The Book of Peril Page 10

  The door slammed open, a rare occurrence these days, and it startled me out of my reverie. “Welcome to—oh,” I said as I registered who’d walked through my door. The man was tall, taller even than Malcolm, with very dark skin and eyes so brown they were nearly black. His bald head shone in the indirect light of Abernathy’s, and muscles bulged under his tight gray T-shirt and black jeans. “Mr. Parish, it’s good to see you.”

  “Blessings upon this place,” Ryan Parish intoned. Parish, the local leader of the Ambrosites, was a traditionalist, for all he dressed like the bodybuilder he was in his private life. “I’d like a moment of your time, custodian.”

  I glanced at all the other people in the store, who stood like statues watching this interaction. “Please join me in my office,” I said, glaring at everyone else and willing them to hear my warning: start a fight, and you’re banned for life.

  Parish strode ahead of me, forcing me to trot to keep up. He was as gorgeous as Malcolm, but where Malcolm’s smile made me tremble, Parish’s smile reminded me of a predator’s, mirthless and calculating. He went into my office and closed the door behind me.

  “Have you had much trouble?” he said.

  “Mostly arguments. Malcolm Campbell broke up a fight just now.”

  Parish nodded, regal as a king. “Good man, Campbell. I’ve been talking to Rasmussen. Tensions are high everywhere. Those damned Nicolliens think we’ve some sort of vendetta against Judy Rasmussen and are manufacturing evidence against her. Of course, we’d never bother to do anything like that, but you can’t talk to irrational people.”

  “You believe she’s innocent?”

  “Of course not. She’s clearly guilty. We just haven’t made that up.” Parish’s careless dismissal of Judy’s problem angered me, and I opened my mouth to protest, but he kept going. “What matters is there’s unrest, and unrest is bad for magery. Too much chance of it spilling over into the mundane world, revealing our secrets. All that unrest is centered on this store and its troubles.”

  “Mr. Parish, I hope you’re not suggesting I close my doors.”

  Parish waved his hand, brushing my comment away. “Nothing so drastic. Rasmussen and I have discussed it, and we think it would be better for everyone if you imposed a curfew. No Ambrosites before 2 p.m., no Nicolliens after that time. Everyone can still use the Neutrality, but there’s no chance for conflict.”

  “No.”

  Parish’s eyes narrowed. “No?”

  His stance made me feel like the king’s disobedient servant, but I stood my ground. “That’s what I said. I’m not going to turn Abernathy’s into a demilitarized zone just because you factions can’t control yourselves like civilized people. Everyone is free to use the store whenever they choose, and if they start a fight, they’re out. Possibly for good. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You think you can talk to me that way?”

  “Actually, yeah, I do. I was the custodian of this Neutrality before you became the Ambrosite leader—” not long before, but that’s not important—“and I might be custodian after you’ve moved on. My duty is to the Neutrality, not to maintaining order within the factions. I respect you and Mr. Rasmussen both, but you don’t have the authority to tell me how to run Abernathy’s.”

  Parish’s jaw was set tight. “You’re going to turn this conflict into full-out rioting.”

  “No, undisciplined magi looking for a fight are going to turn it into full-out rioting. Like I said, Mr. Parish, I’m not responsible for the actions of your people, yours or Mr. Rasmussen’s. I hate that things have come to this. I have friends on both sides. But you are the one who can keep it from becoming a war, not me.”

  “You’re going to regret this.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a growl.

  “I choose to believe that wasn’t a threat.” I sat on the edge of my desk and folded my arms. “And, Mr. Parish? Judy is one of those friends, and I believe she’s innocent. So don’t try to draw me into whatever political hay you plan to make of her unjust arrest.”

  Now you could have used Parish’s jaw to crack walnuts. He turned and left without another word. I slumped against the desk and covered my face with my hands. Standing up to Parish had felt good enough I realized I, too, had been spoiling for a fight. Judy being arrested had been so unfair I wanted to punch something, though how that would make everything right, I didn’t know.

  I went back into the store. The noise level had calmed somewhat, and I realized there were a lot fewer people there. A longer look told me all of those remaining were Nicolliens. Parish had no doubt ordered his followers to, well, follow him out of the store. That was one way to remove the conflict.

  It occurred to me Parish and Rasmussen could impose the kind of curfew they’d proposed on their own, just by telling their followers when they were allowed to come into the store. That pissed me off, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it except refuse to make it official. I considered telling the rest of the customers off, asking them to either pay for an augury or leave, but it wasn’t up to me to determine how people used Abernathy’s. I’d always liked that people would come in just to chat with me or with friends. It was my bad mood that made me so cranky.

  I locked up at six feeling like George Bailey must have felt in It’s a Wonderful Life when his building and loan ends the day with two dollars left and therefore doesn’t go out of business. Only I didn’t have Donna Reed to go home to. Though, since I owned the movie on DVD, I could go upstairs and watch it. That sounded like a good idea.

  I was halfway to the office when I heard someone banging on the front door. I stopped and closed my eyes. Maybe they’ll go away. The banging stopped. I sighed in relief and took a few more steps. More banging. I swore and turned around. It was Saturday, damn it, people should be home with a bowl of popcorn and a Jimmy Stewart movie.

  “We’re closed,” I told the young man who stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and desperate.

  “I know. I need a catalogue. It’s my little girl—she’s missing, the police are looking everywhere but I just—you have to help me.”

  “I’m out of catalogues,” I said. “Come in, take a breath. When did she go missing?”

  “This afternoon—please, she’s only three, help me!”

  I snatched the ledger and tore a page out of the back, handed it and a pen to the man. “Write it, quickly.”

  “But an augury can take weeks—”

  “I know. Abernathy’s knows. Just try, all right?” I jigged with impatience as the man scribbled a note. “What’s your name?”

  “Todd Lancaster. Please—”

  But I was already gone, racing toward the shelves and slipping sideways between them. The oracle’s presence rose up around me. “Light, light, where is it?” I muttered, casting about for the blue glow. Nothing. I walked as quickly as I dared, scanning the shelves and the ceiling, terrified of walking past the augury, conscious of the seconds racing past. Nothing but dust motes floating in the late afternoon sunlight.

  I glanced down at the augury slip. The words were almost illegible. I doubted I’d have good penmanship if I were as worried as Todd Lancaster. I folded it and put it into my pocket and walked faster.

  There, ahead, a shelf lined with light bluer than the sun’s. I ran, scooting sideways past the shelves, and found a slim red-bound volume that glowed blue like a star’s corona. I flipped it open. Into the Woods, looked like the libretto for the musical, and the name Randy Richards, $500. That struck me as expensive for what was effectively a lifesaving augury. I’d expected it to be free.

  Wait.

  I looked at the title page again. Randy Richards. Not Todd Lancaster.

  I swore a blistering stream of invective and flung the book at the shelf. “Not again,” I shouted. “Damn you, this is not the time!”

  I ran through the maze of passages and found no other glowing books. Cursing again, I hurried back to where I’d left Lancaster. “Write it again,” I said, tearing off the first a
ugury and handing him what was left of the paper.

  He took it, his face a mask of worry and confusion. “But—”

  “Don’t argue. Write it again, but phrase it differently.”

  This time I tore through the warren without caring how reckless it was. They’d found the illusion, they’d taken care of it, it wasn’t able to affect the oracle anymore, and yet here I was trying to save a little girl’s life, and the damn oracle was still playing tricks. I swiped tears from my eyes and kept going. Crying wouldn’t help anyone, and it might be a fatal waste of time.

  Finally, I saw another blue glow and rushed toward it. The House at the End of the Road, a skinny little children’s picture book with a redheaded girl on the cover, and this one had Lancaster’s name on it. It even said No Charge. I clutched the book to my chest and threaded my way through the maze at top speed.

  “It’s yours. No charge. Hurry, and I hope you find her soon.” I shoved Lancaster out the door, then watched him get into a minivan parked in Abernathy’s spot and drive away. I turned the key with effort, like it weighed as much as the minivan, and leaned against the door for a minute. Then I got out my phone and dialed Lucia. “It’s happening again,” I said wearily. “The bad auguries. Call me. And it’s not Judy.” Then I put my phone away and walked with a slow, measured tread into the stacks.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” I said, speaking in a normal tone of voice even though I was still so keyed up I wanted to scream. “I don’t know why you’re behaving this way. We thought it was a magical influence on you. That was a good explanation. Satisfying. Something we could control. But we controlled it, and it turns out not to be the explanation after all.

  “That augury just now. It was important,” I went on, running my finger along a row of books. I remembered them as ones Judy had brought back from the estate sale and wondered briefly how she was doing. “A life was at stake. The thing is, I know you care about that sort of thing. It’s why you give free auguries when someone’s in danger. So the fact that you were playing around now instead of immediately giving me that augury tells me there is something influencing you. Because you would never do anything like that under normal circumstances.”

  I stopped at the center of the oracle, a place where four bookcases faced each other from all directions. The light was pale and clear, not the warm light of a spring evening, but an older, more vibrant light. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with whoever is doing this. Because I’m convinced there’s someone behind it, and we have to figure out who. And then… then I will make that person pay for corrupting you. Because you deserve better.”

  The oracle’s silence filled me. It wasn’t active, but I felt as if something were listening to me, and if I only knew the right language, I could speak with it, and everything would be all right. But nothing happened. The light ripened, turned gold, and the dust motes fluttered in a breeze that didn’t touch me. Finally, I made my way out of the stacks and went upstairs. I’d eat dinner, make popcorn, and watch a movie, and maybe tomorrow would look better.

  This time, I remembered to lock my door.

  loaded tubes of sanguinis sapiens into the foam honeycomb carry-all designed for that purpose, a shrunken version of those aluminum briefcases you see in spy movies containing state secrets or a million dollars in unmarked bills. This was small enough to fit in my purse. I wasn’t sure how much its contents were worth since sanguinis sapiens was a commodity whose value fluctuated by the hour, but several thousand dollars wasn’t a bad guess.

  I locked the door on the rest of Abernathy’s supply and hung the key on the wall. It looked insecure, but I was the only one who could touch the keys to the safe deposit boxes, and I’d seen what happened when someone so much as brushed their finger across one. I had no clue what might happen if someone tried to pick the locks. Something fatal, no doubt.

  The drive downtown to the Athenaeum was surprisingly peaceful, but then this was Sunday morning, and most of the city was still asleep. I would have been sleeping if this problem hadn’t nagged at me all through the previous night’s movie and on and off while I tried to sleep. I couldn’t help feeling I was the only ally Judy had, despite knowing her father was a powerful man who wouldn’t sit still while his daughter rotted in whatever Lucia used for a jail. William Rasmussen, though, was likely focused on proving the Ambrosites had set Judy up rather than trying to discover what was wrong with the oracle and who’d done it. Maybe my feeling wasn’t so off.

  I parked a few feet from the florist’s entrance and tucked my purse under my arm. The air smelled beautifully of fresh green plants, and I took a sniff of one of the ferns near the front door. This would be an oasis of coolness in mid-summer.

  “Guille?” I called out as I entered. “It’s Helena Davies.” The place still looked like some overgrown garden rather than a florist’s shop. I stopped to examine the orchids—they fascinated me, with their endless strange shapes and unusual flowers.

  “Can I help you?”

  I turned around. A young woman about my age stood there, her blond hair in dreadlocks gathered up at the nape of her neck. Her brow and nose piercings glimmered in the indirect light. She had a faint accent I couldn’t place.

  “Oh. Is Guille not here?”

  “No. Can I get you something? Roses, maybe?”

  “I need a…” Damn. I’d forgotten the name of the plant. “An orchid. A special orchid.” I leaned on that emphasis with all my verbal weight.

  “We have lots of orchids. Did you have a specific one in mind?”

  “A… it starts with…” I glanced around. There wasn’t anyone else in the store. On the other hand, I didn’t volunteer information about Abernathy’s to anyone who didn’t ask for an augury, and maybe I shouldn’t blurt out I wanted the Athenaeum. “It starts with H.”

  “Haraella? Herminia? Heterotaxis? There are a lot of orchids that start with H.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me like I was wasting her time. I cast my mind back. Judy had said—what had she said?

  “Hortaflora,” I gasped.

  The woman’s expression didn’t change, but she nodded once. “Right this way,” she said and pointed in the direction of the stripy grass. Relieved, I ducked between the blades. The light in the small, loamy-smelling room was already on, and this time there were glass jars filled with azaleas lining one of the tables. Florist’s tape and green wire lay scattered across the table, and a small pair of pruning shears stood upright, stabbed into a foam round at the center of the mess.

  The woman pushed past me and hauled up on the trap door. “You have money, or do you need to make an exchange?”

  “I have sanguinis sapiens—”

  “Fine. I take it you’ve been here before? Push the doorbell at the bottom when you’re finished.”

  “Thanks. I’m Helena.”

  The woman eyed my outstretched hand for a second before accepting it. Her own hand bore tiny scratches all over its back, the marks of thorns if I had to guess. “Irina.”

  Her response was so grudging I felt like asking her if she treated all her customers this way. But I only said, “Thanks, Irina,” and let myself over the edge.

  Halfway down the rungs, I realized why I felt grumpy. I was used to people in the magical world knowing who I was and treating me with respect. To Irina, I was just another customer. I laughed, and the sound echoed off the walls, tinny and hollow. That made me feel claustrophobic in a way I hadn’t before, and I clung to the ladder for a few seconds before realizing that only made things worse.

  This time, the first door opened at my touch, and I stepped up to the pillar and put my hands on the discs. I went through the first responses, inserted a tube of sanguinis sapiens, and waited for the woman’s voice to ask, What would you like to learn about today?

  “Illusions.”

  There was a very long pause in which I half expected Gauthier’s disembodied voice to boom at me. There are three hundred fifteen million, two hundred twent
y-seven thousand, five hundred and one records related to [illusions]. Would you like to narrow your search further?

  “I need something that explains how illusions work—real magic, not sleight of hand. Something basic. Not quite on a child’s level, but if you were going to teach someone who knew only a little about magic about illusions, what would you give them?”

  Another pause. There are three records that meet your search criteria. Would you prefer hard copy, visual display, or electronic files?

  “Visual display.”

  The whiteness and gray and blue streaks disappeared from my vision. Floating in midair in front of me was the outline of a standard tablet, drawn in fine lines of white light. On its screen were three images of book covers. I prodded one, and the tablet vanished. On the walls all around were pages and pages of text, too small to read. “Help,” I said.

  Accessing help files. Please state your request in the form of a question.

  “How do I make the pages big enough to read?”

  Touch the lower right corner of the desired page, and it will magnify. Repeat this to increase magnification. To decrease magnification, touch the upper left corner as many times as desired.

  “How do I change which document I’m looking at?”

  Say “Home” and select a different document.

  “Exit help.” I stretched to tap the lower right corner of what looked like a title page. Immediately the other pages shrank while the title page swelled to fill the top half of the wall. It was no brighter than a computer screen, and easy to read, though I had to tilt my head to see all of it, as high on the wall as it was. The title was Magic For Beginners, and it had a cheerful little picture of a young man leading a giant, nasty-looking dog on a leash under the title. It took me a second to realize this was meant to be a familiar. I shuddered and shrank the page, moving to the next one.