Grimoires and Where to Find Them

by Raconteur, Honor

  Bless her for understanding. “Yes, precisely. And a stolen grimoire is…not good.”

  “Yes, explain that to me.”

  Phil also seemed worried, as he piped up, “Bad man use grimoire?”

  “Not in the sense you mean it,” I assured him quickly, not wanting him to worry. “Hm, how to phrase this. It’s true grimoires contain many spells, charms, and hex designs, but the average person can’t pick one up and use it. You’d have to be a magician to do so. The spells contained in the book aren’t active unless the user has the ability to activate them, if that makes sense.”

  Clint followed, but his ears kept flicking back and forth in confusion. “Then, why worry?”

  I shook my head. “I said before that grimoires themselves are crafted by magic and often include magical elements or ink. If they’re not properly handled and warded, they can bleed into their environment. I’ve seen the magical backlash from a text not warded, and it wasn’t pretty.”

  Jamie winced. “Ouch. How bad is this situation?”

  “It entirely depends on the grimoire. Some grimoires are more like instructional texts, with very little magic in them—primers, if you will. Others are filled with charms and are so magically saturated they can’t be out of a box for more than a few hours without affecting their environment. That’s why most grimoires also have a sealing hex on the signature page to help contain the magic.

  “I won’t know how bad this is until we find out which grimoire is loose and I have a better understanding of what’s involved. Best case scenario, nothing will happen. Worst case scenario, it makes everyone within a certain radius very ill and threatens the structure of its surroundings.”

  She winced again, this time more deeply. “That sounds like my definition of a bad day. Yeah, let’s nip it in the bud if we can.”

  My book was handed to me, and I carefully tucked it under my arm before following the vendor through the narrow aisle between the tables to the row behind him. As we came up on the other side of the tent, a vendor turned to see who approached. He was a short man, a bit portly around the middle, but with an amiable enough face. Although he was frowning at the moment, clearly upset.

  “Charles,” our guide started eagerly. “This is Detective Edwards—you know, the Shinigami Detective—and her partner, Doctor Davenforth. They said they’ll take your case.”

  We hadn’t actually said that.

  The vendor lit up with hope. “Oh, thank you, thank you both. I’m quite worried about it. The thief left behind the box it was in.”

  I winced. Oh, great magic, really?

  Jamie pulled out her notebook from her purse and grimly said, “You’d best start from the beginning.”

  I got the details from the upset vendor and let Henri talk him through the particulars. As I took the information down, it occurred to me this might be a good training case.

  Gibson and Queen Regina had asked me recently to start training some of the kingsmen in criminal investigation procedures. I’d heartily agreed it was a good idea, and two newbie kingsmen had joined the ranks this past year. One of them we’d worked with on the gold robbery case—the young werefox, Foster. Foster was a good guy, and he really liked working a case. He’d already volunteered himself for the training, and I was happy to take him.

  The other one was even newer, a Woodland Elf by the name of Niamh. She’d been recruited by Gibson not only for her tracking ability—there wasn’t a thing in the world a Woodland Elf couldn’t track, apparently—but because of her fighting prowess. Her archery skills could apparently put anyone to shame. I had already dubbed her the female Legolas. Regina was very keen on adding more women into the kingsmen ranks, and no one could argue that Niamh didn’t have the ability to do the job.

  I had only met her once, for like ten minutes. I didn’t have much of an impression of her except she was polite and gorgeous.

  This was the first case I’d seen that had a touch of magic but might be simple enough to use as a training model. I hesitated to say “easy case” because Murphy was listening and would screw with me just for the principle of it.

  I tapped Henri on the shoulder and murmured into his ear, “I want to use this as one of my training cases.”

  Henri gave me a quick glance, dark eyes blinking once in surprise. Then he cottoned on. “Ah. An excellent idea, my dear. Do call Gibson, see if you can get approval. I’ll press on here.”

  “Okay.” I stepped away, letting Phil and Tasha guard my purchases, although Clint tagged along as I walked out of the tent and away from the door. I found a semi-private spot to make a call via the pad.

  Gibson picked up quickly, sounding a touch out of breath. “Jamie. Something burning?”

  “Not yet. Trying to keep it that way. Just stumbled into a case I think might be good to use for training.”

  “That right? Details?”

  “I’m at the Kingston Fairegrounds, where a large book faire is going on. A grimoire was stolen off a vendor’s table without the protective box it was in.”

  Gibson groaned, sounding like he was swearing mentally.

  “You know, that was pretty much Henri’s reaction? Anyway, they’ve tried reporting it to a local cop, but apparently there was a serious miscommunication, as the cop didn’t take it seriously and wouldn’t report it. Henri’s all hot and bothered, and he’s adamant about tracking this thing down. It’s a simple enough theft, but we have no clues to really go off.”

  “Which is why you think it’ll be good training.”

  “Yeah. Because that’s always the sticking point on cases—having enough evidence and clues to lead you to the right overall picture. I’ll call in Gerring next”—he was a detective now, but I’d kept him as a partner to give him more experience, and he’d need to join us—“but I thought Foster and Niamh might be good additions.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. I’ll authorize it and send them over.”

  “Thanks, Gibs.”

  “And at some point, have dinner with me. I haven’t seen you in a month at least. I want to hear about how things are going with Henri.”

  “Things are still going great with him. In fact, I kinda feel silly for waiting this long to try dating, to be honest.”

  “You should, but I also understand it. You were going through so much, adapting to this world, I don’t think you had the mental space for a romance until recently.”

  I snorted. He was spot on. It was more than wrapping my head around being on a different planet so far removed from my own galaxy. It was learning a new culture, a new language, feeling completely cut off from every familiar thing I’d ever known. I’d also been managing my PTSD so it didn’t take over, and working my way through issues. It had taken a lot of time and many sleepless nights to adjust to all of that. I really hadn’t been able to handle anything else during the first two years I was on this planet. I hadn’t had the spoons for it.

  But I did now. I felt far surer on my feet this year than before. And having Henri as both lover and friend was fast becoming my favorite thing ever.

  “I’ll definitely catch you up more properly over dinner, okay?”

  “You bet you will. I’ll send people over now.”

  “Thanks, Gibs.” With the call done, I scrawled a message to Gerring next.

  Got a case. Meet me at the Kingston Fairegrounds.

  Gerring’s answer came a moment later.

  Coming.

  Good man. I looked down at the cat twirling around my ankles. Or, trying—the skirt kind of got in his way.

  “Why are you being pesky?”

  Clint blinked up at me with Sad Face. “No collar.”

  “What, your new police badge collar?”

  “Yes. Can’t work. No collar.”

  I rolled my eyes to the heavens. “For the love of Mike. Cat. You are fine, you worked for over a year without that collar.”

  Sad Face became Epic Sad Face. Clint clearly did not agree.

  The badge collar was actual
ly Penny’s idea because of how many times we had to explain the Felixes while out in the field. She had designed a little vest that strapped on, with an embroidered police badge on each side, and a small, dangling badge-shaped name tag on the front. All three Felixes thought they were the cat’s meow with those vests on. They looked for excuses to wear them.

  Penny had, apparently, created a monster. Or three.

  “Suck it up, buttercup,” I informed my Felix with all the sympathy I could muster. Which was to say, none.

  He meowed at me pitifully.

  “Use your words, young man.” I scooped him up like a disobedient toddler, throwing him onto one shoulder and marching back into the tent. “You are setting such a bad example right now. You really are like your namesake.”

  He pouted audibly as I carried him back in.

  Henri was clearly done interviewing, but he continued to chat with the man as I approached.

  “—part of a set,” the vendor was saying.

  “We’ll do our best to find it,” Henri promised. His head turned as he spied my approach. “Ah, there you are.”

  I answered the question so obviously written over his face. “They’re coming. Might take a hot minute, though. One of us needs to meet people at the faireground’s entrance to lead them in here, otherwise it’ll take forever for them to find us.”

  “I’ll do that,” Henri volunteered. “I want to have a word or three with the young cop who has failed to appreciate the true value of books.”

  I could tell from the expression on his face, the words might be accompanied by a clue bat. Henri was NOT HAPPY right now.

  “Are any of those words likely to be clean?”

  “I wouldn’t give it high odds, no.” He leaned in to buss me on the cheek before turning and quickly heading out of the tent.

  Poor little cop. He’d just pushed one of Henri’s buttons. He didn’t have many, heaven knew, but pushing the wrong one certainly set off quite the reaction. I was sorry I’d miss the show. Shaking my head, I turned back to the vendor.

  “Mr. Ferrington, this might seem a bit odd, but I’ve actually called some junior kingsmen in on this case.”

  His eyes nearly crossed. “I’m sorry?”

  “The Queen wants her kingsmen well rounded, you see,” I explained patiently. “And none of them really know what to do with a crime scene. I’ve been tasked with training them. So, I’ll have three junior people working this case with me. They might ask you some silly questions, but bear with them; they’re learning.”

  His expression cleared, and he actually looked intrigued by this. “But that means you’ll have multiple magicians looking this case over, correct? I can’t imagine a more perfect team to investigate with. I’m actually quite relieved to hear this.”

  “Good!”

  I was glad he was taking this well. Some people would have demanded a more professional team instead. I’ve always had an issue with that idea. How do you get professionals if you never give the young people a chance to learn? I didn’t have the heart to tell him only one of the three was magical, and decided to leave that be.

  “I have some more questions for you, but I want to wait until they’ve arrived.”

  “Yes, of course. If you don’t mind, while we wait, I’ll sell some books to other customers.”

  “Sure, go for it.”

  I stepped out of the way but stayed nearby. This was technically still a crime scene, even if there was likely no trace evidence to pick up, except possible fingerprints on the grimoire’s box. More than likely it had dozens of prints from various people and probably not much of anything we could use. Still, worth a shot. I had nothing on me to protect it, but I thought I might be able to filch a paper bag from somewhere. I edged the box closer towards me with my skirt, carefully not touching it, so patrons couldn’t knock into it. I didn’t dare pick it up until I had a better place to put it.

  It took a good hour for people to arrive, Henri leading the charge. I looked them over, and aside from Gerring, everyone was in uniform.

  Gerring, I think, had been in the middle of something, as he wasn’t in the best of clothes and had basically pulled on a coat to look more respectable. Mud on his boots—yeah, I bet you he was doing yard work when the call came in. Kudos to him for immediately dropping it all and coming straight here. He’d at least pulled his black hair back in a ponytail and washed his face and hands. His sharp blue eyes were already weighing and evaluating everything, the tips of his ears twitching as he took in the many, many sounds of the faire. I realized our resident dark elf might get overwhelmed here. His senses were heightened, like mine, and I found the faire overwhelming at times.

  I greeted Henri with, “Are his ears ringing?”

  “Quite so.” Henri looked self-righteous and satisfied, a man who had completed his mission.

  Looking over at the other three, I asked, “You all introduced yourselves to each other, I hope? Good, good. This is Charles Ferrington, the dealer whose book was stolen. What we know at this point isn’t much. The grimoire wasn’t on display for sale, not really. He was bringing it out for customers to look at but kept it safely under the table for the most part. He brought it out for perusal, set it down, turned around, and turned back five seconds later to find the book gone and the box still here. It was taken out of this box”—I indicated the rather elaborately painted box sitting on the edge of the table—“before being sneaked off. Mr. Ferrington didn’t get a look at who did it.”

  Used to my training methods, Gerring jumped in. “Mr. Ferrington, what else can you tell us about the grimoire?”

  “It was part of a set, known rather informally as the Reaper’s Set.”

  That didn’t sound ominous or anything.

  Foster, I was pleased to note, already had a notebook out and was writing notes down quickly. “Can I ask why, sir?”

  Ferrington paused a customer on the right side before explaining quickly, “The entire set was written by a rather brilliant magician in the late Revolutionary period. It was hidden in a wall and later found during demolition. The set features an exact method of poisoning, interrogation techniques, anatomy, and the various spells one would use to extract information from another’s mind against their will. It’s a rather gruesome series, and extremely rare. Part of my concern for this volume’s disappearance is that it conveys exact illustrations for pinpoint-targeting spells that could do severe damage in a warzone.”

  Ouch. Well, wasn’t this a barrel full of monkeys.

  “So, you’re saying that in the wrong hands, this could do serious damage.” Niamh now copied the other two and jotted down notes quickly.

  She had no notebook, just a folded sheet of paper that looked like a grocery list. I’d have to get her something more suitable later. Her pretty green eyes swept the tables around us, and a doubtful frown crossed over her heart-shaped face.

  “But do we know the thief wanted it for some nefarious purpose?”

  I spread my hands. “That’s the question. We are, after all, in a throng of collectors. Avid collectors, no less. With a rare book like this, it could well be the thief stole it for the purpose of either adding it to his collection or selling it. I’m actually surprised to find something like this at a faire.”

  “I recently came across it at an estate sale,” Ferrington explained, his mouth drawn severely down at the corners. “I thought I would make noise about the fact I had it today, get some word of mouth going. I severely doubted anyone would have enough cash on hand to buy it, but displaying it would be good advertisement. It’s why I was so careful to keep it under the table and near me unless someone was looking at it. I’m so upset with myself. I literally turned my back on it for five seconds, and this happens.”

  “I would think with this grimoire in particular he’d surely have taken the box,” Henri objected.

  Ferrington shook his head. “It’s actually quite common for them to leave the box behind. The thieves have discovered that a book tucked into
a waistband is easy to disguise. With a coat on, I can’t tell if he’s got a book tucked away or not. But the box makes it uncomfortably sharp and bulky, much easier to spot. And harder to shove in the back of your trousers.”

  Ah, a good point. And good information, too.

  Phil was the one who pointed out the obvious. “But it’s dangerous.”

  Henri gave him a stroke on the head.

  “Good, you remember that. Yes, it’s very dangerous. The Reaper’s Grimoire is the type to be very volatile outside its protective box. Most grimoires have a sealing hex inscribed inside the signature page, but that isn’t sufficient for the truly powerful grimoires. I have no idea if the thief wants it for his own purposes or if he plans to sell it, but either way it’s dangerous for it to be running around without its box. Mr. Ferrington, I want to take the box not only for evidence but with the hope that I can quickly reunite it with its grimoire.”

  Ferrington nodded fervently. “Please. Frankly, the idea of the grimoire out of its box for any length of time gives me chills. I have no idea what kind of damage it will wreak.”

  I didn’t either, but Henri’s expression inclined me to think it would be really bad. While Henri was the type to worry, he wasn’t the type to worry without a reason, so that told me volumes, right there.

  “Right now, motive is very murky. We’ll have to leave it as a question mark. Alright, my ducklings, you are here at a crime scene with a missing grimoire. What do you do next?”

  “Dust for fingerprints?” Gerring offered.

  “Very good. I have no kit on me, so we’ll need to carefully bag the box for now and take it back to the station. But after that, what?”

  They all looked at each other, expressions blank, then looked to me for an answer.

  “But there aren’t any other clues to follow right now,” Niamh said slowly, her eyes intent on my face. “Are there?”

  “There are not. Which is why we’ll have to generate some.” I gave them a winsome smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just as much fun as it sounds.”