I stood in my old library. Every wall was lined with ruined bookshelves, and torn papers, scrolls, and book covers were scattered on the floor, forgotten to the world.

  “It’s okay, Master. We can fix this.” Angra was perched on my shoulder.

  I could smack her. Reaching down, I picked up a torn sheet of paper. It practically crumbled in my hand.

  “Well… Maybe not that one.” She was looking anywhere but at me.

  “They’re all ruined.”

  “I didn’t want to it.”

  “Angra?”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Shut up.”

  Without waiting for a response, I trampled over my old things to the far side of the room. As I did, I saw that my furniture, once lush and regal, had largely rotted to nothing. The thought struck me: I’d once seen kings in this library. Now, the air was stagnant, and thick dust stirred with every step of my unshod feet..

  I headed straight for a shelf on the far side of the left wall. Once there, I ran my hands along the rotten wood until I found a hidden lip where two planks joined together. I pulled at the lip, and the board pulled free, revealing a compartment beneath. Inserting my index and middle fingers into the compartment, I felt around until I found a pair of holes in the back. Applying pressure, the back of the compartment clicked. On the ground, a hidden door popped open with a metallic snap, revealing an obsidian cube no larger than a fist inside.

  Reaching down, I picked the object up. It fit perfectly in my palm. Despite its smooth surface, it was cold—unnaturally so—against my skin. There was no latch, seam, or lock indicating how to open it or that could even be opened. Even if someone knew that it was a storage cube, it was perfectly uniform, without any discernible opening mechanism.

  "Unlock." My voice echoed in the library. As it did, one of the shelves on the far side of the room collapsed. I gritted my teeth and waited.

  The cube floated up out of my hand, began to glow, then dissolved into a thousand motes of light. A minute later, a book fell into my waiting palm. The book was unique. Its cover looked like leather at first glance, but closer inspection revealed pores and small hairs that made the material look suspiciously like human skin. A stitched face decorated the top cover. Its eyelids were dry and cracked, the skin rolled back, and two large rubies were set beneath them. The book’s mouth was permanently drawn back into a macabre expression halfway between a grimace and a grin. A metal ring pierced its nose, and a thin chain connected to it and wrapped around to the back, binding the covers shut.

  Seeing the book again sent shivers up my spine. Even as one of the Dark Lord’s avatars, I hated this thing. "Grimoire. I need your counsel."

  After I spoke, the book's eyelids began to twitch. Slowly, ever so slowly, its eyes fluttered open, and its ruby eyes began to glow. The book coughed, sending dust flying from its cracked lips, and its chain began to writhe like a snake. It murmured to itself, then its eyes moved. It blinked as it looked around the room until its gemstone eyes rested on me.

  There was something profoundly unnerving about its eyes staring unblinkingly into my own. “Good day, book. I’ve come to seek your counsel.”

  It didn't respond.

  I swallowed. Even in the best of times, the book was difficult to work with. It was capricious and surly. One wrong word, and it would snap shut and be silent for days or longer. One time, it didn’t speak for over a year. It was just like my old master. “Book?

  The book rumbled in my hand, its eyes never wavering from me.

  The moody thing likely felt abandoned after my long absence. Inhaling deeply, I placed my fingertips on the face and said, "Grimoire. It has been many years. I apologize for my absence. Much has happened since we last spoke. Last and greatest creation of the archmage Aughra, I have need of your counsel.” I dipped into a deep bow, lowering my head even further in supplication.

  Silence.

  I looked up. Its eyes still gazed at me, but I could see it was considering my words. Slowly, the mouth opened, lips parting to reveal a row of sharp teeth. Dust fell from its lips as its teeth moved apart, revealing an obsidian tongue hiding within.

  "How can this old book be of service to you today, young master?" Every word was perfectly enunciated. The mouth's exaggerated movements made the hairs on my neck stand up. The voice sounded raspy, like rocks scraped off the bottom of a dungeon floor, yet its tone was polite and cordial, almost gentle—a stark contrast to its fearsome face.

  "Grimoire, I have..." I hesitated, unsure how to frame my words. I hated having to admit to the thing all that had happened to me, but what choice did I have? The book looked impatient as it waited for me to continue. I decided honesty would serve me best. "I have just awoken from a most untimely near-death experience, and I have much of my power and all of my spells, even my very weakest."

  "You've died, hm? I bet it felt wonderful. Such pain and pleasure..." It purred. “If only I could experience such a thing.” Its lips pursed together.

  Of course, it wanted to die. Little did it know that death wasn’t great. "Indeed. Quite lovely," I agreed. "In spite of the… enjoyable experience, I am alive again, and I need your aid."

  The book stared back at me, expressionless, the chains clinking together as it moved its obsidian tongue around behind its teeth.

  "Explain to me what it was like. Tell me tales of your ordeal, and perhaps this old book will decide to come to the aid of one who abandoned it for so long."

  I took a deep breath and readied myself. I hadn't planned on placating the book's morbid interests. I also didn’t want to relive my experiences. But… The ghastly thing practically lived on its macabre fascinations.

  "Well, it started when I infiltrated the court in Saern..."

  "...and that's when I finally woke up. I immediately knew it was time to come to you for counsel." The lie fell easily from my lips.

  After I finished my tale, the grimoire stared back at me for a long while. Its black tongue ran along its cracked lips as it thought. Slowly, its half-smile, half-grimace stretched, growing wider and wider, until it stretched into a… smile?

  A rumbling began to emanate from the book. At first, the sound was soft, like stones falling down a mountain. Then, the rumbles became chuckles, which grew more violent. The chuckles became laughter, which grew hysterical. The book shuddered in my hands, its laughter booming out of my library and into my vault. It vibrated and shuddered so violently that I had to release the foul object. It flopped face down to the floor, but the muffled cackling continued. Its chain unlinked, and the book flipped itself over so its laughing face could continue to taunt me.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I gritted my teeth. Despite sounding nothing like her, the book had the same biting sense of humor as my late teacher. Nothing was ever good enough for the old mage. Every spell could be improved. Every movement could be sharper. Every word could be better shaped to execute my will. Even when I'd mastered a theory or spell perfectly, there was never praise—just a lack of criticism. Maybe a subtle nod, sometimes a "that's not terrible." The lack of praise was the only praise the archmage Aughra ever gave to her only student.

  When her death approached, she wrote this book, pouring into it all her spite and bile and perfection. Then, she died with it grinning on her lap. I knew deep inside that she was laughing as her soul departed for the Shadowlands.

  And now her book was laughing at me.

  The book laughed, and laughed, and laughed until it slowly got it all out.

  "It wasn't that funny." I sulked.

  “Not funny at all,” Angra added.

  That seemed to irritate the old book. It shifted on the stone floor, using its covers to angle itself toward me as its jaw snapped shut. "Then perhaps the former warlock and his little sycophant need a better sense of humor." Its eyes narrowed on me, the corners of its mouth tightening. "But I suppose we all know why you have no sense of humor, little abandoned orphan boy."

  I pursed my lips, resisting the urge to rise to the bait. The desire to snap back passed quickly. I crossed my arms defensively as I waited for the tome to continue.

  "All that time, all that energy and effort and talent... and the one who wished to become the greatest Warlock in five centuries gets cut down by some brat plucked from another world. Oh, how the mighty fall and the ambitious fail. Following the dreams of a dead man, no less." Its lips curled upward again in a mockery of a smile. “Perhaps if you ever made a real decision, you would have achieved those dreams of yours, if yours they can be called at all.”

  Angra hissed at the tome and jumped off my shoulder and landed on the floor in front of it. She pointed a finger at its face. "Silence, worm food. He the most powerful warlock... Or was. And will be again!" She talked herself out of that circle.

  "Oh ho! How cute! The dutiful little imp speaks. Still protecting the delicate feelings of its selfish master, longing for him to look at her the way she looks at—"

  She cried out. Her tail snapped forward, striking the book's right eye with her stinger. She shrieked as the tip of her tail burned upon contact, black smoke billowing out to engulf the room in acrid fumes. Both of us coughed as the book glared at us, no worse for wear.

  "Insolent familiar." It spat. "Learn your place and [Kneel

  Angra’s knees wobbled. “I… won’t… bow… to… anyone… but… ah!!” Her legs buckled. The little red creature was forced to her hands and knees. “No!” She struggled to fight against the compulsion, but despite her best efforts, her head thumped onto the hard ground with a loud crack.

  “Know your place.” The book’s eyes narrowed.

  "Master! A—Abad! It's mocking you!" Angra cried out as she fought against the force pressing her down. "Kill it! Use your powers, Master! I know you haven't lost them all!"

  Without thinking, I rushed to help her, but the moment I touched her, I, too, was caught in the book's spell.

  "My, my, my. Your power has indeed lessened, [Lord of the Vault]

  I tried to rise, to resist the spell's effects, but it was impossible. I was too weak. Lacking the strength to fight back, my head planted against the stone next to my familiar's. Turning just enough to look at her, I saw tears of frustration streaming from her glowing yellow eyes, her fangs bared in defiance. Her little hand reached out to rest on mine.

  The grimoire laughed harder, louder, and deeper than before. Its bitter, mocking laughs echoed through the empty chamber as I knelt there helpless, my face pressed against unforgiving stone. Shame filled my heart then. My pride was broken.

  "Why, oh Abad-Shai, should I, the great Grimoire personally crafted by the most glorious mage this world has ever known, help someone as insignificant as you? Why shouldn't I wait for another being more powerful than you to come claim me? The Depths hold no risk for me. I can wait as long as I need."

  Silence. The echoes faded to nothing, leaving the three of us in a cold quiet. I licked my chapped lips, struggling for words. "I... because..."

  "Oh my, has the [Master of Masks]

  Angra gave my index finger a gentle squeeze. The gesture helped me collect my thoughts.

  "I admit defeat. You win, Grimoire. You are right. I am nothing now." I gave up resisting and yielded completely. As if a weight was lifted, the force pressing me down vanished, allowing me to rise. I rubbed my head, then dropped my head back to the floor. “I submit to your power, oh great Book of Shadows, legacy of the Archmage Aughra. I am yours to shape."

  Angra’s head jerked to face me. In the corner of my eye, I could see that her mouth was hanging open in shock.

  "You are wise beyond my ability to comprehend. So please, instruct me, as my master did long ago." I was nothing if not pragmatic. The book was powerful, and I was not. I would have to rebuild myself from the ground up.

  The grimoire was quiet for a moment before its chains rattled in arrogant pleasure. They unlatched from the back cover, and the book opened, pages fluttering on an invisible wind. "Intriguing. You would have never submitted before. You would have burned any at the mere suggestion that they could best you. Or, you would force me to submit, force me to open my mysteries to you." The book paused, letting the words hang. "Yet here you are, sitting in the dust and dirt, humbled and pleading for guidance. Very intriguing.” Its fluttering pages slowed. “If nothing else, your growth pleases me."

  “Then you’ll teach me?”

  Another pause stretched out the tension. "Perhaps this old book should lend its wisdom and power to such a willing, pliable pupil. You are no longer full of self-will. Yes, I believe you can now learn. I think I see why the old hag chose you."

  Angra and I both breathed sighs of relief.

  "Stand." It commanded.

  There was another pulse of force, and I was lifted off the ground. Beside me, Angra fluttered into the air, her wings fluttering uselessly.

  The book snapped shut, then floated upward to our eye level, its chain dangling beneath it like a severed umbilical cord. "Answer my question, student of my creator. Why do you deserve this boon?" The grimoire eyed me suspiciously, its lips turned downward, stretching the already tight flesh of the cover downward. "Speak truthfully; do not try to fool me. Remember, my secrets are valuable, and my creator knew you well, and I know all she knew."

  "I want revenge," I said simply. "For the ones who robbed my precious vault." I spoke with conviction. I would make them pay.

  "A lie."

  The force holding me up squeezed me, forcing the air from my lungs

  My mind raced. How was that insufficient? "The one who murdered me, and the ones who stole from me, must pay. I cannot allow others to believe I can be slain with impunity.”

  "So you believe you seek vengeance?"

  "Yes."

  “Another lie.”

  I felt my ribs creak under the force.

  “I want to rebuild my empire! It is my place to rule! I will have vengeance and rule!” I could barely get the words out.

  “More lies!”

  “I’m… not… lying!”

  The book’s covers snapped against one another, and the force pressing in on me vanished. I fell to my knees.

  “What… Why did you…”

  "How does revenge make you worthy of my knowledge?” It floated down to look me in the eye. “Countless seek revenge every day. Every moment, someone somewhere seeks bloody payment for a perceived wrong. Revenge does not make you special, Abad-Shai."

  "That's not—I also want..." I swallowed. What did I want?

  “There it is. There’s the truth.” The book flew within inches of my face. “What do you want?”

  My mind filled with thoughts. The exercise of power over the weak always had its appeal. Making the powerful crawl and fawn had been an exquisite joy. Yet, so much of my former life had been dull and hollow. I had power, but it was a prison. I had resources, but I was never free. I had concubines, but I never knew affection. I had a destiny, but I was never free.

  I'd spent all my time manipulating enemies and plotting against friends. And then I died.

  Now, granted a new chance, what did I truly want? After all this time, was there even an empire to rebuild? Enemies to punish? Servants to chastise? Did any of it matter anymore?

  "Hmmm," the book interrupted, "You are unsure of yourself. Doubt is the poison that plagues the weak and powerful alike. Yet doubt can also be the fuel that guides us to a new path." The book smiled again. It fluttered its covers and flew backward. "Death has forced you to abandon the frivolities of your former life. Without them blinding you, you begin to see.” The book hovered in front of me, clearly waiting for my response.

  "Master. Abad." Angra whispered as she landed beside me. Placing her hand on my arm, she looked up with those large yellow eyes of hers. I realized I’d missed them. "I believe in you. No matter what."

  I gazed into her eyes. My companion believed in me far more than I did myself. "Grimoire. I don't know what I want. I can't answer your question."

  “Truly?” Its smile wavered.

  No. That wasn't quite right. “Well... There is one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “I want to be free.”