I had the day off from Printed Page, but I went in in the afternoon anyway because things can get busy on Saturdays, and I wanted to see if John needed a break.
It’s also nice to be able to have time away from the counter to talk to customers. When I asked one if I could help him find anything, he said he was looking for rare books about the occult because he uses them for his work as an exorcist — or a provider of “energy worker protection services,” as his business card reads. He said that people often don’t know what they’re summoning when they use printed spirit evocations. He said that even an innocent novel might have the power to summon a spirit. I wondered how that might affect pricing.
Tony — by now we were on a first-name basis — said that he is a non-denominational exorcist, and that helps him get business. I asked him how someone would know they needed his services. He said maybe things break without reason, or there are too many coincidences that just aren’t coincidences, or maybe your teenage daughter has bloody scratches appear along her rib cage. I told him of a time we saw a long, thin, black cylinder move across our living room. “It’s like going into a forest,” he explained, speaking of the supernatural. “Sometimes, it’s just squirrels and birds, but sometimes it’s worse.” I thought about asking him if there were any laws, regulations or licensing requirements for exorcists, but then I remembered: When it comes to exorcism, possession is nine-tenths of the law.
We were having this, uh, spirited discussion when the phone rang. I answered it. The caller said he had a question: “Who writes used books?”
I answered, “The same people who wrote the book when it was new.”
“No, I mean, like with Stephen King, who wrote his used books?”
“Stephen King.”
“He writes used books?”
“Let me explain. You buy a new book by Stephen King. You read it. It is now used. Stephen King still wrote it.”
“How about John Grisham?”
I took a different tack. “Let me ask you. Who makes Toyotas?”
“Toyota.”
“Who makes used Toyotas?”
“How did you know I have a Camry?”
I told him I was sorry, but I could not be of help, and I hung up.
Back at the counter, a girl was buying a book on French Impressionists. It had been part of Pat Grego’s stock. Pat was a bookseller who willed us her books when she died several years ago. I didn’t know we had any of her books left, but I did know that within ten minutes, I’d encountered an exorcist and a person not of sound mind. And now a dead woman was selling books.
I threw some salt over my shoulder and got the hell out.