Bound to a Scribe

"I can't believe that I still agreed to come here. You know how hard it was to get past airport security looking the way I do?"

The way these humans clothe and mutilate themselves these days, you were the least outrageous person in that airport Damien.

I rolled my eyes at the voice in my head. The truth was, airport security was terrified of me. I could smell their fear coming off them in waves. The only reason they did nothing to stop me was they were scared I would curse them or kill them. And I couldn't blame them. I was 6 foot 4, covered in tattoos, with black sclera and white irises. I looked like a demon. Which I guess isn't that far off in the grand scheme of things.

Changing gears, I looked out the window to the small cafe across the street. The boss had sent me all the way to Paris for some blasted book. Thinking back on the conversation, he was dead set on me retrieving the thing. His exact words were:

"This book is worth your weight in gold, Damien. Whatever happens, you must return with that book. Or don't bother returning."

If the book is worth that much, why don't we just take it for ourselves?

"Do you honestly want to be up against the entire Russian mafia over some bound paper?"

I mean, it's not like you'll die if that's what you're worried about.

Ignoring the voice I focused back in on the cafe. I was supposed to meet my contact over there in an hour, but as a professional hitman I liked scoping the scene out before making moves. Once I was satisfied that I wasn't walking into a trap I got ready. I made sure that I had a pair of sunglasses handy, because I didn't want anyone flinging hot liquids around trying to exorcise me or something else foolish. Once I was ready, I made my way over and got a table furthest from the entrance, facing the street. Couldn't have anyone getting the drop on me.

A nice waiter came over and took my order, and as I sipped my cafe au lait I observed my surroundings.

She's cute.

"Who?" I asked, even though I already knew. There was a beautiful woman two tables down from me that kept trying, and failing, to scope me out without my knowledge. Her bronze skin seemed to glow, and the violet contacts she wore made her seem ethereal. For some reason it made me angry every time she looked away. I wanted her eyes on me all the time. Finally when I couldn't stand it anymore I stood up and made my way over to her table.

"Excusez moi mademoiselle," I began as I pulled up a chair. She looked up at me shocked and waved her hands in front of her.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak French," she replied.

"That's fine, I can do English too," I countered.

She blushed and motioned to the chair.

"You must have caught me glancing at you. I do apologize, I just know I am supposed to meet someone here and you sort of fit the description."

I arched a brow.

Sort of?

"Sort of?"

She nodded.

"Yes. The only difference is I was told that the person I was to meet had...unusual eyes."

I briefly lowered my sunglasses and winked at her. The sharp gasp let me know that she, one, didn't believe her informant's description and two, realized I was indeed the man she was looking for. Immediately her demeanor changed into a more businesslike one. She extended her hand which I immediately took and kissed. As she blushed, the voice in my head hummed its approval.

What a casanova.

"Shut it," I mumbled discreetly.

"Did you say something?"

I shook my head.

"My name is Damien. And you are?"

"My name is Evita. Nice to meet you."

I nodded my head.

"So Ms. Evita. I was told that you would be able to help me on an errand I have to run for my boss."

She pressed her lips in a thin line.

"Do you or your boss have any idea what you are trying to obtain?"

I looked at her, trying to figure out exactly what she knew.

"All I know is that the boss told me to get this item, or don't bother coming back."

She leaned back and assumed a pensive expression. Suddenly, as if deciding something, she set down some money and motioned for me to follow her. Wordlessly we walked along, and as we journeyed, I noticed that the neighborhood slowly but surely became more aged, and more worn down. Some of the shops were closed, and there were some homes that seemed to be boarded up.

Do you think she is trying to kill us? Could she be a honeypot?

"If you don't stop distracting me I will kill us myself."

Fat chance.

Finally, she stopped in front of an old shop. She opened the door and ushered me inside. Looking around I could tell that this was an old stationary and bindery shop. It was sparsely stocked and the only light that illuminated it was from a binding table in the far back corner of the room.

"Evita, would you like to explain?"

I heard locks click into place and turned to see her bolting the doors, locking the windows, and pulling the curtains closed. I quickly removed my sunglasses, knowing that I needed to see my best since I had no idea what this woman might have up her sleeve.

She turned to face me, and it was my turn to gasp sharply.

Well this is unfortunate.

"What's with your eyes?"

Evita glared at me and then looked away, the soft glow of her eyes mesmerizing me.

"Nothing. Probably the same thing that's wrong with yours."

Hmmm.

Ignoring it I followed her to the back, even more entranced by this woman who might be able to understand me in more ways than one. She stood by the table, and I saw that there were small stacks of paper and leather strewn about.

"Your boss sent you here for a black book did he not? Did he tell you anything about it?"

"My boss isn't big on explanations. He's more of a 'do this or I'll kill you and find someone else who will' type."

She pulled a small package from her purse and laid it out on the table.

"This black book can make your wildest dreams a reality. Have you heard of Vincent Van Gogh? Pablo Picasso? Ernest Hemingway?"

I nodded.

"Yeah. Famous artists. Not picking up what you're trying to put down though."

She rolled her eyes.

"They each had a black book. You see these black books are magical. They are able to take what is written in them, and make them a reality. They were revered and coveted, and people have fought for, and even killed for them. With this book, a person could become a world renowned painter, or author, or..."

"The most powerful man in the world."

Evita nodded grimly.

"But it's just a story. I mean, it's not like it's real."

"How much are you getting paid to do this job? To come, pick up a book, and go back home?"

"$5,000."

"If I quadruple your pay, AND prove the book is real, will you help me keep it out of hands like your boss'?"

"I mean, my life would be on the line so this book better be real if you want my help. Because if it's not, I am just going to kill you and take it."

Now why did you just lie? Are you attracted to this, this woman?!

Just an hour ago you thought she was cute, I thought back.

That was before I knew better.

While the voice and I were having a go, Evita had opened up the small package and produced the black book in question. Flipping it open, she began to write:

I have $20,000 on this bindery table.

I read it and then looked at Evita. She had to have a screw loose if she thought I wouldn't have noticed $20,000 on this table. I looked back to the door and calculated how quickly I could break it down. When I turned back to Evita to try and convince her that she should just give it up, my words caught in my throat as I saw the stacks of $100 bills neatly sitting on the bindery table.

"How did you do that?"

Evita just flipped through the pages of the book.

"Yeah right. You probably had that stashed away somewhere."

She passed me the book and pen.

"See for yourself."

I took the notebook in my hand. It didn't look magical. It was a small black notebook with rounded corners. It had an expandable inner pocket and an elastic closure. It was soft to the touch and pliable. I set it on the bindery table and began to write.

I have two bulletproof vests on this bindery table.

I made sure that Evita couldn't see what I was writing, in case she was the one with the magic and it was a trick. I stared intently at the bindery table and sure enough, two kevlar vests appeared, one that would fit me perfectly, and one that would fit her.

Ouch.

"Did you feel it? The book draws on your energy to make your dreams come true. Unless you specify in your wish for it to use someone else's. So not only would your boss become the most powerful man in the world, but he could also sacrifice all opposition in one fell swoop. Damien, this book cannot fall into his hands. Will you please help me?"

This was starting to unnerve me a bit.

"Why don't you just destroy it?" I asked her, knowing it was probably a dumb question.

Are you dumb?

"Are you dumb? Don't you think I've tried that? This book is magical Damien. I have tried every normal way I could to destroy it. The only reason I agreed to this meet--after months of threats from your boss--was because I hoped that whoever he sent might have a conscience and would be able to help me keep it from him. I need help figuring out how to destroy it."

I say we kill her and take the book to your boss. I like his plan. 10/10 would do it myself. But since we can't, we could at least use the souls of the people he's killed for our own purposes.

"What's to stop my boss from just finding another magical book?"

"This is the last true black book in existence. The sacred art that surrounds this type of bookbinding has been lost to the world, never to return."

Don't do it Damien.

I looked into Evita's eyes, and could see the sincerity there. She was being honest with me. And if all this is true, Igor Romanov was the last person that should ever have his hands on this book. I nodded.

"Ok Evita. I'll help you."

Her face lit up and she hugged me tightly. On instinct I wrapped her up and held her close. After we let go, we awkwardly looked at each other.

"So, wanna tell me the deal with the bulletproof vests?"

I scratched the back of my neck as I looked away.

"Well, if what you said was true, we should probably have as much protection as we can. Romanov is not the type to leave everything to chance. If you've been avoiding him for months, then he probably will send a backup option in case you avoided or turned me."

She nodded grimly.

"Wanna tell me why your eyes glow purple?"

"Wanna tell me why the colors of your eyes are inverted?"

"Not particularly no."

"Ditto."