The Book of Mayhem Read online

  The Book of Mayhem

  The Last Oracle Book Three

  Melissa McShane

  Copyright © 2019 by Melissa McShane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Alexandra Brandt

  http://www.alexandrajbrandt.com

  Cover images © Phanuwatn | Dreamstime.com

  © Yurii Shoffa | Dreamstime.com

  © Benjamin Ordaz | Dreamstime.com

  For my mom,

  who finally loved one of my books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  1

  I hurried along the sidewalk toward Abernathy’s front door, bags in hand. It was about ninety degrees outside, and at nearly eighty percent humidity the air felt like a hot, wet washcloth wrapped around me. Stepping into the comfort of the store was like walking into a refrigerator, cool and dry. Whatever Abernathy’s had for a cooling system was more than a match for the mugginess of a Friday afternoon. It would have to be, to keep all those books in ideal condition.

  I breathed out in relief as the smell of roses surrounded me, faint but unmistakable. Even fainter was the smell of unfinished wood from the yellow 2x8s the many bookcases were made of, and the scent of old paper and ink from thousands of books. The bookcases stood at irregular angles to each other, making crooked corridors narrow enough in places that only one person could pass. Abernathy’s looked strange even for a used book store, and casual customers usually went away in disgust when they discovered how unorganized it was. But for those who knew the secret, it was a place of wonder.

  “Satisfied?” Judy said. My co-worker was perched on the stool behind the cash register and sounded more than a little smug.

  “Are you always this pleased with yourself when you’re right?” I dumped the bags containing a couple of boxed salads and some bottles of Diet Coke, beaded with sweat, on the counter with its cracked glass top.

  “Yes. Always.”

  “Well, you were right. I should have let you go to the market. But it’s just next door, and I get so tired of being inside all day. I just wanted to see the sun for five minutes.”

  “It’s overcast.”

  “Now I know that. Anyone come in?”

  “I think everyone’s waiting for the storm to pass. It should rain in an hour or so, the forecast says.” Judy picked up a salad and hopped down from the stool. She was tiny, at least three inches shorter than average-sized me, but she carried herself like a six-foot-tall Amazon warrior. “But let’s eat anyway. The afternoon shift might be busier.”

  I took my own salad and drink and made a face. “I wish you’d stop calling it that. It’s pure stupidity on the part of the factions.”

  “I make allowances for how new you still are to this world. Conflict between the factions is inevitable. It’s why my father and Parish worked out this arrangement.”

  “I hate it.” Two months earlier, when animosities between the Nicollien and Ambrosite factions had been high, their respective leaders William Rasmussen and Ryan Parish had worked out a system in which Nicolliens used Abernathy’s in the morning and Ambrosites came in the afternoon. I’d refused to go along with it, but they’d imposed it on their people anyway. And now it had become the de facto rule. Why couldn’t they just behave like grownups?

  “It’s worked, hasn’t it? No more tension between customers, no more loud arguments.”

  I scowled again, but followed her to the break room, where I pulled out my chair with more than usual force. “If I can stay impartial, why can’t they?”

  “You’ve got more incentive. The Accords impose sanctions if a custodian of a Neutrality isn’t impartial. Take it up with the Board if you’re so annoyed.”

  “They’d just say ‘suck it up, cupcake.’ Not in so many words.”

  “I could hear Lucia saying it that way, though.”

  “In exactly that way.” Lucia Pontarelli, custodian of the Gunther Node of magic and local law enforcement in the magical community of the Pacific Northwest, had an acerbic turn of phrase when she was irritated. When she wasn’t irritated, too, come to think on it. “I’ve been afraid to ask her what she thinks of the Board of Neutralities after being acquitted of the charge of partiality.”

  “She hasn’t behaved as if anything is different. I have to say, I don’t like her much, but I respect her.”

  “Me too. Though I like her more than you do.”

  Judy paused with a forkful of mixed greens halfway to her mouth. “Did you hear the door?”

  I’d heard the bells chime, but was hoping to pretend otherwise. It was a rare day when I actually got five minutes to eat my lunch in peace. I dropped my fork and sighed. “I’ll be back.”

  The man by the door was unfamiliar to me, but then I didn’t know more than a fraction of the magi in the Portland community, let alone those who drove from farther afield to visit the oracle. “Welcome to Abernathy’s,” I said. “Can I help you?”

  “Just an augury,” he said. As if there was anything ‘just’ about paying for a prophecy from the world’s only living oracle. Though ‘living’ wasn’t really the right word. Maybe.

  “Do you have it written down?”

  He startled, as if I’d goosed him. He was a crane of a man, his hands held close before him as if clutching a lady’s purse. “Um…yes,” he said, dipping into his back pocket and pulling out a wallet. “It’s in the form of a question.”

  “Good. Thank you.” I accepted the creased slip of paper from him and smiled, but it didn’t put him at ease. “I’ll just be a minute.” I turned and walked between the bookcases and into the timeless peace of the oracle.

  The color of the light went slightly blue, and brightened, as if the sun was shining unimpeded by the overcast that covered the sky. Dust motes flickered through the sunbeams, drifting along on a breeze I couldn’t feel. I walked at a normal pace, trying not to let my hunger make me impatient. Not that it would disturb the oracle, who never seemed affected by my physical or emotional condition. I was its hands, carrying out the answers to requests made by those who knew how to ask. They brought their questions, and the oracle chose a book they had to study and analyze for the answer. The oracle wouldn’t answer every question—for example, nothing beginning with the word “who”—but most people went away from Abernathy’s satisfied.

  I took a look at the augury question. Can I trust my new business partner? I’d have probably used Abernathy’s catalogue for that question; it provided simple answers, particularly yes/no answers, for a fraction of the cost of an augury. But it wasn’t my business to tell other people theirs.

  Ahead, I saw a glow brighter than the blue-tinged air
and walked a little faster. My stomach was reminding me I hadn’t finished my lunch. I turned a couple of corners, sidled between two bookcases, and found the glowing volume: The Partner, by John Grisham. I’d never read it and had no idea what it might tell my customer.

  I pulled it off the shelf, and the blue glow vanished, replaced by an almost electric tingle. It had been two months since the oracle had come under attack by someone who’d tried to destroy it by making it give false auguries, but I still felt relief every time an augury came off successfully.

  I opened the cover. Mitch Hallstrom, $725. Funny how the oracle always priced its auguries in numbers divisible by 25.

  When I returned to the front, Hallstrom was standing where I’d left him, eyeing our antique cash register. But he wasn’t what left me feeling breathless. Another man stood near the door, looking elegant and handsome in a pearl-gray three-piece suit with an emerald green tie and pocket square. I swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat and turned my attention to Hallstrom, feeling pinned by the gaze of the newcomer.

  “$725, Mr. Hallstrom,” I said.

  He startled again, looking just like the crane I’d imagined him as. “I…that’s too much. I can’t afford it.”

  He wasn’t the first to have this problem. “I’m sorry, but Abernathy’s price is final. I can hold the book for you while you gather the payment—and you can pay in sanguinis sapiens, or trade in kind—”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’ll accept other books in exchange for this one. It has to be a lot of books, though, and they have to be in good condition.”

  Hallstrom nodded. “I can do that. I’ll come back before closing, just…don’t lose the book, okay?” He was out the door before I could say anything else.

  Willing my cheeks to stay their normal pink, I said, “Hi, Malcolm.”

  “Good afternoon,” Malcolm Campbell said. “You don’t mind that I’m here before two?”

  I laughed, and didn’t think it sounded forced. “You’re practically the only person other than me who doesn’t care about the restrictions. And you know I’m not enforcing them.”

  “I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

  Other than emotional trouble, but that’s not your fault. “You won’t. Mr. Rasmussen already dislikes me, and you being here won’t make it worse. You need an augury?”

  “Safe deposit box.”

  I was keenly aware of his tall, powerful presence behind me as I led the way through the store to the basement steps. I’d had a huge crush on him, and he’d told me he had feelings for me, but with him being an Ambrosite, we couldn’t be together without violating the Accords, which said I had to be impartial in my treatment of both factions. And “impartial,” according to everyone I’d asked, meant a custodian couldn’t date a member of either faction.

  So I’d moved on. Sort of. My boyfriend Jason was cute, and nice, and I liked him, and…those were all wishy-washy words, weren’t they? But there was no sense my pining after what I couldn’t have, even if my heart still leaped every time Malcolm came through the door.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while,” I said, then felt like an idiot. What if he thought I’d been looking for him? What if he thought it meant I still cared? Which I didn’t. Which was a lie. But I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me and my hopeless feelings.

  “I’ve been in Phoenix, training some new teams.”

  “Phoenix in July? What is it, 120 degrees in the shade? That’s crazy!”

  “Well, you know ‘insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.’”

  “It would have to. Training couldn’t wait until winter?”

  I caught him looking at me with a funny expression. “You missed it.”

  “Missed what?”

  “‘Insanity runs in my family’? Arsenic and Old Lace?”

  “Oh.” Now I did blush. “You’re right. I completely missed it.”

  An awkward silence fell. We both loved old movies and had a running game trying to stump each other with quotes. “I don’t think either of us has ever missed before,” I said, gamely trying to make a joke of it even though I felt as though I’d somehow let him down. “What should my penalty be?”

  “Watching it again, of course.” Malcolm put his key in the lock. I quickly inserted mine and removed the box from the cabinet. “You could watch it with your family.”

  “That would be nice.” I took a deep breath. “Or I could see it with Jason. He’s not into old movies, but he might like that one.” Maybe someday I’d stop feeling uncomfortable about mentioning Jason in front of Malcolm if I did it often enough.

  “Everyone likes that one.” Malcolm turned away, dismissing me.

  I hurried upstairs and into the break room, where Judy was just throwing away her trash. I flung myself into my seat and shoveled salad into my mouth, praying Judy wouldn’t notice anything was wrong.

  “Campbell’s here, isn’t he?” Judy leaned against the counter next to the microwave, which was new and looked out of place next to the thirty-year-old refrigerator, and folded her arms across her chest. Judy was too damned observant.

  “Safe deposit box,” I mumbled, and swigged my Diet Coke.

  “You have got to let go of him.”

  “I know that, Judy!” I said, spraying bits of lettuce into the box. “I have Jason. He’s more than enough for me. This isn’t a big deal.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “With Jason? Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

  “Then it had better not be a big deal. It’s not fair to him.” Judy left the room, closing the door behind her.

  I flung my fork at the trash can and shoved my plastic salad box away. My crush wasn’t a big deal. This was just me being stupid. It would pass, especially if Malcolm kept going away on these training missions.

  I pulled out my phone and started to call Jason, but remembered he was at work and his boss didn’t like him taking personal calls. We’d do something tonight, probably with Viv and her latest boyfriend whose name I’d forgotten, and I wouldn’t think about Malcolm Campbell at all.

  I got up and threw away my trash, then went back to the front counter. Judy wasn’t there. She was probably doing something in the office, working on that new customer database she was so proud of. It was going to make our lives a lot easier, so I was happy to let her do it.

  I put Hallstrom’s book away under the counter, then leaned on the cracked glass top with both elbows and hoped Malcolm had finished and left while I was eating. I didn’t need my calm disturbed any more today.

  Footsteps echoed from deeper within the store, and Malcolm emerged, dusting his hands on a white handkerchief he then tucked away inside his coat. He gave a good impression of a wealthy, cultured man, owner of a private security company, but I’d seen him fight, and knew that impression concealed the true man—a powerful, skilled ex-military operative who put his life on the line defending humanity against monsters from another reality. No wonder I had trouble not being attracted to him.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Are you off for more training?” I tried to sound blasé. His absence could only help me feel calmer.

  “No, I’m home for the next little while.” He lowered his voice, though there was no one to hear us. “Invader presence in the city has gone up in the last week or so, which means my team is on alert. A lot of teams are, frankly. You may see an upsurge in augury requests.”

  “Thanks for the warning. Say hello to the team for me, would you?” I was good friends with his teammates Hector, Olivia, and Derrick, and the new awkwardness between me and Malcolm meant I saw less of them.

  “I will. Good afternoon, Helena.”

  When he was gone, I hopped down and went into the stacks. The oracle wasn’t active, so they were just ordinary bookcases, but I felt comforted being surrounded by them. “I still don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” I whispered, “but I
feel as if I’m being guided, and that’s thanks to you. I hope I’m living up to your expectations.” I never felt stupid, talking to the oracle even if it wasn’t present, but I certainly didn’t want anyone else hearing—

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I turned around fast, catching myself on one of the bookcases. I knew that voice. A blond woman, tall and buxom, stood looking at me with her hands on her hips, her mouth quirked in a familiar smile. I saw it in the mirror every morning.

  My hands gripped the bookcase so hard my fingers tingled. I drew in a breath and said, “Cynthia?”

  2

  “Surprised?” my sister said. Her smile broadened, and she took a step toward me. I let go of the bookcase to hug her. Surprise wasn’t the word for it. Dread would be more like it.

  “Of course! When did you get in?”

  “This morning. I talked to Mom and she gave me this address. I have to say, Hellie, this isn’t what I expected. Don’t you even alphabetize?” She wore an expensive-looking tan suit with a skirt that came to above her knees and a pale blue silk shell that showed off her excellent figure. She drew one finger across one of the upper shelves and showed me the dust clinging to it.

  Familiar irritation rose up in me, and I tried to ignore it. Telling her I hated being called Hellie would only remind her to do it more often. I walked away, wanting her out of the stacks. “There’s a special organizational system. What are you doing in Portland?”

  She sauntered along behind me. “Business conference, plus I wanted to see my loving family, starting with my favorite baby sister.”

  “I’m your only sister.” And I’m not a baby.