Grimoires and Where to Find Them

by Raconteur, Honor

  It opened a moment later, a werefox mother with a kit on her hip, looking stressed out and sleep deprived. The kit was fussy, with a runny nose—clearly fighting a cold. The mother’s alarm was clear on her face when she saw Foster’s red kingsman uniform.

  I threw up a hand to forestall this. “Don’t be alarmed, ma’am. We’re here trying to find a witness, no one is in trouble. I’m Detective Edwards, this is Kingsman Foster. We’re looking for Nye Abbott.”

  She blinked at me, liquid brown eyes confused. “I’m sorry, Detective, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “What about Samuel Laughlin?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  “Searle Massimo?” That last one was a bit of a stretch.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Hmm. Alright, switch tactics. “Ma’am, how long have you lived here?”

  “Oh, about…four years?” She thought about it, then nodded, agreeing with her own assessment. “Yes, that sounds right. Before that, it was my grandmother’s place. We bought it from the family and moved in as newlyweds.”

  “Can I have your name?”

  “It’s Bella Evans. Do you need to see my ID card?”

  “If you don’t mind. I have to jot down who I spoke to.”

  “Of course, just one moment. I have to put him down.” She turned and stepped into the house, calling over her shoulder, “Please come in for a moment. I’m sorry there’s no real place to sit.”

  She was not kidding. Toys, blankets, and general stuff covered every surface. I had a feeling both mama and baby had been sick for several days. She put her child down into a bassinet near the kitchen table, then turned and dug in her purse, fetching out the thin, tin ID with her information imprinted on it. She came back and handed it over with a worried smile.

  I took it, looked it over, and jotted down her info in my notebook. Not that it couldn’t have been faked as well, but I doubted the housewife in front of me was involved in a nefarious book theft.

  Foster spoke to the woman in a warm, patient tone. “We were given this address as a reference. We’re trying to find Nye Abbott. You’re not implicated in any way. We were pretty sure before coming here that Nye Abbott doesn’t even exist.”

  I wanted to insert some sarcasm here so badly. I mean, the family who lived here were werefoxes, our suspect is human—pretty obvious these guys weren’t related. If they were acquaintances, that sure didn’t show, either. I didn’t see a single book in this house. I handed the ID card back to her.

  “Thank you so much. Here’s my card. If someone comes here looking for any of the names I mentioned, could you call me? I’d like to know.”

  “You think someone will?”

  “Well, this guy is using this address as an emergency contact, so odds are, someone might.”

  “Oh. Oh, dear.”

  “Not dangerous, I promise,” I soothed her. “Just be quick to call so I can handle it.”

  She held the card firmly in her hand, expression determined. “I will.”

  “Thanks for your time.” I turned and left, and only when we were out of the door did I growl. “Figures. I wonder why this address, though? Did he live here, does he know someone here? The apartment he rented was much cheaper than the houses in this neighborhood. He had to use this address for a reason.”

  “Because it’s respectable.” Foster waved a hand around us. “If you’ve lived in the city for a while, then you’ll know this part of town as being respectable. People with office jobs live here. I mean, look at the woman we just left. She’s obviously a housewife, with her husband making the living. How many people can afford to do that?”

  True enough. Middle class, that was the bare threshold. I was glad to see he was thinking like a detective. Maybe my training methods were working, despite how crazy this investigation was.

  “So, to make it look better on an application form, he uses an address that’s respectable. It means he’d planned that part out ahead of time. Nice guy. I think your reasoning is sound because I can’t see a thief living here. Neighbors are too nosey in places like this, they’re bound to ask questions. And this pretty much confirms that Abbott is an alias.”

  “True, it does, but what do we do now?”

  “Hmm. Walcott said he heard Massimo likes to hang around Blue Rose Street, specifically the bookshops there. I sent the other two over there already, but that’s a lot of ground to cover. Why don’t we go see if we can stir anything up? I think we’d just be in the way if we tried to help out at the apartment building.”

  “I can’t even go into the apartment building,” Foster said with a shrug. “No magic in me to help, and I’d be sick pretty quick if I tried.”

  “Yeah.” And I wasn’t about to send him off investigating on his own. That was not a good idea. “You know where Blue Rose Street is?”

  “I do. It’ll take about thirty minutes to drive there.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  It was a crazy, crazy day, an emotional rollercoaster that none of us wanted. I did not consent to these problems, okay? Really, could have done without the whole shebang.

  I wasn’t much help with the cleanup of the apartment, and despite me and my trainees rushing madly about interviewing people, we came away with more questions than answers. I tried checking on Henri several times, but it was always Phil who answered. Henri was fast asleep—and snoring, from the sound of it.

  Moments like these I felt really blessed having the Felixes. They were the perfect guardians when people were down and needed someone to watch over them. I would have been far more worried about Henri if not for Phil acting as a little guardian angel.

  Phil informed me on the last phone call that he remembered what I said, about how purring made people feel better. So, he was purring to Henri while he slept.

  My heart. So many feels. Not sure if I could take it.

  I felt that Henri definitely deserved a reward after today’s madness. And I wanted to treat myself, too, as it really had been a whirlwind. So, I might have stopped by a certain spot in a certain magical conservatory on my way home.

  Master Gardner Pam Pousson, upon hearing that I had imported seeds and seedlings from another planet, had immediately volunteered to grow them for me. There had been a light in her eye of pure challenge and excitement. Considering the possible pitfalls of planting something from Earth here? I was perfectly willing to let her try. Besides, I had a black thumb for plants. Odds were better with her doing the growing.

  And, y’know, strawberries were sort of an invasive species. My mother had informed me of this even as she handed everything over. Be careful, strawberry plants like to take over any garden.

  I personally didn’t see the problem, but I thought we should probably start with a contained environment, right? Just in case. Hence, magical greenhouse.

  I knew the place semi-well, after having worked a case here and coming in and out to check on my beloved plants. I came in through the glass side door, breathing in deeply with a happy smile. The fun part about having an extra-sensitive sniffer was moments like these. Everything smelled rich and amazing in here. It was like giving my nose self-care just by stepping through the door.

  Stepping to the right side, I went directly for the glass-enclosed corner that held my strawberries. Pam had created it for the plants, and for a temporary structure, it looked pretty solid to me. Opening the slender door, I stepped through, then paused, eyes growing wide with delight.

  “Oh!” I turned, taking it all in. The last time I’d seen them, there had been fruit on four of the seedling plants, and I’d taste-tested and approved them. Pam had taken that approval and run with it, using more magic to speed the process along, including both growth and propagation spells. I knew she had, and I’d been trying very hard to wait patiently for more berries.

  Very, very patiently.

  Like today, for instance. I’d hoped for one or two ripe ones I could take home with me.

  Instead, every p
lant had multiple berries on offer.

  Oh, yeah, baby. Now we’re talking.

  Someone approached me from behind; I could hear the footsteps against the stone pavers. I turned to see who it was.

  Pam gave me a smile and a wave. She was in her usual wide-brimmed hat that covered her boy-cut short hair, blue shirt sleeves down to the elbow, and work pants smeared with dirt. She never looked any different. The bright grin on her face was in sharp contrast to her tan skin.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  I couldn’t stop my happy bounce. “They’re certainly a sight for sore eyes, I’ll tell you that. And they smell delightful. Have you tried one yet? Is the magic you’re using working okay?”

  “Only this morning. It was a sweet, juicy berry. It tasted precisely like the first batch.” She regarded the berries in question with a slight frown, shoving her straw hat back, revealing her closely cropped red hair. “Feel free to eat one and double-check me. I’ve only had the two berries, after all.”

  “No need to twist my arm.” I promptly reached for one, snapped it off the plant, and bit into it with relish. Then I groaned in pleasure as my taste buds reported nothing but good tidings of great joy.

  “I can tell from the look on your face,” Pam informed me dryly. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

  “I could write odes to the strawberry,” I assured her, already reaching for another one. “Man, these are amazing. How many berries do we have altogether?”

  “I didn’t count, but I estimate each plant has about five ready to be picked.”

  We had twenty-four plants. So that was a lot. Quick math said, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred and twenty berries.

  Can I eat a hundred and twenty strawberries? You betcha.

  Should I? Probably not. Adults are supposed to share. Or, so I’ve heard.

  It was hard, really hard, but I had promised to let people try the berries when I first convinced them to help me get seeds over here and plant them. I should probably make good on that promise at least once. Still, it pained me right down to my stomach.

  “I’ve got people that are due berries,” I told Pam reluctantly. “If I portion them out, give you addresses, can you send a runner out to deliver them?”

  “I certainly can. I have a runner on hand.” Pam gave me a knowing smile as if she could read the reluctance right off my face. She probably could. I wasn’t doing a stellar job of hiding it. “I do have some good news to bolster your spirits.”

  “Yeah?” I tore my eyes from the berries to look at her.

  “First, while I have verified they are an invasive species, they’re no more a danger to native plants than any other weed would be. I think it’s safe to grow these outside the greenhouse.”

  I had no idea how she’d tested that but trusted the woman to know her business. “Excellent! That means we can plant them in all the places.”

  “You can, and I suggest you do, as this flavor will be wildly popular with the public once it’s out.” Pam held up a finger. “And in that vein, I want to form a partnership with you. I’ve drawn up the paperwork to have you patent this seed.”

  I blinked at her. What, now?

  “And if you will sign that, we can form a business. I’ll grow and handle distribution. I have the right contacts for it. You take charge of advertising and information, as you know better than I what all can be done with the plants.”

  Blink. Blinkblinkblink. Uhhhh. “Pam, I didn’t anticipate forming any kind of business. I just wanted strawberries for me, myself, and maybe my friends.”

  Her response was patient.

  “I know you did. But I’ve already eaten the two this morning, that after I told myself to only eat one, and I’ve had to ward the place to keep my workers from sneaking berries. All of that alone tells me we’re sitting on a potential goldmine. I’d be very lax if I didn’t offer this idea to you. You don’t need to answer me immediately, but at least sign the patent paperwork before someone tries to lay claim to this.”

  That…was a good point. Okay. “I’ll sign. Let me sleep on this, but I’m really interested in partnering up with you. I think it’ll be great if strawberries become a common food here.”

  She practically beamed at me. “I thought you’d be agreeable. You’re very much the entrepreneur type, after all.”

  “Mostly by necessity.” I shook my head, amused at this impression she had of me. “I want the shiny things, too. Might as well share the love. How many baskets do you have that I can use for gifts?”

  Pam fetched small baskets and I started in on the berry picking, being very firm with myself about the numbers.

  Queen Regina got ten. Sherard got ten. Jules got ten. Gibson got ten. Colette got ten. Ellie got ten. Henri’s parents got ten. And the rest were mine to share with Henri.

  Okay, no, twenty of them went back to being seeds. But the REST of them were mine.

  Pam saw the division I had, then frowned at me. “Why aren’t you taking those in your basket?”

  “Don’t I need to leave some for you to seed?”

  “Those I can pick from the ones that will ripen over the next few days. Take these. You’re too busy to swing by every day.”

  That was unfortunately true, but yay! That means today-me gets to have all the berries. No argument from me and no need to tell me twice.

  I might have cackled. Aloud. Hard to keep that sucker in.

  It probably took far longer than it should have as I had to keep smacking my own hand to keep from eating all the berries instead of putting them into the baskets. But eventually, everything was all wrapped up and addressed.

  With my own basket hanging onto my arm, I paused at the door and said to this amazing, trustworthy woman, “Thank you. Really. I wasn’t sure who to turn to for this, and you’ve done such an amazing job.”

  She smiled at me, pleased by the gratitude. “You’re very welcome. Thank you for the challenge. I’ve enjoyed it.”

  “And I’m seriously interested in partnering up with you on this. Can you work up a schedule for like…growing and planting and all that? With so few seeds to work with, I imagine it will take time to get this up to a real distribution number.”

  “You’re not wrong, but I don’t think it will take as long as you fear. And I’ll always keep this patch here in the greenhouse safely protected, just in case a blight of some sort hits it. I don’t imagine much trouble on that front, but better safe than sorry.”

  “Amen to that. I’m mid-case right now, but I’ll try and swing by sometime this weekend to properly talk it all over with you.”

  “Do that, please.”

  I gave her a nod, meaning the promise. Even if I had to fake my own death for an hour to get that meeting squeezed in.

  Then I bounced out, singing the strawberry song and maybe skipping my way through the door.

  YOU try living a deprived life of no strawberries and see how YOU react when you finally get some.

  Also, three of the berries were on the verge of expiration so I had to eat those on the way home. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  I did stop long enough to pick up some chocolate—the type you could melt—because I had every intention of blowing Henri’s mind. And chocolate-covered strawberries were a good way to do that.

  With all the madness of today, I went to my apartment first and took a quick shower, changing into something more casual. Then, I melted some chocolate and whipped up several coated strawberries. When they were set out and cooling, only then did I go back down to his apartment and knock on the door.

  There was a light thump, then the door creaked open by degrees. I poked my head around and inside, finding that Phil had opened the door for me.

  “Hey, Phil. He’s still asleep?”

  “Yes,” Phil answered, whiskers bristling with worry. “Should we wake him?”

  “Yeah, he’s not going to sleep tonight at this rate. Don’t worry, I’ve got a treat ready to entice him out of bed.” />
  I know Henri has this whole thing about being in a lady’s bedroom, but I had no issue walking straight into his.

  Henri’s room was very much a reflection of the man himself. It was mostly plain, no patterns, dark wood furniture with blue curtains and a comforter to match. His nightstands on either side were stacked high with books. The man himself was flat on his back, snoring, truly dead to the world. Clint was curled up at his side, watching with alert eyes.

  Man, he really must have been pushing himself this morning. I’ve rarely seen him this exhausted. Only other time that came to mind was during that charms pandemic.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and gave Clint a pet hello, which got a purr from him, then patted Henri’s chest with a gentle tap. “Henri. Henri?”

  He grunted, stopped snoring, then his head turned towards me. Neither eye opened, though.

  “Henri. Come on, baby, I’ve got a treat waiting for you. You need to wakey wakey.”

  One eye pried itself up to half-mast. He looked very bleary and out of focus. “Treat?”

  “The strawberries are finally ripe,” I informed him, the happiness obvious in my voice. “And they are absolutely perfect. I’ve got both plain and chocolate-covered ones, all waiting upstairs for you.”

  That got the second eye open. “Upstairs? In your flat?”

  “Yup. How about you come up? We can eat them, and I’ll order delivery from Christopher’s. I can tell you about the interesting offer I got from Pam Pousson.”

  “Ooh. Mmm. Yes, I can get up.”

  See? Food bribes totally worked on Henri. I got off the bed, giving him a hand and pulling him upright. He sat there for a second, obviously orienting himself.

  “Usual order for you?” I checked.

  “Huh? Oh, yes, splendid.”

  “I’ll give you twenty minutes to come up, and then I will come back down here to drag you,” I warned him.

  He nodded, still not entirely with it. Well, I trusted Phil or Clint to report to me if there was a problem.

  I went back up to my apartment, called Christopher’s—one of the few restaurants I knew that had a phone—and placed an order for delivery. Then I cleaned off the island so we’d have a place to eat. As I cleaned, I got to singing The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields Forever” because, hey, most appropriate soundtrack I could think of. My berries were all washed and ready for my culinary delight. Shame the cats couldn’t try them, but they weren’t made for food.