The Taste of Night by Vicki Pettersson Page A

division between Shadow and Light, and foretold everything from the spread of troops to the new world, the proliferation of cities throughout North America, to the migration westward. It also predicted the creation and rise of the Tulpa.”
    I blinked. The little girl-turned-walking-encyclopedia blinked back. I said, “I’d love to see that.”
    Jasmine scoffed, looking back down to blindly pass me another comic. “Yeah, you and the rest of the paranormal world.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Legend has it that it also contains the so-called recipe for killing the Tulpa, but each metropolis possesses one copy only. Our city’s original manual is lost. Or destroyed. Nobody really knows. Maybe the Tulpa got ahold of it and destroyed it himself. Still, the knowledge buried in that one manual is so complete, so powerful, it’ll forever tip the balance to the side of the Zodiac troop that possesses it, so the search goes on. That’s Zane’s quest, you know. He’s given his life over to finding the original manual, or die trying.”
    “Yeah, but…how?” Nobody knew if the manual even existed. Where did you start the search for something nobody could account for? “Might as well be searching for the Holy Grail.”
    Jasmine shook her head, sending smooth sheets of hair swinging. “There are supposed to be clues planted throughout the earliest manuals that reveal its location. Alone they’re nothing more than simple parables and entertaining anecdotes. But together they form a comprehensive map leading directly to the master manual.”
    “So somebody should assemble them,” I said, accepting two more manuals, and wondering—with not a little irritation—why Warren hadn’t told me any of this. “Someone should patch together the clues and start tracking it down.”
    “Well, duh,” Jasmine said, causing me to blink in affront. Hard to stay mad, though, looking at her wide-eyed innocence. Besides, she was right. Surely I wasn’t the first troop member to think of it. She stood and began studying another shelf. “But the earliest manuals were created before the widespread use of the printing press. One edition only, handwritten.”
    And I bet private collectors had snapped those up like priceless Monets. My heart sank. “So they’re all gone. Spread out so thinly that no one collector can piece together the whole.”
    At the disappointment in my voice, Jasmine turned her attention from the shelf she was scanning, fingers pausing over a section marker to hold her place. “But the trick is to keep looking, and people do. Agents die, remember? Manuals are bequeathed, won, stolen, bought. That’s what keeps Zane in business. Not only does he trade out and up with every agent interested, but he thinks because he’s the record keeper he has the best chance of finding the original.”
    “And you believe him?”
    Jasmine shrugged. “One thing’s sure. The Tulpa is endlessly sending agents to troll this place.”
    “Then he’s worried,” I said, following Jasmine along the near wall of stretching bookcases. “I didn’t know the Tulpa could be made to worry.”
    She stopped beneath a leaning ladder of polished mahogany, adroitly plucking a manual from the dozens buried on the third shelf. She handed it to me as she turned around. “Zoe knew.”
    I froze, and the jolt wound through my body like a live wire, making my printless fingertips tingle as I grasped the manual.
    “Do you have that one?” she asked innocently, tilting her head.
    I shook mine, unable to tear my eyes from the cover. The Archer, it said, Agent of Light . Beneath the emblazoned caption was a photo of my mother.
    She couldn’t have been any older than I was now, dressed in short-shorts and go-go boots that were made for morethan walking—it was an outfit guaranteed to get her in the creator’s door. But there was blood on her thigh, her conduit—now mine—was clutched in both hands, and she was gritting her teeth, staring into shadows,