The Book of Mayhem Page 4

  Heads nodded. I wished I could slap them silly for being sheep. “That’s up to you. Mr. Campbell, that will be $450.”

  Malcolm handed a tube of sanguinis sapiens to Judy, who was smiling like this was the best entertainment she’d seen all week. “Thank you, Miss Davies.”

  The unexpected courtesy made me want to laugh. He hadn’t called me that in months. “My pleasure.”

  Malcolm tucked his book under his arm and strolled toward the door, only to come up short as one of the men surrounding Rasmussen stepped into his path. “I beg your pardon,” Malcolm said quietly. “Let me pass.”

  The man didn’t move. Without breaking eye contact, Malcolm said, “I have a right to use the store, Rasmussen. Please ask your monkey to step aside.”

  The man growled and raised a fist as if to punch Malcolm. Rasmussen said, “McCorkle, enough. Stooping to childish insults, Campbell?”

  “Merely offering an opinion. Your man gives the impression of a trained animal off his leash. You should be careful where you take him. Not everywhere is neutral ground.”

  “You were warned not to come to Abernathy’s at this time. You’re the one who should be careful.”

  “When the custodian tells me she’s enforcing your self-determined rules, I’ll abide by them. Until then—” Malcolm leaned forward until he was within inches of McCorkle’s face, which really did look simian. “Get out of my way.”

  McCorkle flinched and stepped aside. “Thank you,” Malcolm said, once again the picture of an elegant gentleman who would never dream of starting a fight in a bookstore, and the door jingled shut behind him. I let out my breath slowly. I’d almost hoped to see Malcolm start a fight, but that would only have ended badly. Though probably not for Malcolm.

  “An augury, Ms. Davies? If you’re finished daydreaming.”

  I flushed angrily and snatched the augury slip out of Rasmussen’s hand. “Just one moment.”

  Safely within the oracle, I closed my eyes and willed myself calm. Rasmussen tested my impartiality more than anyone else. He’d wanted me to abdicate the custodianship in favor of Judy, and he made no secret of the fact that he still believed I wasn’t suited for the job, even though I’d seen the store through two challenges to its existence. It was so tempting to turn back around and tell him the oracle had rejected his augury—but I’d promised myself never to lie about what Abernathy’s did, even if I was the only one who would ever know. Besides, whatever augury he wanted would benefit more than just himself, so it would be selfish and cruel of me to punish those other people just to piss Rasmussen off.

  I unfolded the piece of paper. Where is the creature who killed Tiffany Alcock?

  I took a few more steps before the name registered. Then numb horror struck me. The paper fluttered out of my nerveless grip. I turned and ran out of the oracle.

  4

  “Tiffany Alcock?” I said.

  Rasmussen’s lips went white. “If you can’t keep your mouth shut about an augury,” he said, “I will be forced to take it up with the Board of Neutralities.”

  “Come with me,” I said, grabbing his arm and pulling. He stood firm, yanking his arm free of my grasp. I saw Judy’s shocked face for half a second as I swiveled around and took hold of him again. “This is important and it’s about your augury, and I will start shouting if you don’t follow me this instant.”

  I had no idea how I looked. Crazy, probably. Whatever my expression was, it made Rasmussen wave off his attendants—monkeys, they do look like monkeys, flying ones like in The Wizard of Oz—and follow me to the office, Judy trailing in our wake.

  Inside, I shut the door and sat on the edge of my tan melamine desk. Its top felt as cold as the ache in my chest. “Tiffany Alcock is dead?”

  “I believe that’s the girl’s name, yes.”

  “She’s a friend. Not a close friend. She was at my birthday party. She—” I shoved off the desk and paced the room, passing between Judy and her father like a bumper car between two posts. Silas Abernathy’s photo watched me, and I imagined I saw compassion in his eyes. “You’re sure it’s her?”

  “We’re always sure about these things, Ms. Davies,” Rasmussen said, and to his credit, he didn’t sound as severe as he had a few seconds ago. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “That’s—” I waved my hand in the air. I couldn’t think of a response to that. Tiffany, cheerful Tiffany, dead at the…they didn’t have hands, they had tentacles, or pincers, or a million grasping tendrils, but whatever they were, they’d killed her. “Thank you. I’m sorry I ruined your augury, I was just so surprised—you have to write it again, a little differently.”

  “I know.” Rasmussen opened the office door for me. “I’d suggest giving you time to grieve, but I think you’d prefer we destroy her killer.”

  At that moment, I liked Rasmussen. “I would. Thanks.”

  Rasmussen accepted paper and pen from one of his flunkies and wrote a line in flowing script. I was beginning to feel everyone around me had better handwriting than I did. I took it eagerly and walked into the oracle—

  and into a flying, screaming storm of books. Wind battered me, ruffled pages so hard I expected to see them tear free and whirl away. Shielding my face with one arm, I peered at the augury slip, holding it tightly so it wouldn’t blow away: Where is the invader that killed Tiffany Alcock?

  “No augury?” I shouted, and the storm died away, leaving my ears ringing and my eyes watering from the force of the wind. “You don’t have to be so violent when you won’t give an answer,” I muttered, and combed through my ponytail with my fingers. I never could predict when the oracle would refuse to answer, and it was always a shock. This time, it was a shock and a horrible disappointment. The first augury would have been fine if I hadn’t been so stupid, and now…

  I returned to Rasmussen and handed him the augury slip. “There’s no augury,” I said dully. “I’m sorry. The oracle won’t answer this question.”

  There was a sharp sigh as every Nicollien in the room took in a startled breath at once. You’d have thought I’d just told Scarlett O’Hara I didn’t give a damn. “Why not?” Rasmussen demanded. “You’re going to let your dislike of me get in the way of finding—” His mouth shut sharply.

  “I want this augury more than you do, Mr. Rasmussen. I don’t have any control over what the oracle chooses to answer.”

  Rasmussen glared at me. “I won’t put up with this treatment. The Board is going to hear about this.”

  “And you know what they’re going to tell you. I have to accept every augury from those who have means to pay. The oracle isn’t obliged to give an answer. I’m sorry.”

  The monkeys made a flying V around Rasmussen as they left the store. I slumped against the counter. “Who’s next?”

  It was nearly lunchtime before all the Nicolliens’ auguries were finished. Judy didn’t say anything the whole time, just patiently accepted payments and wrote down names in the ledger and filled out receipts. I drifted in and out of the stacks like I was in a dream, not a nightmare and not a pleasant dream, but the kind where you hover just below waking and real things seem unreal. Finally, I came to myself, realized I was staring at the bells hanging over the door, and scrubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Is that really it?”

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Judy said, shutting the ledger and putting it away. “Even if she wasn’t very close.”

  “It’s too unreal to believe. I’ve seen someone killed by an invader, but I barely knew him. This is…Tiffany and I were in school together. We were both on stage crew freshman year. Part of me just refuses to believe it. The other part of me can’t stop thinking about her mom. They were really close.”

  “Let’s eat, and we’ll worry about that later,” Judy said. “You said leftover pasta primavera, right? I’m not sure how good that is reheated.”

  “Me neither. But it was really good the first time, so it’s worth trying.”

  We ate in silence, each of
us preoccupied with our own thoughts. Judy was probably going over the database and calculating how much longer it would take to be finished. I couldn’t stop thinking about Tiffany Alcock. I should call someone…but I didn’t know her mom well enough…maybe Viv? Viv was closer to Tiffany than I was; she ought to know. I pulled out my phone. Judy arched an eyebrow at me, but said nothing.

  I called Viv, but disconnected before she could answer. It was the lunch rush at the diner where she worked, and if Viv hadn’t heard the news, I didn’t want to distract her. Instead I texted IMPORTANT NEWS CALL ME LATER and put my phone away.

  “Was she a friend of Viv’s?” Judy asked.

  “Yeah. But it can wait.” Something else was bothering me, but I couldn’t figure out what. Something about Tiffany…but I had no more information about her death than that she’d been killed by an invader. Or—

  I pushed back my chair and hurried into the stacks, searching the floor. There hadn’t been time to clean up after the oracle’s tantrum—it was hard to think of its refusals as anything else, though it wasn’t really alive in a conventional sense—and books lay on the floor, some of them open on their faces, which made me wince. I found the place I’d been standing when I read the first augury slip and began hunting through the mess. After a few minutes, I found the little piece of paper. Where is the creature who killed Tiffany Alcock?

  Creature. Invader. Such a tiny difference. I carried the paper back to the break room, where Judy was finishing off her Diet Dr. Pepper. I hooked my folding chair with my ankle and pulled it away from the battered table. “The first one said ‘creature,’” I said. “The second one, the one the oracle refused, said ‘invader.’”

  “And?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that the oracle didn’t reject the first augury. That was my fault. And changing just one word changed the whole outcome. It’s as if it’s saying it wasn’t an invader that killed her.”

  “What else could it be?” Judy wiped her mouth and began clearing her trash.

  “I don’t know. How can they tell if someone’s been killed by an invader?”

  “It’s almost impossible for anyone but a bone magus to tell the difference between a stroke victim and an invader death. Stroke, aneurysm, heart failure—I can’t remember what else an invader death looks like. Mostly the difference is the body won’t have any magic left in it.”

  “So what happens to our magic if we die naturally—or I guess I mean, if we’re not killed by an invader?”

  “It drains away over time. Wardens have their magic harvested so it doesn’t go to waste, but an average person, someone not involved in the Long War, they just lose it gradually. So a dead person with no magic—that’s an invader’s victim. But, again, only a bone magus can tell if someone’s had their magic drained.”

  “So Tiffany—” My throat tightened, and I took a drink of Diet Coke. “A bone magus found Tiffany and saw her magic had been drained, because without an invader lurking nearby, there would be no reason to suspect one had killed her.”

  “Presumably.”

  “So maybe it really is a new kind of invader.”

  “They’re not all the same, you know. There are some—” Judy lowered her voice, as if this was a big secret—“that are even intelligent. Like, as intelligent as humans. We never see those.”

  “Then how do you know they exist?”

  “There are reports of people encountering them centuries ago. Trying to negotiate with them. But they’re as evil and rapacious as their stupider cousins, so that never went anywhere.” Judy pushed her chair in. “I’m going to go work on the database until the afternoon shift comes in.” She grinned. “Tell me you don’t think of them that way.”

  “I don’t think of them that way.” Much.

  I went into the stacks and began picking up books and slotting them into the shelves wherever they’d fit, not paying attention to the titles. If I had a better memory, I wouldn’t be able to do this, because I’d know what was in the store and that would force the oracle to work harder—or work not at all, possibly. I straightened up a row of books and my fingers came away gray. Cynthia had been right about that—the shelves could use some dusting. I finished picking up all the books and headed toward the back of the store for the basement and the cleaning supplies.

  On my way there, the door jingled. I sighed and turned around. One last straggler before the two o’clock rush—and now I was doing it, taking the Nicollien-Ambrosite split for granted. If Malcolm and I were the only ones not respecting it, what were the odds of me getting anyone else to change their mind?

  I emerged into the space between the front door and the bookcases and came to a sudden stop. “Cynthia. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you at work,” Cynthia said. She was dressed in shorts and a cut-off T-shirt, showing off the navel piercing I hadn’t realized she still had.

  “My work is boring.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”

  My phone rang, rescuing me from this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. “What’s so important?” Viv said.

  “Viv, it’s really bad news. Have you heard about Tiffany Alcock?”

  “You mean, that she died? Yeah, Sheridan called me this morning. I still can’t believe it.”

  I eyed Cynthia, who had moved around the counter to perch on the stool behind the cash register. “Um, yeah, that was it. It’s awful.”

  “I told Sheridan to let me know what they’re doing, you know, funeral and whatever. I thought we should go.”

  “I want to.” I’d have to tell her the real news later. “Oh, and my sister’s in town.”

  Cynthia made a cheerful face and waved. “She says Hi.”

  Viv groaned. “Is it possible to mail her back to her mother planet?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Well, if you need me to manufacture prior commitments to keep you out of her clutches, just let me know. I have to go, okay? Talk to you later.”

  I put my phone away and put on what I hoped was a cheery smile. “You’re seriously just going to hang out here for four hours?”

  Cynthia ran her thumbnail along a crack in the glass. “Oh, not that long. Just a little while.”

  “It’s going to be so boring. Honestly. People come in and I find them books. Not even exciting books.”

  “I was hoping to see that hot guy again. You said he was a regular, right?” Cynthia winked at me. My smile went tight. “Oh, don’t look like that, I was kidding. Not that I’d mind. Look, if you don’t want me to hang around, I can go.”

  She sounded genuinely hurt under the flippant pose, and to my utter shock I felt sorry for her. “No, it’s not that, I just…never mind. Go ahead and stay. Just don’t touch the cash register. It breaks easily.” With that, I hurried back to the office.

  “My sister’s back, and she’s not going anywhere,” I said.

  Judy swore. She did it so rarely we both blushed. “Okay, so we won’t be able to accept sanguinis sapiens,” she said, “but I can pretend to use the cash register to take cash payments, and you can fake looking like an antiquarian if anyone brings in a box of books. Not that that happens often.”

  “It’s the milling around I’m afraid of. They need to know to pretend to browse. It won’t affect the oracle at all, but you saw how everyone just stood there waiting in line this morning. It looks weird.”

  Judy bit her lip in thought. “We could post a sign.”

  “Saying what? ‘Act Normal’? No, I’ll go outside just before two and warn everyone who’s waiting, and we’ll just have to hope the latecomers figure it out.”

  At five to two I told Cynthia I was going to the market and left the store. There were already a few customers waiting outside Abernathy’s front door, and inwardly I groaned, thinking of how visible they were through the store windows. Cynthia had to think it was crazy.

  I drew in a deep breath of warm, damp air and let it out slowly. It didn’t matter what Cyn
thia thought of it. She had no idea how bookstores worked and would probably believe anything I told her about my weird and wacky customers. I quickly explained the situation to those waiting, who managed not to turn and look at Cynthia as I spoke. Then I walked to the market and bought myself another Diet Coke. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  I was standing in line to pay when I got a text:

  I UNDERSTAND ABOUT FAMILY. SORRY I WASN’T MORE SUPPORTIVE. SEE YOU TONIGHT?

  A twinge of guilt struck me. I hadn’t thought about Jason at all that day, not even to worry about whether he was mad at me still. MAY HAVE FAMILY OBLIGATIONS, I texted back. WILL LET YOU KNOW. I smiled at the clerk and left the store, taking a big drink from the bottle right outside. Jason deserved better than the half-assed attention I sometimes gave him. I was going to do better, starting tonight.

  When I returned, it was just after two o’clock and the store was full of Ambrosites browsing the shelves. So far, so good. “If anyone needs help, please let me know,” I said, trying not to look at Cynthia.

  “I need help finding an…this book,” an elderly woman said, handing me an augury slip. I grasped it gratefully and found an empty aisle where I could step into the oracle.

  They kept me busy for an hour, during which time I didn’t stop sweating with fear that someone would slip up. One person nearly did, coming out with a vial of sanguinis sapiens that Judy swiftly pocketed before telling the woman she’d put it on her account. Three times I came out of the oracle to find Cynthia chatting with a customer, and I quailed again, hoping these magi, not all of whom were used to dealing with normal people in the confines of Abernathy’s itself, would be discreet. But Cynthia laughed, and smiled, and flirted, and showed no indication she knew anything was strange. I gradually realized I wasn’t going to have to explain away anything unusual and started to relax.

  The door burst open. “I need an augury,” Hallstrom shouted. “It’s an emergency.”

  The few magi still loitering in the store froze. Judy, writing up a receipt, whipped around to stare at Hallstrom. Cynthia sat up, frowning. And I grabbed Hallstrom’s hand and towed him into the stacks, saying, “I’ll see what I can do, sir.”