It’s three days before Christmas and I’m standing on the top of an abandoned hospital building, having just failed to talk a suicide victim out of throwing themselves four stories to their death.

She didn’t scream.

She just fell…

I stared at the space she had occupied, my mind a whirl of questions, thoughts and chaos yet I was numb, like I was enjoying a sauna in the eye of a tropical storm.

Abruptly there was a flash of light from beyond the side of the building.

In an instant I knew it couldn’t be an interloper going up in flames.

That was a golden glow, however brief it might be.

This was a bright, white light, edged with blue.

Instinctively I knew what, who, it was but my brain couldn’t even conjure a name.

It was only when she flew into the air, well above the rooftop in an arc, over my head to land behind me, that I finally whispered,

“Weiss…”

She turned, her Valkyrie helmet in place over her features. She couldn’t lift it. In her arms was the girl.

Gently she lay her on the ground and flicked up her visor.

I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I looked down at the girl who appeared to have fainted.

“Weiss…I…”

“Thank you.” She said softly.

“For what?”

“For talking to her long enough for me to save her.”

“Weiss?” E.J., dusted with ash, made it onto the rooftop. It was strange, the entire event had taken the length of time it took for him to climb the four stories after dispatching the creature.

In so small a window, something so precious as a life might have been lost.

“How are you feeling?”

“I am well enough.” She replied firmly.

E.J. nodded, knowing not to push it. “Sam, would you collect this young lady’s belongings?”

I did so, scooping the book into my hands.

“Cassandra Clare,” I breathed, “you must have written a brilliant book…cause whatever that was, was terrifying!”

“What are we going to do with her?” Weiss asked.

“I guess we find out who she is or take her somewhere safe…”

“Are you,” we all looked down at the girl whose eyes had opened and were fixed on Weiss, “an angel?”

It was going to be rather hard to deny. Despite the lack of wings, Weiss did have an angelic presence about her in the Valkyrie state.

“I saved you.” Weiss said matter-o-factly without actually answering her.

“My own clockwork angel…” she whispered, her countenance filled with the light from Weiss’ state.

Weiss seemed a little uncomfortable with the praise yet she knelt by the girl, still bristling with power yet soft and bright.

“I rescued you this once…because you needed to know that your life has meaning and purpose…and that this world will be all the poorer without it,” and in true Weiss fashion, her eyes narrowed, “learn this lesson…because I will not be able to do so again…so you need to live.”

She stood up straight, sprinted for the edge of the hospital and whistled, leaping onto the back of her Pegasus, flying into the night.

E.J. and I looked at each other.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” He asked.

I couldn’t have agreed more.

The girl, Bailey as we found out, sat on the backseat, her mind filled with wonder.

It seemed insensitive to interrupt her thoughts.

Her countenance was so calm and yet so alive.

A far cry from mere minutes before where I saw too much pain for a POW camp survivor, let alone a teenage girl with her whole life ahead of her.

E.J. pulled out of the carpark.

“I’m not sure where we should take her,” he whispered, “I’m wary about putting her back into a bad situation…I don’t know enough about this sort of thing…”

“Neither do I,” I whispered in return then chuckled, “but I know someone who does.”

Just under an hour later, we were at Second Chance.

Being so late I wasn’t sure we’d stand much of a chance of anyone being awake or able to help.

I hadn’t really thought of the time.

But as it turned out, Second Chance was staffed 24/7.

And within five minutes of us being there, ushered into a sitting room by the person who’d drawn the short straw for the all night vigil, Walter Preston appeared, rumpled and obviously just woken up but determined to be lively.

I mean, I shouldn’t have been surprised. This was, after all, a cause he was deeply invested into.

He was, of course, surprised to see me.

Yet his attention was immediately directed to Bailey.

“You are safe, here, Bailey,” he said warmly, “and we’ll work through any challenges after a good night’s sleep. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can,” Bailey said firmly, “I have to. My angel said so.”

“Your angel?”

“She said I needed to live.”

Walter smiled. “That sounds like good advice, Bailey. This is Rosita, she’s got a room ready for you.”

“Thank you.” Bailey smiled. It was pale and a little wobbly but the despair infused girl had gotten a shot of hope…and she was clinging to it.

Walter turned to us.

“Thanks for being here and doing what you do.” E.J. said before Walter could speak. “I didn’t have a clue. It was Sam who knew about you.”

“Funny how small moments, unconnected, manage to come together when needed.” Walter Preston chuckled.

“Will Bailey be okay?” I asked.

“We’ll keep an eye on her tonight although I doubt she’ll make another attempt. In the morning we’ll find out who she is and who we need to let know that she’s alright. Sometimes, that in itself is enough. The realisation that people, family and friends, would be broken hearted if the world no longer had Bailey in it.”

“She didn’t think anyone cared about her.”

“It’s the most common lie we find we need to deconstruct,” Walter explained, “parents might be so preoccupied with their own world that they don’t see just how much their children are suffering but dropping an attempted suicide bomb on them, the rose coloured glasses are often ripped away. There are the odd and sad occasions when family don’t care…but we become their family. It also makes it easier when someone like Bailey believes in something more than just the world she can see.”

“You mean,” E.J. cleared his throat, “her angel?”

Walter Preston nodded.

“Do you…believe that she saw an angel?” I asked gingerly.

“Who am I to discount what people see and don’t see? I’m the first to admit I don’t know all there is to know in this world…and if an angel told Bailey that her life has value and for her to live, then I’m not about to strip down what she believes in just because I haven’t had the faith to see it for myself.”

E.J. and I returned to his car and drove back to our corner of the city silently.

“Did you let your mum know you’d be out?” He asked quietly at a set of lights.

“Yeah I did.”

After fifteen minutes of silence I glanced into the backseat and spied a book.

“Bailey left her book behind.”

“Is that the one the creature came out of?”

“I think so. It must have been rather special to her.” I flicked it open and saw little blood splatters on the pages and a couple of fingerprints in blood. My stomach churned. “I think she was a cutter.”

“Huh?”

“Self harm…there’s blood in this book.”

E.J.’s face was grim. “Probably a safe place for her to be. Put music on, drink, drugs or depression…read her favourite book while…”

“Please…stop.”

E.J.’s voice fell silent for a block or two. I looked out the window, watching the lights of other cars streak by, feeling oddly isolated and alone despite being surrounded by millions of people.

“Strange…”

“What is?”

“That someone whose method of self destruction would end up on a rooftop, ready to throw herself off of it.”

“Isn’t that the ultimate definition of self destruction?” I pointed out.

“What I’m saying is, they’re two very different methods of suicide.” I thought about this as E.J. shrugged. “What do I know? It’s hardly my field of expertise.”

I was lost in my thoughts, going over and over those scant few seconds of conversation before Bailey had tried to take her life.

“She said he promised her revenge…”

“What was that?”

My blood was pumping so strongly I could feel my veins protesting at the violence of it. I twisted in my seat and looked at E.J. whose hands were on the narrow wheel of his vintage car.

“On the rooftop, Bailey said that her familiar promised her revenge.”

“What on earth is a familiar?”

“In manga and anime it’s a demon that becomes your friend.”

E.J.’s vintage face scrunched into a disbelieving expression.

“Who came up with that foolish notion?”

“Hey, don’t kill me. I’m just trying to bring you up to speed on the youth of today.”

E.J. breathed out. “Fine. So Bailey said something about a demon promising her revenge.”

“So why did we find a cutter on top of an abandoned building ready to jump?”

E.J.’s eyes were locked forwards but I don’t think he was seeing the traffic around him at all.

“Sam…”

“It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Inferus. He took that poor girl up there with the promise of revenge and abandoned her to her despair to the point where she was ready to throw herself off that roof.”

E.J. pulled over to the side of the road and looked at me, his eyes filled with haunting.

“It’s worse than that, Sam,” he whispered, “why would a girl take her favourite book up to the top of an abandoned building which is an incursion prone zone…unless…”

I stared at him, aghast. “Inferus has figured out how to force incursions…how to tear the fabric of reality.”

E.J.’s mouth turned down, angrier than I’d ever seen him. “And the bastard is using the broken hearted, the tormented and the despaired to do it. He’s finding souls who grasp at any drop of hope they can and abusing it to his own ends.”

“What end? What…”

“Sam,” E.J. leaned forward, “a written character will naturally follow their written purpose…and Inferus’ purpose is to create a pure bloodline world. Anyone else in it, is ash.”

“He can’t possibly think he can do that here.” I protested. “People won’t stand for it!”

“It’s not like he’s going to open a committee on it, Sam.” E.J. argued. “He’s certainly not going to take prisoners.”

I considered what Inferus had told me through my mum and what Lucas had said about the memories he had of Inferus.

“He’s going to scrape this world clean…and start fresh.”

“God help us…” E.J. put his foot on the accelerator and we eased into the stream of traffic, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

“In the book,” and not for the millionth time, I wished I could read them, “Inferus used Weiss to commit genocide.”

“Yes.”

“But he needed her in her phoenix state to do that, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“So he can’t use her…”

“She can do a hell of a lot of damage without being an unstoppable ring of fire.”

“Are you saying she’d side with Inferus?” I asked pointedly and was saddened to see conflict on his face. “You can’t honestly believe…”

“I don’t know, Sam. I just don’t know…and Weiss wouldn’t risk it. Not for anything.” E.J. swallowed. “But I do know there are a lot of dangerous creatures in books…big creatures…hungry and violent…”

“Like dragons?” My skin prickled. “He managed to summon that dragon in the park, didn’t he?”

“It’s looking likely.”

“Because it was there?”

“No Sam,” E.J. looked at me, “because it didn’t breathe fire. He communicated with it.”

I felt sick. “He’s practicing…”

“He’s recruiting.”

“For what?”

“To unleash an army.” E.J. licked his lips. “Tomorrow I want to go to the community. I think there’s something more we can learn down there.”

“You need me to go with you?”

“Sam…it’s a Sunday. You need a day off.”

“Why? You don’t get one.”

E.J. gave a small smile. “Don’t make this job your entire life, Sam. It’s a pretty thankless occupation.”

In my youthful stubbornness I was determined to rise early and meet E.J. at the tunnel entrance just to show him I could be equally as dedicated…but I slept through my alarm. Not even the imminent apocalypse could have woken me.

So it was, come Monday morning, Christmas eve, I had to suffer the smug expression on E.J.’s face who somehow knew that what I wanted to do and what actually ended up happening would be two very different things.

Before we could get into a snark match, Weiss appeared.

“How are you?” I asked.

“My health has been restored to full capacity.” She said in her usual deadpan voice.

“I probably should have thought of this yesterday, but did we need to put that creature back in his book?”

“I visited Jeanette yesterday.”

“You know, if we left it out of the book…it wouldn’t be able to reappear,” I frowned, “or is that a bit too hopeful?”

“The mysteries of fictional incursions,” E.J. sighed, “look, I went to the community yesterday and spoke with Bluey about what happened to Killarney.”

“He died from drinking the water,” I grimaced, “or is that just wishful thinking?”

“Given that we have no body to examine, it’s hard to know but Bluey did say the body was covered in welts and sores,” E.J. put a book on the closest filing cabinet, “he also had this amongst his book collection in his spot.”

I looked at the book.

“Dune,” I frowned, “isn’t that the book where those giant worms came from?”

“That’s the one.”

“You think…”

E.J. glanced briefly at Weiss whose expression was pained.

“Yeah, I think Inferus used Killarney to bring them into our world.”

“Dragons, death worms, that thing from last night…this guy doesn’t do subtle, does he?” I paused. “I did wonder about the old lady that hit you,” I looked at Weiss, “with her car. You said,” I turned to E.J., “she blacked out. What if Inferus took a pot shot at us?”

“She didn’t have the same symptoms…”

“Yeah but he only possessed her for a few seconds.” I shrugged. “Look, I don’t know. I’m working with half a picture here. I don’t know the background. I don’t know the history. I don’t even know how he factors into the books! If you’d just let me read them…”

“No.”

“Weiss, maybe Sam should…”

“I said no!” Weiss barked and stormed away.

I slumped onto my computer chair and glared at the switchboard.

“I’ll talk to her.” E.J. offered.

“Don’t bother.”

“Sam…”

“No, see if we tick her off even more…she mightn’t say yes to my mum’s invitation,” I sighed and braced myself, “she wanted to know if you and Weiss would like to come for Christmas lunch tomorrow.”

E.J. stared at me. “Seriously?”

“What? You’re not allowed a day off?”

“Well…I…” E.J. gulped. “I guess…I don’t really…have a good reason to say no…”

I chuckled. “Look, it’s pretty obvious you two are caught up on your world so much so that you’ve even forgotten it’s Christmas…but it might be fun, you know…”

“You really think it’d be fun to have your bosses around for Christmas lunch?”

“So long as we don’t discuss Inferus, character incursions and the end of the freaking world.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Sound fair?”

I didn’t actually hold out much hope that mum’s generous invitation would be taken up. E.J. might have considered it, especially given that there was free food involved but I just couldn’t see Weiss in our little flat, experiencing Christmas like a normal person. I could just imagine her scathing expression, her scorn of the holiday that, more than likely in her world, meant nothing at all. I mean, how could we sit and celebrate what my mother called, the season of hope, when Weiss knew there was a murderous abusive malevolent presence floating around, raising a demonic army to obliterate the earth?

So you can imagine my surprise when, upon opening our flat door after the doorbell sounded, I discovered E.J. and Weiss standing there.

“Uh…hey!” I blundered. “Um…Merry Christmas?”

“Merry Christmas,” E.J. chuckled, “and thanks for my present.”

“What present?”

“That gobsmacked look. It’s the best thing I’ve gotten all year.”

I rolled my eyes and ushered them in, calling out to mum that our guests had arrived.

Our flat, which wasn’t large, shrank with the addition of two more people. Mum, who had always loved Christmas, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a seasonally themed tea towel, her hair caught up in a clasp so that her bell earrings with enormous tinsel bows could be seen.

“Oh I’m so glad you could come!” She gushed warmly. “Come in, come in.”

I thought it was going to be so awkward.

And in fairness, it could have been…except for the phenomenon called ‘mum’.

When she had asked if I’d like to invite Weiss and E.J. over, she’d already made sure she’d have enough food. I mean, it wasn’t gourmet by any standard but a meal shared with Christmas carols playing and people reading out the same awful jokes in Christmas bonbons that they had every year, couldn’t help but be a memorable experience. And, my mum being the soft soul that she was, had bought some token gifts for them both. They were nothing dazzling but even I could see that E.J. and Weiss were both touched, even taken aback, by the thoughtfulness.

“A lady in our church handmakes these bookmarks and sells them to raise money for the child she sponsors over in…oh I forget where…” Mum smiled at Weiss who was running her fingers over the stitched words on the bookmark. “Sam said you were very fond of books.”

I felt like cringing, knowing that Weiss was possibly not as fond of books as I had originally led mum to believe. I now knew that Weiss’ fascination with books was born out of a deep rooted responsibility to protect this world, even to the point of justifiable paranoia.

However, Weiss appeared genuinely pleased.

“I appreciate the thought and the time taken for the work.” She said with her usual gush-less flare. “What is 2 Corinthians 5:17?”

“A scripture about being a new creation. I don’t know it off the top of my head,” mum hesitated, “I hope you don’t mind it being, for lack of a better word, religious.”

“Not at all.” Weiss said firmly. “The notion of a saviour, of the story of redemption is one common to many books.”

“Is it?”

She nodded. “I have read it countless times, even in books where the author purported there to be no higher power yet could not help but write of their own path of salvation. It is the search in every soul, whether spoke or unspoken, admitted or denied, that they might find something more than the physical world at the end of their lives. To find one’s purpose is wrapped up within one’s creator.”

How her words struck me in my heart…because I could hear the yearning in hers. I cleared my throat and looked down at my phone where I’d searched for the scripture on the bookmark.

“If anyone belongs to Christ, they are a new creation. The old things have gone; everything is made new.” I quoted.

Weiss gazed at the bookmark with tenderness in her eyes that was reserved for fictional characters and unguarded looks at E.J.

The gentleman in question cleared his throat, drawing attention away from Weiss.

“This is a fantastic wrist band.” He tapped the leather cuff.

“Oh, Sam said you were a little,” she looked at me and I cringed, wondering just how badly I was about to be exposed, “retro is the word most often used.”

E.J. laughed. “I am old fashioned, even for my era. You’re very kind Ms Baker. Thank you.”

“Thank you for my poinsettia.” Mum insisted, glancing at the festive pot with the bright red flower in it whose petals looked more like leaves to me. E.J. must have braved the insane crowds of the shopping centres to make sure he had a gift for her.

E.J. then removed the cuff and rolled up his sleeves on the most ‘Christmassy’ shirt I guess he owned (it was a red and green Hawaiian throwback shirt from the 90s) and insisted on doing the dishes. Mum hovered around him, helping and chatting away. The kitchen was too small for all of us so I shuttled dishes from our tiny dining table to the sink. When I’d run out of dishes I turned and saw Weiss studying the faux mantle covered in cards from the most traditional to the corniest. Crammed amongst the cards, set further back, was mum’s precious nativity scene. It had been the only thing she’d ever won in a raffle. A beautiful, hand painted, depiction of the first Christmas complete with a stable sheltering the manger, three wisemen, their camels, shepherds and their sheep, Joseph, Mary and Jesus in his manger. There was even a star atop a silver spire.

It was her most precious Christmas decoration and I couldn’t look at it without feeling a twinge of guilt about the crack in the donkey’s tail from where I’d broken it. We’d glued it back together and it was almost unnoticeable but I couldn’t help but see it every time.

Weiss gazed at the nativity scene, preoccupied with it in fact. She seemed lost in the moment, as though she was looking through a tunnel of time at the very first Christmas.

“Have you read it?” She looked at me. “The Bible, I mean.”

“Oh yes.”

“Recently?”

“No. Before I left the tunnels…”

I guess there wasn’t much else to do when you were in hiding beneath the city and you didn’t sleep.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Sometimes my mouth opens all of its own accord and confesses things I didn’t think to bring up.

Weiss’ expression was slightly amused. “Do I not strike you as the celebratory type?”

I opened my mouth to deny it then caught the look in her eye.

“Are you having a go at me?”

“Possibly.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I didn’t think you’d come…because I thought you’d hate Christmas.”

“Why would I hate it?”

“Well, unless you’re ever going to let me read your books,” her countenance darkened and I hastened on, “all I can do is assume and guess at what your world was like…and it doesn’t strike me as a real world situation.”

“It felt real enough to me.”

I cringed. “That’s not what I…”

“I know, Sam,” she said softly, “I know.”

I sighed and put my hands in my pockets. “Can I at least ask…what it was like?”

Weiss looked as though she hadn’t heard me, let alone would answer she was silent for so long. And then, softly, she spoke,

“I remember fields of slumbering blooms as the first rays of the double suns broke across the landscape in hues of azure and indigo, awakening the flowers so that their petals opened wide, gushing pollen into the air…as though someone had just thrown the most beautifully scented confetti. I remember endlessly deep gorges and of waterfalls that were so numerous and some so large that the roar of their waters could be heard beyond the edge of the forest they were in. I remember the howling peaks of the spires, jagged mountains so high, their tips were not of stone, but of stalagmites reaching up to the heavens, lost in mist, as old as the world itself.” She turned to me, her eyes luminous and tender. “I remember it all, Sam.”

“Sounds beautiful.” I whispered.

“It was,” she admitted, “but for all its beauty…the horrors buried within it, so old they’d been forgotten but no less potent…”

“Did you know?” I asked. “I mean, I don’t even know when you…came out of the book. I know it was towards the end of the second but…”

“I had yet to swear allegiance to Inferus.” She answered my awkward question.

“Yeah, I guessed as much,” I shrugged, “but how did you find out about what happened?”

“I read it.”

“You read your own books?”

“You know I have.”

“I know but…” I shuddered. “I can’t imagine what that would have been like.”

Weiss gazed at the nativity scene. “Damning.”

Having broken my cardinal rule about talking of Inferus, incursions and the end of the world as we knew it, I decided to leave Weiss alone and went to retreat to the kitchen.

“Such a strange notion…”

“What is?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Being born again.” Her fingertips gently stroked the baby in the manger. “The old is gone, the new is come…”

“I know, pretty silly.” I admitted my biggest criticism of my mum’s faith. In a world enlightened by science, being ‘born again’ seemed like an outdated phrase that only served to alienate those that insisted it was possible.

“Is it so foolish to wish for a new start?” She asked without looking in my direction. “To be born again? Even after so long in this world, my sins…my evils hang over me.”

A lump rose in my throat as I gazed at her, sorrow permeating every pore of my body as if it was pouring out of her to soak into me.

“I confess, Sam, I would give anything to be born again…”

Boxing day was spent languishing in the midst of all our Christmas lunch leftovers. Mum never cooked until the last crumb had been eaten. There was less this year than usual because she managed to convince E.J. and Weiss to take some home with them but the ham still needed to be eaten before the vinegar treated bag it was in lost its effectiveness.

E.J. insisted I take Boxing day off and usually I would lounge in bed, enjoying the spoils of Christmas gifts. But I forced myself to get up and go to the hospital and visit Lucas who was attempting to learn how to live his life without sight. He said James and Willow had visited which really took some of the responsibility off me of being Lucas’ only friend. Not that I would abandon him if others took over but I knew it would mean a lot to him that others cared enough to come even though he’d driven us away.

I even made the effort to visit Jean, taking a packet of her favourite cream biscuits which pleased her endlessly.

I confess, I was feeling rather pleased with myself as I entered the flat late in the afternoon. I sat at my computer for the first time that day and checked my emails. Then, because periodically, things were dumped into junk or deleted folders when they were perfectly legit, I glanced through the subject headings. There were the usual threats about accounts being suspended and packages waiting for customs payments to be made. My favourites were the ones with the heading, from a trusted sender, which was a cue to hit delete as soon as possible.

However, as I glanced over it, I saw a subject that wasn’t one of the usual scam titles.

“Holocaust Project Apfelbaum inquiry?” I stared at it, the name niggling at my consciousness.

Now, you probably figured it out already but I was halfway to a food coma on Christmas ham and fruit mince pies so it took me a moment of starting at it before I nearly jumped out of my skin and clicked on it to open the response full.

“Dear Sam,

I apologise for the time taken to find any kind of record of her as a great many details are yet to be entered into a digital system, however, there was a single entry I thought you would like to know about after the war.

Shiloh Apfelbaum was the daughter of a Jewish descendant, Samuel Apfelbaum and his wife, an Austrian national, Sofia. Samuel Apfelbaum was a member of a synagogue and protested the destruction of his place of worship. It is possibly for this reason, despite his wife being Austrian and his daughter, of mixed race, that the family was interned at the Dachau concentration camp before being sent to Chelmno in 1941. This is where the accounts of Samuel and Sofia end and as Chelmno was the site of gas chamber executions and mass burials, we believe that is what happened to them. However, Shiloh’s name in German records, disappears for three years until the single entry of a British family adopting a girl with the same name and of the correct age who immigrated from England.

I am afraid that is all I can tell you from our records but I would like to say, thank you for your heartfelt inquiry about Shiloh Apfelbaum.

Jenny O’Connor, Holocaust Project Volunteer.”

I sat back in my chair and stared at the screen, feeling a little deflated.

The email hadn’t done much more than confirm what I already knew.

Still, it was something and I figured it was worth sharing.

I copied the information and found ‘Second Chance’s’ email address, heading it up with ‘article for Walter Preston from Sam Baker about Shiloh Apfelbaum. I pasted the information into it and wrote at the bottom, “I thought you’d like to know a little more about Shiloh. Merry Christmas.” and hit send.

Almost immediately I got a call from E.J. saying something had gotten out of ‘A Christmas Carol’ and the entire email incident was swept out of my brain as he and I did our best to keep the world safe from a sullen faced individual dressed in his nightgown and cap who gave new meaning to the word ‘penny pincher’.

Thankfully, there was no need to call on Jean’s services.

Four days after boxing day, I gave Weiss her Christmas present.

“Your incredibly thorough and accurate research can now be accessed anywhere in its entirety.” I announced, handing her the tablet.

Weiss gazed at the shiny surface of the tablet. She hadn’t exactly warmed to the idea of making her work digital but at least she didn’t resent it like she had.

“Only on this tablet?”

“No, that’s just the ‘work’ tablet,” I chuckled, my laughter falling flat as Weiss raised her eyebrows, “never mind. The database is online. I just have it preloaded and ready to go on this tablet but anyone could access it, including the Agency, not that I think they could be bothered.”

“Actually,” E.J. looked up from his newspaper and coffee, seated in the bay window of the store, “it might be of interest to them.”

“What, let them take advantage of all Weiss’ hard work?” I snorted and looked at Weiss and was surprised to see her expression was conflicted. “No, seriously…”

“Returning fantasy characters to their books is what I do,” she said softly, “and if the database does that…”

“I can’t honestly see Ryder taking the time to look up details on the character incursion, so he can talk them into coming peacefully.” I muttered. “That’s what this is about, putting information into the hands of people who don’t treat every incursion like a deliberate invasion.”

“With evidence to the contrary mounting against us…” E.J. sighed.

“Griffin wasn’t. Whitby wasn’t. Death and Albert…this system is meant to equip agents who are proactive in communicating, not shooting first and filling in the blanks later.” E.J. had a wry grin on his face. “What?” I demanded, a bit self conscious at his knowing look.

“One day I really need to take you into the Agency and just let you run your mouth off at the Oversight.”

“That would hardly be a good career move for Sam.” Weiss interjected sharply.

“Doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be said.” E.J. smiled, putting the newspaper under his arm. “I’ve got work to do.”

I watched him go then turned to Weiss whose mouth was turned down in a hard line.

“He doesn’t regret what he’s done to keep you in this world,” I blurted at her and she blinked as though I was coming into focus, “so why do you keep looking at him as though you’ve hurt him?”

Weiss swallowed, licked her lips, opened her mouth and paused. “We have a customer.”

“You mean a delivery or Jai?” I peered out of the window and tilted my head at the sight of an unfamiliar vehicle parked at the front of the store. “Huh…maybe Jai got a new car? Or someone’s mistaken this place for an actual bookshop?” I glanced at Weiss who had retreated into the soft gloom of the store, scooping her glasses into her hands. I knew she was uncomfortable around people she didn’t know. “I’ll handle it. Just…look like you’re browsing back there.”

The doorbell gave its happy little tinkle as the door opened and in walked the last person I expected to see.

“Walter Preston?”

“Sam,” he chuckled weakly, “thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if I had the right place. My GPS took me over the overpass and insisted, at fifty feet in the air, that I’d arrived at my destination on left.”

“Yeah, sorry, we’re a bit off the beaten track.” I paused. “How did you find me?”

“You mentioned a bookstore called ‘Beyond The Page’ and while I’d forgotten some of the details, a quick search helped jog my memory.” Walter Preston looked at the shelves of books and inhaled deeply. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that smell.”

“What smell?”

“Creativity captured in ink and on paper. This place is truly fantastic!”

When Walter had walked through the door, there’d been an air of nervousness about him which I put down to him not being sure if he was in the right place. But upon seeing the books, creativity and knowledge stored on the shelves, he relaxed…like he’d come home. I decided to point out the second and third storey shelves and he gaped upwards.

“Extraordinary! But how do you get them down?”

I got a bit of a thrill showing him how the retrieval system operated.

“This would have to be the best bookstore I’ve ever seen.” He insisted strongly.

“It is We…Adele’s creation.” I looked at her in the corner. “Walter Preston, this is my boss, Adele.”

“How do you do?” Walter Preston’s jaw naturally fell open because, having only recently accessed her powers and rejuvenated her body, Weiss was undeniably stunning. She took his hand and shook it. “Forgive my gaping…but you are very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She said shyly.

Would he realise that she was the heroine from books that he would never be able to forget? Would the impossibility of the notion blind him to the truth of what was right before his eyes?

“And this is your idea?” Walter turned around in the store and sighed. “Marvellous. What a depository of creativity. I could lose myself for days in a place like this. Tell me,” he looked at Weiss, “do you have second hand books here?”

“Some.” She nodded.

“I only ask…because,” I tensed up as Walter licked his lips, “do you have either one of the books by Sheila Apple?”

Weiss’ expression tightened and my nerves were set to snapping point.

“I do.” She forced her lips to work.

“Would you mind, if it isn’t an imposition, if I could just…see the books?” He gave a sad smile. “I had them years ago but they went missing…and I should dearly love to see them again.”

I thought Weiss was going to refuse and throw him out of the store, but to my unending astonishment she reached into her top and brought out the chain with the key on it and slid it into the lock, causing the seventh dial to work on the retrieval system. She turned the dials, the seventh one clicking into place. But rather than the hand whipping out to grab the book, the entire shelf did its ‘secret panel’ trick and flipped around, revealing the two embossing hardcover tomes.

My skin prickled as Walter gingerly picked one up, gasping in astonishment.

“They are…just like I remember…such beautiful craftsmanship…books that would outlast any fashion or trend, elegant and timeless. I wonder…do you know if these are undamaged?” Weiss was staring at him and I couldn’t read her expression. Walter was entirely enraptured by the books and missed it. “I only ask because the last time I saw them, I was reading and drinking wine…and I am pretty sure I slopped some on the pages…”

Weiss took the book out of his hands. I thought she was about to go all Valkyrie on us and cast him out but she flicked across the pages and held it out to him.

Walter Preston gasped. “Heavens above…these…these were my books…these pages…I’ve turned them countless times…” His hands were shaking and his jaw trembled. “I’ve not been able to find any copies for years…yet here they are…and they were actually mine…”

Sensing I had somehow done something horrific by bringing Walter Preston into our world, I tried desperately to think of a reason that he had to leave now or to separate him from Weiss because I was sure she was about to erupt.

Then she said something astonishing. “You should take them…because they were yours.”

Walter Preston looked into her face then down at the books. “No,” he let out a huff of air and closed the book in his hands with finality, setting it on the shelf and taking a step back as though putting distance between himself and temptation, “thank you but no. They’re here and they’re safe. I know that. I…”

He lost any ability to speak and left the store. I ran after him.

“Mr Preston?”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he shuddered, “stupid…stupid…after so many years…all the emotion of the moment came rushing back…”

“My email wouldn’t have helped.” I admitted.

“Your email is the reason I’m here.” Walter Preston swallowed. “Sam, I need your help. Would you come with me into the city?”

“Just let me grab my things.” I darted inside and picked up my phone. Weiss was just sending the books back where they belonged. “Walter needs my help with something. I know it’s a bit of a cheek to ask, but can I take off for an hour or two?”

“Of course.” She said hollowly.

I gazed at her. “You were the one who stole his books.” She looked at me, her countenance bathed in shadow. “You came out of the book, falling into our world, saw your name on the pages of a drunken man’s reading material, realised this wasn’t part of your reality, grabbed them and fled. That’s why your tried to give them back.”

Weiss gazed at the wall where the books were hiding. She then turned and retreated to her room and shut the door.

“I hope your boss didn’t mind?” Walter said as he sat behind the wheel of his affordable and small car. Though E.J.’s car was older, I reckon it was worth more than the little tinny box Walter Preston chose to drive. It was quite the gutless wonder, losing even more power as we had the air conditioning turned up high to combat the heat. But it was understandable really. Walter didn’t put money into physical objects. He preferred to invest into people instead.

“She’s okay with it.” I said, watching the buildings growing steadily taller as we headed towards the CBD. “I recently scored some brownie points with her in that I designed a database that would allow her to access any information from any of her books, anywhere, anytime.”

“You’re a programmer?”

“It’s what I’m studying at the moment.”

Walter Preston shook his head. “Funny place for a young programmer to work. Not that I’m criticising, of course. I’d happily work there.”

“It’s been a bit of a learning curve,” I admitted, “but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Nice isn’t it?” Walter glanced at me as we waited at a set of lights. “Finding where you belong? So many people are searching for meaning, for their home in this world. We all want to be different and unique…but we also want to be safe and understood, even if just by one person.”

The lights changed and the gutless box wheezed off the line, Walter edging it over to the left so we could take a side road towards the financial district. During the limbo week that existed between Christmas and New Years, it was never entirely certain if shops would be open or if bins would be collected. The world was suspended as its occupants all asked questions that started with, ‘do you know if…’. Even the financial district was quiet…but then I couldn’t really see how it would be a festive place.

They didn’t sell anything. They didn’t make anything except more money that was all digitalised in bank accounts in ones and zeros. Due to the copious amounts of money, their window displays were among the nicest you would ever see but the cynical me just kept wishing they’d drop the ‘goodwill toward men’ line and announce their true nature by pinning dollar notes to the trees instead of baubles.

“So…it occurs to me that I have no idea where we’re going or why…” I said pointedly. “Although I feel like it has something to do with Shiloh?”

“Yes, it does.” Walter cleared his throat. “About two years, no, probably a little less, after her death, I received a letter saying that my security deposit box annual fee was up for renewal. Seeing as I didn’t have one, I thought they’d made a mistake and contacted them. I was told that a security box had been opened by Shiloh and that she had put my name down as the co-owner and, now, sole owner of the contents.”

Walter sent his little wheeze box into a parking lot, taking a ticket for his trouble and, due to the miniscule size of it, found a space on the first level next to a pillar that people with wide Ferraris and Lamborghinis avoided…if they ever parked somewhere so common as a public garage. I struggled with my seatbelt, lunging out of the car and closing the door.

“What was in it?”

“I don’t know.” Walter admitted, leading me to the stairs which took us to the airwalk over the road and into the financial institution on the other side. “I was so shocked…so…frightened of what might be in the box…I just paid to keep the box active.”

“But,” I ran around in front of him, no doubt dancing around like a lunatic, “anything could be in it! Walter, it could be her third and final manuscript!”

“Sam, think about it,” Walter said sadly, “if it had been, wouldn’t she have given it to me to publish it? The reason she shut down communication with me was because she couldn’t resolve the evil…she couldn’t finish it. Why do what she did,” and in his eyes I could see the horror of what it had been like to find Shiloh like that, “if she could finish it?”

I had to admit, it was a pretty conclusive thought.

“Maybe…maybe it’s her thoughts on what a third book could look like…” I mused. “Or maybe it’s the story of what happened to her during the war?”

“Maybe it’s a letter condemning me for what I did to her.”

All my enthusiasm wafted away.

“You really think she’d plot a cruel stab at you from beyond the grave?” I asked.

“After Shiloh died,” we had to squirt disinfectant into our hands after going through a metal detector and ask directions to the security deposit vault, “I was in a very bad place. Guilt, shame, drinking…jobless…I had just begun to scrape the semblance of a life back together when I found out about the security box. I didn’t have the heart to open it.”

“Even after so many years?”

“Memories are cruel things Sam.” Walter sighed. “They’re like time machines, taking you back to a time and a place that you thought you’d forgotten about or moved past…and dump all the emotions on you that you thought you’d dealt with. Even holding those books…I could almost taste the well of depression I was in.”

“Is that why you want me here?” We approached a counter where a woman in a tastefully tailored suit and hair neatly pinned into a bun looked up from her game of solitaire. “Because I didn’t know her so I’m not emotionally connected to it?”

“I brought you here because you cared enough to seek me out, brought Bailey to us who needed a safe place to be and found out about Shiloh’s past. I believe you can be trusted.”

“Really? Me?”

“Yes,” Walter cleared his throat, taking a rumpled envelope from his jacket pocket when the receptionist asked if she could help us, “I have a security box with this number and key.”

She took it and looked it up with her impractically long nails clattering on the keyboard. Clearly she didn’t do much data entry.

“That box has not been accessed for…”

“A long time, I know.”

“Since it was opened.” She raised her eyebrows, so fine that they looked like they’d been painted on, into quizzical arches.

“I have ID and the paperwork in order to add Sam Baker,” he nodded at me, “as co-signatory.”

After a bit of information swapping and ID proving, I scrawled my signature on a form.

“Is that all I can do for you today?”

I looked at Walter Preston who nodded with a weak smile and handed me the key.

“I’d like to open the box, please.” I said firmly.

“Of course. Come this way.” As I followed her Gucci heels, I realised I couldn’t hear Walter’s heavy tread behind me. I turned and saw him looking faint and sick.

He was at the end of his ability to cope.

“I’ve got this.” I said firmly. “In fact, instead of waiting, why don’t you go back to ‘Second Chance’?”

“I brought you here…”

“I can get a train back easily. Let me do this. I’ll let you know what I find.”

His face crumpled into relief and he nodded. I had to jog to reach the receptionist who took me to a door with an impressive code panel that she tapped numbers into. It even had a thumb print scanner. Something told me that when Shiloh had first commissioned the security box, there hadn’t been anywhere near the kind of security that there was now. This impression was reinforced by the fact that her box was at the very back of the corridors of boxes, locked in its own little holding cell.

Just like in a scene from a movie, I put my key in the receptionist put her universal key in and we turned which unlocked the box from its prison. I slid it out and carried it from the depository to a circular space where there were five rooms. I was ushered into one of them, the entirety of the furnishings being a low table and two armchairs as if those who opened boxes had nothing better to do than recline and peruse the contents. The door shut behind me and I was alone.

I confess, despite my desire to remain emotionally detached from the tragic saga, my heart was racing and my hands were shaking. Opening the box was like opening a tomb.

Inside was a large yellow pouch, kept shut with some twine tied around it and an envelope on top.

Like I was handling priceless porcelain I lifted both items out, rendering the box empty. The yellow pouch, though large enough for A4 paper and what I would guess a manuscript would be printed on, was disappointedly thin, even if she had printed the third book of the trilogy in a miniscule font size. I had to remind myself that Walter was probably right about the unfinished book and set it aside, curbing my throbbing curiosity to tear it open and read it.

The envelope had ‘Walter Preston’ handwritten across its breadth in a mildly cursive style.

I felt a pang of guilt about opening a letter that was addressed to him…then reminded myself that the reason I was there was because he trusted me to do so and because he couldn’t face it himself.

I had already made up my mind that, should the envelope contain a scathing accusation of neglect and/or bullying, I would lie blatantly to Walter about what it contained.

He hadn’t been without a part to play in Shiloh’s costly decision but it had been at least twenty years since she’d died. He needed someone to protect him too.

I pried open the envelope, the glue giving up its grasp upon the flap without much resistance and I drew a letter out.

I sat in one of the armchairs and unfolded the beautiful writing paper with the same mildly cursive handwriting on it that adorned the front of the envelope.

Walter Preston,

I owe you an explanation…and an apology.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I couldn’t finish that which I promised.

I’m sorry I couldn’t remain strong against the tide that broke against me endlessly.

I’m sorry the story of Adele Weiss will never know an end.

I don’t know why I ever thought I could resolve the evil in her world when I couldn’t escape it in mine.

When I was a child in Austria, my parents and I were interned at a POW camp which was hard enough. Then we were taken somewhere else. Somewhere terrible. We had to strip off our clothes for disinfecting and were loaded into a truck. The door closed behind us…and the air filled with gas. I’ll never forget the screams begging for mercy or the frantic pounding on the walls of the truck. My parents, kind hearted and generous, knelt with me in between their arms…and prayed. I blacked out, sure I was dead.

But when they opened the truck at the mass grave where bodies were piled high without tenderness or reverence, I had somehow survived. My beloved parents had not.

There was a German officer there that day.

I should have been shot.

I saw the gun barrel lowered at my head.

But the officer stopped.

I think it was my blonde hair and blues eyes that I’d inherited from my mother that caused him to reconsider. Then he said, ‘She is only half a Jew…and the stronger half made her survive’.

So he took me as his own.

Over the course of the war, he did his best to drive the ‘Jew’ out of me and turn me into a German girl. I was made to chant, over and over, racial hatred and German philosophy. I had to watch prisoners marched into the death trucks, my head held high and my face turned from them as if they were beneath me. I had to listen to their screams and pleas for help. I had to be silent at all times and never cry out. I was not to laugh and if I ever spoke in a way that betrayed my father’s heritage, I was beaten. Sometimes he was kind but most of the time…I wish I’d died in the truck with my parents.

He was moved to a position in France and took me with him.

Everyone pretended I was his daughter.

But I saw the looks in their eyes.

They reviled him…and were disgusted by me.

When Germany retreated from France, he ran like a coward and left me alone.

I know that he was caught and tried as a war criminal.

But his death did not bring solace to my soul.

It could not undo the shame and his death, in my mind, was too easy.

I wanted him to suffer.

Instead he was given a far kinder death than my poor parents.

When it was discovered that I had no family left, I was sent to England where a family adopted me.

They were told I was a POW survivor…and they tried to care for me but I can see now that I never let them into my heart.

I don’t know if I had enough of a heart left to love.

We immigrated when I was thirteen and the moment I was old enough, I deserted my home. I moved constantly, always running, never settling down, but every time I closed my eyes, the darkness in my soul rose up and tried to drown me.

I began to dream of a darkness, a vile possessiveness…and of a girl whose name meant peace, but who knew only despair. Over the course of many years, I pieced together the world of Inferus and of Adele Weiss, her name inspired by the melody of little white flowers I would never see again.

I foolishly thought that the books would be my path to healing. I didn’t think anyone would truly believe they were worth investing in…until you, Walter Preston.

You were my biggest advocate but as the weeks and months crawled by, I stared at a blank page…numb.

I couldn’t write you an ending.

I couldn’t find my own peace.

How could I write it for Adele and the world she loved?

And I’m tired, Walter. I’m tired of this world and the evils in it. I’m tired of the constant hammering at my mind, the way even the smallest hurdle is insurmountable.

I want rest. I want peace. I want to fold myself into the arms of a dreamless sleep and never wake up.

Even as I write this letter, I feel very calm.

I have finally confessed the darkness…now when I sleep…it won’t torment me.

I leave you my notes for the third book. You will see, they do not amount to much.

Please don’t blame yourself.

You’re a kinder man than you act at times.

I am pleased to have known you.

I hope you will forgive me.

Goodbye and goodnight.

Shiloh.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” The receptionist asked as I approached the desk, heading for the doors.

“No, thank you.” I said quietly, handing over the key. “You can close the account. There’s nothing left in the box.”

Numbly I checked my phone and got it to direct me to the train station. I paid for a ticket and waited on the platform, yellow pouch under my arm, the letter tucked beneath the twine. Like a mindless drone I boarded the train and found a spot to sit, swallowing at the lump in my throat.

A single tear broke free and trickled down my face.

Without wiping it away I glanced around.

No one saw.

No one noticed.

My heart felt like it had gone through a paper shredder but everyone was too busy on their tech or listening to music or consumed with their own thoughts and problems to notice.

It’s not like I was a saint.

There were probably people on this very train who were experiencing sorrow like I was…and I didn’t notice them either.

Our individual worlds were all consuming…and isolating.

If this was even a drop of how Shiloh had felt…

I looked at the yellow pouch.

I had been almost without restraint in my desire to read what Shiloh had written.

Now, after reading her letter, I found myself reluctant too.

There would be no answers in it.

There wouldn’t be an end.

I held the pouch against my chest and looked out of the window, seeing the city I knew so well flash past. Though it was late in the afternoon, the sun was glaringly bright and the heat was intense. When the sun finally set, it would still be blisteringly hot.

Doors opened and closed, letting people in and out. Someone sat next to me on the spare seat. It was so hot that I wriggled away as much as I could. When even more people entered the train, all the workers and staff of the CBD trying to get home at the same time, I stood up and clung to a strap to keep from toppling over, the yellow pouch clutched tightly in my hand. The doors opened again and I could hear the groans of the people on the train as it filled with even more commuters and a surge of hot air from the exposed platform.

Sweat trickled into my eyes and suddenly I couldn’t handle the claustrophobia anymore. I darted for the doors, making the decision in a heartbeat to wait for the crowds to subside before attempting to travel home. As I slid through the closing doors, I braced myself for the roasting temperatures of an outdoor platform…

…what I got was the most delicious and fantastic surge of cool air.

It was like the most incredible refrigerated air conditioning I’d ever experienced…weaponised. I half expected there to be shards of ice sticking out of me.

I turned around on the spot to see the train pulling away behind me, taking its sweltering occupants to countless corners of the city while I cooled to the core and a breeze gave me a strong nudge.

More than a little confused I turned back towards the platform, thinking I’d find a bench to sit on…when I realised I was standing on a balcony so high in the air, it was like being perched upon a precipice.

A sky of azure filled the expanse above my head, clouds with an opalescent shimmer, softened the light of two suns, one larger and softer in hue and the other, almost red it was so dark but a quarter of the size. I walked to the edge of the balcony, a parapet of intricate white stone keeping me from falling. At night, the gaping holes in the parapet’s design created the illusion of gaping eyeholes and mouths, as though faces were looking out…or in.

I put my hands on the balcony, my bony fingers gripping tightly. I could feel long strands of hair drifting around my face, some of them coming into view, the palest of gold. I looked down to the city stretched out below. I was so high above that the buildings were small but they were as white as the tower I was in, surrounded by four spires, each with a spinning orb in the centre of its apex.

I took a deep breath, feeling my ribcage rattle slightly.

It was a tell tale sign of a body in inevitable decline.

The lungs were often the first thing to go.

“This form, though refined, is still not pure enough.” I said in a dark voice, thick with accent.

I turned and walked into the highest room of the tower. Room might have been too generous a term for it. While it did have four corners and they were substantial in size, they reached up to join in the centre, thirty feet above and the curvature of their sides meant the walls were open through high arches and each one was girthed with a balcony, complete with skull face parapets.

There was a throne in one corner, the bones that created it of the generations of kings of Aeternus.

In another corner was a pedestal with a chalice upon it. The third was a staircase and the fourth held a mirror, polished to perfection.

I strode to it and beheld my reflection.

I was nearly seven foot tall, my height accentuated by the leanness of my form. My long, white blond hair framed my narrow face which was so sharply angular, my cheekbones and jawline were almost deadly. My lips were not full but not thin and my eyes were crystal clear blue, pale with dark rings around the outside of the irises and the pupils were small and black.

I turned my head and studied my skin. Shadows were darkening beneath my eyes, blue and black and there was discolouration around my hairline. I held my hands up and saw blood was appearing where the nails met the skin.

“How frail these forms have become,” I muttered, “how weak and so easily disposed of.”

“My Lord…”

I turned to Phaspheral, a man whose usefulness was coming to an end. He had been the most passionate supporter of the pure bloodline but it was clear that he did not belong, what with his ash blond hair that he tried to lighten with chemicals so strong I could smell them across the room and the attempt to make his eyes blue my dropping colour into them, staining the whites as well as his pupils.

I looked forward to the day when I no longer required his presence.

He sickened me.

“The tainted ones…they have managed to avoid the military defences by using the old water tunnels beneath the city and are advancing on the tower.”

I stared at him, almost too distracted by the scent of imperfection to remember to respond.

“Ready my chosen form.”

Phaspheral hesitated. “My Lord, did you not hear…”

“One more word of defiance from you…” I let the threat go unfinished. Phaspheral did not waste any more time in questioning me. He turned and ran away. I made the decision then and there that the next time he was near a high enough edge, I would simply throw him off it.

My breath rattled badly in my lungs.

This form would last another day if I rested. The more compliant they were, the less they fought me and the longer I could hold onto them.

This one had welcomed me willingly, thinking his sacrifice would allow his bones to adorn my throne.

Little did he know he would burn upon the cleansing fires before the day was out.

But I had to change now.

I had to and I had to suffer an imperfect form once more if I were to attain my divining rod.

I turned and looked at the centre of the room. It was sunken and, suspended from the ceiling and on a base of marble, were three rings, the middle two able to spin around in the largest one and the smallest in the centre of the middle ring. I reached out and let my fingers drift across the polished golden surface.

“Soon,” I whispered, “soon I will have the means to purify this world and restore Aeternus to its former glory. The cleansing fire will sweep across the land…soon. So soon…”

I returned to the balcony where dusk was falling. I could see the sky becoming darker at the edges, deepening into purple ink. The brightest stars in the heavens were already shining.

Though I couldn’t see the tainted rebels in the streets, I could feel their imperfection even from this height. They were determined to keep the world weak and its people, even weaker.

But not even they could know my greater plan, one that had been set into motion when Aeternus was at its glorious climax of perfection and I was its King.

They thought they had the perfect plan.

Little did they know they were pawns in my grand design.

And they would burn with the rest of the world.

Tonight the world would end.

Tomorrow my world would rise.

I retreated to my throne. Despite the temptation to sink onto it I kept my back straight and my chin held high.

Phaspheral would return with my new form.

He had been groomed for this specific role.

He would not be compliant.

I had to be strong.

I had to retain control.

The tainted were remarkably stubborn when it came to the preservation of their pathetic lives.

But I was no mere spirit.

I was Inferus, King of Aeternus and the pinnacle of genetic perfection.

He would capitulate to my will.

And in turn, she, would bow.

And then the culling could truly begin.

My head was pounding as I tried to open my eyes and my stomach cramped. Heat rippled across my body, overwhelming me with nausea and I was very nearly sick. When I finally pried my eyes open, I realised I was slumped on a floor. Even the tiniest movement made my head spin. I gritted my teeth, hoping the hot, sickly waves would relent. It didn’t help that the air was filled with a metallic scent that put my teeth on edge.

In front of me was a yellow envelope and some pages sticking out of it and an envelope tucked in the twine.

I stared at it, sure I should recognise it yet unable to force my addled brain to comply.

I reached out and scraped them towards myself, the cursive handwriting filling my vision.

“Shiloh…”

Wait…hadn’t I been…wasn’t I on a train?

Why…why was I back in ‘Beyond The Page’?

How did I get back here?

I tried to rise and discovered my foot was tied to one of the filing cabinets. My head was swimming and the smell didn’t help. What was it?

“Weiss?” I groaned. “Weiss! E.J.!”

“I am afraid neither of them can hear you.”

I had to strain to see over the cabinets, spying someone on the other side, fading into the shadows.

“Who are you?”

He chuckled. “Who…am I?” He turned and looked at me.

“Constable Williams?” I gasped, recognising the officer immediately then my spine turned to ice. “No…”

“Do you not believe what you see with your own eyes?” He mocked with a superior smile.

“Get out of him!”

“And go where? Back into you?” He chuckled. “If I thought your mother was a mixed bag of inferiority, you are far worse. Imperfect, immature and laughably full of your own virtue…as if anything I touched within your life could ever be considered a virtue.” He walked around the long line of filing cabinets, setting a large jerry can on one of them. “Although, if not for your dogged determination, I would never have read about my creator’s failed ambition.”

I looked at the pages, frightened beyond all measure.

“She wanted to vanquish the evil she was subjected to…but in the end all she did was create me…and unleash me upon this world.” He strode towards me and sat on the edge of the cabinets, glancing down at the music box. He lifted the lid, tiny chimes filling the silence with the melody. “I remember her, weeping over her lost youth, her failures…her parents,” his mouth turned down in a scornful sneer, “I watched her lament over her inability to write an ending to her tale…and so she ended herself instead.” He shut the lid sharply.

“You son of a…”

“You of all people do not have the right to cast dispersions upon my genealogy. I, at least, knew my father.” I strained at the rope but it wouldn’t let go. “I remained with her until she was discovered…and then I followed him home.”

“Walter Preston?”

“I stayed with him for years, learning about the world I was in, about its history. Then, one night, when he wallowed in self pity and mourning, the door to my world opened…and there she was…my diving rod.” He sighed softly. “I had to let her go, of course, for I realised I could open more doors, more avenues from other books into this world…but I knew I could find her again. She and I are meant to be.”

“Weiss would never side with you!”

“She already has, she already will and she already is.” He remarked lightly. “It is written, so it is.” He glanced at the pages on the floor. “And now the ultimate admission has been made…nothing can withstand me.”

He looked around the bookstore, dim in the darkness of night and only moonlight illuminating his countenance. For a moment, a cruel and hard face masked over the kindly constable’s before sinking back into him. He scooped my phone from the top of the filing cabinet and pressed some buttons. He glanced at me and smiled, my heart cowering behind my ribcage as he dropped it out of my reach.

“I would say I’ll never forget you…but you will not even rank a mention in my annuals of triumph.” He chuckled as I swore at him, my rage no more impressive to him than the beat of a butterfly’s wings. He turned and walked out of the store, closing the door behind him.

I sat up and reached for my phone. When that didn’t work I worked at the knot on my ankle.

“Thank goodness he didn’t use handcuffs.” I muttered. “How did he tie this so tight? What was the point?”

And then the bay window shattered as a round metal ball flew into the room, striking the filing cabinet, hitting the wall and landing just out of sight. I couldn’t fathom what it was for a moment…until sparks began to fly out of it.

“Spark grenade?” I gaped. “But…”

Then the sparks lit the fuel, igniting the fumes that made my head hurt and leapt onto the shelves.

“No!” I cried tearing at the knot. “Come on. Come on!”

Two more spark grenades were thrown in, their pretty little firework display showering the store with sparkles of heat and light that then turned their gluttonous attention to the books around them.

It was terrifying to see just how fast a fire could get out of control.

I yanked and strained, my panic dumbing my logic and the smoke in the store beginning to fill every space.

“Weiss! E.J.!” I yelled. “Come on, damn it!”

A book, once the culmination of someone’s hard work and expressed creativity, fell from a shelf like a flaming missile and landed on the filing cabinet next to me, scattering tiny cinders and sparks. Some of them landed on the papers in the pouch. I scooped them up and the letter then returned to fighting for my freedom. The bookstore was a hellish nightmare now, flames licking up the walls, books sizzling and burning, wood creaking and groaning and the smoke filled every crevice, causing me to cough and my eyes to water.

I couldn’t get the knot loose. The rope was too narrow for me to get my fingers around it. I couldn’t reach a flame to burn it either. There was nothing close enough that I could position it to melt the rope.

I was going to suffocate…or burn to death or very possibly both at the same time.

“Help! Somebody!”

Suddenly the pulley retrieval system that was suspended above my head twanged and jolted, tearing free of the beams that were glowing red and hot. It crashed onto the filing cabinet, trying to stab me with its tiny metal scaffolding. I grabbed one of the metal rods and scraped it against the rope, thrilled beyond all measure to see the threads fraying. I worked frantically, dragging my shirt over my mouth, the bookstore almost entirely alight now.

And it was probably just my overactive imagination…but I swear I could hear the books screaming as they burned.

Abruptly there was a weird chime and I looked up, the switchboard, that had operated the retrieval mechanism, flipped around, the two books I’d not been allowed to read or even touch, displayed on the shelf.

At the same time, I heard the ceiling begin to cave in. I scraped the frail metal rod across the rope one last time and drew blood on my ankle from where it dug in as I pulled but in the blink of an eye, I was free. I was on my feet as fast as I could scramble, lunging for my phone, clutching the yellow pouch to my chest and, as I ran past the shelf, I grabbed the two books into my embrace.

I only knew one way to go. The front of the store was a mass of flames, the ceiling was collapsing and there was no way out of the back. So I sprinted for the kitchen, yanking the trapdoor open and looked up to see a section of the roof caving in, a fireball heading right towards me. I didn’t even have time to cry out. I threw myself into the hole, striking the wooden steps twice before landing so hard the wind was knocked out of me. The trap door slammed shut above with ‘nick of time’ finality. I looked up from my back in a puddle of stagnant water and could see fire glowing from beneath the cracks in the trapdoor. I forced myself to my feet and ran down the large drain, ducking my head and heading for the first exit I could find.

I had to heave the manhole cover off with quite a bit of force, hauling myself out of the drain, stinking of smoke, sweat and sewage.

Even though I’d come out on the other side of the overpass, I could feel the heat of the fire from where I was.

And the glow…angry red flames…

I ran back towards the store, avoiding the fire trucks that were massing to the blazing scene. I kept to the far curve of the road, staring at the buildings I had gotten to know so well.

I watched them burn…smoke filling the air and ash falling down.

And then the moment I’d been dreading occurred.

I heard her shriek, her scream of despair, her heart torn between saving that which she had poured her life into yet knowing if she ventured too close, she would be just another fragment of ash.

I saw them both, E.J. with his arms around her, Weiss weeping with more emotion than I’d ever seen her express. E.J.’s face was no less stricken, white and grey, hanging onto Weiss for his benefit as well as for hers.

I walked over to them, terrified of announcing my presence…frightened of confronting them in their loss.

And then, I heard Weiss weep,

“Sam! No! Not Sam!”

“Tell me you got out of there kid.” E.J. breathed.

I tell you, in that moment, I knew how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes.

When I thought they were mourning their vocation and their precious books, they were actually concerned for me.

“I’m right here.” I said quietly.

They both whirled around, Weiss standing and staring at me.

I didn’t have any words to say. I couldn’t.

What do you say when someone has just lost everything?

“Sam…” Weiss whispered.

Turns out, I didn’t need to speak. E.J. wrapped his arms around me and embraced me so tightly my bones protested.

“We thought you were in there! We thought you had been killed!”

“Why? Why would you think I was in there?”

“We got a message.” E.J. held out his phone. “We were out inspecting an incursion when you messaged and said to come back to the store urgently.”

I closed my eyes. “I didn’t send that. Inferus did.”

“Inferus?”

“He possessed me…and tied me in the store…and set it on fire.” I looked at Weiss, tears falling down my face. “Weiss, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop him. I…I’m sorry…”

“Look out! It’s going to collapse!”

We turned as a wave of heat and pressure pushed us backwards…as the ceiling collapsed in on half of the buildings, including ‘Beyond The Page’ and E.J.’s home. E.J. immediately covered Weiss with his body, protecting her from the cinders that were pushed out.

“All my work…everything…” Weiss whimpered.

More trucks appeared, hosing gushing thousands upon thousands of litres of water onto the blaze. Police cars arrived on the scene and, as usual, reporters and stickybeaks.

“We need to go.” E.J. announced.