Someone approached Dexter’s chair and leaned over him, which brought his mind back to life, to agony. But now the clamp freed his tongue. Dex closed his mouth and cried. The rabbi’s tongue was freed as well. He let out the most awful, broken groan.
“Now,” said Blue Mask from his throne with that god-awful voice. “I will ask you folks one more time. If you do not tell me what I need to know, you will never tell anyone anything ever again.”
“I know nothing of this book!” the rabbi raged, though his words were almost incomprehensible. “We have never believed it to be a literal thing!”
“I see,” Red Mask said. “What do you have to say, Mr. Wax?”
Dexter wasn’t sure he could speak, but he didn’t get the chance.
“I’ll tell you,” someone said. Nora. She was there, beside Dexter now. “Don’t hurt them any more. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Nora,” Dex managed to croak. She wasn’t strong enough for this. It was his fault. What in God’s name was he thinking bringing her here?
“Scraped,” she said. “The names must be scraped from the pages.”
“It will not damage the pages?”
“No.”
“Is a special tool required?”
“I—I don’t think so.”
“Bring me the book.”
A Blue Mask rose from his chair, then collected it from the podium along with an ornate and gleaming red-handled dagger. Then he walked to the throne and handed them over.
Red Mask opened the book on his lap and considered the pages before him a moment. Then he looked up. “Who shall be our test subject?” he asked. “Oh, wait. I think I know.” And then he laughed. “My brothers,” he said, holding the dagger aloft, “say a little prayer for the Holy Fath—”
Just then the door behind Dexter crashed to the floor.