Spirelli Paranormal Investigations Box Set 2

by Kate Baray

  Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Finally, she said, “I can’t argue. There does seem to be a tendency to fly by the seat of your pants on most of our cases. I’m not complaining; you brought it up.”

  She wasn’t going to make it easier, but she hadn’t started in with the snark. While Jack was pretty damn sure the timing wasn’t perfect—when would it ever be? And if it helped him get some damn sleep… He steeled himself and said, “What do you think about a partnership?”

  Marin’s mouth opened. She blinked furiously. But no words emerged. Her brow furrowed and she snapped her mouth shut. Then her phone rang with her dad’s programmed ringtone—“Carry On Wayward Son”—and whatever she’d planned to say was lost.

  “Hey, Dad.” Marin shifted her body away from Jack as she spoke. Marin listened for a few seconds and then shot Jack a look out of the corner of her eye. “No problem. Jack’s with me.” She tapped the screen and then placed her phone on Jack’s desk.

  Jack sat up in his chair and leaned toward the phone. “Ewan.”

  “Jack. I understand you’ve been busy lately.”

  Jack wasn’t sure, but he might have heard some amusement in Ewan’s voice. He glanced at Marin, but her gaze was firmly affixed to the phone.

  “Is there something SPI can do for you?” Jack asked.

  “I’ve got a case for you. Actually, I’m acting on behalf of the IPPC library. IPPC would be your client, but you’ll report to me. Interested?”

  Jack still hadn’t gotten a good read on Marin’s reaction to the call, but work was work. “Definitely interested. You know we’ll need the details.”

  “Naturally, if you decline the case, the details remain between us.”

  Marin stiffened then deliberately crossed her arms.

  Jack flicked a paperclip at her. In a neutral tone, he said, “Yes, that is how it normally works.”

  “IPPC has recently taken an interest in acquiring magical texts,” Ewan said. “We’ve got feelers out for book leads, in both the magical and mundane communities.”

  Jack caught Marin’s eye and she shrugged. Jack leaned forward and said, “Sounds interesting. You have a local lead?”

  “Houston,” Ewan said, “But we don’t have an asset there that I trust for this particular case.”

  Marin perked up. “Sal—I’ve forgotten his last name. The computer programmer guy that’s worked for the firm before. Isn’t he still in Houston?”

  “He is, but he won’t work. The book, ostensibly a compendium of home remedies, has significant monetary value.” Ewan paused, and Jack and Marin shared a speculative look as they waited for him to explain. “In addition to its intrinsic value—there aren’t many undiscovered magical books, as you know—we also suspect the content is unique. It’s possible there’s information on geo-location.”

  “Whoa.” Marin shifted closer to the phone. “Yeah, that’s a little outside Sal’s pay grade. What evidence do you have?”

  Geo-locating wasn’t that big a deal—was it?

  “The IPPC librarians have traced ownership back to a particularly successful geologist that worked in the oil industry several decades ago,” Ewan said. “Then it disappeared and reappeared ten years ago in the hands of a farmer living and thriving in a drought-ridden area of Central Texas.”

  “How did it come to your attention in the first place? Something must have tipped you off to try to trace the ownership.” Marin must have seen Jack’s confusion, because she lowered her voice and said, “There are no geo-locater texts.”

  “It’s a very exciting find,” Ewan said. “The knowledge base for geo-locaters is small, and we don’t have any books with geo-locating information, other than some third-hand accounts. As to how IPPC learned about the book: it showed up in an online auction. The bidding pattern triggered our tracking software, primarily due to an overeager bid for what should be a relatively low-value book. Once our librarian reviewed the provenance and pulled backgrounds on the former owners, she concluded there was a high probability of a magical influence.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Jack said. “If you have questions about geo-locating, you have contacts you can ask. Clifford, the guy in the castle in Wales, for one. Apparently, he’s got some kind of live chat, a direct line of communication between him and IPPC.”

  “That’s right,” Ewan agreed. “After your efforts retrieving him earlier in the summer, that was the agreed-upon solution.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. His efforts had been storming a paranoid genius’s fortified castle. “So how’s the book any more valuable than Clifford the geo-locator whiz?”

  “That’s the issue here: the geologist and the farmer weren’t geo-locators.”

  “But they were magic-users,” Marin said.

  Ewan’s reply came across the line in one tense, harsh syllable. “No.”

  “Wow.” Jack fell back in his chair.

  “Shit,” Marin said.

  Silence followed.

  Jack was pretty damn sure that non-magical people couldn’t acquire magic. Through his recent experience with the ancient dragon Joshua—Jack didn’t dwell on his complicated feelings about that—he’d discovered that humans had a kernel of magic or they didn’t. Ewan was implying a direct contradiction with the rules of the magical world as Jack understood them.

  “If mundane people are cruising around the world geo-locating, something is seriously awry, right? We are talking about the book imbuing its owner with some level of magical talent.”

  “We don’t know that.” But Ewan sounded grim even as he denied the possibility. “There are alternative explanations: collusion with a magic-user, a magical item—”

  Marin snorted. “That would be one big battery if it’s a magical item. It’s one thing to use magic to encode information on a book, because a record keeper also uses magic to retrieve that information. But a book that has enough juice to allow decades—”

  “Or more,” Jack said.

  Marin just frowned and continued. “Or more than decades of mundanes to use the book as some divining rod—not simple magic—then that is a seriously powerful magical item.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing, so we’re talking nuclear equivalent. Or the users are figuring out how to recharge it. Potentially revolutionary.” As Ewan spoke, several beeps sounded in the background. “I need to go. Here’s the job. We need the book retrieved. Immediately. It’s available on the open market. We need you to travel to Houston, make a very generous offer in person, but the offer needs to be contingent upon leaving with the book.”

  “Wait—if the book is up for auction, what exactly is IPPC’s plan?” Jack could feel the beginnings of a dull ache in his temple, because he already knew the answer.

  “IPPC is prepared to bid competitively.” Ewan’s words lacked inflection.

  Yep—definitely an ache. Jack said, “Not helpful.”

  “Right,” Marin said. “If the seller isn’t already aware of the book’s unique properties based on the earlier high bid, he’ll be curious as hell when we outbid it.”

  Ewan sighed. “We’re not paying you as couriers; sort it out. We’ll cover your usual rates and expenses, and there’s a bonus paid out once the book is safely under IPPC’s control.”

  Jack sat up straighter. He needed a new roof. “What’s the bonus?”

  “Harrington will forgive your outstanding debt.”

  Jack’s lips twitched. He owed Harrington a free job—one he’d planned to sic Marin on. “And?”

  “A cash bonus.” Ewan named a figure that would cover the cost of at least two roofs.

  Maybe Jack would have a look at those solar panels he’d been dying to install for so long. But he was never one to quit while he was only a half step ahead. “And?”

  Ewan made a snorting noise that sounded a lot like Marin. “All right. I’ll owe you a favor, no questions asked.”

  Jack exchanged a glance with Marin. There was a tiny wrinkle right between her eyebrow
s that only showed up when she was annoyed and trying to hide it. Jeez, how did he even know that? He shook his head. Didn’t matter; no way he’d pass. “Yeah, it’s a deal.”

  “I’m sending the file and the bidding information now,” Ewan said. “Call if you have any questions, but I’ve got a project that’s blowing up right now—so if you don’t catch me, try Harrington.”

  As soon as Marin tapped end on her phone, Jack said, “Talk.”

  Marin raised an eyebrow.

  “Why didn’t you want the case?” Jack propped his feet up on his desk.

  “We had a… It doesn’t matter. It’s just family stuff; nothing to do with the case.” Marin studied the corner of Jack’s desk intently. “I mean, it’s just weird to talk shop with him, but nothing specific about this case.”

  “Isn’t that usually when you call him? About work, when we’re in a jam or need information?”

  Marin shrugged.

  “Jeez, Marin. You’re worse than me and my family.”

  She perked up. “You have family?”

  “Everyone has family.” He thought about the question, about the partnership offer, about how long he’d known her. More politely, he said, “Yes, I have family. I have a sister here locally. Anything else I need to know? About whatever is going on with you and your dad?”

  She shook her head, then pulled out her cell from her pocket and checked the time.

  Prying into Marin’s family crap beyond what was necessary for the job did not appeal, so… “Right. Let’s call this auction house or bookstore—” Jack checked his phone for the file Ewan had promised. “The Book Store in west Houston. Let’s call them and set up a viewing. We’re taking your car?”

  “Uh, yes. Is your Cherokee even back from the shop?”

  He ignored the question and dug out a can of crab. He didn’t know when he’d be back, and he didn’t want Bob to go hungry. Although when he was out of town, cans simply disappeared from his cupboard. Could an Arkan Sonney use a can opener? More accurately, did an Arkan Sonney need a can opener?

  Jack shook his head, too distracted by the upcoming case to dwell on the mysteries of magic hedgehogs.

  Chapter Two

  Jack glanced at Marin when she jerked awake in the passenger seat.

  She rubbed her eyes then said, “Thanks for driving. I haven’t been sleeping all that well.”

  Jack debated commenting on the fact that dragons needed less sleep than mere mortals like himself and asking exactly how crappy her sleep had to be to need a nap.

  Con: possible lengthy personal conversation.

  Pro: avoiding some terrible outcome because he buried his head and ignored a possible problem.

  “I’m fine, Jack.”

  He couldn’t miss the annoyance in her voice. “What?”

  “I can see the wheels turning. You can be annoyingly transparent.”

  “I didn’t want to pry.” He shifted in his seat, trying not to squirm. “Should I pry?”

  He caught her head shake out of the corner of his eye and swallowed a sigh of relief.

  Several minutes passed before she said, “It’s not like you’ve been at your best recently.”

  “Hm.” He wasn’t going to argue, but he also wasn’t about to admit he wasn’t sure what was causing his restless nights.

  Joshua? Hopefully not, because merging his physical self with some ancient dragon’s essence wasn’t supposed to actually change anything. Except maybe stealing his peace of mind. Maybe knowing that a big, bad, ancient, scaly bastard’s life juice flowed through him…disturbed him. That would wreck any guy’s sleep.

  Marin wasn’t talking, so he had plenty of time to consider the state of his mental health—but why would he want to do that? Would that make him sleep better every night? And he needed a strategy for retrieving the book. Chance the auction? Entice with a high but not too-high immediate purchase? Scope the place out for a possible burglary, followed, of course, by a substantial and anonymous contribution to the store? He rubbed his neck. Neither idea appealed, and prison sucked. IPPC’s influence had limits, and Jack didn’t want to end up in prison over misjudging them.

  They traveled in silence over an hour. When they hit Columbus, Jack pulled off the highway for gas. Marin had kept her eyes closed since they’d last spoken, but hadn’t slept. As the truck slowed down to turn into the station, she opened her eyes.

  He rolled to a stop at the pump. “Figured we’d get some gas. You can drive the rest of the way, and that gives me a chance to read over the file.”

  “Or I could just brief you,” Marin said.

  Jack opened the driver’s door and hopped out.

  Leaning across the front seat, Marin pitched her voice to carry and said through the open door, “Or I could just drive. But you’re a control freak.” When he stepped back to the open door to respond, she met him with him her creepy dragon grin—the one that was all teeth—and added, “Partner.”

  “I’m not a control freak, and at this rate, you’re not going to be my partner.” He let annoyance creep into his voice, but swallowed a smile as he turned back to the pump. She’d been thinking about his offer.

  Jack finished at the pump and climbed into the passenger seat. Marin had pulled out his laptop and left it on the seat before she’d switched to the driver’s side. “Anything I should I keep an eye out for?” Jack asked as he flipped open his laptop. He pulled up the file Ewan had forwarded.

  Marin had spent several minutes reviewing it, and given how fast she read, she’d probably gone through the entire document at least three times.

  Zipping out of the lot fast enough to give him whiplash, she made a noncommittal noise. “Not much there beyond what he told us on the phone. A little more history on the players, but that’s it.”

  Long before they arrived at the small store in the west Houston suburbs—located in a strip mall, of all places—he’d read the file twice. Just as Marin had said, he hadn’t found much useful information.

  He had discovered the reserve listing price: only a few hundred dollars. From what little he knew of old and rare books, the physical, mundane book sounded old and not actually rare. After checking online, Jack discovered the latest high bid: seventy-five thousand dollars. The dealer had to have some inkling that there was a hidden value to the book. But, wild guess, the guy had no clue some long-ago spell caster had stuffed a bunch of magical information inside the book. That, or used some other means to supercharge the magical mojo of the book.

  Jack almost felt bad for the poor mundane schmoe. Jack had been that clueless guy—what seemed like a lifetime ago—but he still remembered how all of the pieces simply hadn’t fit together the way they should.

  Marin slowed as they cruised through the strip mall parking lot.

  Jack checked the numbers on the store doors then pointed ahead and to the right. “Flip around to the backside of the strip mall. Hey, when we do the physical examination of the book, you can confirm the presence of magic, right?”

  Marin shot him a narrow-eyed look. And her eyes might have looked a little greener than normal.

  “What? I know it takes a record keeper to read any encoded magical text, and you can’t do that. I’m just checking.”

  Her eyes lacking any obvious glow—maybe he’d imagined that?—she said, “I should be able to get a vibe, including whether there’s more going on than simply magically recorded data.”

  Magical books still wigged him out. Any book could store the same information as a laptop—probably more—because the book was simply an anchor for the spells that held the information.

  “I still don’t get why record keepers don’t pick a sturdier medium. Books seem like a fragile choice for information important enough to hide with magic.”

  She snorted. “That’s because you don’t think like a spell caster.”

  What had his long-time friend Kenna said? Her best friend was a record keeper. “Something to do with the function of the anchor making it easier for
the record keeper to attach the spelled words to the item.”

  “That’s it. When casting a spell, using relevant physical contexts or anchors to ground the magic can be tremendously helpful. You use magic items like any other tool, Jack. And I think you look at magic like it’s a tangible thing. Your ring is an alarm system, and your glasses are basically magical binoculars. But they’re not just tools. Magic is…it’s pure imagination made tangible.”

  “Okay, so why not a typewriter? Or a stone tablet? Way sturdier, same context.”

  She gave him an annoyed look, then pulled into a spot in front of the store.

  It had a simple sign that read “Books,” but no one would mistake this tiny, shabby bookstore, tucked away on the backside of a strip mall, for a purveyor of bestsellers and genre fiction. Marin pulled into a parking space two spots away from a minivan. The only other car on this side of the strip mall was a beat-up old Civic parked in the furthest spot from the shop’s door.

  Jack eyed the store with some misgiving. “Any guesses on which car is the storeowner’s?”

  Pulling the keys out of the ignition, Marin said, “I’ll refrain from forming an opinion until we see the man’s stock. He could be housing some gems in there.”

  Jack climbed out of the truck. “Best security ever—everyone in the area thinks the place is a dump so they don’t bother to break in.”

  “Or perhaps…not.” Marin had stopped in front of the glass-fronted door and was peering intently inside. “Do you have your gun?”

  “Yeah—but I’m not shooting an uber-geek civilian.” The words flew out of his mouth on autopilot, but his body responded to the threat she’d identified. As he drew his backup .380, he stepped away from the door. “Plan?”

  “Keep the two guys who are tearing the place apart from leaving with our book. You good with that?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “You got the unarmed civilian to the right?” She motioned to the right front corner of the store. When he nodded, she gave him her toothy dragon grin. “I’ll take the disrespectful shits throwing books around.” She motioned to eleven o’clock.