bracing, shaky breath, it unsettled Aerin even more.
“Verily when four elemental Druids are born to one house and cast behind one gate, they will hear thunder, the heavens will weep, the earth will tremble, the air will burn, and the Seals will be broken, one by one. The First will be Conquest, on his white horse given a bow and a crown so he could go forth and conquer. The second horse is red and power is given to him that rides it. Power to take peace from the earth, to slay with his sword, and to bring war.”
Claire gasped, and a look of unadulterated shock clashed with the women’s gazes that Aerin didn’t at all understand.
“The Third Seal is a man on a black horse, his relic a scale and balance, and he shall bring with him pestilence and famine the likes of which the world has never seen. And the Fourth… the Fourth Seal is Death, on his pale horse. And he shall bring with him the might of the Underworld.”
A pall of shock permeated the room, and pieces of the past couple of days began to fit together like cogs in a timepiece. Aerin sneezed into her hand and groaned as it set her head to aching again.
Pestilence, eh?
Moira pushed off the bed and went to Tierra, squinting down at the strange volume with a little hope buoyed by skepticism. “I been in the South long enough to recognize a paraphrase of the bible when I hear one. Reverend Dupuis spat that brimstone at me like a double-tongued cobra every blessed day of the week and twice on Sundays. When he wasn’t grabassin’ his way ‘round the Hoodoo Shack, that is. That’s the book of Revelations with a few twists.”
Claire also stood. “Revelations as in, the Apocalypse?”
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” Moira nodded. “And I think I have to call bullpucky at this point. Druids and Christians ain’t exactly known to share folktales.”
“That’s what’s so crazy.” Tierra closed her eyes, running silver-ringed fingers delicately across the parchment. “This book is older than the bible by a lot.”
“How can you tell?” Aerin asked.
“I can feel the elements contained in the book. The ink is iron, sulfate, and sometimes… blood. The parchment is linen, sometimes animal hide, and the cover is—” With a squeak, she dropped it, letting the tome crash to the floor, and wiped her palms on her skirts chanting all different forms of “Ew.”
“What?” Claire asked. “What’s wrong?”
Tierra shuddered and toed the book closed and they all stared. Blue, runic markings swirled in arcs and spirals around the gilded corners of the book, pointing toward a foreign, beautiful script embossed in the center of the lightly tinted leather.
“That cover is skin.” Tierra rubbed her arms as they sprouted goose bumps. “Human skin.”
33
Aerin couldn’t stop staring at the book, drawn to the power emanating from it. She sensed… something pulsing from within. A will, if not sentience. A purpose, if not desire. A need to be opened, to be read, and to be used.
What she couldn’t tell was if that particular need was well-meaning or malevolent. The vibe she felt was sort of neutral, ambivalent even. If a book could be such a thing.
What about this Malcolm? Perhaps the book merely contained a residual of his potency, or of his intentions.
“Gross.” Claire grimaced. “Anything made of human skin can’t be positive, right? I mean, am I the only one getting an Evil Dead reference here? The Ninth Gate? The Mummy? Hocus Pocus… Anyone?”
Aerin slid off the bed, crouching down and reaching for the tome. “I don’t think it means us any harm. In fact, I’m pretty sure it wants us to use it.”
“I think her fever’s done gone and flared again.” Moira managed to sound droll, even with her expressive accent. “It’s a thing. It ain’t a person.”
Gingerly picking it up, Aerin carried it back to the bed trying not to let the warmth of the cover gross her out. The smooth binding was not unlike flesh. “Are you saying you can’t…feel it?”
“Maybe,” Claire admitted, leaning over to her. “Something like… desire?”
“Or life.” Tierra nodded.
Moira looked away, tapping the bedpost with her toe. “Or belonging.”
With shaking hands, Aerin pried open the cover, and let the errant drafts leaf through the ancient, heavy pages until it rested open in her lap.
“Do you think Aunt Justine knows about this book?” Claire asked.
“Maybe she’s the reason it’s here.”
Tierra’s skeptical look made her words moot. “I don’t think so.”