Ink and Shadows

by Ellery Adams

  Every book was a tree living a second life. And the older the book, the more it smelled of the earth—the more the rustle of its crisp, yellowed pages sounded like the rustle of leaves.

  Nora understood the convenience of digital books, but she needed to hold a book in her hand. She needed to study its cover, place her bookmark in its gutter, and inhale its timeless perfume.

  Celeste’s book was very old. It had a supple, toffee-colored leather cover and was roughly the size of a single-subject notebook. It was untitled. No letters marched across its cover or huddled together on its spine, but there were plenty of stains. Owing to countless droplets of ink, water, and wine, the leather was as speckled as a bird’s egg.

  The cover spotting was nothing compared to the inside. Some kind of liquid had seeped through the first fifty pages, causing the ink to run. By the time it had dried, hundreds of words had either been washed away or rendered illegible. As Nora turned page after ruined page, her heart sank. It hurt to see the evidence of so many lost words.

  The title page hadn’t escaped the damage either, but at the bottom edge of a gray puddle of dried ink, she could just make out a name.

  Nora knew the proper way to handle an old book. She knew that dirt or oil from a person’s fingers could mar a book like this. Even so, she couldn’t stop herself from lightly tracing the elegant dips and curves of Juliana’s name.

  Imagining Celeste’s ancestor dipping her pen in ink and signing her name to this sheet of paper filled Nora with awe. Hundreds of years ago, a woman had sat at a table and, by daylight or firelight, prepared to fill a blank book with her first entry. A book of blank pages was such a precious thing at that time. To own a book was to possess wealth. And this book had belonged to a woman. To Juliana Leopold.

  Nora gingerly turned pages until the damage from the spill was no longer evident. At last, she came to a page crammed with writing. Words stretched from edge to edge. Hundreds of words, just waiting to be read.

  But as Nora continued looking, her excitement dimmed. She couldn’t read the words. Not on this page or on any page that followed. Juliana’s notebook had been written in German.

  Still, Nora could marvel over the drawings. Most were of plants, but every so often, an insect or animal would appear in the margin. There were bees, birds, and several snakes. And then, quite abruptly, the style of handwriting changed. The new script featured a less stylized, compact script, whereas the first was all dramatic loops and curls. There were no plant drawings in this section, either. The only illustrations, a mortar and pestle and a glass bottle with a stopper, preceded another handwriting change.

  “Three different women,” Nora whispered.

  Based on what Celeste had said about her lineage, three women named Juliana had contributed to this notebook. The third Juliana had written the least, preferring to focus her efforts on illustrations of plants. These drawings, which were far more detailed than those made by the first Juliana, were carefully labeled from flower to root. There were ten in total. Some of the plants, like the dandelion and poppy, were easily recognizable. Others didn’t look at all familiar.

  A list accompanied each plant, and Nora guessed that its purpose was to describe the medicinal uses of root, stem, and flower.

  The fourth Juliana used only two pages, and these were filled with a confusing array of geometric shapes, symbols, and doodles. Next to a pair of overlapping circles featuring a series of glyphs, the author had drawn a bowl of liquid, a knife, and a burning torch.

  Nora tried to understand what she was seeing.

  Are these spells? Did the fourth Juliana walk a different path than these other women?

  After digging her phone out of her pocket, Nora opened the image of the Potion Page. Whoever created the fake page had copied some of symbols and glyphs from Juliana’s book.

  “Was it you, Bren? Were you trying to impress the Maestro? Is that why you showed him this book?”

  It must have been Bren. Why would Celeste share her family treasure with Wolf Beck?

  Then again, Nora had no idea how Still Waters functioned. Maybe the community members shared everything. Maybe they kept no secrets.

  Everyone has secrets.

  Nora examined the blank pages at the end of the book. If Beck had his way, they’d be used to make a counterfeit grimoire.

  With this in mind, Nora turned to the last page where she found paper remnants attached to the binding. Someone had cut pages out of the book. She counted four paper spines, which meant Bren and Beck could have forged and sold three occult artifacts. The fourth was the Potion Page.

  Sheriff McCabe joined Nora at the gift wrap counter. “Is it the right bait?”

  Nora folded the white paper around the book like a mother covering a child’s ears.

  “Beck won’t be able to resist it. I’ll send images to Bobbie, who’ll pass them on to Monkshood81. If he agrees to the asking price, she’ll let him know the time and place for the exchange.”

  “Good. Go ahead and take your photos. When you’re done, I’ll go back to the station and work out the details of this meeting.”

  Using white tissue paper as a backdrop, Nora took a dozen photos of Juliana’s notebook.

  When she was done, she wrapped the book in the tissue paper and held it out to McCabe.

  “This is a piece of history. It belonged to Celeste. It should have been passed on to Bren. Generations of women from the same family wrote in this book. Can you imagine all that it’s seen—and survived—between the time of its first entry and today? It traveled from Germany to America. From Alabama to North Carolina. And God knows where else. Please be careful with it.”

  “I’ll keep it safe,” McCabe replied solemnly. “I promise.” Outside, the sheriff locked the back door and Nora stared at Greg’s graffiti in disgust.

  She then glanced up at the second-story windows and realized that Celeste had been in her bedroom while Greg had been spray-painting those scarlet letters.

  McCabe turned to go, but Nora caught him by the arm and pointed at the door. “If Celeste was still alive when I found her, and I saw Greg Knapp right here before I went upstairs, then how did the killer get out of the building without running into Greg or me?”

  “The spare store key is missing, so we’re assuming the killer used the front door. We can’t be sure because there’s no alarm system or security camera, which is par for the course around here. I love the trusting nature of the folks in this town. Until something like this happens.”

  They walked around the building and paused on the corner. McCabe needed to cross the street and turn north. Miracle Books was in the opposite direction.

  The town was wide awake, and the sidewalks were no longer deserted, so Nora stepped closer to the sheriff and said, “Beck should come to Miracle Books. He’s bound to scope out the meeting place beforehand, and there’s nothing threatening about a bookshop.”

  “Even the ones with powerful female window displays?” McCabe teased.

  “It’s finally down. But only because we needed a new theme for November. Luckily, Sheldon came up with one that was a snap to get ready and should win over even my harshest critics.” Nora gave him a smile before turning serious again. “Wolf must have been watching Celeste’s building. He probably saw me visiting her, which means he wouldn’t be surprised to hear that I have her book. He’ll come to the meeting thinking he has the upper hand. After all, I’m just another woman—someone he can easily overpower. Let me be a part of this, Grant. I was too late to help Celeste before she died. I want to help catch her killer.”

  McCabe’s look was steely. “This man is dangerous, Nora. And sly. He won’t waltz into the bookstore in the middle of storytime. He’ll want to meet at night, so he can get take off the second he has the book. He’ll be on edge the whole time. Anything could trigger him.” He lowered his voice. “Despite the efforts of Fuentes and Wiggins, we still know next to nothing about Wolf Beck. The Pine Hollow residents rarely interact with him, and
the Still Waters residents praised him to the moon and back. He has no criminal record. Without a search warrant, we can’t access his financial records. And without concrete evidence, we can’t get a search warrant.”

  Everything hangs on the book, Nora thought.

  “I know that he’s dangerous. He killed two women. But I wouldn’t be alone. You and your team could hide somewhere, like the stockroom, and listen to the whole meeting. I’m the only one who can talk books with this man. No one else has a chance of getting him to open up about the Potion Page. If I don’t find a way to push his buttons, he’ll get away with murder.”

  McCabe studied Nora for a long moment. “I’ll get back to you about the meeting. Call me if Ms. Rabinowitz hooks our fish.”

  The traffic light turned red, and McCabe jogged across the street, pressing the book against his chest.

  Nora watched him disappear into the crowd. Then she walked over to the Juliana statue. Ignoring the people passing behind her, Nora stood for a long moment admiring the marble woman’s erect bearing and intelligent gaze. The defiant tilt of her chin. The November sunlight washed over her pale face, gilding her skin and adding sparks to her carved eyes.

  Covering Juliana’s cold, stone hand with her own, Nora silently vowed to settle the score. She then hurried on to the bookshop.

  * * *

  “Did you forget that I’m fluent in German?” Bobbie asked later that day.

  She’d already sent the images—using a VPN to disguise her IP address—to Monkshood81 and was anxiously awaiting his reply. And while Nora shared her friend’s anxiety, she’d spent the last two hours selling books. Bobbie had spent that time manically refreshing her email.

  “I know you speak several languages, but I don’t remember which ones,” Nora said.

  She took a bite of cucumber salad and waited for Bobbie to keep talking. Sheldon was covering the checkout counter while Nora gulped down her lunch in the stockroom.

  “My German isn’t as good as my Spanish, French, or Italian, but it’s good enough for me to tell that Juliana Leopold was no witch. Neither were her descendants. Every woman who wrote in that book was a healer. Like other herbals of the time period, Juliana’s notebook includes illustrations. It also teaches the reader how to grow, dry, and store the plants. It’s an instructional manual, a how-to guide on turning plants into medicine and then matching that medicine to the right symptom. I also saw a recipe for a healing soup. I think the original Juliana figured out the secret of chicken soup hundreds of years before anyone else.”

  “What about those two pages with the circles and the symbols?”

  “It’s a tutorial on how to protect one’s house from hunger, disease, poverty, and evil,” Bobbie said. “Most cultures have purification rituals. There’s nothing demonic about them. The ritual in Juliana’s book involves sprinkling salt around the perimeter of the dwelling, burning herbs, and speaking blessings. What’s unusual is the added recommendation to keep one’s body clean. Remember, this was back when most people bathed once a week at most. These gals were insightful.”

  They weren’t witches. They were healers.

  Celeste had said as much. Not spells.

  “What about those weird symbols?” asked Nora.

  “They represent phases of the moon and hours of the day. They’re arranged in a circle like a sundial. The Julianas were literate and highly skilled—qualities that probably made them targets of the superstitious or small-minded. History has not been kind to intelligent women.”

  Nora’s break was almost done, but she was reluctant to let Bobbie go. “When this is all over, I want to make sure that Celeste’s book ends up with a relative. Can you help?”

  “Way ahead of you, babe,” said Bobbie. “I started tracing Cecily Leopold’s genealogy after I finished translating the text from Juliana’s notebook. Celeste’s great-grandmother lived in a Black Forest town called Calw. Imagine the setting for a Brothers Grimm story, and you’ve got Calw.”

  Nora’s phone pinged, signaling a new text message from Sheldon.

  Help!

  Dumping the remains of her lunch in the trash, Nora told Bobbie that she had to go.

  “Go,” Bobbie cried. “Make the world a better place, one book at a time. I’ll text you the second I hear from that son-ofa-bitch.”

  Bobbie called back within the hour with the news that Monkshood81 had replied. He wanted the book and would pay the asking price. In cash.

  In her follow-up email, Bobbie said that she ran a bookstore in western North Carolina and that Monkshood81 would have to come to her to complete the transaction.

  I’ll hold the book for up to seven days, she wrote. Let me know when you can get to Miracle Springs.

  After a short pause, Monkshood81 responded. Tonight at ten.

  Bobbie immediately rejected his proposition. That’s too late. You can come right after I close or pick another day.

  Five minutes passed before a new email appeared in her inbox.

  Can you guarantee our privacy?

  Bobbie’s answer, which had been scripted by Sheriff McCabe, seemed to satisfy Monkshood81. His final email said, Until tonight.

  “That’s when I shouted and pumped my fists in triumph,” Bobbie said.

  Nora’s reaction was more circumspect. In roughly six hours, she would invite the man who’d murdered Bren and Celeste into her haven. Into her bookshop.

  She was both thrilled and terrified by the thought.

  Nora looked at the Hot Dudes Reading calendar tacked to the wall above the register. Gazing at Sunday’s unblemished white square, she thought about how good it would feel to wake up tomorrow knowing that the man named Wolf was locked in a cage.

  * * *

  Sheriff McCabe waited until dark before he and Deputies Andrews and Fuentes slipped inside Miracle Books through the delivery entrance.

  Nora met them in the stockroom.

  “Deputy Wiggins will be here shortly,” McCabe told her. “She and Deputy Perkins are in plain clothes. They’ll come in the front door. Wiggins will keep an eye on your customers while Perkins places surveillance cameras. Deputy Perkins will be our eyes tonight. She’ll be in charge of communications. Deputy Wiggins and our K-9 officer will wait in a civilian van around the corner—just in case our perp decides to run.”

  “I hope he does. I’d love to see Atticus bring him down,” Nora said, thinking of the Doberman’s muscular body and sharp teeth.

  Fuentes, who stood behind the sheriff, nodded in agreement.

  McCabe continued his briefing as if Nora hadn’t spoken. “We’ll review everyone’s positions in the shop later on. Is Mr. Vega still here?”

  “No, I sent him home. He’ll be furious when he hears about this, but if he knew what we were doing, he’d tell Hester, June, and Estella, and we’d have a helluva party.” Nora jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I still have customers, so I should get back out there.”

  A young woman was waiting for her at the checkout counter. Her hair was gathered in a messy bun and she wore a cheerful yellow sweater, a down vest, and glasses with blue frames. She held several picture books in her arms and seemed in no rush to put them on the counter.

  “I love your window display,” she said. “At least half of those books are on my Favorite Books of All-Time list. I became a teacher because of those books. And because of the people who recommended them to me. Who picked them?”

  “Our customers,” said Nora. “We put up a sign asking folks to share the title of a book they were thankful for. We displayed the most popular titles from our inventory.”

  The woman walked closer to the window and read out the names of some of the titles. “Beezus and Ramona, The Little Prince, To Kill a Mockingbird, Charlotte’s Web, Holes, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Watership Down, Anne of Green Gables, The Hobbit, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and Little Women.” She turned back to Nora. “What were some of the books that you didn’t have in stock?”

  “Mary P
oppins and certain titles from the Baby-Sitters Club and Redwall series.” Nora pursed her lips as she tried to remember the rest. “Also The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Strega Nona, and A Wrinkle in Time. We sold out of those on Halloween, and the reorders haven’t arrived yet.”

  “Is it too late to add a book I’m thankful for?”

  Nora came around from behind the counter. “We can do it right now.”

  “But how do I choose?” The woman gazed down at the books in her arms. “The Borrowers? Or The Story of Ferdinand?”

  “I’ll make room for both,” Nora said, smiling at the young woman. She added the books to the display, knowing that Sheldon would rearrange them first thing Monday morning, and rang up the three picture books the teacher was buying for her classroom.

  Nora handed her the bag of books and said, “One day, your students will stand in front of a window display like this and think of you.”

  The young woman’s eyes shone with happiness. She thanked Nora and left the shop.

  Minutes later, Deputies Wiggins and Perkins entered.

  Nora was especially grateful for her customers that Saturday evening. Any interaction that kept her focus on books instead of her upcoming meeting with a murderer was appreciated.

  With her last customer browsing the first part of the Fiction section in the front of the shop, Nora decided to check in with the sheriff.

  McCabe was waiting for her at the readers’ circle.

  “Is anyone in the store?” he whispered.

  “One customer in the front.” Nora gestured at the box on the coffee table. “The book?”

  At McCabe’s nod, Nora raised the lid. Celeste’s book sat in a nest of white tissue paper.

  Suddenly, McCabe’s phone was in his hand. After reading the text, he met Nora’s anxious gaze. “Beck just parked in the lot by the playground. He’s in a rental car. He appears to be watching the shop.”

  Nora went cold all over. She crossed her arms over her chest, her bravado abandoning her.

  McCabe gripped her by the shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to you, do you hear me? Your job is to show him the book. That’s it. Don’t put yourself in danger by trying to force a confession. Do not provoke him.”