Grimoires and Where to Find Them

by Raconteur, Honor

  Walcott’s expression crumpled.

  “I didn’t realize. Not at the time I bought that grimoire and came up with my plan. I didn’t realize they weren’t like regular collectors. When I failed, for so many months, I was stuck again in the same situation I’d been trying to escape from. Worse, because I’d spent so much time trying to win them over, I’d neglected to sell enough to pay my bills, and I was dangerously low on money. No one remembered this grimoire. No one would notice its absence. And trying to sell it as a long-lost grimoire from the set wouldn’t work. They’d think it was a forgery or something.”

  “Even with a Radman providing providence for it?” Jamie protested.

  Walcott’s mouth twisted. “The family is hard up for money. Everyone knows that. And some of Lady Radman’s cousins are not…trustworthy.”

  “Ah. Got it.” Jamie shook her head, as if not surprised anymore. She also made a note to look into the cousins, which was wise. They might be good suspects.

  I winced in anticipation as the words left my mouth. “You sliced it up and sold individual pages, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Walcott admitted, pale now, hands trembling on the table. “It seemed such a good idea at the time. I marketed them as singular hex and charm designs by the famous Kerey Radman, and they sold lightning quick. My bank account was healthy again in a week. What I didn’t count on was him.”

  “Massimo,” I said neutrally.

  “Bastard,” Walcott muttered. “I don’t know what tripped him onto the series, or how he’d come to be obsessed with it. Massimo’s a well-known book thief. He’s a strange one, likes to collect them so that he seems a smarter, more cultured man. But he’s never had two coppers to rub together in his life, so he can’t afford his own habits. He started stealing years back.”

  “And no one’s caught this guy?” Jamie looked irritated.

  “No. No one really suspects him, at first. Searle Massimo III. Sounds proper, right? And he’ll look you in the eye and sign a bad check, and a broker doesn’t suspect a thing. He’s a normal-looking human, nothing notable about him, and he’s soft-spoken and polite. Not the type to strike people as a thief—or to attack people on a whim,” he added bitterly, but fear lingered in his tone.

  I jotted down the description of him, as it would be handy to have later.

  “Ah.” Jamie scribbled out notes as well, a frown on her face. “Which means he’s a good thief.”

  “Quite good.” Walcott rubbed at his face with both hands, despairing. “I’ve crossed paths with him on several occasions, as we use the same fence to handle our goods. I sometimes run across lower-end wares that I can’t sell at my shop, and fencing them is easier. Massimo has never bothered me before, and we’ve never dealt directly with each other. Still, I saw him from time to time by coincidence.

  “He’s slippery, good at disappearing in a crowd, but I never figured him for the violent sort. He seemed almost…unhinged. I almost didn’t escape from him earlier. When I went to my acquaintance, Massimo was there brokering a deal, as he had two volumes to sell. When he spotted me, he demanded to know if I’d bought a grimoire from the Radman family. I didn’t see why it mattered, so I answered yes, I had, but I no longer had it.”

  “And he blew up,” Jamie guessed.

  “That’s a mild description. He said he’d seen two different pages now, both with the Radman signature on them, knew what I had done to the grimoire. That I was a travesty to the profession and I was to collect everything I’d sold and put the book back to rights. I couldn’t understand it, at first—his anger. Or even the logic. How do you even start putting a grimoire back to its original condition?”

  “You don’t,” I agreed flatly. “You can rebind it, reseal it, but you can’t restore it.”

  Walcott nodded as if reassured that I agreed with him.

  Actually, I was condemning him, but I wasn’t about to say so and dam up this flow of information.

  “I assume you said this to him?” Jamie prompted.

  “No. No, I didn’t dare. He was so angry. But my acquaintance said something to that effect, and then Massimo truly lost his temper. He came after me in a rage, and I had to run for my life. He kept waving a carving knife and threatening to use it on me. I’d be dead if I hadn’t run. It was almost…insane, the way he acted. And the threats he shouted didn’t even make sense.”

  Walcott looked at us both with pleading eyes.

  “He’s not like the others who hold volumes of the Reaper’s Set. He’s obsessed with owning it, owning everything Radman ever wrote. He won’t rest until he has the full collection.”

  Obsessed people were often the most dangerous. They did the most harm without thinking of the consequences, often without caring what the repercussions were. To them, satisfying their urges was all that mattered. If this man was that type, then Walcott was wise to run from him. He was correct—a police station was the safest place for him to be until this man was caught.

  Walcott’s crime was basically forgery, and with the right lawyer, he’d pay a steep fine and receive six months in jail for it. He must have weighed it out and decided six months was a cheap price to pay to live. I certainly would have made the same choice in his shoes.

  I made a mental note to follow up with Seaton and get protective wards around the rest of the grimoires. I believed the other owners had already taken the precaution, but in this situation, double-checking seemed appropriate.

  Jamie clearly didn’t have much sympathy for Walcott, but she didn’t say so.

  “Alright, Mr. Walcott, I understand what’s brought you here. We’re going to do several things. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to sit you down with a sketch artist and have you describe Massimo to them. That’s going to help us find this guy fast, okay? Then I’ll arrange for you to call a lawyer in the morning. No one’s in their offices at this hour. But you can sleep easy tonight here. How’s that sound?”

  Walcott nodded jerkily, relieved. “Good. That’s good. I can do that.”

  “And if you want to give us an idea of where Massimo lives, works, who his friends are? That will help us track him down.”

  At this, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I don’t know much about him. He frequents Blue Rose Street, though, that I do know. He likes to shop for books there and will often trade inventory with the shopkeepers.”

  Since Jamie wouldn’t know that section of the city, I leaned in and murmured, “It’s a well-known area for second-hand shops. Some are bookstores, others are places where you can liquidate an estate.”

  “Ahhh. It makes perfect sense that he likes that area, then. That’s great, Mr. Walcott, super helpful as it gives me an idea of where to look.”

  “One more question,” I tacked on. “Did he seem at all physically changed? Being around unprotected grimoires has an effect on people.”

  “Like me,” Walcott said humorlessly, his mouth twisting up in a parody of a smile. “Nothing obvious from what I saw. He did wear gloves, though. I thought it strange at the time as it was a very warm day, chalked it up to his profession, but…his hands might show signs.”

  They probably did. Hopefully, that would help us.

  Jamie gave him a nod. “You sit tight for a second while I get things arranged.”

  I followed Jamie out, and it was only after the door closed that she and I shared a speaking look.

  “A thief who’s been active for years and never caught,” I stated sourly.

  “Which means he’s probably using various aliases, moves around the city a lot, and has an everyman face that people can’t recall five minutes later.” Jamie groaned, her head flopping back on her neck. “Oh, this will not be fun.”

  I grunted sourly in agreement. “I’m calling Seaton. I want to double-check that good wards are up around each of the remaining grimoires and the owner’s houses until this is well over. I know the thief got around the palace wards, but I don’t think he can duplicate the same process in a house.”<
br />
  “Yeah, harder to find a dupe there. Still, even with the grimoire owners on their guard, changing locations entirely might not be a bad call. They can bring their volumes to the station for safe keeping, or put them in a bank for the time being.”

  “Also a good thought. I’ll suggest it to them.” I gave her a side-eye. “Knowing who this fence is would be a good in. I’d like to know Massimo’s acquaintances.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’ll see if I can weasel it out of Walcott while he’s with the sketch artist tomorrow.” Jamie blew out a breath, looking stressed and harried. “And on that note, one, two, three, break!”

  I came back into the station the next morning ahead of Henri, as I wanted to process Walcott properly now that people were back in their offices. He had been stubbornly mute on names yesterday, and I hoped to tap him again today to see if he would at least give me the name of one of Massimo’s acquaintances. Just something for a lead. I seriously had no idea where to find this man right now. After a night in jail, I hoped Walcott would be more talkative.

  I drove in, as I had a feeling today would be one of those days I’d be darting all over the city. I parked in the lot and came in through the back door. As I slung myself off the bike, I spotted Colette coming out of the Evidence Building and gave her a wave.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning.” She waved back, then yawned and drank heartily out of the coffee cup in her hand. “Mercy, but it’s turning out to be one of those mornings already.”

  Well, that didn’t sound auspicious. “Yeah? What’s happened?”

  “Bunch of nothing that people are making into something, that’s what.” She paused at the door and waited for me to catch up with her. “You know how that sliced-up grimoire came in?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, everyone on staff in the Evidence Building is nervous about it. Keep wanting me to move it away from the other magical artifacts in storage. But I was here when Jere brought a staging box in—and it’s solid. I told them so. I ain’t moving it.”

  She gave a decisive nod of the head, her multitude of braids swinging a bit with the motion. Normally, she kept her hair up in a two-tiered bun, but today it was in a high ponytail, and she wasn’t in her usual assortment of layers—just a plain tan skirt and white shirt. That told me she’d been in a hurry this morning.

  I could make a few educated guesses. “Someone came in for an early shift, saw the box, and panicked? Called you in?”

  “No, they bumped into the box, dinged a corner, became convinced it wasn’t sturdy enough to do the job,” she corrected on a long sigh. A lord-preserve-me sort of sigh. “As if scratching a corner of a wooden box is going to do anything.”

  “Ah.” I had some sympathy for her. When people didn’t understand much about something, they tended to jump to the wrong conclusions. “Thanks for taking point on this kind of stuff. I know you didn’t sign up for this when you joined.”

  “I daresay Henri didn’t either when he signed on.” Colette gave a shrug of her wide shoulders. “But it’s only fair to pitch in while he’s on a case with you. And I understand this one is a whopper.”

  “Jere filled you in?”

  “That he did. I don’t envy you the task of figuring this one out. Any leads?”

  “A good one, actually. If you can call it that.” I made a face, wishing for strong coffee myself. “Long story short, a key witness named a man who he knows is a thief and obsessed with Radman’s works. Odds are, he’s the thief we’re looking for. I’m getting a sketch artist in this morning, but I’m also not holding my breath. My witness described the man as having a very forgettable face.”

  “Oh, glory.” Colette offered me her coffee. “Need a sip?”

  “Bless you.” I accepted the offering and took a healthy swallow. “I can’t linger. I’ve got ducklings coming in to meet me, but let’s catch up later. Dinner or something.”

  “Sure, sure. I’d love to hear how this pans out. And reassure Henri, if you see him before I do, that we’re managing without him.”

  I was surprised at that. “Really? Light week?”

  “Not as such. Everything that’s come through this past week has been simple. No chance of a backlog building, so far.”

  “Ahhh. Well, it was kind of the universe to cut you some slack.”

  “I will take it with thanks.” She took her coffee back.

  I was sad about that, but I was a grown adult. I could get my own coffee. We exchanged wry smiles, and I went ahead of her to my desk. I had things to get in motion.

  The bullpen was relatively quiet at this hour—a quiet that wouldn’t keep for long. Niamh and Foster were already at my desk, which was impressive. Or would have been, if they’d looked awake. Foster held his coffee cup to his nose like a fainting lady would smelling salts.

  “Late night?” I asked them, not sure why they were so zombie-like this morning.

  “RM Seaton’s reworking the wards and security, trying to prevent a repeat of what happened,” Niamh answered with a yawn. “Of course, that meant we had to step in and guard the palace grounds while everyone got into the new positions. We were up most of the night.”

  Gerring strolled up to the desk looking more awake than the others, two porcelain mugs in his hands. He took one look at Niamh and offered one to her.

  She took it with a pleased little murmur and promptly inhaled half of it.

  I had a feeling that mug was meant to be mine. Gerring’s thoughtful that way—he often brought me coffee if we had an early start like today. But I wasn’t about to question him about it. I had a feeling it had been sacrificed to a more noble cause.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’d let you guys go home and sleep some, but we got a break in the case last night.”

  Foster unglued his eyes a little further. “You said Walcott turned himself in.”

  “I did say that, yes. And that his life was being threatened by a thief.” I waited, but they weren’t connecting the dots. “Did you guys not see my second message?”

  “Second message?” they parroted in perfect, blank unison.

  “My second message said the thief who threatened Walcott’s life is collecting everything Radman wrote and is likely the thief we’re looking for.”

  It took a second longer than it should have for my statement to connect. Then both of them looked abruptly more awake.

  “Do we have a name?” Niamh asked with rising excitement.

  “We have a name, a description, and an idea of this guy’s favorite stores. I want a sketch artist to sit down with Walcott this morning, see if we can get something useful.” I felt it only fair to warn them. “Walcott described this man as soft-spoken with a common face. I have a feeling he uses different aliases, too, as he’s been stealing books for years without being caught. It might be really hard to lay hands on him.”

  This did not deter Niamh. Her eyes sparkled. “Ooh, a challenge. I’m quite keen on that. Let me sit in with the sketch artist. If the thief touched Walcott in any way, I may be able to pick up something of an aura or scent.”

  “Sounds good to me. Gerring, you go with, you know how to set this up.”

  “Sure.” Gerring swept an arm to the right, indicating the direction Niamh needed to go. “This way, my lady.”

  She gave him a little smile before following his lead.

  I blinked after them. Was Gerring…flirting? Seriously? I pointed after them and asked Foster in a low voice, “Have I missed something?”

  “Don’t know when it started,” Foster admitted, back to sniffing his coffee. “Caught it myself yesterday, after you separated from us and Niamh returned. He’s bending over backwards to be helpful, flirting just enough to say he’s interested without being pushy. Niamh’s harder to read. I can’t tell if she’s interested or not.”

  “If she hasn’t shut him down, she’s enjoying the attention.” So that was Gerring’s type, huh? Tall, blonde, and dangerous. Interesting. “Well. While they’re doing that, we
have two things to do. First, Walcott has given me his attorney’s name and number. We need to call and let him know his client is here, arrange for him to come in.”

  Foster nodded, then finally drank some of his coffee. “Second thing?”

  “We report to our prosecutor’s office that we have a case for them. I wrote down a quick confession for Walcott last night, which he signed, so we have it on file. But they need more particulars in order to do anything with the case, which means paperwork on our end. Why don’t you sit, review the confession so you’re caught up to speed. I’ll call the attorney and then walk you through how to set up a case for the prosecutor’s office.”

  Foster seemed agreeable to this plan and promptly sat in my visitor’s chair. I dug out the file and handed it to him. His eyes weren’t crossing as he opened it, at least.

  Being sleep-deprived really did a number on the brain. I cut him some slack as I made the call.

  The attorney’s secretary sounded put out that one of their clients would dare confess to a policeman without consulting their office first. Which, granted, in their eyes would be stupid. But desperate people did desperate things. At any rate, she agreed to send someone over promptly. My duty done, I hung up and then went searching for the right forms, as Foster was still reading.

  Our file room was kept rigidly neat, and it always looked a little like an apothecary to me. There were slender drawers that ran from floor to ceiling, each with their own blank forms. It was still an odd sight for me, I’ll tell you. I was used to pulling up the right form online, or out of a shared drive, and then typing it all in. Here, I had to physically find the right form before loading it into a typewriter and making sure everything lined up right.

  Ah, computers, how I missed thee. At least at work.

  It pleased me beyond saying that at least I now had a laptop at home.