Page 110 of Crimson Promises
I sat back in my chair, stunned at how my perspective inspired this unexpected impassioned lecture from her. Another blast of heat gave the room a brief foggy appearance before the humidity evaporated. The mix of warm air and antique books filled my nostrils.
“It’s inspiring to see how passionate you are about your job and dedication to give people choices. There are many in this life with so few choices available to them.”
She began fiddling with the skinny belt on her tan trousers. “Why, that’s incredibly kind of you, Aurora. Thank you.”
I gave her a genuine smile. “You’re welcome.” I never got to know my mother, but I’d like to have hoped she and Jean would have shared some of the same characteristics: strong, intelligent, fearless, determined, not afraid to stand up for what she believed in, empathetic and kind.
“The new information came from the volume at the center of the table. It’s quite stunning. Many of the books don’t have titles on them yet, so I've been categorizing them based on their outward description. Have you seen it yet?”
I began picking at the fibers of the office chair. “I did while we were going through the first round of cataloging. Did you notice anything odd about it?”
“Odd? No. The pages seemed incredibly thin, like tracing paper. Other than that, it seemed like a usual book to me.”
Did you feel a pull toward it? A whispering of your soul's deepest desires, I wanted to say, but then that would have made me sound delusional. The last impression I wanted Jean to have of me.
She glanced at the book and then back at me. “Am I missing something?”
“Not at all.” I maintained eye contact with her. Avoiding her gaze would have been a tell. And I needed to conceal the lure of that book for as long as possible. I needed to sneak Ben in here to look at it. He’d be the best, heck, the only being in Arch Cape potentially able to decipher the rest.
“Alright then. Let’s split the table in the middle. I’ll start cataloging from the right side, you from the left, and we’ll work our way towards the middle.”
“Gotcha.” I leaned back into the chair, and in one big push, I was sailing to the other side of the room. “Wee!”
“Aurora. Do I need to remind you that we are working in a room with priceless artifacts?” Jean was trying her best to conceal a smirk.
I got up to retrieve my laptop. Walking closer, I taunted, “Normally, no, but that was too much fun not to do it again.”
“Do your absolute best to refrain from doing that again.”
“Oh, alright, but Jean, it can’t be all work and no play.”
“Who said anything about no play?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “What do you think I did before there was furniture in here? I requested the frosted glass for a reason.”
I blew out a low whistle. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
She lifted up one shoulder in a half-shrug. Her gaze returned to the laptop in front of her. An ivory book was already next to her. “Didn’t think you did either.”
“There are some days where you’re just reminded you’re happy to be alive, and it seemed wrong to go through the day without a little bit of laughter. Today was a day I needed a little bit of silliness. But it’s out of my system. Back to work now.”
“As that’s what you’re here for, it’s appreciated.”
One had to have a fondness for the dry British humor.
I settled on the other side of the table and selected a coral hardcover with rose gold edging. As I opened the cover, the spine lightly cracked. I brushed my gloves fingers over the worn, almost yellow-stained inside. These pages, unlike the scarlet red book, were written on thick papyrus. Gingerly, I turned the pages. It was divided into chapters or different sections, as some of the texts had larger scrawling for titles. I could pick up some words in Latin that Jean had mentioned were commonly found in books from her research and a few I had learned from my classics course. Once I had gone through each page and held the book closed between my hands, I finally concluded that I felt no lure towards this one as I did to the one in the middle of the room. So, I went through our standard practice of cataloging the book and moved it to the perimeter of the desk to mark it was done. Jean and I meticulously worked our way through the volumes of artifacts. With each one, I replicated the same test I performed on the first book, and each time, I felt no connection or pull as I had with the other.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. What distinguishes that book from the rest? Or did I imagine the effects that first time?
Its presence continuously found its way into my peripheral vision. Taunting me somehow like it had answers to questions I didn’t even know myself yet.
Jean pushed her chair back, stood, and arched her back. I could hear the crack it released from the other end of the room. “I’m going to the loo. My eyes will burn holes through this laptop if I have to look at it for one more second. Can I get you anything while I’m up?”
“Nope, I’m good, thanks. Going to push through so we can get this done as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
“I would clone you if I could,” she chuckled. “Be back.” The frosted door made a light clicking sound, leaving me alone.
Tentatively, I leaned over the table to get closer to the scarlet book. It was breathtaking: its blood-red cover was covered with delicate gold foiling. Its pages thin and fragile.
I brushed my hand along the cover. There was no lure like last time. The only sound was the buzzing of my laptop and the regular spurts of humidity that emitted a momentary plume cloud. I turned the book around, inspecting it at all angles. This was precisely how I found it last time.Why isn’t anything happening?I probably shouldn’t be complaining. Likely, I imagined it last time. It was just a book.
