‘Are you looking for something in particular?’
There he is, Beelzebub, staring from behind his counter, leaning forward on his knuckles which glow white under the artificial light, and his all too easy smile. Does he remember us? Does he remember me, afterwards? He does, I see the knowing narrowing of his eyes. He knows everything about all his customers. He reads their hearts as he watches them scanning the rows, choosing their visions and dreams from his shelves. He smiles as they pay for their choice and he strips them of their very souls, forcing them to return, because now they’re so consumed by the power of the Book that they have to return and buy more to fulfil their dreamers’ lives.
How do I answer this man without giving him a part of myself? So I say, ‘Have you got the man in
