Grimoires and Where to Find Them

by Raconteur, Honor

  Come to think of it, I was short on furballs. I had to wonder where Tasha was. Chasing rats, maybe?

  Henri’s tread sounded heavy with fatigue as he came up the stairs, followed by the lighter patter of Phil’s paws on the wood floor. He came in looking only slightly more awake than he had twenty minutes ago. It’s not often that I see him in only trousers and a shirt, sleeves rolled up. He even had slippers on, no socks. Downright scandalous, for Henri.

  I wasn’t sure if it was a statement of how comfortable he’d gotten with me or more a point of how exhausted he was. I had the feeling Henri didn’t have a lot of spoons to work with right at the moment.

  He didn’t even glance my direction, just zeroed in on the red yumminess on display, artfully arranged on two different plates. “Strawberry.”

  “Your detective skills are improving,” I deadpanned. “Try one, go on.”

  He picked up one of the smaller berries, about the size of his thumb, and gingerly bit into it. Ever seen someone’s brain actually log in and power on? I swear, berry power did that to Henri. He went from zombie-shuffle to more like the man I knew.

  “Oh,” he intoned with true pleasure. “Oh, that’s delightful. I now understand why you missed it so keenly. My mouth can’t equate it to any flavor it’s tried before.”

  He bit into the rest of the berry, a smile lingering on his mouth.

  “It’s not sure what to do with the experience, but likes it.”

  “That’s a pretty good summary of my entire first year exploring this planet,” I commented. “Sit, Henri. Now, try the chocolate-covered ones.”

  He readily did so, plopping onto the stool and reaching for (I couldn’t help but notice) a large berry. He bit into it with gusto and then purred in pleasure. I swear there was a purr.

  Phil was very curious about what we were doing, lightly hopping onto a stool and leaning over to get a good whiff. His tail flicked behind him, nose going a mile an hour. “Smells good.”

  “Get used to this smell. We’ll have it often.” I eyed Henri, judging how awake he truly was. He looked happy, certainly, but there was a lack of intelligence in those big brown eyes. I’d hoped to talk to him about Pam Pousson’s offer, get his take on it, but clearly that wasn’t a good idea tonight. He wouldn’t retain a single thing I said. I’d only end up repeating it tomorrow.

  He’d had a hard day. It was alright to let him eat, and enjoy, and not think too deeply about anything.

  I fell to teasing instead. “Are you going to spoil your dinner?”

  He stopped mid-reach toward a berry and gave me a worried look. “I can’t?”

  “You absolutely can. As long as you leave half for me.” He was so magically depressed, he probably needed every calorie I could cram into him. I wasn’t actually worried about him eating too much. As long as I had enough strawberries for myself.

  Since Henri was happily focused on strawberries and nothing else, I asked the other sentient intelligence in the room, “Phil, where’s Tasha?”

  “Colette’s,” he answered. “She watch over her.”

  “That’s great.” I was relieved. “I’m sure she needs it. You know what? I’ll order dinner in for her too. I don’t think she’s in any better shape than Henri.”

  I went to my telephone table to put in the call. I’d call her landlady next, make sure the food got to her and someone checked in on my friend.

  And the next time we found an apartment full of grimoires, I was so calling in backup before we dove in. Clearly, we’d underestimated how much personnel it would take to clean up that mess. I was all for learning from my mistakes.

  As yesterday had been exhausting in the extreme, I did not make it into the station on time. Jamie assured me, repeatedly, that everyone expected me to have a late morning and that they were more or less doing the same.

  Detectives had more leeway in their schedule because they worked all hours on a case. It was hard for me to adjust to this attitude, as I’d been on a strict schedule my entire time at the station. Since joining the police, I’d arrived at a certain time, and (hopefully) left at a certain time. This idea that I could come and go freely, well. I’d grow accustomed to it eventually.

  It was with coffee in hand that I came in through the back door of the annex building, and truly, I did not feel entirely myself. I hadn’t realized how draining being in that flat had been. I’d been so focused on getting the task done as quickly as possible, before the walls collapsed in on us, that I hadn’t monitored my own magic or health as closely as I should have. An embarrassing lapse, especially at my age. I should know better.

  I headed for my lab first, partially out of habit, to see if there was any work stacked up for me. There was nothing in my inbox, I was glad to see. It meant people were following the new rule of handing things over to Colette first. She divvied up the work, passing some on to me when I was available.

  Once, we’d had evidence sitting for four days before I realized it was in my inbox. The evidence had compromised itself in the meantime, which resulted in an all-hands meeting with the station to set a new policy. Training people took time to drop out of old habits, but the change seemed to have stuck, finally.

  With nothing there awaiting me, I went hunting for my partner in the main building. She was not in the bullpen, but I could hear her speaking from one of the nearby conference rooms. I followed my ears until I found her.

  Jamie was at the head of the table, also clutching at a cup of coffee as if it could somehow fuel both energy and inspiration. Around the table sat Gerring, Niamh, Foster, Gibson, and Seaton, all looking just as hopeful for a good idea to strike.

  Oh, dear. This didn’t look at all promising.

  Jamie paused mid-sentence as I entered. “Oh, Henri, good. Come join us. We’re just talking about the fact that we have no leads.”

  I regarded her drolly. “I don’t think I actually want to participate in this conversation.”

  “None of us do,” Seaton assured me even as he nudged the chair near him out in invitation.

  I took it, against my better judgement. As I settled, I demanded, “We truly have no leads?”

  “This man is like a ghost,” Niamh answered, pulling a face, as if the words were bitter in her mouth. “He’s so bland in appearance that he’s unremarkable. Even when people try to describe him, they can’t come up with any distinguishing characteristic. And he changes names as he likes.”

  “It’s like a bad spy novel,” Jamie sighed in frustration. “He’s always a different man. The only way we’re really able to link him from one crime to another is that he leaves a hint of himself behind.”

  This didn’t sound right to me, and I spluttered, “But if he was in and out of that flat on a regular basis, he had to be suffering from the effects worse than anyone else!”

  “Oh, he was,” Jamie assured me, and it wasn’t a positive statement. “He went to the local hospital for it, got treated, used a different name. We barely figured out it was him, to be honest. And then he left without checking himself out or paying the bill. We have no idea where he went from there. The name he used as an emergency contact at the apartment was actually another alias. I checked the address, did a background check on the family that lives there, and it’s clear he used their address on a whim. They’re not connected to him.”

  I could feel the frustration building in the room. Shared in it, in fact. “Wait, confirm for me—the Reaper’s grimoires? Were they in the flat or not?”

  “Not,” Seaton stated, the word bitten off. “Which means our thief has them stashed somewhere else.”

  I liked this answer even less. While I didn’t want the grimoires in that volatile magical abyss, I didn’t like them free and possibly creating another one just like it. My worries intensified.

  “Was there any sign that he lived there? I saw no bed in that flat. And where has he stashed the Reaper’s Set if not there?”

  “The one we raided was a catch-all, apparently.” Gerring ticked th
ings off on his fingers as he spoke. “We think we found his apartment on Blue Rose Street. No one has seen him there in at least two weeks. It wasn’t as great of a find as we hoped, unfortunately. No one there has seen him, and he used the same emergency contact there as he did with the first one. No indication of where else he’d put things.”

  “I would bet the books you found in the first flat aren’t actually part of his collection.” Gibson stared upwards at the ceiling as he thought. “The Reaper’s grimoires are ones he’s personally collecting. That’s what Walcott said, and he should know, as he spoke with the man. So, if they weren’t at the flat, then odds are, he keeps his personal collection elsewhere.”

  The reasoning was sound; I couldn’t refute it. “We know he’s been stealing and selling books, right?”

  “Right,” Jamie agreed. “Walcott told us he’d initially come across this man because they were both dealing in books.”

  Gibson gave a grunt. “That’s where his income is coming from, then. The flat that melted is full of inventory.”

  It did make sense. Massimo didn’t have a storefront—he wasn’t running a legitimate business. So, where did he put all of his inventory? It had to go somewhere until he could fence it. A separate flat to hold it all, of course. And he must have a third flat somewhere for his own private collection.

  Although, the idea that he had two flats filled to the brim with books made me shudder internally. My book lover’s heart twinged. This man truly had no real sense of how to care for the things he professed to like.

  “This means he’s storing his personal collection in yet another location. He must be quite a good thief if he’s able to afford multiple flats.”

  Foster groaned. “I’ll say. Rent in even the cheaper parts of Kingston isn’t exactly cheap. And renting three places? He must be quite a good thief, indeed.”

  The truly worrisome aspect of this was that he obviously didn’t know how to handle grimoires. And he had a third location where he’d stashed the Reaper’s Set. Was he stacking them like he had in that poor flat? Or was he trying to take care of them, treat them like the priceless vintage books they were? Did it even matter? He’d stolen three without their protective boxes. The mental picture of what that would eventually do sent shivers up and down my spine.

  “I’ve got someone watching the other apartment he’s keeping, just in case, but so far he’s a no-show.”

  That did not sound good. “And the potential buyers of the Reaper’s Set? The ones Walcott thought he could sell it to? Surely they are people of interest.”

  “I totally agree with you, but it’s not as clear cut as you’d think. There were only three people on Walcott’s list.” Jamie’s expression was pained. “The first man isn’t even in the country—he’s over in Saari. I have a name and phone number, but no address. I tried calling, only to get a butler who informed me his master was in very poor health and at a retreat. He wouldn’t say where, and I can’t press it.”

  Because he was not in the country, we had no way of demanding an interview. I grimaced. “It’s too thin to demand a warrant.”

  “Right. The second person is in the country but died two days ago. His heirs are busy liquidating his estate. I don’t think they’re interested in buying. Walcott didn’t give the third person’s name, just initials—no number. I have no idea who this is, and Walcott won’t say. I’m not sure if they’re really a lead, anyway. Walcott made it clear that Massimo was obsessed with Radman’s works. I don’t think he was stealing them for Walcott. The potential buyers might have been more wishful thinking than anything.”

  Niamh snorted. “Walcott did strike me as a poor businessman.”

  I had to agree there. The man jumped into things too quickly and without proper caution. Buying and setting up that lavish office alone was a poor business decision, since he didn’t have the clientele to support it.

  “So, to sum it up,” Jamie said on a sigh, “we have no idea where Massimo is. We have no idea who his friends or family are because we haven’t been able to find a single person who knows him personally. Just professionally. And we have no idea what he’s going to do next.”

  “Well, we kind of know what he’ll do next.” Seaton’s expression was pure sarcasm. “We know he’ll continue trying to collect the Reaper’s Set.”

  “We’ve gone several rounds on this all morning.” Jamie held up a hand. “I vote early lunch, we fuel our brains, come back to it. All in favor?”

  Several hands went up.

  “Motion carried. Let’s come back in about an hour and a half, say? And someone come up with something brilliant in the meantime, please and thank you.”

  Everyone immediately got up, the three juniors exiting quickly, no doubt glad for the break and not willing to linger long enough to be roped into something else.

  It was, technically, only a half hour away from lunch time. I hadn’t realized it would take me that long to get into the station. Getting out of bed this morning had been so difficult, and had taken multiple tries before my legs agreed to leave the comfort of my quilt.

  Jamie turned to me and asked, “Did you have breakfast?”

  “I had a muffin on the way in.” Which had, sadly, already worn off. Walking into work had definitely not been the best choice.

  “How about lunch at Yorkshire House?” she asked. “Gibson, Sherard, you guys too. I want to run something past you.”

  Fish and chips was always an agreeable choice, and especially when my energy levels were low like this, it was the perfect food to replenish me. I nodded, amenable. Also, very curious as to what she wanted to tell us. Something was clearly on her mind.

  “Sure,” Gibson agreed easily.

  Seaton held up a finger. “Is this a problem for me to solve?”

  “Not a problem at all. An opportunity I was handed. I’d like your take on it.”

  “Ah. Then I’ll be pleased to join you.” He cast a glance at me. “Is this far?”

  “Not at all. It’s across the street and two blocks down.”

  “Perfect. Let’s walk, then.”

  I truly regretted walking into work this morning. I sighed, as there was no help for it. It wasn’t like there was parking near the restaurant, anyway. It made more sense to walk.

  We headed out the door and rearranged ourselves as a group on the sidewalk so we could fit on the narrow confines of the pavement. The traffic was, as usual, brisk, and we passed many a pedestrian on the street.

  The pollution in the city was becoming a problem. I know Jamie had spoken with several people about this, introducing the idea of both solar and wind power to offset the issue. The idea had taken hold, as anyone with eyes and a nose could see the air quality in the city was getting worse by the day. I had hopes a decision would be reached soon about what to implement first. My guess would be wind power, as the wind coming in off the sea was a constant and surely the most feasible to quickly implement.

  Jamie’s arm found mine and looped through it. I gave her a smile, pleased at the easy affection she showed. She smiled back, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners.

  It was only then I belatedly realized neither of us were juggling a Felix. “Where is the trio?”

  “Sleeping at my apartment. They were up all night watching over you and Colette, so I let them snooze today.”

  I only vaguely remembered Phil being at my side, a purring ball of fur tucked in next to my chin. “He purred at me, I think.”

  “He did. Most of the time you were dead to the world. I’m curious, do you have any intention of ever making him your familiar?”

  I blinked at this question, as it came out of nowhere, as far as I could tell. I’d never really thought about having a familiar. Not all magicians did, and it was more about status, in some ways. Familiars were companions more than helpers. Although, in a field like mine, Phil had proven to be very helpful.

  “But he’s not mine.”

  “Henri.” She used that tone, the one that said I
was being deliberately obtuse. “He spends far more time with you than me. It’s clear you’re his choice. If you asked him, he’d be over the moon.”

  I hadn’t meant to overstep a boundary. Jules Felix had given Jamie the kittens, not me. But she did bring up a very valid point. Phil had made his preference clear. And she obviously did not mind, since she was encouraging me to do something rather than leave the situation in this strange limbo.

  “Well. If you’re quite sure about this, I’ll ask him.”

  “Good. I think he’ll be ecstatic.”

  I did, as well.

  We arrived at the restaurant, and everyone placed their orders. Seaton surprised us by paying for lunch, and when Gibson tried to protest, he simply held up a hand.

  “After the ordeal I dragged you all into yesterday, I think I at least owe you a meal.”

  And, well. What did one say to that?

  I accepted it with good grace, as it was true. Yesterday had been a nightmare, and I was happy to be treated for my services. We chose a back table near the window, away from the other patrons, settling in around the plain table. Once we were all seated, Jamie angled herself so she could speak to all three of us comfortably.

  “Alright. So, you all tried the strawberries yesterday.”

  Gibson and Seaton nodded, and I could tell from their expressions they’d already discussed this with her. Likely, first thing.

  “And everyone who’s tried them loved them, no surprise.” Jamie rubbed both palms together in a slow motion, picking her words. “When I went to collect them yesterday, Pam Pousson made me an offer. She had me sign paperwork to patent the seed. She wants to partner with me to market them.”

  I startled in my chair. What? We’d had no plans on making this a wholesale product.