Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ambros’ payroll, but you got to understand not all cops are corrupt like that, not even most cops. You got to trust us to make this right."
    "I'm talking to you aren't I? I can't survive this on my own, so I knew I had to trust somebody."
    "I can get a couple of guys stationed out here to protect you," Hamlin said and held up his hands before Christopher could protest. "These are guys I have known for years. I'll talk to some captains and get them reassigned. If you trust me, then you can trust them."
    Christopher leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.
    "While you make your calls I need to go find some ibuprofen."
    Christopher went to the upstairs bathroom. Whoever had brought his bags had left them in the entrance way. He grabbed them as he headed up. The brownstone was a nice home with rich wood accents and dark hardwood floors. High ceilings and crown molding highlighted every room. His father had always wanted everything to be in tip top shape and maintained the house as he did everything in life, impeccably. His family had died here. No, had been murdered here. Walking through the house now he felt like a stranger, like he was disturbing something. He imagined it might be what one felt like walking through a mausoleum by themselves. He did not think he would be able to stay here for very long.
    He dropped his bags in his bedroom then hunted for painkillers in the bathroom. After lucking out and finding some Vicodin left over from his mother’s dental surgery, he went back into his room and dumped the backpack on his bed.
    Amongst the half-complete school papers that may now never be complete, gum and an unopened Red Bull can, the book and pocket knife fell out onto the bed. As soon as he saw them the fear he had felt in the boiler room came back, the memory of the intense stare, the blood seeping out of the creature’s stomach between its fingers. Why hadn't he told anybody? He couldn't think of a good reason, just like he couldn't think of a reason why he had ignored it for the past couple of weeks. Nobody found that dying thing in the boiler room. Maybe it didn't die? Maybe it would come for the book and knife now that his father was dead? The thought of that creature coming to this house to collect his things scared him more than having another one of Ambros’ hitman come after him.
    He picked up the knife. It was a simple Swiss Army knife, with a bottle opener and screwdriver as well as many other features. Nothing remarkable. He pulled the blade out, and somehow accidentally cut himself. It was a shallow cut. He had lost his grip and it twisted in his hand and like a snake biting, it cut him. It was a shallow cut, but it was enough for him to yelp and drop the knife onto the bed. He examined the wound. Blood welled up in it, but only a little. He stuck his thumb in his mouth.
    As he sucked on the wound he became aware once again of the voice in the back of his head. The background mumbling became more insistent. He looked down at the book and realized that although the voice was in the back of his head, he felt a sudden certainty that the voice was coming from that book. Without even realizing he had picked it up, it was in his hands. He rubbed the cover gently, it seemed like his senses were stronger, and the feel of the book more intense—as if the book was more real than everything else around him, the only important thing left.
    He remembered the warning the thing had given him, to not read the book, that doing so would do something to him, something that he was not meant for. He was too weak, it had told him. But there was a need inside of him and it was growing. He couldn't describe it, just something said he should do it. Something in him that needed this tool to make things right.
    But nothing could be made right again. His mother was dead, his father, everyone that was important to him was lost, even Courtney. No, no book can make things like that right. It was just a stupid book and pocket