Grimoires and Where to Find Them

by Raconteur, Honor

  I had another case’s paperwork to wrap up before a deadline, so I retreated back to the station. Niamh and Foster had investigated the other two thefts at the faire with me, but it unfortunately hadn’t given us any leads. Just more things to investigate, which didn’t please any of us.

  I had told people to meet me at the station in the afternoon so we could compare notes. Henri was off visiting a friend, which surprised me. Unsociable as he was, he did have friends he spoke with. Maybe not regularly, true. It gave me a window of time to wrap things up.

  I more or less had things done when Niamh joined me. She sat in the wooden chair I kept at the side of the desk and crossed her legs comfortably, as if she had an invitation to be there.

  I found Niamh a little difficult to read. She was stunningly beautiful, enough to be a model or an actress, but she also had a natural poker face. She could have walked right onto The Lord of the Rings set, too, and fit right in. Her tall stature, a height near my own, and the platinum blonde hair that fell in a thick braid over her shoulder gave me the impression. That and the apple-green of her eyes, set in a heart-shaped face, with those wicked elf ears peeking out from beneath her hair. She’d give the impression of an ethereal beauty if not for her red kingsman uniform.

  As she took a seat, I gave her a glance and greeted her. “Niamh, hi. Give me two seconds, I almost have this done.”

  “Of course.” She extended a hand to the two cats lounging on the corner of my desk and gave them scratches. “Tasha, Clint, hello.”

  They purred, enjoying the attention.

  I signed off on a few things, stacked them in the right folders, and got them into my outbox. I’d file them in a second, but the air around Niamh suggested she had something to say. Or perhaps ask. I wanted to give her the space to do so while we had no one around. The bullpen was relatively quiet and empty for once. Something of a miracle, that.

  “Detective.” Niamh took a breath, visibly deciding how to phrase her question. “Clarify something for me. Why did you ask for me?”

  Ah. The expected question. I had a feeling the situation hadn’t been fully explained to her.

  “Couple of reasons, really. Queen Regina has requested I teach more of her kingsmen how to handle a crime scene. Because you’re a newbie, I pulled you in to teach. You and Foster, really.”

  Her caution eased up a mite. “What’s the other reason?”

  “I don’t know you,” I explained with an easy shrug. “And the easiest way to fix that is to work a case with you. I consult a lot with the kingsmen. Half of them are basically brothers to me, and it behooves me to know you better. To know anyone who’s joined the kingsmen ranks. Why not invite you in on this?”

  “So, it’s not that I’m being tested?”

  I blinked at her, surprised. “Which idiot suggested that? Girl, you’ve made it into the kingsmen, you don’t have to prove anything. Just do the job.”

  Her poker face fell away, replaced with curiosity. “You really see it that way. But, you know, that’s the question I keep overhearing. How did I manage to become a kingsman? And then someone suggests it’s Queen Regina’s goal of getting more women into positions of power, and they dismiss my abilities. You don’t look at me and think it’s a political move.”

  “No. But then, I lived in a country where women made up the bulk of the workforce. And we were darn good at what we did. Queen Regina understands gender has nothing to do with competency. You got in because you have the right skills; you just need experience. Foster’s the same. He’s got some stigma attached to him because he’s a werefox, but we’re not here to cater to stereotypes.”

  Clint piped up with, “Like Foster.”

  I gave him a pet, smoothing my hand down his back. “I know you like Foster. He likes you too—and knows how to work with you, which is good for all of us.

  “Give it time, Niamh. You’ll prove the doubters wrong eventually. And if they still give you grief five years from now, that’s on them. Not you. You don’t have to prove yourself to the idiots.”

  Her expression lifted up into a slight smile. “You’re speaking from experience, I think.”

  Snorting, I assured her dryly, “Still dealing with the idiots. Probably always will be. At any rate, the men you’re working with now will not look at you as a liability. Trust me.”

  “That’s because I’m pretty sure she can squash me.” Gerring joined us with a grin and a wave hello. “And I know you can.”

  Since I trained with him on a weekly basis, he didn’t have any doubt.

  “But you are improving.”

  Gerring rolled his pretty blues at me. “I’d take that as a compliment if I wasn’t sure you were holding back.”

  “I try not to break my colleagues. Bad things happen. Like paperwork.” I pointed to the two files on my desk I’d just finished. “Be a lamb, drop those off for me. Evidence Locker. We’re just waiting on Henri. He messaged me a bit ago saying he had info and possibly a few leads.”

  With a nod, Gerring gathered them up and went to turn them in at the Evidence Building.

  Niamh leaned in and asked in a low tone, “You’re really training him?”

  “He’s already a detective, actually. I’m keeping him with me a bit longer so I can pass along more of my tricks. We spar with each other on a weekly basis, to keep fighting fit.” I sighed, remembering past cases. “You’ll discover the bad guys like to run.”

  “But they can’t outrun you, can they?”

  My grin turned wicked. “No. But they don’t know that.”

  As if a sensor had gone off, both Felixes lifted their heads at the same time, turning towards the door. Then they said in unison, “Henri!”

  My cuddly boyfriend strolled in, shaking off raindrops as he moved. He wasn’t very wet, barely damp, but the moisture lingered in the dark curls of his hair and smattered along the tops of his shoulders. He greeted us all with a smile.

  “Hello, everyone, sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Is it raining outside?” I hoped not. We had possible interviews to do.

  “It just started drizzling, and I fear the storm will get worse before it gets better.” Henri deposited Phil onto the desk with the other two, then propped a hip comfortably up against the side of my desk. “Well. I have good news and troubling news.”

  “Oh, boy.” I sighed and requested, “Wait until the other two get here. Gerring is dropping something off at Evidence for me.”

  “Foster?” Henri inquired.

  I had my mouth open to say I didn’t know, when the front door to the precinct opened again and Foster hurried through. He gave himself a shake upon entry, getting the rain off of him as best he could, then spied us. The werefox looked a bit deflated with damp fur but still lively as he crossed quickly to the desk.

  “Hello, hello, am I late?”

  “Not at all,” Henri assured him. “We’re waiting on Gerring. Was there any progress on the other two stolen volumes?”

  “Not much. We had a rare volume of Mrs. Addison’s Book of Manners taken. Apparently a first edition, which is hard to find, as there was a mistake in that one and they pulled most of them from the shelves within the first week. Only a hundred and fifty copies were sold. Still, it’s not in huge demand, so it’s not as priceless as it could be.”

  “Worth two thousand crowns,” Niamh pitched in. “The other one was worth a bit more, priced about five thousand crowns. It was a collection of stories, fully illustrated and in mint condition.”

  “A McAllister collection,” Foster explained.

  This meant nothing to me, but Henri’s expression immediately cleared in understanding. Gerring had told me the McAllister books were tales meant for children. Kind of like a Beatrix Potter or something along those lines, that was my understanding. She was a very well-loved author, and basically every child grew up hearing at least some of her stories.

  I picked up the thread. “It’s another of those cases where the vendor turned to help a client,
turned back, book was gone. No trace of it anywhere. We’ll have to keep an eye out for it and hope it turns up somewhere. Is there any way we can notify other brokers that these books were stolen and ask them to report to us if they see them?”

  “I think we can. It might mean having a few flyers printed up, or something of that nature, but it’s the best way to get the word out. And, really, the thieves either intend to keep the volumes themselves or sell them.”

  I felt it only wise to point out the obvious. “The other two books stolen weren’t grimoires, so I’m not sure if we can connect all three thefts to one person. It’s a big faire, bound to attract more than one thief.”

  Henri accepted the point with a shrug.

  “In the case of the grimoire, I’m almost certain it’s not a magician doing the thefts at this point because the box was left behind. Any magician would know better and not take the risk. And with this set, it’s definitely a risk. But that leaves selling them, and the easiest way to get the full value of the books would be to sell them to another broker.” Henri frowned slightly in thought, absently running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how many brokers there are in the city.”

  “Quite a few, I’d think. That’s one of the things we’ll need to figure out, and divvy up, so we can talk with all the players.”

  Gerring came back in. I spied his approach and waved him closer. “Okay, the gang’s all here. Hit us, Henri.”

  He was used to all my colloquialisms and calmly reported what he’d learned. “My friend, in fact, had a volume from the Reaper’s Set at one time. He reported it stolen two weeks ago, along with its protective box.”

  I winced. “Oh, this isn’t going to be good.”

  “I examined the broken lock, and he’s quite correct. A thief came in and relieved him of it. He did report the theft but said it wasn’t taken seriously.”

  Henri got that devilish gleam in his eye. Like a cat that had done something it wasn’t supposed to but had enjoyed immensely, anyway.

  “I stopped by the station in question and had a little chat with the officer who took the initial report.”

  I shook my head. The whole city would understand the importance of books by the time we were done with this case. Mostly because Henri would get up on a soap box if he had to.

  “Alright, so we have two books stolen from this series. Great. Was this another doom-and-gloom volume?”

  “Yes and no.” He waffled a hand back and forth. “Predominantly, no. The volume had a great deal of magical theory in it, hence why Leor had it. He’s a magical theorist. The good news is, he’s given me the names of three other people to speak with, including the woman who gave him the book in the first place. They all have a part of the collection and might be able to shed some light on matters. He mentioned a broker had contacted him a month ago, inquiring if he’d be willing to sell the volume, but Leor ignored it.”

  I was happy to hear we had names. People to talk to always helped.

  “How did the broker know he had it?”

  “According to Leor, it wasn’t a secret. So, who knows?”

  Good point. Word did get around about stuff like this.

  “That’s the good news, but what’s the bad news?”

  Henri’s expression became very pained, his mouth in a long frown that reached the floor. “There are no protections on the books.”

  Niamh hissed in a breath, actually drawing back in her chair.

  The rest of us were clueless.

  Gerring looked at Henri uncertainly. “You mean…like the box is missing, or…?”

  Henri shook his head. “No, I mean there’s no sealing hex on the signature pages.”

  We all collectively groaned in understanding. He’d explained the importance of that at the faire, in broader strokes.

  I couldn’t help but ask, “But does it really make that much of a difference? I thought the box was the main protection, anyway.”

  “We do the hex on the signature page for a reason, my dear. It’s not for redundancy. The sealing hex is to prevent magic from splashing against the cover and damaging the volume, but also to contain the magic within the pages and keep it from bleeding out and into something nearby.”

  Henri shook his head, looking like someone had kicked his dog and stolen his truck.

  “And the entire Reaper’s Set has no such precautions. There are no protective hexes to be found anywhere within its cover or pages. The box created for each volume is its sole ward.”

  Oh god in heaven. Noooo, that was not good. I felt my stomach drop at the thought.

  Foster spluttered, “But that means the volume stolen yesterday is liable to cause problems, right?”

  Henri looked about as happy as a fried frog when he admitted, “Unfortunately. And these books are filled with things I’d rather not have loose in society. My dear, I hate to say this, but when we finally do find the location of the grimoire, you might need to step back until I can evaluate it. The magic leaking from those grimoires might be…too much. Or it might be safe for you to be nearby. But I won’t know for certain until I evaluate it.”

  With the chaotic state of my core, I didn’t know if I would be able to assist him. It still took regular visits from Sherard to keep me stable and balanced, although he kept tweaking the spell, giving me a slight boost now and again. We were all cautious about the kinds of energy I encountered, as some types could undo Sherard’s hard work in a second. (A certain explosion in a charms shop comes to mind…). On the other hand, I was immune to almost everything, thanks to Belladonna’s meddling. It was hard to judge it in advance.

  I gave him a thumbs-up. “We’ll play it by ear.”

  Henri gave the others a warning look. “The rest of you should steer well clear of it. Call me immediately for help and stay at least a half a street back, if at all possible.”

  It was a good warning. I trusted them all to be sensible enough to take it.

  “Question. Can our thief craft wards around it?”

  “Technically, yes. It would take a great deal of time and skill, however. Each protective box would take weeks to make. Especially in this case, with no protection around the Reaper’s grimoires, that isn’t time the thief has.”

  “Good point. Are you absolutely certain the thief is not a magician?”

  “I would give it very low odds at this point. I’ve seen no sign of magic used in the breaking and entering, and even Leor’s book was stolen when the ward was down.”

  Another good point. I could see why Henri was half-convinced. Magicians use magic as a default. Why break in with lockpicks when a spell works just as well, and faster?

  Henri turned to Gerring. “You checked with police records, correct? Anything?”

  “No one wrote any reports about stolen books, grimoires or otherwise,” Gerring reported with a sour expression. “And there have been a few cases of magical backlash, but it was stupid people applying multiple charms on top of each other. I checked into those.”

  “So, not a lead for us.” It figured. I shook my head and asked my boyfriend, “Alright, so, who can we speak with? You said you had names.”

  “I’d like to divide and conquer.” Henri looked between my ducklings. “I want to look up all the brokers in the city and notify them of these two thefts. Let’s see if they know anything. It’ll mean a great deal of legwork.”

  Gerring waved this off. “All detective work is legwork.”

  I knuckled a tear from my eye. “They grow up so fast.”

  I got poked in the shoulder for that comment. I did love that Gerring had gotten comfortable enough with me to both dish it out and take it.

  “But I think the three of you can divide this up and get most of it done in the next two days. Speed is called for, here. My friend Leor mentioned one person in particular—a man by the name of Walcott who was trying to assemble the set. But there might be others. Perhaps you can even call them, if they’re listed in the phone book.”

  “It would
save you a lot of time.”

  I didn’t think all the brokers had a phone, though. They were still relatively new here. Unfortunately. You have no idea how much I bemoan the lack of phones.

  “And what are the two of us doing, Henri?”

  “I have three people I wish to speak with.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Marvella Radman—she’s the descendant of the man who created the series, and she was the one who either sold or gave away most of the volumes. She’ll know who has what.”

  “Oooh. I definitely want to talk to her.”

  “Elfrida Bramwell, a friend of both mine and Leor’s. She supposedly has the sixth volume, and I’d like to see if she still has hers or knows anything about the others. Elfrida is a more sociable person and might be more up-to-date on news.

  “And, finally, Jere Mortimer. Jere’s a friend who I attended university with, and an excellent craftsman. He was in the unenviable position of crafting new boxes for all of the volumes, according to Leor. He’ll know more about the protections the grimoires need.”

  I was really happy with this interview list. It sounded as if Henri had collected the right names from his friend. I did adore talking to people who were both experts in their fields and familiar with the situation.

  “That sounds great. And can we talk to these people today?”

  “I took the liberty of borrowing Leor’s phone and setting up appointments with both Lady Radman and Elfrida, who are expecting us within the next two hours or so. Jere is harder to pin down. I think we’ll have to swing by his workshop and hope to catch him. I called Walcott, as well, but there was no answer. We can run by his office later.”

  Henri had called people. Voluntarily. Wow, he really was mad about these thefts. Like, I thought the world would have to be in danger before Henri voluntarily picked up a phone. But it was also a sign that the situation was potentially that dangerous. Henri was clearly worried. And if he was worried, I definitely should be.

  I wasn’t the type of teacher to hover, so I didn’t try to micromanage my students. I stood, collecting my messenger bag and coat.