“I mean, honestly, if you ever felt the need for a change, you could always join Ellie and her crew. She really likes you, and I think you’d have fun inventing things with her.”
He blinked at me as if he’d never thought of it. “She does do hybrid inventions that require magic, but…really? Warner likes me?”
“Henri, most people like you.” Silly man. Why did he even question that?
“Oh. I admit I’ve always had a good impression of her as well. We just normally don’t interact directly without you present.”
“Ahhh. Yeah, I can see how that influences things. But I have to ask, do you feel like you want to switch things up?”
“No, not really. I’m quite content at the station. And I refuse to let anyone else partner with you.”
Now that, I couldn’t let slide. I leaned in to kiss him, the movement chaste but lingering.
“You say that because anyone else who worked with me would fall madly in love with me.”
“Oh, madly,” he agreed, dry as a martini. “Look how quickly I fell.”
“Ha. You took years to fall, my dude.”
He regarded me with a slightly canted head, his expression hard to read.
I stared back, eyebrows rising. What did that look on his face mean? “Okay, I can’t let that look slide. What are you thinking? I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know if you are. Well, you are, but perhaps not entirely.” He lifted a hand, brushing a thumb over my cheek in a gentle caress that sent pleasant tingles dancing over my skin. “I found you fascinating from the start. I’ve known many a competent, intelligent woman in my life, and yet, I wasn’t drawn to any of them like I was to you. The first year we knew each other, so much happened. I didn’t have the room to think of emotional entanglements. My first priority was helping you settle into a life here.”
The first year. He was right, that year had been a rollercoaster. I’d barely kept my feet under me some days. His support had been one of the bastions I most heavily leaned on. Looking back, I could confidently say I would have struggled a lot harder if not for him. But the way he said that, it begged the question.
“I’ve always been curious about what the tipping point was for you. Why you decided you wanted something more than a platonic friendship. I know you were writing letters, trying to figure out how to change our relationship.”
A pink flush invaded his cheeks, and he looked away, off to the side. “I’m a little embarrassed to tell you.”
If he thought he could evade this question and I would let him slide, he had another thing coming. I was way too curious. Maybe I could tickle it out of him.
No, try the nice method first. I kissed him again, lightly, teasingly, as if I could coax the answer from his lips. “Don’t be embarrassed, just tell me.”
“I told you it was about six months before we agreed to court.”
That smelled of evasion. And he still couldn’t look me in the eye. “Yes, I know the time frame. But what tipped you over?”
“I don’t actually have an answer for you,” he finally admitted softly. “It’s not that I’m evading. I’ve thought on it many times, but I don’t know. I can’t pinpoint a specific time and say, ah, it was then that my heart changed. And because of that, I can’t figure out why.”
It sounded to me that his heart had finally overruled his head. Henri was a very logical thinker, so this was probably odd for him, weird for his heart to have the bigger say. He really did look confused on this point, and frustrated that he didn’t know the answer.
I switched questions to help him out. “What made you try the love letters?”
“Ah, that I know how to answer. I woke up one morning from a very vivid dream. It wasn’t anything dramatic, but the two of us were out together, having a day of it. At one point, you leaned in to tease me about something, as you’re wont to do.”
Guilty as charged. He blushes cutely, what can I say.
“And then when I spluttered, you kissed me before twirling away with a laugh. It was all so natural in the dream, so easy and simple, our shared affection. I woke up, caught between the dream and reality, and felt hollow at the realization I didn’t have that with you.” His smile was rueful. “I couldn’t bear the feeling. I decided I had to at least try.”
That was a pretty good reason. And yet the question remained, “Whhhy would you hesitate for so long? Six months after that dream, really?”
“Part of it was the culture gap.”
His fingers found their way into my hair, loose for once, and smoothed it. It was an easy way for him to avoid looking me in the eye again. The blush had not faded.
“I didn’t know how a man would approach you in your culture. You accommodate me so much, and I know most of it isn’t natural for you. It’s something you’ve adopted to fit in better here. I didn’t want to start us off on an awkward footing.”
Yeah, okay, that was a genuine concern. We were still figuring out a good way to date that felt natural for both of us. It was easier than I’d feared because we’d been friends for so long, but we did hit those awkward moments.
“And part of it was, I didn’t know how to change our relationship from friends to lovers without throwing us completely off-kilter. Or if you were even interested in doing so. You’re surrounded by some rather amazing men on a regular basis and never show any romantic interest in them, so it made me wonder. Perhaps you wanted to be a career woman.”
Also a good point. I’d not shown my interest in him out of the same fear. “Still. Six months? Am I really that scary?”
“Formidable,” he corrected, grin crooked. “Most of the women in my life are. I was relieved when you said something because I was finally assured we were on the same page.”
Apparently, I’d had to. Henri was way too shy to actually ask a woman out. Although once he got comfortable with you, he became really easy to date. Which was a good thing for both of us.
“I was very happy we were on the same page, too,” I said. “I honestly wasn’t sure.”
“Then what made you reach out?”
“I hate limbos. And I figured, if nothing else, maybe you’d be flattered? That I wanted to date you.”
“Well, I was and am. Very flattered.” The smile on his face spoke volumes. “I’m also relieved we fit rather well together. Our awkward moments are few and far between, and easily rectified, which is far better than I expected.”
“Same.”
“It would have helped tremendously if you had fewer big brothers,” he continued, making a face.
It took a second to click, then my jaw dropped. “Did you get the shovel talk? From all of my male friends?”
“I think Marshall was the only one who didn’t say something.”
I threw my head back with a laugh, then listed sideways into the couch. “And you’re still willing to date me?”
“Oh, you can laugh now,” he groused, meaning it. “I was the one who had to put up with it.”
“Well, now I know why they all keep asking how things are going.”
“Do they really?”
“On an almost weekly basis, someone asks me.”
Henri growled in irritation. “I do know how to treat a woman properly, you know.”
I waggled my eyebrows at him mischievously. “Well, I know. And don’t worry, I’m reassuring them.”
“A relief, most definitely.”
He was so cute when he was peeved. I’d had no idea any of the guys had given him the shovel talk, but it didn’t actually surprise me, now that I thought about it. They were all protective types, and since I had no family readily on hand to protect my honor, of course they’d feel obligated to step in. Really, I’m very blessed to have amazing friends here in this world.
And an equally amazing boyfriend who puts up with all the craziness around me. You know what? For that, he deserved a good make-out session. I set about it with a smile lurking on my face.
Henri made an inquiring noise at
the first kiss, then melted into it when he realized my agenda for the evening had changed. He kissed back happily, his hands tangling into my hair. The man’s a good kisser, no lie.
The phone rang.
Are you freaking kidding me? I pulled back to glare at it. “My agenda for the evening is kissing you. Not going back into work.”
Henri matched me glare for glare, also staring at the ringing telephone with indignation. “You can kill whoever it is and come directly back here.”
“Great idea.” I popped up, striding the three steps it took to reach the little telephone table, and snatched up the receiver before snarling into it, “What?”
A voice I recognized—I think it was our front desk clerk, Kynan—answered in an apologetic tone. “Hey Detective, sorry to bother you at home. But we had a man by the name of Sasson Walcott walk in a minute ago. Said he’s turning himself in and is demanding to speak with you and Dr. Davenforth.”
I blinked, my rage immediately flip-flopping into excitement, curiosity, and the feeling that we were heading for a massive plot twist. “Wait, you’re sure it’s him?”
“Positive. Got his ID and everything. Here’s the kicker, and why I’m calling—he said he’s come to us for protection.”
“Protection from what?” I was already mentally putting shoes back on because no way am I going to sleep tonight without talking to Walcott first.
“That, he won’t tell me. Just said if we don’t take him in tonight, that someone’s going to kill him.”
Yup, as expected. The plot twist has arrived. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Henri groaned loudly as I put the receiver down. “This better be good.”
I said, “Sasson Walcott just turned himself in and demanded protection because he claims someone is going to kill him.”
Henri blinked at me. Then immediately lurched to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”
Color me surprised.
Sasson Walcott looked very different than he had earlier that day—no longer the posturing gentleman, but a hunted man who sat hunched in his chair, afraid and miserable. Jamie went ahead of me into the interrogation room, where they’d temporarily stashed him while he was waiting for our arrival. I followed closely at her heels, ready to hear either the truth or a whopper of a story.
With criminals, it could be either.
Jamie spoke as she drew out the chair opposite him, sitting confidently, as if it was her due. “Well, Mr. Walcott, I didn’t expect this. After you ran from us this morning, the last thing I expected was for you to turn yourself in this evening. May I ask what changed?”
“I panicked earlier,” he admitted heavily. “And…after I ran, I went to an acquaintance for help. But doing that meant crossing paths with someone I really didn’t want to meet, and he’s now threatening my life.”
That did and didn’t answer the question. I was still very upset with him, more so after looking in a mirror and seeing the damage to my face. I’d had to trim my fringe and apply several potions and creams to restore myself to rights.
But as much as I wanted to cut this man to the quick, answers trumped my personal feelings.
I sat as well and requested, “Start at the beginning, please. We know you’ve been dissecting grimoires and selling the pages. What started you on that path?”
He stared at his hands—both in cuffs—on the table as he spoke in a dead voice. It was only then that I really noticed his hands. The nails were cracked and the pads stained a very unhealthy purple-grey. I’d suspected he’d been on the receiving end of magical backlash due to his work. The hands confirmed it, although I had to wonder what other ailments now plagued him.
“When I first opened the office, I was sure the clientele would come in quickly. I was in such a good location, after all. But it was slow to build up. I’d jumped too hastily into moving offices, and the rent alone was killing me.
“I happened across an old grimoire in an estate sale, and when I got it back and examined it, I realized the cover and binding were done for. But some of the pages inside were quite unique. The charms were very beautifully drawn. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that with the right charms, a single sheet can sell well. The book was more valuable in pieces than it was as a single volume.”
I winced. “You realize those charms are normally put into glass displays.”
“I did take precautions. I pasted sealing charms on the back of them before selling them.”
That did make me feel marginally better. There was not much margin to begin with, mind you.
Jamie made a noise of encouragement. “So, that worked out well for you. And you decided to continue?”
“At first it was only the books I knew wouldn’t sell well,” he said miserably. “It wasn’t just grimoires, either. Vintage books that I came across with poor covers and bindings. The best find was the geographical book with the maps that folded out. That helped me pay the bills for six months. It was such easy money. And no one questioned why I had these pages, but not the whole book. They assumed I found them at estate sales—which, most of them, I had—and didn’t ask any difficult questions.”
A slippery slope, and I could see how it could happen. The problem was, he’d graduated from small, insignificant books no one cared about to some very valuable books he was decimating for his own ends.
On behalf of the books, I was upset with him.
Jamie led him forward again when he stalled. “And then we showed up at your doorstep this morning.”
“Right. I knew I was in trouble then. You were asking about the Reaper’s Set, but I knew you were camouflaging your true interest. You were trying to sound me out. How did I tip my hand?”
Jamie gave him a wry smile and a shake of the head. “No, we really were there to talk to you about the Reaper’s Set. When the same person’s name crops up in various witness interviews, they become a person of interest. I hoped you would shed some light on the value of the set, maybe give me a list of potential leads to follow.”
Walcott blinked at her as if she was suddenly speaking another language, one he couldn’t understand. “Wait. You really were there about the Reaper’s Set?”
“We really were. Of course, after you left, I got a warrant and searched your office, so I’m very clear on why you ran.”
“I also had to take immediate action on the grimoire you were slicing up,” I threw in with a glare. “You’re lucky you didn’t take a hand off or destroy your office with the way you were cutting out pages. The grimoire was leaking magic everywhere when I found it.”
Walcott looked on the verge of tears. “So, if I’d played ignorant, you would have passed right by me?”
“Eh, maybe.”
He didn’t have the nerves for it, though. I think the only saving grace he’d had so far was that no one suspected him of any foul play. If even one person had, he would have given himself away long before this.
“But that’s a moot point. We know what you’ve been doing. Now, after you ran, you went to whom?”
“An acquaintance,” he maintained stubbornly. Not going to rat out his friend, apparently. “I didn’t know what to do. I assumed you were onto me. I wanted to get out of Kingston quickly but discreetly so you couldn’t track me. I went to this person for help. But while there, I bumped into Searle Massimo.”
He said the name with true fear and a sort of distaste, as if the syllables felt unpleasant in his mouth. I noted the name down in my notebook, excited that we finally had a lead.
“Searle Massimo being…?”
“The man who wants to kill me.”
While I understood why Walcott found that to be the most important fact, it didn’t really explain much. “Why?”
Walcott slumped, and he went back to staring at his hands. “The reason why I was so sure you were onto me when inquiring about the Reaper’s Set was that I had one of the volumes, at one point.”
A chill slid up my spine. Oh, great magic, please do not let him
say what I feared he would say. “Had one…and sold intact, I hope?”
He shook his head despondently. “No.”
Jamie threw up a hand, staying him. “Wait, hold up, I’m confused. We’ve verified where each volume of the Reaper’s Set is. All the owners have been alerted and have protections around their books. They’re good. Well, I mean, four of them have been stolen, but no one mentioned a word to me about one that’s been chopped up. And trust me, we’d know—we spoke to the box maker.”
“Ah, you’re referring to the official set. Fourteen books plus the journal, correct?”
I nodded slowly, confused. “Well, yes?”
Walcott shook his head.
“Radman wrote another book, one that should have been included in the set. It was an earlier edition, one written when he was barely out of his teens. It wasn’t as brilliant as the later works. Or, well, I suppose it was more advanced, but not cutting-edge genius. This grimoire was more for the common spells he liked to use. It wasn’t sealed up with the others, but kept out for family use. When it came time to number the volumes for the set, this one was left out, as it wasn’t found with the others. I think the family forgot they even had it, until one of the descendants ran across it in the family library. He contacted me to see if I was interested in adding it to my collection. I said yes, and bought it.”
That uneasy feeling in my gut tightened. I suspected I would not like what he said next.
His eyes came up to meet mine, expression desperate for my understanding and sympathy.
“I fully intended to buy the rest of the Reaper’s Set, to put it all together and add in this new volume, and to repackage it. Sell it as a complete collection. The money from that sell alone would mean I could close up shop and retire, comfortably. No more copper-pinching every month to pay my bills. But no one would sell. Do you understand? I contacted every owner of the Reaper’s Set for months, over and over, and not one person would sell to me.”
“No,” I said in a soft tone, realizing now the point where things went very wrong. “No, they wouldn’t have. Marvella Radman made sure to vet each person who possessed a volume. She didn’t want the information to fall into the wrong hands. It wasn’t about possessing a rare volume to them. It was about guarding a legacy.”
Grimoires and Where to Find Them Page 14
