The Book: Chapter 48

The morning sun shone, gilding the kitchen with the illusion of peace and the promise of finality. The lights hummed, casting golden halos over the counter where Alice and Mick prepped for the last act of their nightmare. Erik sat on Alice’s shoulder, debating with them and advising as he chuntered in her ear.

The book was between them. Its green cover was innocuous, powerless—and ordinary. Mick exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. ‘This is it, right? After this, we’re done?’

She nodded, forcing confidence into her voice. ‘We’re done. Put Erik in his cage, please, but don't shut it, just in case.'

Mick didn't ask just in case of what?

They’d taken every precaution. A thick metal plate was laid over the tiled kitchen floor, a protective barrier to keep the flames contained. Around it, they’d poured a salt circle—thick and unbroken, its granules glistening and safe. A crucifix hung on the wall, and Alice sprinkled holy water on the book. Isolde didn’t scream in agony, the book was silent—just a book. Neither of them were religious, but there were more things in heaven and earth than there were stars in the sky. Alice could vouch for it. A bottle of high-proof alcohol sat nearby, an insurance policy to make the fire burn hot and fast.

Alice struck a match, holding it above the book, and Mick waited to fan the flames next to her, tension coiled in his muscles. ‘Let’s say something. Just to make sure,’ he said.

Alice hesitated. ‘Say something? Like what?’

Mick swallowed. ‘I don’t know—something to banish it. We need to make sure it stays gone.’

‘What, like alakazam?’ She turned to face him, seeing the ghost of uncertainty in his eyes, and laughed at him. She loved this man and his goofy ideas. But she understood. It all seemed too easy. The book had been with them so long. It had damaged their lives in ways neither of them knew how to process yet. Even now, at the edge of its destruction, freedom felt unreal.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Burn in hell, bitch, and stay gone.’ She looked at the book, expecting it to pull a final trick and make her care, to feel that wrench of possessiveness and ownership that prevented her from being able to destroy it. She said, ‘You have no power here. We are not your puppets. You lose.’

Mick nodded. ‘We win. Amen.’

Alice lowered the match.

The flame kissed the cover. It should have burned steadily in a controlled setting as they’d intended.

Instead, an almighty boom shook the house—and the room imploded. The force threw Mick backwards, launching him out of the kitchen and slamming him against the hallway wall. He hit the ground hard, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs.

Isolde had come to exact her revenge.

A massive pressure closed around the room. An invisible fist. Alice screamed as every door in the house slammed shut. The kitchen window exploded outward, glass shattering into the night. The book was burning, but the flames weren’t ordinary—they were black, writhing columns. The fire was unnatural. And Isolde was screaming in fury from inside it. Alice heard the voice in her head.

I burned once. Fools to think you could ever burn me again.

Alice fell to her knees, covering her ears, but Isolde spoke from inside her. Black ink poured from the pages, a liquid shadow, seeping across the metal plate, joining the flames and eating through the salt. The book wasn’t dying—it was sloughing. She watched as it shed its skin.

Mick pounded on the door, screaming her name, but she couldn’t get to him.

The kitchen was warped and twisted. The walls rippled, breathing. The floor buckled beneath her hands. A shadow unfurled from the flames, an ancient female shape, writhing free.

The book leapt out of the fire unscathed. It opened, and triumphant words appeared as Isolde returned home to its pages.

You really thought you’d won? You’re so naïve. You forgot one thing. I played fair and won on merit. Because you never finished the game.

Alice tried to move, but her body was frozen, held in place by unseen bindings.

My sweet girl. You didn’t complete the final task. You thought a single cut was enough? A shallow wound? A scratch? I asked for pain. Real pain. Was I not clear? I specified broken bones. Strip the flesh, break the bone. You fail.

Alice was succumbing to the heat. ‘I’ll do it now. Please, let me do it. I’ll break bones for you. Please don’t do this.’

She screamed, crying out in agony as the fire claimed her, sinking into her skin, knowing it belonged there. The flames tasted her first, licking up her torso, clawing at her body and scorching her face. A tremendous force pounded down on her knee, hard and brutal. She heard the crack of bone and screamed in agony. Symbols—ancient, unholy sigils—carved into her flesh as an unseen hand branded her with fire.

Mick struggled against the locked door, slamming his fists against the wood. ‘Alice! Get out of there.’

She couldn’t. The fire owned her. It wasn’t just heat—it was energy, knowledge, malevolence. It poured into her open mouth, consuming her. Her body arched as the book’s ink slithered into her skin.

She wilted to the floor and was gone.

The spell was broken, the door opened, and Mick burst in. The kitchen was a war zone. The metal plate was warped and melting. Grains of salt scattered across the floor, and the room lay in ruins. Smoke curled from the book, and the air thrummed with its lingering power.

Alice was motionless on the ground.

Mick dropped to his knees beside her. ‘Alice.’

Her skin was raw, marked with deep, intricate burns, but she was breathing. Sirens wailed outside. The neighbours must have heard the explosion. Mick pressed his forehead against hers, holding back tears. ‘You’re okay, baby. Stay with me.’

Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with shock and agony. She was badly burnt and could barely speak. The smoke damage made her voice come out in a rasp. ‘Is it gone?’

Mick looked at the book. It was untouched. He let out a shaky breath. She saw conflict in his eyes, but he couldn’t lie to her. ‘I don’t know, darling.’

But Alice did.

She saw the flicker of movement in the ashes. A page, curling inward—ink shifting—letters forming.

I burnt once. I will never burn again. Never.

The Book Here's the Amazon link for The Book. Available on KU and Audible, as well as eBook and Paperback  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0F2J7QYCQ(link is external)