Grimoires and Where to Find Them

by Raconteur, Honor

  They didn’t argue. We set to the task, and even though I had a protective hex written on my own skin, I still went for the nearest grimoire gingerly, half-expecting it to explode in my hands. It looked so much like a badly brewed potion ready to boil over, I couldn’t help my caution.

  It was a relief to get it into a containment bag, the top tightly shut, and hand it over to Baker, who was nearest to me.

  And then I got to repeat the process with the next grimoire.

  Seaton owed me dinner for this. With dessert.

  Ten books in, I stopped wincing quite so badly, and my movements sped up. Some part of my hind brain recognized that the quicker I got through this, the safer it would be. I didn’t have enough bags on me to empty a bookcase, but I got halfway through it, Baker running up and down the stairs for both Colette and me. With no more bags, I paused for a breather.

  It was stuffy in this room, a feeling that grew with each minute. A humid, cloying sort of dampness that clung to the skin and inside of my lungs. It felt like being in a swamp even though I was standing in the middle of a city. A fine sweat covered my temples and trickled down the small of my back, a highly unpleasant sensation. I was due a long bath after this.

  What worried me was I could feel my magic steadily draining. Sealing the grimoires itself took very little magical power, but when you multiply that drain by ten, twenty, a hundred books—it unfortunately added up quickly. My magical core could feel it, plus the drain of maintaining the hex drawn onto my skin. I was so battered on all sides by this magic soup, as Seaton put it, that the protection hex had to draw heavily on my core to keep me protected.

  I was trying to pace myself, as I was not the strongest magician in the room, and everyone else might outpace me at this rate. But I couldn’t falter, either. They were relying on me, as I was relying on them, to get this done. Hopefully, we’d finish before I was forced to stop.

  I turned to see how everyone else was faring. Gibson and Marshall had come far better prepared than I, and they’d emptied out a bookcase between them. However, they, too, seemed to be low on bags.

  “Why don’t I go down and fetch more bags?” I offered. I could use a breather, and it wouldn’t hurt to check if Jere had arrived.

  Seaton waved me on, so I went, breathing only slightly easier in the stairwell. This area of the building felt more…solid? I wasn’t sure how to explain it. The sound echoed more firmly here, my shoes making the right tap-tap noise against the hardwood. In the apartment, it was more akin to walking on a firm sponge.

  I felt considerable sympathy for the owner of the building, whoever that might be. The job of restoring this place into a habitable structure would be no mean feat. I’d see if I could possibly give them a short list of experts who could take on such a renovation. There weren’t many with the right skill set.

  I made it down the stairs without issue and out the door. The kingsmen’s red van stood unlocked, parked along the curb, and I went for it first. As I opened the back door, however, I heard a honk from behind me. Sensing it might be for me, I half-turned and saw Jere pull in sharply behind my car. The street was barely wide enough to allow this, but with the evacuation in process, I supposed it wasn’t much of an issue.

  I was relieved to see him. He’d made good time. He had, after all, come from across the city. I abandoned my search for a moment and went up onto the sidewalk to greet him.

  “Henri,” Jere said with exasperation. “We really must stop meeting like this. And what the devil’s with this building?”

  I winced. “Didn’t you hear what was happening?”

  “Colette couldn’t tell me much, just that you needed help containing a volatile set of grimoires in a building.” He looked doubtfully at the building in question. “That looks a sight more than a few grimoires to me. Takes more magic than that to cause…this.”

  “An apartment of grimoires,” I corrected him, weary and too strung out about the situation to stay mad. No doubt my anger would return when I had enough energy for it. “An apartment of unboxed, unprotected grimoires all stacked on top of each other.”

  Jere stared at me, a man truly wanting to doubt what his own ears had just reported to him. “I don’t like what you just said.”

  “I can’t say I blame you.”

  “I want you to take it back.”

  “Sorry, old chap, would if I could.”

  Jere whined, “I did not consent to this problem today.”

  I nodded with sympathy. “I didn’t either.”

  “I am stuck in cringe, and it hurts.” He really was cringing. “An apartment?”

  “One bedroom, if it makes you feel better.”

  “Can’t say it does, no.” Jere ran both hands roughshod over his face. “Any sign of our Reaper grimoires?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m…not relieved, since you’re still going through the whole thing. Right. Well. I hastily packed up some of my staging boxes.”

  Jere’s vehicle was one of those modified trucks with a covered bed, not quite a van, but something similar. When he opened the back of it, I understood what he meant. He had a customized built-in shelving unit with twenty-four compartments, and judging by the size of it, each compartment could comfortably house a very thick grimoire.

  It was brilliant, perfect for the thicker tomes that wouldn’t fit in the bags.

  “Excellent. Let me add a protection hex to your skin and we’ll start bringing those down. Can you drive up onto the sidewalk and into the ward’s protection? We’re all so busy upstairs and trying to evacuate the area, there’s no one to really maintain perimeter down here at the moment.”

  “I suppose the ward is functioning as perimeter security. Sure, give me a moment.”

  I left him to it, returning to my task of retrieving the bags, which was easy—boxes of them lined the interior of the kingsmen’s van. I grabbed a box, grunted at the weight of it, then hauled it toward the door.

  Jere parked at such an angle that he had the back doors open and facing the front door of the apartment building. He hopped lightly out, grabbed his own bag, and was right on my heels as we stepped lively up the stairs.

  On the way up, we passed Baker, and I threw out a quick introduction. “Baker, this is Jere, our expert.”

  “Pleasure,” Baker said with a quick smile. “Good of you to come.”

  “Oh, Henri owes me for this. Baker, any grimoires too dangerous or big for the bags, I’ve got compartments in my van downstairs. You can put one in each compartment.”

  “Good to know, sir.”

  We went all the way up, my arms protesting by the time we reached the right door.

  “Jere, I hear you!” Colette called through the open door. “I’ve got a bad one right here.”

  Jere dodged ahead of me, attending to her call for help. I stepped to the left, out of the way of their progress, trying in vain to find some spot to put the box down that wouldn’t be directly in our footpath. We didn’t have much room to maneuver in this cramped apartment.

  As I reached the kitchen island, that spongy feeling under my feet turned worse. It felt more like rotten wood giving way. I felt the dip, felt my weight go in the wrong direction, and had only a moment of realization and panic before my left foot went straight through the floor, the wood splintering.

  Two strong hands latched onto my shoulder and waist, yanking me firmly back. I fell that direction instead, my heart in my throat. It was only a second, then my rescuer and I fetched up hard against a bookcase.

  “Davenforth, I could be wrong,” Gibson drawled in my ear, “but I don’t think you want to go that direction.”

  I cursed the man for joking in this moment even as my own dark humor snorted a laugh. I held onto his arms for a second, gaining my balance and bearings.

  “That, I do not. Good reflexes, thank you.”

  He held me steady until he was sure I wasn’t about to repeat the experience, then let me go. My heart thumped loudly enough to beat its way
out of my chest. Before I could do much at all, I had Colette at my side, looking my ankle over, making sure I hadn’t injured myself.

  “I’ll renew the reinforcement spells.” Seaton marched for the spot with an angry twitch near his eye.

  Jere threw up a staying hand. “You continue on, sir. I’ve got this. I know a few tricks about stabilizing something that is inundated with magic soup.”

  Seaton paused, giving him a good look over. “You’re our magic containment expert, I take it? Jolly good. If you don’t mind, let me watch over your shoulder. I’m always up for learning a few more tricks.”

  That attitude pleased Jere, and he waved him in closer. Even as he did so, he instructed, “Everyone out until I’ve got this apartment stabilized enough to work in.”

  “Splendid notion,” I agreed faintly.

  Herding people out of a dangerous area sounds easy, right?

  Wrong.

  I don’t know what it was about telling someone to evacuate, but they reverted to childhood right in front of my eyes. You know, they lost all ability to listen, forcing me to repeat myself three times and put a hand on their shoulders and physically move them even as I said it the third time. That kind of reversion. And so much spluttering from them.

  “No, but—”

  “Is it really that dangerous?”

  “Can’t I—”

  No. No, you may not. Move. Now.

  We’d started in close and worked our way outwards. Sherard had already contacted the local station before we got here, and they were suited up and moving before I could join them. Their captain took the lead—which I was fine with—and I fell into line, helping as she directed.

  Four hours later, we had everyone evacuated, with fifteen blocks clear on all sides. I looped back around to the station, intending to double-check we really were clear. Ah, how I miss walkie-talkies. And cell phones. Mostly cell phones. Not that my pad wasn’t a dandy substitute, as substitutes went, but…well, they still weren’t universal in Kingston yet. They were getting there, but not yet. And a pad only really works if there’s another pad to connect to on the opposite end. Maybe I could get Ellie to work on that. Surely there was some way to let a pad call a phone.

  I did touch base with my ducklings even as I jogged back to the station. They reported everything was fine and they were also on their way back. Good, good. If everything was under control at the station, I’d go back to the apartment building and see if I could help there. Henri was worried about me being around that magic, but I had a feeling I’d be pretty much immune to all of it. Sherard had tinkered with the spells on my core since that charms shop explosion, so I was sure I was much more immune than before. And they likely needed every hand they could get.

  The station was crawling with people. Like, standing room only in some places, people wailing about not knowing what was going on. A lot of shopkeepers and such yelling about needing to get back in, this was disrupting business, how long do they need to stay away?

  Yeah…okay, nice to know people were selfish no matter what universe they were in.

  Many reporters stood in the mix because, of course, they’d caught wind of this and wanted the story. I recognized a few faces in the crowd and gave them a wave. I’d tell them what was going on, but hopefully we could keep the Reaper’s Set thefts under wraps a little longer.

  I’d barely breached the front door when Captain Johnna spotted me, and her face lit up in relief. She went straight for me, elbowing people out of the way to get there, and snagged my arm, pulling me in close. If she was trying for a confidential conversation, she failed immediately. There were too many people talking over each other to try for a whispered conversation.

  “Detective,” she greeted, her greying blonde hair frizzing out of its bun, a sort of desperate look on her face, “can I put you on the spot?”

  “Uh…how?”

  “People are trying to sneak out and get back to their shops, and they’re not really taking no for an answer. But if you say not to go…”

  Ahh. Because if the Shinigami Detective said not to go, it might mean something. Aish. I hated using my fame, but I saw her point, and we couldn’t afford to have people going back there. You know what, screw it. Let’s do this thing.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  She lit up in relief. “Thanks so much. Climb on a table if you wish. Also, I have the landlady of the apartment building in my office for you to interview.”

  “Oh, yeah? Great, that’s helpful. I’ll talk to her in a sec.”

  At least I didn’t have to hunt for the lady in question in this crowd. That would have taken all day. I spied a table nearby that wasn’t being used, and with an easy vault, got myself on top of it. That attracted some attention, but the far corners of the room didn’t notice.

  I clapped my hands loudly above my head to get more attention, turning in place as I did so, my feet making a tight circle. People generally quieted, orienting themselves so they could see me better. Okay, I’ve got most of the bullpen’s attention now. I sucked in a breath to speak loudly, as this had to carry to every corner.

  “Everyone! I’m sure you’re wondering what to do and what’s happening. Let me fill you in. I’m Detective Jamie Edwards, and you probably know me as the Shinigami Detective.”

  A wave of murmurs accompanied by some sharp inhales followed that announcement.

  “I was called in by RM Sherard Seaton to help with a very dangerous situation. Here’s the gist—some moron thought it a great idea to store a bunch of unprotected grimoires all in one place. The apartment building on Denton Street was full of grimoires, stacked tightly together.

  “Any magician worth their salt can tell you that’s a really bad idea. The magic in that apartment has become volatile and dangerous. It’s not only threatening the integrity of the building, but it’s spreading in all directions. So far, we’ve had multiple reports of people becoming violently ill, hallucinating, and one person was so unhinged they were attacking people with a butcher’s knife.”

  “She’s not exaggerating,” Captain Johnna threw in loudly, backing me up. “We’re still dealing with those poor souls who were too close and got directly exposed. They’re all in the hospital right now.”

  Thank you, Captain. And good to know. I’d need to check on those people after this.

  “It is very, very dangerous for you to go back in before we’ve cleared the air. You’ll become ill. Violent. Start hallucinating. You will do NO good trying to go back in early. Rest assured, we want this cleaned up more than you do, and we’re tackling it with all speed. Multiple kingsmen and two magical examiners are working right at this minute, and RM Seaton is doing everything in his power to make sure this doesn’t go from bad to worse. What I suggest you do is find somewhere else to go. Friends, relatives, take a mini-vacation—go somewhere. I imagine this will take several days.”

  A woman at my feet timidly asked, “Do you have a timeline?”

  I smiled down at her, assuring her silently that it was fine to ask. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry. Not at this moment. I was dispatched to help clear the area, and I haven’t spoken with the team inside in about four hours. I imagine this will take a few days, but I could be wrong. It depends on how bad the situation is inside that building.”

  A reporter’s hand in the crowd shot up. “Detective, is this something like a magical gas leak?”

  “That’s a really excellent way to look at it.” I approved. The metaphor was sound. “You can’t see or detect it, but it might well kill you. Please let the experts handle it. I’ll take one more question.”

  Another hand shot up, but two people asked in near unison, “Do you know who’s responsible for this?”

  “I can’t disclose anything else at this point. It’s an ongoing investigation. No more questions, please, I’ve got a lot to do if we’re to get people back home sooner rather than later. Also, clear out of the station if you can. We don’t have enough room in here, and you want us to work
so we can get you back to normal quickly.”

  That worked, and they started filing out and dispersing. Phew. Okay, that was done. Next.

  I hopped off the table lightly, glad the cats had decided to sleep in this morning. They normally weren’t enthused about going in if I was just doing paperwork, and that had been my agenda for today. They were safely home and not in the middle of this madness.

  Captain Johnna led me through the throng and into her office. The building was an old one and clearly renovated—it had likely been an apothecary or something, as it didn’t look like a police building. Her office showed the signs of its age, as there was exposed piping overhead and brick on the far wall. Kind of an industrial look, and she’d embraced it with a metal desk and metal-framed chairs with cushy leather seats. Kinda cool, I had to admit.

  Sitting in one of those chairs was a woman in her late fifties, hunched over and staring at her hands as if they held life’s source code. She looked frazzled, dark hair in a braid coming apart over one shoulder, and I would not have been surprised to find out she’d dressed in the dark. While fighting off monkey ninjas. The landlady of the apartment building, I assumed. She looked appropriately exhausted.

  Indicating her with a wave of the hand, Captain Johnna introduced us. “This is Christina Orton. Miss Orton?”

  Her head lifted slowly, as if she were coming out of whatever dark thoughts she was consumed by and only now realizing other people were in the room. She blinked at us owlishly, not entirely with it.

  Johnna took a seat behind her desk, keeping her voice gentle. “Miss Orton, this is Detective Edwards. She’s the lead detective on your case.”

  Uh. I am?

  Orton turned and gave me a slight smile, and it looked so sad, I wanted to hug her. “Detective. Thank you for helping. I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

  Yeah, she looked really lost. I sat in the chair next to her, gently taking one hand and focusing on her. Trying to get her focused on me.

  “Let me walk you through what is happening. Okay? Then I need to ask some questions, and we can figure out what to do from here.”