Shemhazai walked through the library slowly, lost in thought. He was sure of his decision but doubted his resolve. He glanced at the large leather portfolio he carried.
It was closing time and the final security checks were almost done. He headed to the guard station and sat behind the desk, then tapped the three-digit code into the combination keypad and opened the small metal door of the lockbox under the desk. Two sets of master keys were kept there. He pulled one set off the hook and left the box open. Shemhazai knew the keys would open doors but not display cases. It would only be a small inconvenience.
He started toward the display rooms in the back. Soon he reached the climate-controlled room that sheltered the Voynich. He tried the handle; as he suspected, the room was already locked. Shemhazai used the master key to let himself in.
He went to the display case, set down the black portfolio, and looked at the Voynich manuscript. Seeing it now he felt a slight spark of emotion somewhere between fear and awe. He laid a hand on the cold Plexiglas for a moment. He hoped he could touch the manuscript without ill consequence.
He felt beneath the case and lifted the lid, but the case was locked. Only the curators had keys for the display cases. The security guards were expected to protect the books — not handle them.
Shemhazai knew he was about to start a journey from which there would be no return. He breathed deeply, then lifted his arms and spoke. “Father, forgive me my sins.”
As he spoke the last word, his body fell like a discarded costume, all life obviously gone before it reached the floor. Almost as soon as it came to rest, the body began to wither; the skin turned dirty brown, then gray, then began sinking into the bones beneath.
In the place where the security guard had stood was now a glowing, golden figure. Without his earthly disguise, Shemhazai stood seven feet tall. He had perfect skin. He reached out and slid his hand through the lid of the Plexiglas case as if it weren’t there. He gripped the Voynich, pulled it out of the case, then held it tightly in both hands.
Pain struck Shemhazai. His body burned and throbbed inside and out. His vision blurred. He must find a new host, and fast. He could survive only a few moments in his true form. Then the pain would become overwhelming, and he would cease to exist. Shemhazai hoped he would not need to take a student from campus: he and Azazel had agreed never to take young, healthy hosts.
He picked up the leather portfolio and slid the Voynich inside. Then he left.
Soon he and Azazel would kill the boy and then destroy this book. God would have to forgive their sin.
He hoped.