We Two Are One

The Grimoire

The rasp of a cat's tongue on his closed eyelids woke Oswald. This was Nico's way of saying: 'Wake up. Feed me.'

Oswald woke from a disturbed sleep, his mind full of the horrible dream and Adam Cadmon saying to him, 'You're made of paper—we both are.'

Nico sat on his chest, padding him with her front paws and purring

It was Monday. He had to get up. Nico padded more insistently and mewed more loudly. 'Get up. Feed me.' Or at least Oswaldm was pretty sure that's what the noises meant in cat language.

Oswald slid his legs out of bed and reached to pull on his blue fleece dressing gown that lay in a heap on the floor.

Nico fed, coffee drunk, pants on, shirt buttons done up, wrongly as it turned out with the the third one and those below in a hole beneath their true target, Oswald went to Dempsey's Books.

He turned the old-fashioned key in the old-fashioned door and stepped in. The door was flimsy and wouldn't keep out a burglar, but he had nothing worth stealing in any case.

There on his desk perched on top of various piles of books of uneven size was a package wrapped in brown paper.

A note in fussy handwriting done with a fountain pen in purple ink sat on top of the package. It said:

"As promised—Sebastian."

Oswald threw the note aside and it fluttered down to the varnished floorboards where it landed face-down. Hurriedly, he ripped open the package. It was a book, a tome really. The binding was Victorian, probably privately done as there was no publisher's imprint. He flicked past a blank page to the title where it said:

Liber Particularis de Michaeli Scotti.

Under that was a hand-written inscription in faded black ink: A.E.W, London, 1899.

But this wasn't a reprint. It was a medieval manuscript by the look of it, rebound in Victorian times. He turned to the parchment pages, thickly covered in black-letter Latin. He couldn't read it.

Who had brought it here? How had they got in? Clearly it had originated from Sebastian de la Fontaine, but Oswald had no recollection of him coming into the shop to deliver it. He had no recollection of it arriving at all. He would go and see Sebastian.

Oswald rushed out of Dempsey's books closing the door behind him, but forgetting to lock it. The cardboard sign that dangled from a hook on the inside of the door still said 'Closed' because he had not turned it round when he came in.

He took the grimoire with him.

Sebastian's shop was just down Skinner Street—a short walk away. The name "The Box of Delights" was painted in gold letters on the frosted glass of the door. The shop was open. There were no customers but the place was lined with shelves with Gothic and Steampunk apparel and action figures. Tinted goggles, bowler hats with exotic feathers, pads full of ornate silver rings. On the floor were boot moulds: thigh-high boots, Victorian ankle boots, patent leather spats. Mannequins wearing black sequined corsets stood in the corners, basques of red velvet edged with ruffs in the shape of black roses.

Sebastain de la Fontaine sat at his desk staring at his laptop, his fingers dancing over the keys.

'Oswald!' he said. 'Give me a minute. Just at the boss fight.'

'What are you doing?'

'Playing Dungeons & Dragons online. Just fighting Strahd in Castle Ravenloft. Nearly got him.'

Oswald watched, tight-mouthed while Sebastian ignored him. Oswald's fingers gripped the grimoire like it was the most precious thing and he could never let it go.