Page 71 of Crimson Promises
“What exactly do these books say about ‘The Great War’ anyway?”
Jean grabbed another box. I walked over to her to collect it, letting her go fishing for more.
“Most people know the story of God and Lucifer. Long ago, before God created the first humans, Adam and Eve, God created angels. He created ten archangels. The first created and most beautiful of those was named Lucifer. Because of his beauty, he was called ‘The Morning Star.’ Lucifer thrived under the praise of other angels. However, he became jealous of God and thought he should take his place on the throne. Lucifer gathered one-third of all the angels in Heaven in an attempt to overthrow God and led them into a war. Lucifer and his angels were badly beaten. God cast them out of Heaven, and they fell to earth. Lucifer became known as Satan or the Devil, and the angels who followed him were punished and forever refused entry to Heaven again. Well, that’s a very watered-down version of what happened.” Jean wore a striking yellow topaz on her middle finger. It shone like the daylight. "Part of what was rarely discussed in previous iterations of that story or documents was how Lucifer convinced the other angels to join him. Was it the pursuit of power? Change? In these half-translated texts, there is mention of ‘a promise’, but nothing is explained further. It’s become a point of interest for many.”
My hands dropped to my sides. “I don’t understand how someone could do that. Join an evil dictator hellbent on war. A war that only ever ends in the murders of innocents.”
Jean popped her head back up. “That’s what makes these texts so interesting. Were these angels forced to join? Did Lucifer threaten their families? What propaganda was he spreading? Were there atrocities in Heaven that Lucifer had promised to abolish? There are always two sides to every story and the truth. You know from your studies, Aurora, that history is told from the victor’s perspective. This may be the first opportunity we have to learn more about the events leading up to ‘The Great War.’ Everything history has ever encountered speaks of Lucifer’s fall, but nothing details his ascent to amass a third of the angels is no minute feat.”
“I don’t know if there are any actions that could justify that decision.”
“Perhaps,” Jean responded crisply.
“We’ll leave that up to the experts to debate. It’s just a bunch of lore anyways.”
Jean’s piercing eyes met mine. “You should know better than to dismiss something you can’t necessarily understand or explain.”
What did she mean by that?
Before I could ask, Jean continued, “How are you enjoying working at Canmore?”
“I love working with the special collections and the flexible hours. I’m at home here, surrounded by books. It doesn’t even feel like work most of the time.” I accepted another box from her and hesitated before continuing. “Most of the people are friendly and have welcomed me to the team?—"
“But some are arseholes. Right?”
“Right.” I chuckled. Jean was a sharp lady. “After today, I think that will get a lot better. Or at least Chelsea will realize I’m not going anywhere, and I won’t tolerate her taking whatever frustrations she has out on me.”
“Good for you. That girl has gotten through her life sassing others and it being tolerated, which isn’t acceptable in the real world. Unfortunately, this is her first taste of learning that being a sniding trout won’t get her anywhere.”
Jean fished out her phone and put on a playlist. Soft jazz filtered from the speakers overhead, filling the silence until all of the boxes were unpacked. In the center of the table was a crimson hardcovered book with gold leafing around the edges.
My eyes locked on the volume. There was something peculiar about that one; it seemed to whisper to my soul. I couldn’t take my eyes away.
A tap on my shoulder pulled me from whatever that was.
“Aurora, didn’t you hear me calling you?” Jean asked, her tone short.
A shiver shot down my spine.
“Sorry, no, I didn’t. What did you say?”
She sighed. “There won’t be enough time for you to finish today. Can you start to bring these back into the vault? We can start cataloging next time. Most of these will be in special display cases. I’m trying to fight for them to stay at Canmore, but some might end up in Alumni Hall, depending on how much publicity they can wring out of us receiving this collection.”
“Of course, I’ll get started.”
Jean held up her hand for me to wait. “On second thought, let’s carry one at a time with the gloves. The last thing either of us can afford is to be accused of mishandling these artifacts.”
Jean tossed me a pair of gloves. She grabbed a thick leather-bound black volume and grunted as she held it flat on the palms of her hands. “Like this. That way, we can avoid any oils, debris, or anything else contaminating the book.” She nodded her head towards the door I had come in from. “I’m going to get started. This could take us a while. Take your time and go slow. There’s no rush at all.”
I gravitated again towards the red book. I should start at the end like Jean did, but before I knew what I was doing, I had the book in my hands.
I ran my gloved fingers over the cover. I surreptitiously looked around the room. The security guard wasn’t visible, but Jean would be back soon. I didn’t have long. I knew I shouldn’t open the book. I wasn’t a person who broke the rules, but it was like I was hypnotized. Something about this book called to me and I wanted to find out what that was. It was the same shade of red as the eyes I’d been seeing in my dream. Maybe that’s why I decided to open it.
The jazz background music muffled the crack of the spine. Each page was delicate and thin as if written on tracing paper. The text was in a language I couldn’t decipher, but something urged me forward. On the next page, I found what seemed to be a drawing of someone’s arm from the elbow down. The sketch covered two pages. I held my forearm against the book. The picture was to scale. Again, there was writing I couldn’t figure out, but what was interesting was there was a black scribble on the inside of the wrist. An arrow was pointed at the scribble. At the top of the arrow was the wordpromittofollowed by a question mark. I paused to look at the drawing for just a minute longer. Trying to commit the term to memory, I wanted to research later to see if I knew what it meant. Part of me wanted to ask Jean, but I didn’t want her to ask where I heard that word before. I was too awful of a liar to come up with a fib. I’d probably end up laughing, a nervous habit of mine. The handle of the door pushed down.Shit.
I slammed the book's cover down, placed it back where I found it, and picked up another book, this one with a navy cover. As interesting as that book was, it wasn’t worth a job I loved. It’d only give Chelsea ammunition.
The rest of the shift consisted of me meeting my daily ten thousand steps by walking one book at a time from the shipping room to the secured area of the library. The presence of the red book thrummed at the base of my skull. Each time I returned to grab another book, I avoided looking at it. I knew it was an important part of the collection, but the draw I felt to it was unsettling.
