Jack Thompson's Arc

Chapter 4 of 25

Jack ducked into a narrow passage between two close-set buildings. A single hanging lamp buzzed above him. He pressed his back to the cool stone and cracked the dossier open. His eyes ran down the page. Then down the next. His jaw tightened. Vague accounts. A bar fight he remembered. A street brawl he'd already bled for. Nothing he didn't carry himself. He shut the folder. "Useless," he muttered. A breeze pushed a scrap of paper past his boot. Jack lifted his eyes and saw it across the way — a worn brick library, its windows dark and quiet, its heavy wooden door half open. A roof. Walls. Shelves. Somewhere a Luna Eclipsed scout wouldn't think to look for a man with a shotgun crutch. He pushed off the wall and limped across the stones. The door creaked shut behind him. The air inside smelled like old paper and dust. Jack sank into a chair between two tall shelves and finally let his shoulders drop. He had cover now. He had quiet. The dossier could wait — what he needed was something older, something written by someone who'd seen a curse like his before. He set the shotgun against the table and started pulling books.