” I said.
“Very possible,” he said, smiling a bit.
“Or like one of the jobs you regularly do for the messed up ones, the real diabolists you and Ms. Lewis seem so damn relieved to get away from.”
“That is also very possible,” he said.
“So you don’t even know what the favor I’d be asking is, and you’re telling me how I’ll pay you back, in exchange?”
“They are, yes.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I stayed silent, folded up the paper, and stuck it in my back pocket. I stopped walking.
“This is your apartment?” he asked.
“It is.”
“There’s no particular rush to finish the book. I believe the threat of a deal ignored and the impact to your karmic balance is enough incentive to follow through.”
I looked down at the book he’d given me. Black Lamb’s Blood.
From the goat’s skull on the cover, the black leather and the script in shiny gold lettering, I knew it was a book on diabolism. This was my payment for the services the firm had rendered me. I had to read it, nothing more, nothing less.
“No traps? No deceptions or situations where reading the wrong word will harm me or cause demons to leap out of the page?” I already knew the answer, but I had to ask again. The situation worried me too much.
“It is plain text, nothing more,” he assured me. “You may or may not like what that text says, but I don’t think you’ll suffer.”
“It’s propaganda,” I said.
“Perhaps a little bit. Your grandmother knew the author and was quite fond of her. Had she been alive as the book was released, your grandmother would have paid for a copy to be delivered to her, and it would have a place on her bookshelf. She would have no cause to warn you about anything inside. It’s even one of the tamer books.”
I nodded, frowning.
A gateway book? The thought made me think of some dumbassed campaign like ‘don’t do drugs, read!’. Except books were more dangerous than drugs, in this world.
“Once you’re inside, I’ll be on my way,” he said.
I let myself into the apartment, feeling a secret relief when the key turned successfully in the lock, and I turned to face my escort.
“Goodbye, Mr. Thorburn. Best of luck. Remember what I recommended, protection-wise.”
“You seemed decent enough,” I said. “Thank you for the tips on self-protection. I hope you get more easy jobs.”
“So do I, thank you. Five hundred and seventy three years, four months, and four days to go, if I don’t make partner at some point. I’m bound to get some of the easier jobs.”
His smile made it look like he might chuckle at his own joke. Caught off guard by the sheer volume of years he’d presented, I couldn’t bring myself to match him smile for smile.
He gestured, tipping his nonexistent hat, and then turned to go.