Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

'You've been activated,' Iversen explained. 'That's when you fainted, during the seance. We were afraid you might not wake up again.'

Jon opened his eyes and smiled. He didn't feel anything special other than fatigue and thirst. There was no sign that he had changed, and for a moment he wished he didn't have the powers but was just a normal person who could resume his old life.

'You're a transmitter, like your father,' said Iversen with pride in his voice. 'And a bit more than that, I must say.'

Pau came back with a glass, and Jon propped himself up again and greedily drank the lukewarm water. He handed the glass back and gave Pau a grateful nod.

'You'd better get some more,' suggested Katherina, and Pau trudged off.

'I don't feel any different,' said Jon after clearing his throat vigorously. 'Are you sure it worked?'

'I'll say it did,' exclaimed Iversen, laughing with relief. 'Far beyond our expectations.'

'Don't you remember anything at all?' asked Kortmann again.

Jon tried to concentrate, but he was much too exhausted.

'I remember watching a film,' he began hesitantly. 'And there was lots of smoke and fire.' He looked enquiringly at Iversen. 'You said I did that?'

Iversen nodded. 'Apparently your powers can manifest themselves as energy discharges of one sort or another, most likely electrical. In any case, you shortcircuited the electrical fixtures in the basement, causing fire to break out.'

Jon peered at the others. None of them laughed; on the contrary, Clara and Kortmann seemed uncomfortable at even being in the same room with him. Clara was standing at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands, while Kortmann sat a short distance away with his hands on the wheelchair handrims, ready to roll away if it proved necessary.

Pau came back with another glass of water; he too seemed scared to come too close to Jon. After delivering the glass, Pau gripped his right arm with his left hand and backed away from the bed. Jon drank the water.

'You mentioned that you knew where we would find the Shadow Organization,' said Kortmann.

Jon nodded.

'A client,' he said curtly. 'Someone who has shown a suspicious amount of interest in taking over Libri di Luca.'

Kortmann and Clara exchanged puzzled glances and then looked at Jon. He didn't feel like giving them any more details at the moment. Partly because he was too worn out for a major interrogation, and besides, he was still bitter about what Remer had cost him – a bitterness that might give the wrong impression to his listeners, who were already sceptical.

'I don't buy it,' declared Pau. 'He could just be a zealous book pusher. If there really is a Shadow Organization behind everything, what would they want with Libri di Luca?'

'I think I can answer that,' said Iversen. 'Libri di Luca is one of the oldest antiquarian bookshops in Copenhagen. The books up there on the balcony and downstairs in the basement don't just have sentimental value for a bibliophile. They have been charged. For years Lectors have been reading these books in this very location. For reasons we don't fully understand, a book becomes charged with each reading. Luca even had a theory that this energy could be accumulated in the building itself.' Kortmann was about to protest, but Iversen raised his hand for permission to go on. 'Perhaps it's no coincidence that it's easier to conduct an activation here than in other places,' he continued. 'Perhaps it's because of the books themselves, but it could also be because the walls contain the energy of generations.'

'And it's that energy that Jon released?' Katherina asked.

'Yes. Or he was able to link to it in some way,' replied Iversen. 'At least that would explain why the Shadow Organization isn't just interested in the books but in the space itself.'

'But then why did they try to burn the shop down?' asked Pau stubbornly.

'It could have been just a warning,' replied Iversen. 'Or perhaps the energy doesn't disappear with fire.'

Jon had lain down again. He didn't feel he had tapped into any outside energy source; instead it felt as though he himself had been drained so effectively that he could hardly keep his eyes open. The voices around him merged together into a humming sound, and he tried hard not to fall asleep. He thought he heard Katherina calling him, but he no longer had the strength to open his eyes.

Jon savoured waking up in his own bed. He could hardly remember the last time he was able to stay in bed in good conscience and take a snooze. There was nothing he had to do, no piles of work tugging at his conscience or meetings he had to attend. On the nightstand was a glass of water, which he downed in one gulp. It was daylight outside. The clock radio told him it was early morning.

He didn't remember how he'd managed to get home, and it was his curiosity about this question that finally made him get out of bed. He was wearing a T-shirt and boxers, which seemed to indicate that he hadn't undressed on his own. Normally he slept in the nude.

In the living room he found Katherina sleeping on the sofa. She was covered with a grey blanket, a paltry counterpoint to her red hair and pale complexion. A pair of jeans and a sweater were neatly placed on the coffee table next to a glass of water.

He stood there studying the sleeping woman. The flickering of her eyelids revealed that she was dreaming, and for a moment he wished to be there, to see the pictures she was seeing, just as she was able to see the ones his reading had produced. He smiled as he tore himself away and tiptoed out to the kitchen. There was nothing in the cupboards that he would want to offer a guest for breakfast, so Jon slipped quietly back to the bedroom to put on his clothes and shoes.

It was foggy outside, a thick, almost creamy mist that made it difficult to see more than twenty metres ahead. With his hands in his pockets, Jon strolled the few hundred metres over to the bakery.

It was in the bakery that he first noticed it.

Jon was standing in the queue behind two other customers. An elderly woman was in front, fumbling with the coins in her purse, and behind her stood a middle-aged man in a suit, trying to control his impatience. He was presumably on his way to work, and judging by the clock, he was running late. Jon's gaze scanned the interior of the shop, looking from the customers to the bakery assistant to the newspaper rack.

As he focused on the morning paper, he felt a slight jolt that made him wince. The story on the front page was a relatively ordinary article about a new school reform the government had in the works, but as Jon began reading the opening paragraph he felt the text reach out towards him, as if it were elastic and almost insisted on being read aloud.

Alarmed, Jon shifted his glance away, but no matter where he looked, he felt words and messages forcing themselves on him from signs, posters and brochures hung up around the shop, enticing him to pronounce them and shape them.

He looked down at his shoes and kept his gaze there until the bakery assistant asked what she could get him. He ordered and paid without looking up and then hurried out of the shop as soon as he had the bakery bags in hand.

On his way home, Jon kept his gaze on the pavement and walked quickly until he reached the front entrance. He took the stairs at a run, because when he glanced at the nameplates on the doors, it was as if they were reaching out for him, trying to stop him or trip him.

Jon hastily let himself into the flat and slammed the door shut. Out of breath, he stood there for a moment, leaning against the door frame.

'Jon?'

He heard Katherina's worried voice from the living room. He wiped the sweat from his brow and went into the flat. There he was met by Katherina, who had put on her sweater and wrapped the blanket round her waist. She came towards him.