Grimoires and Where to Find Them

by Raconteur, Honor

Andrea Tilton was not quite what I envisioned when I thought of a semi-retired magician. She was tall enough to give me a run for my money, with ice-pink hair and a boisterous personality. Within the first five minutes of meeting me, she told me she had been a showgirl in her teens and had paid her way through school with the money she’d made. Then she promptly showed me a picture.

  It was with that showman style that she entered the house, wearing a flattering black evening gown, pink hair pulled up in a mad collection of curls high up on her head.

  She called out in a strong voice, “Marvella! I’m here!”

  Marvella rushed (I used that word very loosely, as she was too old to actually run anywhere) for the door, her hands already reaching out. “I’m so glad you’re finally here! I’ve been waiting on pins and needles all week. How are you, Andrea?”

  “I’m fine, dear, and goodness, what a party! You are excited to have this back.”

  “I truly am. Come over here, put it on the table. I’ve got a spot of honor for it in the study.”

  Andrea followed directions and came into the smaller study, where a round table had been put in the center of the room for tonight. Eddy had said the study would be perfect for two reasons. One, it was the expected place for the grimoire to go. Massimo wouldn’t think it strange. Two, it was off the beaten path of the rest of the house and removed enough from the party to encourage sneaking in.

  Of course, that also meant it was harder for us to keep an eye on it without being super obvious.

  It’s fine. I had cats.

  A few of us trooped into the room with her, ostensibly to look the book over and ooh and ahh.

  Marvella drew the grimoire out of the box with careful hands, handling it with a smile, her fingers lightly stroking the plain, dark-brown leather. “You’ve taken good care of it.”

  “I did have to oil the leather a bit recently, you know how it goes. But it’s the box Jere made for it that’s done the best job preserving it.”

  “Yes, he’s a darling man. I’m so glad I was introduced to him. He did marvelous work with the whole series. Here, everyone, take a look at it, but please don’t try to take it from my hands.”

  We all did. Some light chitchat and congratulations followed, but it was a small crowd. And after looking the fake over, several people melted back out of the room, giving the rest of us space to maneuver.

  Marvella stroked the book a little more, then carefully placed it back into the protective wooden box before sealing the top firmly into place. “I’m so glad you brought it back to me. I’ve a check ready for you, take it with you before you leave, alright?”

  “I will.” Andrea linked arms with her, a sassy grin on her face.

  I walked back out, spied Henri trying to unobtrusively hover near the dessert table, and beelined for him. His mother must have had the same idea, as she and I ended up there at practically the same moment.

  “Really, Henri,” Ophelia chastised, poking at her only son in the shoulder. “You are far too stiff. Relax.”

  “I don’t like social gatherings to begin with,” he reminded her, expression pained. “Although you both look splendid.”

  I was wearing one of his favorites, a red velvet evening gown that always got both thumbs up from him. It was also one of the easier dresses to run in, if I had to make a dash for it.

  I may have tested this theory.

  He was in a black-tie affair himself, hair combed back, although his recently trimmed curls hadn’t stayed tamed. Phil sat on his shoulder much like a furry parrot, his eyes sharp on our surroundings. He acted as Henri’s eyes, a more unobtrusive watcher than the magician himself. My own Felixes were casually arrayed around the house in much the same way, being our eyes wherever a person would be suspicious.

  Ophelia reached up and gave Phil a good head rub. “I’m so delighted you’re now part of the family, Phil. Do say you’ll come over more often.”

  Phil rubbed his head into her hand, purring. “Will.”

  “Have you told RM Felix about this development yet?” she asked, eyes flicking between the two of us.

  I waffled a hand back and forth. “Sort of. It’s been so busy this week that I haven’t had much of a chance to catch him up on anything. I did dash off a quick message to him saying Phil and Henri did the deed, and he was surprised, demanding all the details, but I told him he’d have to catch up with me sometime after tonight. I’ve had no time for a two-hour conversation.”

  “Which is not an exaggeration, not with him.” Henri snorted. “He’s very fanatic about the details.”

  I couldn’t deny that.

  “It won’t give you trouble, will it?” Ophelia seemed quite worried about this.

  I shook my head, reassuring her. “The reason why Jules gave me three Felixes is because he can’t predict how they’ll turn out. His own Felixes seem content to be pampered house cats. Mine want to work and get into everything. He’s trying to figure out what I’m doing differently. On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be that much of a difference in rearing, but we ended up with radically different cats. The fact that Phil chose to have Henri instead of me will just be another interesting set of data he didn’t predict. I do know this, though. If he doesn’t give a Felix to Queen Regina soon, his head is going to roll.”

  Ophelia rolled her eyes expressively, a fan coming up to idly freshen her face. “That seems quite obvious to everyone except the man himself. And that he gave you three without giving her a single one has been quite some cause of ire, I understand.”

  “Oh, she has a rant. And a soap box to deliver it on. You do not want to get her started on that, trust me.”

  Eddy sidled in to stand at my elbow and then leaned in to say in a low tone, “He’s on the move. Got the book and everything.”

  My eyes snapped around, head moving as I panned the room, but I saw no sign of what Eddy was telling me, much less anyone holding a book. “Who?”

  “The man your eyes just slid past. Blue server’s coat, gold buttons, brown hair thinning in front. Just walked through to the kitchen.”

  Bless Eddy’s eyes. I still had only a vague idea of who he meant. The place was crowded, but not that crowded. Even as I tried to focus, I found it hard to notice this man. He just had no presence to speak of.

  I was on the move automatically, Henri and Eddy moving with me. I caught Foster’s eye, then Sherard’s, both of them in line of sight of the kitchen door, and I gestured urgently towards it.

  Clint, I noticed, was on the trail of the man as well, as he darted through the swinging kitchen door like a purple bullet. I did my best to catch up with the cat without running anyone over in the process. It was something of a challenge. A lot of people were coming in and out of the door, and it was no wonder Massimo chose that as his exit point. Too much traffic for anyone to really notice him.

  I got into the kitchen, frantically scanning for him, only to find Clint holding open the door of the kitchen, the one that led behind the house. He gave an impatient meow for me to come on, a move it, and I ran for him.

  “Back car,” Clint said as I reached him, then he bounded away from the door and started sprinting down the driveway.

  I put on a burst of speed, outstripping the cat in three bounds, holding my skirt up in one hand even as I pulled a gun out from the purse hanging at my side. “POLICE! STOP WHERE YOU ARE WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

  He threw a panicked look back, as if surprised anyone was pursuing him. Then he bolted for the car, throwing the door open before frantically diving inside. Or, trying to. He wasn’t moving quite right, as if his body was locked up a little on the right side.

  Running wouldn’t save him. I put on another burst of speed and caught myself on the frame, ignoring the fact that he had the motor running. I got a grip on the door handle and opened it, and when he tried to close it, the gesture frantic and determined, I kept my hand gripping the frame—all he succeeded in doing was putting a nice hand-shaped dent in the metal. It didn’t hurt my ha
nd any.

  I wrenched the door completely off, throwing it casually aside, and enjoying the gob-smacked expression on his face. Yeah, sucker. I’d paid dearly for this strength, but in moments like this, it sure did feel good to use it. With a single fist, I caught him by the collar and dragged him physically out.

  Massimo floundered like a starfish out of water, but he came. I didn’t give him much of a choice.

  “Wait, I haven’t done anything—” he tried protesting.

  “Searle Massimo, you’re under arrest for the theft of multiple books including grimoires from the Reaper’s Set. And a few hundred others.”

  “That’s not my name!”

  I looked him dead in the eye even as I kept a gun trained on him. “Do you prefer Samuel Laughlin?”

  It was sunset out here, not the best lighting, but it was still easy to see how he paled a little. Yeah, sucker, I got your number. I know at least some of your aliases.

  Henri and Sherard came puffing up, and Henri (bless him) immediately slapped handcuffs around Massimo’s wrists. “Maybe he prefers the name Nye Abbott.”

  “That’s a good point,” I agreed with false civility. “Any other name you prefer?”

  Massimo’s eyes closed in a fatalistic manner. “Fine. Fine, you obviously know who I am. Searle Massimo III. That’s my legal name.”

  “Then, Mr. Massimo, we’ll start with the most urgent question.” Henri had an obvious tic near his eye as he demanded, “The grimoires you’ve stolen. Where are they?”

  “They’re safe,” Massimo assured him.

  “No,” Sherard said vehemently, puffing a little from the mad dash. “No, in your hands, they certainly aren’t. You realize the reason your apartment with the grimoires turned into that magical nightmare was because of how you handled them?”

  Massimo protested, his voice going up an octave. “That wasn’t my doing! I had them all carefully stacked on shelves, you can’t think—”

  “You utter moron,” both magicians said in perfect unison.

  Bewildered, Massimo looked between them, no comprehension on his face. “What?”

  “The protective boxes aren’t decorative, you idiot,” Sherard snapped at him. “They keep the magic of the grimoire safely within its pages and preserve the magical ink. Without it, the grimoires will slowly deteriorate with age and leak magic in all directions. If you stack multiple grimoires together, you get the disaster your flat turned into! Good heavens above, why do you think your flat melted in the first place?!”

  The light dawned. It didn’t dawn quickly, but when it did, horror was mixed in. Massimo really had no clue he was the cause of all that.

  “I just…I just liked them,” he said, voice falling to a whisper as he stared at the ground. “They were so uniquely crafted. Each one was a piece of art in and of itself, and no two were alike. I thought, with them in my house, no one would doubt that I’m an educated man. I loved just holding them. Just having them.”

  Yes, well, just having them meant endangering hundreds of people. I shook my head, as I had no pity to spare for this idjut. “Lead us to where you have the others.”

  His head came up sharply, and a visible protest was on his lips.

  Henri got right into his face. “Do you want to destroy the very thing you love to collect? You have multiple grimoires stashed without their protective boxes. Just what kind of havoc do you think they’re wreaking in this very moment? How much damage has already occurred in the days you’ve had them? The Reaper’s Set is particularly volatile—it has no sealing hex on the signature page. And you’ve had them for months at this point. I shudder to think of what they’re doing!”

  Massimo’s face fell again. The words pained him, but he choked them out. “I’ll lead you to them. I’ve got a farm outside the city, one I inherited. That’s where I’ve been putting them.”

  I sent up a grateful prayer. “Henri, you get him stashed in the car. I’ll go in, tell everyone we got him, say they can go home. Or keep partying. We do have cause for celebration, now that we’ve caught him.”

  “Don’t send everyone home,” Sherard cautioned before holding up a staying hand. “Massimo. How many books are at the farmhouse?”

  Massimo seemed to hunch in on himself. He glared, defensive, his eyes hot with anger even as he admitted in a small voice, “Three thousand, four hundred and twenty-six.”

  Oh, lord.

  Sighing, I put my gun back into the purse. “Right. Any magicians, I’ll ask them to come with us. And I’ll call Colette, have her bring supplies. Looks like we’ll need a lot of manpower here.”

  Henri’s grip on Massimo became punishing as he agreed in a tight voice, “We’re in for a very long night.”

  I felt those words to be a gross understatement. Massimo’s farmhouse had been built in a style quite common to the area—and the era it was built in. At a glance, I took it to be one of those houses ordered by catalogue, the pieces of it all assembled on site. A common enough tactic for someone on a limited budget needing a house. This one had not been well cared for. The paint peeled along the trim, the door had faded into some indiscernible color, and the entire yard exuded an air of neglect.

  And then there was the obvious aura of magic leaking out of the house, like a monster breathing out liquid ooze. I stopped dead at the edge of the walkway and stared at the two-story house with complete dread.

  Did I really have to go in there?

  A hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing supportively. I looked over to meet Jamie’s eyes, and the expression on her face was sympathetic but determined.

  “We’ve got this,” she promised me. “And more help is coming. We can knock this out in a few hours, I think. I’ll play gopher, run things back and forth for all of you.”

  I appreciated the concern, but… “In that dress?”

  “I packed something to change into, just in case. I’ll duck inside and change real quick. And don’t worry, even this magic soup doesn’t have any effect on me.”

  “You tested this, didn’t you?” I eyed her suspiciously.

  “I may have,” she admitted. “Nothing happened. I doubt this will be any different.”

  I would not have wanted her to attempt it, not after her core’s reaction with the charm shop explosion, but that was my protective side speaking. It was a moot point now, as she had already established it was safe. I couldn’t argue.

  Belladonna’s work was iffy at times, but in this respect—with a bit of Sherard tinkering—it worked to Jamie’s benefit. She was probably the only non-magical person who could help us in this case. And considering I’d almost run my legs off at the previous place, I was grateful to have a runner.

  “Thank you, my dear. Your help will be invaluable.”

  Seaton strode ahead, his magic already flaring around him. “Let’s get a ward up, contain this as much as we can. Everyone, set up!”

  Colette had come with every bag she could lay hands on. Kingsmen under Gibson’s direction had done the same. Multiple vans sat outside, filled with supplies, and we’d even set up a few tables as a staging area. And of course everyone received a magical hex drawn on their necks to help protect them before we went in.

  Massimo informed us that not everything in here was magical. He had initially started collecting vintage books, which took up the bulk of the house. This place was not his residence, but his showroom. His private collection. The grimoires were in pride of place in the parlor and study—those would be our priority tonight. Everything else, we could collect and somehow find owners for later.

  What we had here might be enough help to deal with this quickly, as Jamie said. I certainly hoped so. At any rate, we were ready to begin within moments.

  Jamie changed with lightning speed into tan trousers and a black shirt, her running shoes on. Seaton had the ward up and functioning. Kingsmen and policemen alike lined up at the door, bags in hand, grim determination on their faces.

  We all seemed to take in a collective breath, for
courage. Or perhaps to enjoy fresh air for a moment before entering the abyss waiting on us. And then we soldiered inside.

  I will say this. It wasn’t as bad in here as it had been at the flat. We had that in our favor, at least. Possibly because there weren’t as many grimoires, or possibly because there was more space in the house. The parlor was to the left of the front door, the study in the back right of the house, so we divided and conquered.

  I, of course, had every intention of finding the Reaper’s grimoires first, as they were the most valuable and volatile. Not to mention I had their protective boxes on hand, so they’d be an easy thing to sort. But that determination went up in so much smoke the moment I stepped into the study.

  I could not believe my eyes.

  He’d done the same thing here as he had in the flat. The grimoires were stacked in the same way, crammed onto bookshelves, every wall with floor-to-ceiling shelves. And then he’d added more bookshelves in the middle of the room to create aisles. There was barely room for one person to walk between the bookcases without slamming into either side. Magic swirled in colorful eddies, rising like smoke to hover thickly at the ceiling, essentially making the place so confining that I couldn’t take a proper breath in here.

  Colette stopped at my side, her tone disgusted. “Didn’t Massimo say something like he wanted the books to make him look educated? How does this make a good impression? It’s like a hoarder’s house in here!”

  “I have no answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me, either. He seems to have no real understanding of quality, so he went for quantity instead.”

  I shook my head, as trying to grasp the man’s logic did no good. And this was enough of a headache; I didn’t need to add to it.

  A grimoire sparking magical embers on a shelf caught my eye. I put on a protective glove, grabbed a bag, and went for it before it really did explode and take most of the wall with it. That’s how it started—me reaching for the most volatile thing that caught my eye and bagging it, sealing it properly before putting it on the table next to the door for Jamie to collect.