Dead to Me by Anton Strout Page A

don’t know behind it. I knew the routine, something so simple that even I could handle it given my limited amount of fieldwork at Connor’s side. It was time for a bit of the gently applied good cop/bad cop. They were roles that fit both of us surprisingly well—Connor, his seasoned badass attitude with the field experience to back it up, and my own role as, well…the gentle new kid on the block. Real acting stretch there, I know.
     
    Connor raised one eyebrow, looked slowly around the front of the shop, and said, “You keepin’ your nose clean?”
     
    “Cleaner than an elephant’s trunk, guys,” Cyrus answered, flashing his grin once again. This time I caught the full effect he had evidently been going for. His entire set of teeth was filed to finely sharpened points that reminded me of a shark. “I run a solid enterprise here. You gents know that.”
     
    What this massive wall of a man said rang of the truth, but Cyrus was also high on the creepy scale—maybe not as bad as Wesker, but definitely first runner-up. He made it hard to believe that whatever went on at Tome, Sweet Tome was on the up and up.
     
    “I hope so,” Connor said. He peered back into the darkened Stacks of the cavernous bookshop. I followed his lead, but from where we stood, it was near impossible to make out anyone or anything who might be lurking somewhere deep in the aisles…which was the whole idea behind the shop’s design, if I thought about it. This eclectic collection of grimoires dealt with everything—mysticism, shamanism, witchcraft, spellcraft, glamours, and other arcane matters. Those interested in such subjects probably fancied a little privacy, and the store’s layout reflected that sentiment. It was a maze of towering shelves and wild piles of books that stretched to the ceiling.
     
    “Thought we’d throw some business your way,” Connor continued. “We need some time in the Black Stacks, okay?”
     
    Cyrus gave a chuckle—jovial, but just evil sounding enough to send a shiver up my spine. “Don’t ask me if it’s okay, Connor. Ask the Black Stacks yourself. I am merely their proprietor. Don’t hold me responsible for what they will and won’t do.”
     
    Connor strode boldly up to the counter. He leaned in close to Cyrus, craning his neck upward to meet his eyes. “Well, then,” Connor said. There was piss and vinegar in his tone already. “Asproprietor, you might want to consider exerting a little control over your merchandise. You start letting the Stacks run things, you might find yourself cleaning up a lot more than dust around this place.”
     
    “Whatever,” Cyrus said dismissively.
     
    Cyrus’s attitude toward wrongdoing reminded me of the people who’d led me down the wrong paths. He was imposing, but Connor’s lack of fear had bolstered something deep inside me, and whatever bullying charm Cyrus held over me broke with his flippant response. “Those books represent a hell of a lot of chaotic malevolence if left to their own devices,” I said, spurred on by my newfound bravado. “You think it’s simply a matter of magicians coming in here and taking advantage of the Stacks? It’s the other way around. Most of the poor saps who get wrapped up in the whole evil game are there because they were too stupid or too malleable, easily controlled by what’s contained in those very books! They were too stupidnot to get used by the Stacks.”
     
    Our good cop/bad cop act had skipped straight ahead to bad cop/bad cop. That was what happened when one was new to fieldwork. I had tons of book knowledge with the occult, which made for great speeches, but I had little experience in dealing with it face to face. Still, verbally smacking down an occult book dealer alongside Connor was something I could check off my résumé of thrilling fieldwork. I wished Irene were here to hear how daring I sounded.
     
    “Relax,” Cyrus said, too calmly for my liking. “Everything is under control here.” His