The Devil Makes Three Read online

  Eliot sighed. “I went to the library to get something from my office—”

  “You know, if you get caught using that code, you could get in serious trouble,” Tess pointed out, because the day was already long enough and she had to work in the morning and exhaustion weighed heavy in her veins.

  “I know,” Eliot snapped. He took a moment to collect himself, and softer, said, “I’m sorry.” Tess didn’t apologize back, even though he left her a pause to before continuing, “Anyway. I needed something from my office. So I went in and the blood was there—I’m telling you, it was blood—and I went upstairs. The trail led right to my office door. I opened it and she was there, in the middle of the rug.”

  “Not cut or anything? Not bleeding?”

  Eliot winced. “She wasn’t hacked to pieces, if that’s what you mean. She had … I can’t say that they were stab wounds. They were like … I don’t know. Like something had torn her open.”

  Tess shuddered. “Like an animal? Like, her abdomen was ripped open?”

  “No. Wrists. And throat. Not like it was neatly slit or anything. She looked like it had been torn open. The edges were all rough and—” He couldn’t finish. He gagged once, pressed his hand against his mouth, and closed his eyes. Eliot was silent for a long time while he regained control over his stomach. Tess waited, feeling a little bad for asking for details—but she still wasn’t sure she could believe him.

  Except.

  Her fingers found the edge of the gauze wrapping, still there around her wrist, where Anna had secured it that morning. She figured she’d be able to stop wrapping it next week, maybe, when the wound wasn’t quite so vicious.

  As she toyed with the tape on the gauze, something dawned on her. The explanation of Regina that Eliot had offered was familiar to her: blood everywhere, wrists and throat cut. It was the same image she’d seen of herself in the dreams.

  “Almost like she’d cut them herself,” Tess said quietly.

  Eliot looked at her. “I don’t know how she’d be able to. But yes, maybe.”

  Tess closed her eyes. This was too much, especially for a night like tonight, when she’d already been awake for her fill of hours for the day. “So her body was there, in your office, bleeding out, and now it isn’t.”

  “It seems that way.”

  “And she was definitely dead. She didn’t just walk out herself.”

  “No. I would say she was, at the very least, 100 percent dead.”

  “Do you think … Do you think the book has anything to do with it?”

  Eliot frowned. “I came to that conclusion too. All of this that’s been happening—not to me, but it seems that things are happening to you—it all feels too coincidental, lined up as it is.”

  Tess nodded. “Should we get the book back out?” she asked, even though the thought of going back into that hellhole underneath Jessop made her hands go clammy and her mouth dry as a bone.

  “No,” Eliot said quickly, and it was clear that he had the same reaction. His left fist clenched, and he took a short sip of his tea before continuing. “I don’t think … The book has what it wants. It has blood. Nothing more will come of this.”

  But Tess could remember the curl of the devil’s lip and the icy coldness of his breath. She didn’t think this would be the last of it, not by far.

  Don’t betray me again, Theresa.

  But somehow, she had.

  thirty four

  Tess

  TESS AWOKE THURSDAY MORNING ON HER MATTRESS, dragged onto Anna’s floor, to the lingering smell of some sort of pastry, bastardized by the Crock-Pot. Anna’s bed was empty.

  She hadn’t dreamt since the night of her injury, whether it was because she’d ordered the devil away or started sleeping in Anna’s room. Either way, she was happy about that, but there wasn’t much else to be glad about.

  Anna was humming to herself in the kitchenette. She turned when Tess came in and handed her a bowl of warmed-up cinnamon roll. “Your phone rang a few times this morning,” Anna said, adjusting the towel on her head. Her mouth was arranged in a straight, concerned line. “Everything okay?”

  “It should be,” Tess said, even though it was anything but okay. She grabbed her phone and was unsurprised to see the contact ID: eliot bitch. “Just a sec.”

  Tess ducked into her mostly abandoned room to call him back. Despite the awkwardness still remaining between them, if he was calling her, it was probably for a reason.

  “Hello?” he said.

  She was ashamed of the relief that rushed through her at the sound of his voice. “You okay? You called me.” “Yeah. Are you?”

  A weighted, flawed question, but one she deserved considering she asked first. Maybe technically she was okay. Maybe, but probably not. “I’m fine.”

  There was a brief silence on the other line. Tess figured Eliot was thinking the same thing she was: How could either of them be okay?

  “Are you on the early shift today or …” He left the question open ended, most likely because the question ended or is it Regina?

  “I am,” Tess confirmed.

  “Right. Well, I remembered you sometimes got there before Mathilde, and considering everything, I figured you wouldn’t want to go in by yourself. Or, at least, it would be nice not to. Could I … I could walk you there?”

  He was rambling in a way he usually didn’t, reminding her of tense shoulders and too-bright headlights and the heat of her own shame.

  But why did this have to be shameful? The truth was she didn’t want to go in alone. She could hide her fear, yes, but she wouldn’t be alone in the library anyways—something dark would be lurking there along with her.

  Maybe it was weak, but having Eliot there would make her feel better.

  “That would be nice,” she managed. A glance at the clock; she was still early, but not by much. “Can you be here in ten?”

  Eliot had never looked so casual as when he showed up on Tess’s doorstep. He had on a white T-shirt and jeans, with none of his usual charm. There was a colorful design on his right arm, edging under his sleeve, and it took Tess a moment to realize it was a tattoo.

  The revelation that Eliot had a tattoo was shocking. She couldn’t imagine him putting something so permanent on his body. She tried to conjure up an image of Eliot in a chair, arm extended as someone tattooed him. Maybe there was a story behind the ink, and he’d told it while wiping away tears. Maybe it was at a hole-in-the-wall shop in London, clogged with cigarette smoke and smelling of beer and rain. She couldn’t even really make out what the tattoo was, with most of it hidden under his sleeve and his arms crossed over his chest, and there was no way she was going to ask about it now.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  What else was there to say? She should’ve told him about the dreams, about the devil and his promises, but in this moment, seeing him in the sunlight with his hair tousled and his eyes soft with worry, she didn’t want to think of any of that.

  “You can come in. I just need to finish a couple of things. Mine’s at the top.”

  He followed her up the three flights to the dorm she shared with Anna. Anna had just left for her own work study job for the day, so they were alone. Being here with him, in her territory, made her feel nervous and uncertain. Did he notice how sparse their dorm was, filled only with the necessities Falk had provided? The dorm didn’t feel like her, besides her room, so that was where she took him, even though her mattress was missing and things were a little messy. It was better than the bare bones of the shared spaces, the spaces that had no trace that she’d ever existed there.

  Eliot took a seat in her desk chair and Tess sat on her steamer trunk to finish packing her bag. She tried to put space between her and Eliot, but in her room, everything was cramped and close.

  Eliot reached forward and Tess thought he was going to touch her until his hand met the smooth, black case of her cello. “Ah,” he said, running a hand reverently down the case. “You play,
right? Re— I heard you were good.”

  Something about the statement was shocking, and Tess allowed it to distract her. All her life, she’d been known as Tess the musician. It was so much of her identity that she didn’t know who she was without a bow in her hand and the weight of her cello between her legs. But here was Eliot, someone who she suspected knew the darkest parts of her, and he hadn’t known the first rule of Tess Matheson: music above all else. She felt like she’d been plunged in cold water.

  What definable things did she not know about him? And why, suddenly, did she want to know all of them?

  He’s the enemy, Tess reminded herself. He’s the one who started this.

  “I’ve been playing since I was little,” Tess said, even though it felt like a simplification. She didn’t just play. “I actually have a lesson later tomorrow and I haven’t practiced in a few days, which is just awesome.” She tried to smile, to show she was joking, but the whole thing felt fake.

  “You can play now,” Eliot said. “I won’t mind. I’d like to hear you.”

  She’d played for hundreds of people. Thousands, maybe, though not all at the same time, of course. And yet, the idea of playing in front of Eliot Birch, alone in her room, felt like it would be the same as showing him the gashes on her wrist, the same as telling him the truth about her parents and her situation.

  And worse—she hadn’t touched her cello since the dreams. She didn’t know how to take it, to play and know that it could never feel like it had when she’d played with the devil’s hands on her shoulders.

  “We don’t have time,” Tess said, getting up and swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t want to be late, do we?”

  For once, he didn’t argue.

  They walked to Jessop in silence. “I’m just going to grab a few things,” Eliot said, cautiously eying the upper balconies, “and then I’ll be right back. Shout if you need me.”

  She wouldn’t.

  It was kind of cute, Tess thought. How he was suddenly pretending to be brave in front of her.

  There was a new delivery of magazines, so Tess started shelving them. She was still sorting them alphabetically when she heard the back door open and the clicking of keys as Mathilde came through the office.

  “You’re early,” Mathilde said.

  Tess glanced at the clock. “Only a few minutes,” she said. “I had nothing better to do.” It wasn’t quite true. She could’ve played for Eliot, if she’d really wanted to.

  “Did someone come in with you? I thought I heard a voice.”

  Tess waved towards the third floor. “Dr. Birch’s son came in to do some work or something. He’s in his office.”

  “Ah.” Mathilde leaned against the cart that Tess was trying to organize. “I hope he hasn’t found what he’s looking for.”

  “What do you think he’s looking for?” Tess asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

  Mathilde’s eyes clouded over, and Tess had a sudden prickle in her spine. “Something he shouldn’t be,” she said. There was something going on here, and Mathilde definitely knew more than she was letting on. Was Tess caught?

  “If he has any other book requests, I’ll handle them. There are dangerous books here, Theresa.” She sighed, and for a moment, she seemed to be as tired as Tess felt.

  “Of course,” Tess said. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, anything that could illuminate more clues without condemning her for what she and Eliot had found.

  But worse, eventually Tess would have to say something about Regina. If what Eliot saw was real, then Regina was not going to come for her shift and then it would be undeniable. They’d need help.

  Tess eyed Mathilde. Perhaps …

  Upstairs, Eliot’s office door opened. Almost simultaneously, someone entered the library behind her. Tess turned to see who it was—a teacher, probably, or an old man asking to use the bathroom—but she nearly lost the cinnamon roll she’d eaten for breakfast when she saw Regina standing near the heavy wooden door of the library. Regina, looking exactly as she had the day before.

  Except.

  Except she had a very, very thin red line on her throat. Tess had to squint to see it. If she hadn’t been examining her so closely, she was sure that she wouldn’t have seen it. And there, as Tess focused, she noted her irises. Not brown, as they had been before. But black, shimmering and dotted, as if her irises contained the universe. Somewhere a few floors up, she could feel Eliot’s eyes on Regina, too, and imagined him frozen on the stairs just as she was behind the circulation desk.

  Mathilde was the only one who wasn’t shocked to see the newest arrival. “Regina,” she said. “You’re early too. Aren’t you meant to come in at noon?”

  “I forgot something last night and it couldn’t wait,” Regina said. Her voice was off, just a little. Again, it was so subtle Tess wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t already been on edge. There was a rasp to her tone now, as if she was getting sick—or as if she’d been screaming.

  “Well, if you’re here, feel free to help Theresa with the shelving,” Mathilde said. She started towards the back office.

  Tess couldn’t move. She needed to say something, do something, but she could only stare. Finally, she managed, “You left your laptop here.” It sounded like an accusation. She wanted to say, You disappeared. You didn’t answer your phone. You were missing. Eliot saw your body.

  “I was in a hurry,” Regina said. She didn’t move farther into the library or towards the desk. Regina didn’t say anything about what Eliot had seen.

  Tess should’ve made an excuse to get away and get to Eliot, but she still felt frozen. And judging by the silence from the stairs, Eliot hadn’t moved, either.

  “Is everything okay?” Tess asked, struggling to keep her voice even.

  “Oh,” Regina said, moving closer to her. Fear prickled down Tess’s spine and she edged back. “Everything is just wonderful.” Her lips quirked up in slow motion, like a demon mimicking human expression, but her eyes didn’t change. Slowly, slowly, her lips parted to reveal her teeth.

  When Regina smiled, her mouth was full of blood.

  thirty five

  Eliot

  “I’M TELLING YOU,” SHE GRUMBLED. “I’M TELLING YOU HER mouth was bloody.”

  Tess and Eliot were in the courtyard. It was more comfortable out here, safer even. They sat cross-legged, facing each other. Tess pulled out fistfuls of grass and rained the pieces down on her legs.

  “I’m not disagreeing with you,” Eliot said. He was tired if he was anything. “I think you did see blood. But I also agree with your assessment the other night. All of this has to be a hallucination.”

  She pulled up another fistful of grass. “I don’t see why we would be hallucinating, though. You and I both … We both saw the blood in your office. We can’t deny it, Eliot. This is happening.”

  Eliot shrugged. Uncomfortably, he thought of what he’d first told Tess he was studying: death and resurrection and magic. Did she think he’d caused this? At the beginning of the summer, he’d thought that there was some tidy solution to death. Now, he worried he’d found it, and it terrified him. “I don’t know what we did wrong.”

  Tess closed her eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

  She looked so worn, sitting there, covered in grass. So hopeless. Something tugged inside of Eliot, and he hated it. Tess glanced down at her fingernails, stained with chlorophyll and dirt. “I’ve been having dreams. I think they’re about the devil, but he calls himself Truth.”

  Eliot didn’t say anything for a long time. And then, finally, shakily: “Can you tell me about these dreams?”

  Tess nodded. Her eyes were distant, as tired as he felt. “They started really soon after we found the book. I don’t remember exactly what he asked me, but I remember he talked to me in a forest. And when I woke up, I was stained with ink.”

  “And you only spoke to him once?”

  Tess colored. “No,” she said. He felt something stir
ring inside of him, something like hatred—or even worse, even more inexplicable, something like jealousy. “I dreamt of him a few more times. He wanted to give me … It doesn’t matter. He wanted me to be happy, I think. Or successful. In order to make a trade. And the devil … I don’t know how to explain it, Eliot.”

  Eliot shivered. There was something she wasn’t telling him. He could see it in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders, in the shakiness of her chin. He reached forward and set a hand on her knee. “You can trust me.”

  Cautiously, Tess rolled up her sleeve. “In the dreams, I think he had some control over my body. And he gave me a knife. I don’t know if it was real or what, but … I cut myself. I woke up covered in blood.”

  “Covered in blood?” Eliot repeated. He couldn’t think of it. And even more, he couldn’t look at her, because if she caught him looking, she’d see the emotion on his face and know the truth of what the thought of her in danger did to him. “Couldn’t it have been ink? Like what we found the other day?”

  He was uncertain for the approximate three seconds it took Tess to finish rolling her sleeve, flip her wrist over, and remove the patch of gauze she wore. The edges of the cut were a little purple from bruising, and she really should’ve gone to get stitches, but it was healing okay enough.

  He couldn’t bear it.

  “Tess …” Eliot looked away quickly. If she saw his face, she’d know. If she saw the horror in his eyes, he’d be revealed. “Did you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Tess said, and the thought of someone else in her room with her while she was sleeping, harming her, was equally horrifying. “I told you. I just woke up like that.”

  Eliot rubbed his eyes, as if he could buff away the worry he couldn’t show. “Okay. So something is happening here. And I don’t think we can just act like it’s going to go away.”

  “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know. But Tess, if anything tries to hurt you again … please call me. Tell me. Or someone else. As long as you’re not by yourself.” She was blushing, looking off to the right. Strong and stubborn as always. The edge of a blade—a blade growing less sharp by the second. He laid a hand over her wrist, both hiding the gash and protecting it, and she looked up to meet his eye. “Don’t try to do this alone.”