There was a great deal of conversation between all of us as we worked, mostly because the confines of the rooms were so narrow that we were constantly moving around each other and asking for space. Still, even over the hum of words, I heard snatches of song.
“It’s been a hard day’s night,” Jamie sang as she jogged to the table, scooped up an armful of books, then turned and jogged back towards the door. “And I’ve been working like a dog~”
It was comforting, to hear her sing even though I didn’t recognize the melody or lyrics. It put a smile on my face.
Jere turned from the stack he was working on, a bewildered expression on his face. “She’s singing?”
I could just see him around the bookcase and bent backwards enough to see him more clearly as I explained, “Jamie likes to sing as she works. Or when she’s happy. Or when she’s up to mischief. She’s something of a songbird.”
“Ah. I don’t recognize the song.”
“You normally don’t,” I agreed, and then went back to work, a half-smile lingering on my face. Something about Jamie’s singing made it feel like we’d get through this fine. She wasn’t stressed to the point that music disappeared. I knew when she stopped singing, things had turned for the worse.
This wasn’t one of those times.
The tune she sang was catchy, the chorus was repetitive, and I found myself humming along with it. I shouldn’t stress. The Reaper’s grimoires were in here somewhere. We’d find them. Jere was on hand to help put them safely back into their boxes. This would be fine.
“Found one!” Jere called, voice going high with excitement. “It’s—oh, gods above. Henri!”
I immediately put down the book in my hand and raced as quickly as I could in the narrow space to reach his side. He had his back to me, nothing in his hands, and I saw why once I was close enough to look over his shoulder.
The Reaper’s grimoire not only was leaking magic, but smears of magic from neighboring grimoires had turned the edges of the leather cover dark and brittle. It looked rather like someone had taken three magical potions, all with disagreeable content, and dumped them together on top of the book. The backlash was already threatening the integrity of the wall, and the shelves around it resembled a lit candle, dripping and melting. The ceiling was already glooping in puddles of plaster on the floor. I didn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole, much less stand this close to it.
“Henri.” Jere’s tone was flat with anger. “There’s something sticking out of the top of the book, do you see it?”
I had to take a closer look to see what he meant. There was a slender piece of paper, somewhat flattened at the top, but it looked like a bookmark. Or something being used as a bookmark. But there was a hint of a design there, a curve of black lines and such, and I almost dismissed what my eyes reported. Because surely no one could be that stupid.
“Is that…is that a charm?”
“I think it is. It’s something with magical properties, at any rate. It’s causing complete havoc inside that grimoire. I’m going to very carefully lever this thing out of the stack. When I do, I need you to get that paper and seal it. It’s just as dangerous as one of the books right now.”
“Yes, I can see that. A moment.” I ducked back to where I’d been working, grabbed a bag, and then hurried back to his side. I snapped the bag open, a gloved hand free and at the ready. “This is best done quickly. On the count of three. One, two, three!”
He jerked open the grimoire, I snatched the paper out of it, and the single glance I caught as I stuffed it into the bag was enough to confirm that it was a charm.
A cleaning charm. One designed to mend rips and remove stains.
Because of course that’s the proper thing to put into a decades-old grimoire with ink stains.
I sealed the bag promptly. Jere put the grimoire back into its protective box, closed and latched the lid with the buckles firmly in place, and only then did we both dare to take a breath.
“Was that…” he asked, words tinged with horror.
“Mending charm,” I confirmed, sharing the horror. “How much damage did it do to the book, do you think?”
“I’m terrified to find out.” His eyes were wide as he looked at me. “I know we didn’t want to pull Massimo in here. But…we need to. We’ve got to pull every grimoire with a bookmark in it now. Those charms might destroy us and the books before we can clear the room!”
I agreed, which was why I didn’t argue with him. I darted out of the room, taking both the Reaper’s grimoire and the charm with me, as the sooner I could do that, the better. I put both into different compartments in the back of Jere’s vehicle for extra protection. The night air felt cool against my sweaty skin, but I had no time to relish it. I turned, frantically looking for Massimo. He’d led us here, and we had someone on the way to take him to jail. Both Gerring and Foster were sitting on him to make sure he didn’t try and run for it before he could be properly processed.
I found him, sitting in the back of the car, with Foster and Gerring standing guard over him. Without thinking, I went straight for the door, yanking it open and displacing Foster in the process. “Massimo. How many charms did you use as bookmarks?”
He looked up at me in bewilderment. “Uh…I can’t say offhand.”
Taking him by the arm, I pulled him sharply out of the vehicle. “You best remember. And do so quickly. Your stupidity is about to get us all killed. I can’t believe you put a mending charm inside a Reaper’s grimoire! Good gods, man, don’t you understand what that could do?!”
Massimo stumbled as I yanked him towards the house, protesting as he went, “But it’s just a design on a paper until you activate it, right? And it was so pretty—the design, I mean.”
Heavens preserve me. “It’ll automatically activate if it comes into direct contact with active magic—which a grimoire is made of! Now, how many charms did you use? Which books? Where’s the Reaper’s Set? We’ve only found one volume so far.”
He went, timidly pointing to the back study. “They’re all in there. I…really, charms will do that?”
The blank non-comprehension on his face was infuriating. Why would anyone collect grimoires when they didn’t understand even the basic tenements of magic? His entire thought process defied logic at every turn. He collected something he didn’t understand, didn’t read, all to make himself look more intelligent. And to who? He couldn’t even openly display the books because they were all stolen goods!
The man needed a doctor. There was something very wrong with his mind.
Jere saw our approach and pointed an outraged finger at Massimo. “If you’ve undone all my hard work, I’m going to lynch you before the police ever get a chance to prosecute you! Where are the other Reaper’s grimoires?”
Massimo looked both hurt and defensive, shoulders hunched in, but there was a mulish set to his mouth that suggested he was ready to offer a defense. He didn’t see anything wrong with what he’d done, apparently. Which was laughable, because he’d been so enraged with Walcott for destroying books, but in the end he’d done just as much damage as the book broker had. Hypocritical in the extreme.
If he offered one word in defense of his actions, I’d shove my wand down his throat.
Something about my expression must have said that as he didn’t try to excuse himself. He meekly went into the room and started pointing to books. He almost pulled a few from the shelves.
With his bare hands.
I had to physically stop him from doing it, but he only reached for another.
The reaction was intense and visceral. He clutched the book in a death grip, eyes going wide and weirdly green, as if he were hypnotized by something. His head turned, nose wrinkling up in his face.
“What is that? That foul creature up there. That’s what’s causing this, isn’t it?!”
What was he hallucinating?
“Give me the grimoire.”
“No, no this will protect me.” He stepped away, eyes fixated on some po
int on the ceiling. “This will protect me from that. I think it has a spell in it—”
Jere, without compunction, grabbed the nearest book to him and hit Massimo squarely on the back of the head.
It startled the thief enough that he staggered, his grip loosening. I snatched the grimoire from him immediately, then pulled away before he could snatch it back.
Massimo reached for it automatically, then blinked. “Where did it go?”
“You were hallucinating,” I growled, beyond fed up with this idiocy.
“No, I wasn’t. There was something—” He broke off, still staring around him in confusion. “I guess maybe it was my imagination.”
Is that what he’d done this entire time? Blamed it on a trick of the light, or his mind playing tricks on him? How delusional must he be to convince himself over and over that everything was fine? Just so he could keep his precious books. Books he couldn’t even understand, for the most part. How could this man have escaped the law for so long? It was all so senseless.
Massimo reached for another one, and this time I was quick to stop him, smacking his wrist sharply. “For the love of all magic, do not!”
He looked at me, his mouth screwed up bitterly. “What, I can’t even touch them anymore?”
“You complete imbecile,” I bit out. “No, wait, I suppose you can’t see it. This entire room is so magically volatile that if you touched that with your bare hands, it would either burn your skin with third-degree lesions, or you’d be violently ill for weeks, even with proper treatment. Do you not see how I have protective gloves on?”
His eyes dropped down to the thick work gloves on my hands with new understanding. “But I’ve been in here often.”
“But never more than ten minutes at a time, I bet,” Jere threw in with a derisive look. “Just enough to squeeze something else in, right? You were getting small doses, something you could process and come away with. Always felt like you were sick, or not like yourself, after you came out here, didn’t it?”
Massimo slowly blanched.
And he’d never put it together that something was wrong? I sighed, shaking my head. Great magic, the stupidity boggled my mind.
“Alright, Massimo, where else? As we pull these books and deal with them, I’m going to explain to you precisely what you did, and the effect it has now. And potentially what it would have done if left for even a week longer. Point us to the next one.”
He did, to a corner shelf, and wisely didn’t try to touch it. Jere pounced on it, and I quickly dealt with the charm inside the pages—this one was a charm for healing wounds, for mercy’s sake. All the while, I dictated what that absurd mix of magic had done. Jere spelled out precisely what it had done to the grimoire itself, what he’d have to do later to put the book back to rights so it could be safely handled again, and neither of us sugarcoated our words.
Massimo turned quieter and quieter, his eyes growing wide and a cough developing. He was stooping, too, his body becoming twisted from the magic going unfettered through his frame. It had already twisted up the joints on his right side, something a doctor would have to undo. But being in here was definitely making the situation worse. I belatedly realized I hadn’t put any protective measures on him, but I had no magic or sympathy to spare. I’d march him back out in a moment, after he helped us find the most volatile problems.
But before that happened, I’d make sure he was thoroughly educated on the disaster his ignorance had created here.
Rupert came into the kitchen with a wide smile on his face and a rumbly in his tumbly. “Oh, good, you did make it!”
“I did. Wait, was that supposed to be a pun?” Considering I was in the process of making multiple sweets, the question was a valid one.
He laughed, eyes crinkling up. “Not what I intended. You weren’t sure, what with the case load you have, if you’d be able to come today.”
“Yeah, it was a near thing. Managed to button it up last night, although paperwork is waiting on me.” I shrugged, as there was always paperwork. I hadn’t had a day off in five weeks because of various shenanigans, and darn it, I wanted to do something fun. And spend time with people, not be chained to my desk again. Two crazy cases back-to-back, with another case following the Reaper’s Case, was just no. I ain’t playing anymore. I need a vacation.
Besides, this was productive too. Rupert had been enthusiastic about taking charge of my strawberry endeavor, and he was already in the process of getting a business set up. But his main question was—product? Hard to plan production, distribution, and advertising if you don’t even understand your own products.
I took his point as a fair one and offered to show him, as I didn’t know how to explain this. Describing food is like dancing about architecture. It doesn’t really get the message across very well.
But for this, I would need all the counter space. So, I borrowed Rupert and Ophelia’s kitchen for the demonstration, as they had a kitchen large enough for a restaurant. Food was an important business in the Davenforth family. They also had all of my latest gadgets, including a refrigerator, so it was the best place to work—aside from my own kitchen.
And it was nice to have the time to cook and socialize. Our last case had been something of a doozy, in more ways than one. Although at this point, all I had to do was play witness at the trial. Which was set for next month. We had so much evidence on Massimo, there was no way he’d avoid jail time. Henri was concerned about whether he’d truly be punished, but I wasn’t. I had a royal mage playing witness, and he’d hammer home just how dangerous Massimo’s actions had been, how many people he’d endangered with his stupidity and greed.
At this point, all of the grimoires were safely back home. Jere was working on the ones that had been damaged so he could give them back in a proper state, and I couldn’t ask for more than that. It was a good ending to a bad situation.
Rupert pulled up a chair and sat himself near the island, watching me whip cream. “It does smell amazing in here. I have some paperwork for you to look over when you have a moment. Mostly about stocks and such. I’ve got it divided up as we discussed, with you acting as a silent partner.”
“Good.” I didn’t have time to run anything, but I was invested in making sure this worked out. My future with strawberries depended on it. “Did you find farms?”
“I did. I took Pam Pousson with me whenever we looked at a field.” Rupert’s face softened. “You know, the farming industry took a hit in the past five years, due to various problems. With a new product and funding, we can get the industry going again in several towns that are economically depressed. You keep saying you’re doing this for selfish reasons, but it will do a lot of good, too.”
I knew that. And it did make me happy to be able to help pull people out of a bad financial situation. My own money from my various inventions with Ellie were funding a lot of this, as it wasn’t fair to make Rupert pay for everything when it was my idea. He threw some of his money in too. And, of course, I had other investors who had thrown their hat in. It was a good seed to start with.
“How many farms are we contracted with right now?”
“Sixteen.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. “We don’t have enough seeds for sixteen farms!”
“Not yet. But as soon as we have any seeds at all, we divide them between the farms. Pam Pousson has them on a self-propagation program so they automatically seed as soon as they can. It’s quite brilliant, really. And by starting out small, if something goes wrong, it’s not too much of a loss. We can recover from it. She’s rotating her time between the farms and making sure they understand how to grow things properly.”
“She would.” I shook my head in amazement. “Well. No wonder you kept poking me about products. We might be in business sooner rather than later. Uh…let’s see, I’ve got strawberry shortcake ready. Try that first.”
He accepted the small dessert plate I handed him, cutting off a slice that included cake, strawberry, and whipped cream. Th
en he popped it into his mouth, eyes going wide with pleasure.
“Yeah, it’s good,” I agreed with a grin of my own.
“Why did you give me such a small piece?” he asked plaintively.
“Because you have other things to try. Ice cream is still chilling, but how about a strawberry tart?”
He bit into the tart, curiosity quickly transforming into happiness. And so it continued, me giving him the twelve recipes I knew well enough to make without a reference card—and with this world’s ingredients. A lot of them were baked goods, but I could do jam, too. And the ice cream, of course. I did dip a few in chocolate, like I had done for Henri, as Rupert hadn’t tried them that way.
He was four desserts in, looking a lot like a kid who had managed to sneak into the cookie jar when no adults were watching. The sugar rush would not be a joke later. I felt sorry for Ophelia.
Of course, Henri came in while his dad was stuffing his face, saw the smorgasbord of goodies laid out, and lit right up. “Oh, you’re done! I can have some, I hope.”
“Dude, you think I want to eat the rest of this? Sit, eat, do not get sick. In that order.”
Ophelia was on his heels; I could hear her approach. “Oh, is she done already? Oh, no, I meant to help.”
I waved her to a stool next to the island. “It’s fine, I’ve got this. Sit, taste things, let me know what you think.”
Henri was already a bite into a strawberry tart and humming his approval. “Delicious. Father, what do you think?”
“I think we’re going to make a bloody fortune, is what I think.” Rupert’s hand was going for a chocolate-covered strawberry as he spoke. “No wonder she missed these so much. Sweet, delicious berries like these? I’d have missed them too.”
It wasn’t the only thing from home I missed. The thought brought a soft pang to the heart. But, you know, I was in a better situation now than I had been even a year ago. I could see my family every few months and talk to them. I had some more things from home, things I couldn’t replicate here. And I had all of that, in large part, due to the amazing man sitting across from me, happily munching on his strawberry tart.
Grimoires and Where to Find Them Page 25
