The Book of Peril Read online

  A Division of Whampa, LLC

  P.O. Box 2160

  Reston, VA 20195

  Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509

  http://curiosityquills.com

  © 2018 Melissa McShane

  www.melissamcshanewrites.com

  Cover Art by Eugene Teplitsky

  http://eugeneteplitsky.deviantart.com/

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at [email protected], or visit http://curiosityquills.com

  ISBN 978-1-94809-962-2 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-71935-615-2 (paperback)

  Start Reading

  About the Author

  More Books from Curiosity Quills Press

  Full Table of Contents

  fternoon sunlight, the first taste of spring we’d had in days, warmed me as it poured through the plate glass window with ABERNATHY’S stenciled on it. I hopped down from the stepstool and dropped my squeegee into the red plastic bucket, where it landed with a splash and sent a couple of droplets flying. Not that I minded. The ancient linoleum, cracked and spangled with gray blisters, could stand another mopping. I stepped back, leaning against the dark walnut-stained plywood curve of the counter, and surveyed my work. No streaks, and the glass gleamed like crystal.

  “I still say that chore’s beneath you,” Viv said. She perched on the chair next to the front door, examining the tangerine finish of her nails and occasionally wobbling thanks to its uneven legs. The end of her rainbow-striped scarf brushed the linoleum, back and forth like it wanted to help with the cleaning.

  “It makes the store look better. Besides, who else is there?”

  “Judy.”

  “I don’t do windows,” Judy said. Since she was pushing a broom, her bald-faced refusal didn’t offend me. Dressed as she was in a knee-length gray jumper over a white blouse with full sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, she looked out of place doing any kind of menial labor.

  “Anyway, they’re done, and past time.” I used the corner of the rag tucked into my waistband to polish up a smear. The edges of the plate glass were beveled, warping the world beyond a tiny bit out of true. I enjoyed looking through those slivers, which reminded me of Abernathy’s Bookstore itself—looked normal from all angles except one, and that one was extraordinary.

  “Yes, because neither of you wants to work past closing.” Viv stood and came to lean on the counter, facing me. “We’re going shopping for the party on Saturday, remember?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s my birthday party. Of course I remember.”

  “Why are you going shopping for a party Viv is hosting?” Judy said.

  “Because Viv’s enthusiasm carries her away sometimes,” I said, remembering past experiences, “and I don’t want her buying a million sword-shaped toothpicks and making everyone reenact the battle of Waterloo. You’re coming, right?”

  Judy shrugged. Her eyes were fixed on her broom. “I suppose. I might have something else going on.”

  “Well, you’re welcome if you decide you’re interested.”

  “I might be. I don’t know my schedule.” She turned and pushed the broom off between the bookcases, tall and haphazardly assembled from unfinished yellow 2x8s, bursting with books. Its head was the perfect length to fit between them, packed closely as they were so if two people tried to pass each other, one would have to back up to let the other go by. I sighed, shaking my head at Viv, who grimaced. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if Judy and I were friends or not.

  I picked up the squeegee and bucket, spilling a few more drops of water. “You remember I said no to the mariachi band, right?”

  “I remember. You’re so boring. You said no to the live DJ, too.”

  “It’s a birthday party, Viv, not a celebrity housewarming. Your band is enough for me.”

  “We’re sounding pretty good these days, too. All right. Music, cake, and now we just need decorations.”

  The door swung open, sending the little bell over it jingling. “You’ve been cleaning,” Malcolm Campbell said. He nodded at my bucket. “The air smells fresh in here.”

  “It turned out the onion smell was a side effect of how cold it always was,” I said. “Once I found the thermostat, it disappeared. Anyway, today’s one of those days that make you feel like freshening everything up. Such a pretty day.”

  “I suppose you ‘got it for nothing for being a good girl.’”

  I laughed. “The Philadelphia Story again. That one was too easy.”

  “Appropriate, though, don’t you think?” He smiled. It showed off the dimple that always left me not knowing where to look. “I’m here to access my safe deposit box.”

  Behind him, Viv made an outrageous face, mouthing the words “Ask him,” and pointing at Malcolm. As if I didn’t know what she was getting at. My cheeks began to redden, and I turned my attention on the bucket.

  “Convenient, since I was going to the basement.” I hefted the bucket and was further flustered when he took it and the squeegee from me. “You shouldn’t carry those, not in that suit.”

  “It can handle a little water.” His suit today was light gray, with a plum-colored tie and pocket square, and his shoes gleamed in the sunlight. I led the way to the basement, willing my cheeks to go back to their usual color. Malcolm and I were friends, we were on a first-name basis, we had a running competition trying to stump each other with old movie quotes, and I was happy with things the way they were. Except for my cheeks, which thought otherwise.

  I trudged down the stairs, which swallowed my footsteps like they were carpeted in velvet, and accepted the bucket from Malcolm at their foot. “Let me get rid of this first.” I poured the dirty water away into the chipped porcelain sink, which was stained around the drain from many years of such service, in a slow trickle so it wouldn’t splash. “How have you been?”

  “Very busy. It seems in spring men’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of security systems. It’s been all men, too—no idea why.” Malcolm lounged against the nearest file cabinet, an ancient wooden one like the others lining two of the walls, and watched me rinse the bucket and squeegee. I put them in one of the narrow metal lockers that kept the chill of winter even into spring.

  “To me it feels like the world starts waking up in April. I mean, it’s been rainy as usual, but you can still feel winter’s passed. People think about things they haven’t all winter. Maybe alarm systems are one of those things.”

  “They’re considerably more complicated than just alarm systems, but I take your meaning.”

  I washed and dried my hands, then crossed the room to take the safe deposit box keys off the wall. “Do you handle more magical clients than not?”

  “It’s evenly balanced. Though the magi tend to want more elaborate systems. Illusory defenders, alarms that punch back, things like that.” Malcolm withdrew his own key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock next to mine. I pulled his box free and handed it to him.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Ask him, ask, you idiot. I paused with my foot on the bottommost step and said, “Um. Malcolm?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s, um, I mean…” He looked at me, his dark eyes inquiring, and I nearly lost my nerve. “I’m, um, having a party, a birthday party I mean, on Saturday, and you’re welcome to come if you want. You and your team.”

  “It’s your birthday?”

  “Tomorrow—but the party is Saturday.” You said that already, stupid. “Don’t worry about presents—it’s not that kind of party. Really don’t. No one’s bringing presents.” I wanted to shove my fist in my mouth to shut myself up. “It�
�s at Viv’s place. Saturday.”

  “I’ll ask the team. It will depend on whether we get called out, of course.”

  “Of course. Really, it’s no big deal if you can’t come. I just wanted you to know you were welcome.” Mission accomplished, I fled up the stairs. My cheeks had stayed their normal pink the whole time. I was growing as a person.

  “Well?” Viv demanded when I emerged from the stacks.

  “Well, what?” Judy said, carrying the broom past me.

  “Don’t go down there yet. Malcolm’s using his safe deposit box.”

  “Well, Malcolm can put up with the intrusion,” Judy said, but she stopped where she was. Since she had a long-time animosity toward Malcolm, that represented a major shift in her attitude.

  “I did it,” I told Viv.

  “Did what?” Judy asked.

  The door flew open, sparing me. “I’m here for an augury,” said the balding man who entered. He hadn’t gotten the memo that spring had arrived; he wore a heavy black wool coat and a red scarf looped several times around his neck.

  “Certainly, sir,” I said, holding out my hand to receive the augury slip. He handed it over with a preoccupied air as if this was just one of many errands he had to run this afternoon, along with buying bread and paying his utility bill. I took three steps and the timeless stillness of the oracle that was Abernathy’s enfolded me.

  Even the light looked different there, blue-tinted and chilly though the air was warm. The air smelled of spring flowers, daffodils and irises and jonquils as if someone had brought their garden indoors. I took a moment to unfold the slip of paper, though I wasn’t totally sure the oracle needed me to read the augury to fulfil it. Which job offer should I take? Nice and straightforward.

  I’d have used Abernathy’s catalogue, primed to provide answers to questions as simple as that one, instead of paying for an expensive augury. Not that I’d be allowed to. The custodian of Abernathy’s couldn’t use the oracle on her own behalf without violating the Accords, the rules governing the magical entities known as Neutralities. The magi feared Abernathy’s custodian might be biased in favor of one of the two factions the magical community was divided into, Nicolliens and Ambrosites. I thought I was plenty unbiased—I had good friends in both camps, and I wasn’t inclined to play favorites. But I was still subject to the Accords, and the restrictions didn’t chafe me. Much.

  I wandered between the bookcases, looking for the blue glow indicating which book was the man’s augury. The shelves were starting to look bare in places, which meant I would need to restock, which further meant finding an estate sale or something. The instruction manual had a list of places to shop for inexpensive books. I’d hoped it meant a trip to Powell’s downtown, but Judy had laughed when I suggested it, so I figured shopping at that bookstore wasn’t cost-effective. Or anonymous enough. Or both.

  Though the shelves were spaced closely, they didn’t look so huddled together and afraid as they had five months ago when I’d taken over as custodian. I looked up at the ceiling, a nervous habit formed when Abernathy’s had almost been destroyed by an alien monster like a giant pool of tar. Blank, high, and white, without a trace of invader.

  I rounded a corner and saw a dim blue light reflecting off one of the shelves in the distance. I walked a little faster. If I hurried, maybe I could be finished before Malcolm left. But what, exactly, would be the point of that? He’s just a good friend, that’s all.

  The book was titled How to Show and Sell Your Crafts and had a bright picture of a well-organized craft room on the cover, complete with color-coded plastic bins. I flipped it open and read Ethan Fifielt, $500, written in silver ink on the title page. Since I was the only one who could see the writing, it didn’t affect the book’s value—not that the value of an augury was in the physical book. Sometimes the most expensive books were battered old paperbacks missing half their back cover.

  I tucked the book under my arm and strode back through the oracle, patting a few of the books as I passed. I’d seen them moving and grumbling in the brief time I’d been the oracle’s body, and now I couldn’t help but think of them as alive.

  Malcolm wasn’t there when I emerged. Viv was perched on the stool behind the counter, fingering the keys of the antique cash register. “—though that won’t be for a while,” Judy was saying to the customer, who nodded. He’d unwrapped his scarf, and now it dangled to his knees.

  “Here you are, Mr. Fifielt,” I said. I extended the book to him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Um, your augury?”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “My name’s not Fifielt. It’s Branch. Doug Branch.”

  I opened the book again and read the silver words on the title page. “I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake. This augury is for Ethan Fifielt. I must have taken the wrong one.”

  “So get the right one. I have things to do.”

  Judy didn’t say anything, but I could tell she wanted to. If she had, it would be a criticism of my skills as custodian. She was a good assistant, never referred to the fact that she in the normal course of things would have been Abernathy’s custodian in my place, but she was sometimes brusque in her correcting of my mistakes. Her refraining from saying anything in public represented the closest she’d ever come to being generous with my faults.

  I tucked the book back under my arm and returned to the stacks. The oracle didn’t appear. I walked through the maze formed by the bookcases, narrow and hard to maneuver. The light remained faint gold. The air was warm and smelled of disinfectant, not the fresh flowery scent I’d left behind. I set the failed augury on a shelf and kept walking. “Now would be a good time for you to let me in,” I muttered under my breath. Still nothing.

  Eventually, I gave up and returned to the front of the store. “I’m sorry, Mr. Branch, but could I get you to write your augury again? And rephrase it?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just having trouble identifying your book.” If something was wrong with the oracle, I didn’t want it to get out until I’d had a chance to figure out the problem. I felt defensive of Abernathy’s, of its reputation, in a way I’d never realized was possible. I took the new augury slip and this time entered the silence of the oracle.

  The blue glow was immediately visible, coming from around the next corner. I took the book from its shelf (Wildflowers of the Desert Southwest) and opened it, praying for no more mistakes. To my relief, this one had Branch’s name on the title page. I sighed and returned to the front of the store, handing the book over. “Sorry about the delay.”

  “I should think so,” Branch said. He pulled out his wallet. “I’m accustomed to a certain level of service here, and I don’t appreciate having to wait. I’m a very busy man.”

  “Of course.” Did the Accords say specifically I wasn’t allowed to slap customers? Maybe Lucia would know. “Thank you for your business.”

  When the door shut behind Branch, Viv said, “You shouldn’t put up with that kind of behavior.”

  “The customer is always right, Viv.”

  Viv rocked back on the stool, then righted herself as if emphasizing her point. “This is a magical bookstore that prophesies for people. They ought to be grateful to be allowed to use it at all.”

  “What happened there?” Judy said.

  “I don’t know. I pulled the augury off the shelf like always. It was just for the wrong person.”

  “That’s not supposed to happen. You must have done something wrong.”

  “Are you always this critical?” Viv said.

  “It’s not a criticism. The oracle doesn’t get things wrong. Maybe you mistook the augury.”

  I shook my head, refusing to let Judy’s abrasiveness get to me. “You’ve had the training. You know the oracle only selects one book at a time. This was as clear as ever.”

  “So, what else?” Judy leaned her broom against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. At least her scowl seemed directed at the problem and not at
me. “I’ve never heard of the oracle making a mistake of any kind, let alone choosing the wrong augury.”

  “It wasn’t exactly a mistake. It was more like it thought it was dealing with someone else.”

  “Even that seems improbable. How could Abernathy’s not know who was asking the question?”

  Viv hopped off the stool. “Seems like you need to experiment,” she said.

  “How?”

  “Have someone ask a question and see if it happens again.”

  The thought of going through that again gave me a twinge of despair. “Well, I can’t ask for an augury, it’s against the Accords.”

  “I don’t feel like spending money on an expensive augury when I don’t have anything I want to know,” Judy said. “And I doubt you have any money to spare,” she told Viv.

  “What about Malcolm? Is he still here?” I asked, trying not to sound eager.

  “He left while you were in there the second time,” Viv said.

  “Too bad,” Judy said. “He’s certainly got enough money to waste.”

  I slumped against the counter. There was a smear on the cracked glass top, and I polished it with my shirt cuff. “I guess we have no choice but to wait and see what happens next. I hate that.”

  “And hope it doesn’t happen again,” Judy said.

  iv’s apartment complex had been built in the ‘50s and never updated. The walls, the pale, flat turquoise of a public swimming pool, bore rusty stains around the eaves where the gutters leaked during heavy rainfall. The two-story buildings stood sentinel around an oval patch of grass, at one end of which was a sturdy swing set much newer than the apartments and a merry-go-round that canted to one side. It turned by itself even in calm weather, giving the impression that ghosts were using it for nocturnal play dates. Viv and I sometimes sat on the walkway outside her apartment, our legs dangling over the edge, and watched Mrs. Torrance’s kids run around the grass, screaming at each other. They were cute, from a distance.

  Tonight Viv had decorated the tiny pavilion at the other end of the oval with streamers and balloons and set out stacks of plates next to the giant sheet cake she’d optimistically bought at the grocery store down the street. It read HAPPY BIRTHDAY HEL across the top because she’d opted to save money by decorating it herself and had run out of room. An inflatable gorilla wearing a party hat leaned against one upright of the pavilion, its extended plastic arms draped with more streamers and a sign that repeated the sentiment on the cake, though with my name completely spelled out across it. A couple of coolers filled with beer and soft drinks flanked it on either side. Beer and cake—all this party really needed. That, and music.