He nodded, pleased. “That’s basically what I’d been told when I purchased it in Rome.”
“Who was the seller?” she asked.
His expression tightened. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does. Were they reputable? Did they offer provenance for the book?”
Dunne looked as if he really didn’t want to answer, but then sighed. “I bought it from a priest who has an interest in such things. He’s a good man,” Dunne added, as if Silver was about to disparage him. “He’d never have shown it to me if he didn’t think it was genuine. I trust maybe three people in the world, and he’s one of them.”
“All right.” Silver would have to assume that was true. Dunne didn’t seem like a fool—she doubted he’d let himself be tricked with a forgery or a fake artifact. “Let me examine the text itself. Be patient.”
“I’ve waited this long,” he said, settling back in the chair.
She turned her attention back to the book. Reading more closely, a strange feeling began to prick along her spine. Could it be a spellbook?
Once Silver understood the nature of the book, she pushed it away from her, and rose from her seat at the desk. “I am very sorry, but I can’t translate this for you.”
He had stood up as well, in anticipation, but now his face fell. “Why not? Too complicated? Is the copy bad?”
“It’s not that I can’t,” she clarified. “I won’t. Translating a spellbook for a stranger when I’ve no idea how you’ll use it… It’s unethical.”
Dunne stood absolutely still for a moment, then laughed. “Miss Salem, don’t be naive. What does it matter if the subject is a little whimsical? Just translate it. It’s only words.”
“It’s a spellbook,” she said flatly. “That’s what you meant when you told me yesterday that the work might be unbelievable. You thought I’d not respect the content of the book. That I’d not take it seriously.”
His expression told her she guessed right.
“Well, Mr. Dunne, you misjudged me. I absolutely believe in magic, I do take it seriously, and I won’t let dabblers get involved in things they don’t understand.”
“I need that spell,” he said softly. “I need it.”
She paused. Something in his tone was so desolate. She couldn’t look at him. “That’s why you wanted my father to translate, isn’t it?” she asked. “It wasn’t just because of the languages involved. Someone told you Malachi Salem was a mage.”
“Yes.” Dunne said it simply enough, but now it was out there. They both knew the truth, and there was no need to dance around it any more. Magic was very real, and not to be trifled with.
He walked to the desk, standing opposite her, the book on the surface between them. “I spent over fifteen years looking for that spell, Miss Salem. I’ve done almost nothing else. I may be a dabbler, as you say, but I appreciate what I’m dealing with. I have no intention of hurting anyone else with the spell. But if I don’t use it, someone will get hurt.”
“Who?” she whispered.
“Doesn’t matter. In fact, it’s far better for you if you don’t know anything about this. Trust me.” He gazed directly at her, and his beautiful grey eyes held nothing but sincerity.
Silver wanted to trust him, but maybe that was simply because he affected her so strongly. “Before I continue to help,” she said, “you must tell me what you intend to use the spell for.”
“I intend to remove a curse.”
“Who’s cursed?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that the curse will be gone at last,” Dunne said. “I’ll perform the spell myself. I just need to know how to do it. That’s your job. For which I’ll pay you twice what I offered in the letter.”
Silver took a deep breath. That would be more than enough to see her through until she could find a full-time position back home. “Very well.”
She reached for the book, but Dunne snapped a hand out and put it over hers, pinning it to the table. “One thing. Before you go any further with this, you must tell me your full name.”
Silver froze. Dunne must know as well as anyone who dealt in magic that his demand was a significant one. Knowing the full name of a person offered the potential for tremendous power over them. Perhaps the money wasn’t enough for her to take the job after all.
“That’s rather…” she began.
“And I will tell you mine,” he said. His gaze was magnetic. “Again, I understand what I’m asking, Miss Salem.”
She saw he meant it, and saw that there would be no compromise on the issue. “Very well,” she said slowly. She didn’t have to tell him every part of her name, she thought. He’d never know if she left a little out. The Salem clan was deeply steeped in the occult world, and thus children born into the family were given names that tended toward the unusual and long. It was another layer of protection against enemies. And anyway, how could she trust him to tell the whole truth? Mr. Dunne was obviously a rather shifty individual.
Dunne let go of her hand, reached into a pocket, and withdrew a small green stone, speckled with little red spots.
“Bloodstone,” Silver said. She knew its ritual uses. Among other things, it was said that if a person spoke a lie while holding it, the stone would heat up and the red spots would proliferate, a phenomenon she’d never actually witnessed.
“We will both hold it,” he instructed, “as we say our names. Let’s keep our level of mistrust equal, shall we?”
“That’s fair,” she agreed faintly.
“Ladies first.” He grinned in a not particularly courteous way, then dropped the stone into her hand.
Silver held it in her palm. It was warm already, just from being near Mr. Dunne. But its warmth was subtle, even comforting. She took a deep breath, then said, “My name is Clementine Lillian Noor Silver Yasmeen Salem…Hagley.”
The stone did nothing. Either it accepted the truth, or the legends about it were false. Silver shivered. She’d just given her name over to a stranger with no way to know if he’d use it for good or ill.
She looked up at him, and was instantly caught by his gaze. She could tell he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“Clementine Lillian Noor Silver Yasmeen Salem Hagley,” he repeated, every syllable precise. “That’s…quite a mouthful.” His mouth curled up on one side. “Surely you had a nickname when you were younger.”
“My mother and father called me Silver,” she said. Revealing that fact made her feel even more vulnerable than saying her name.
“Silver,” he echoed. “I like that very much.”
“It’s not an invitation for you to do the same!” she warned.
He didn’t respond to that. Instead, he plucked the stone from her palm, and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. “I am Collier Michael Dunne. Coll for short,” he added wryly.
She looked at the stone as he spoke. It didn’t change. So she knew his true name or she didn’t. Either the bloodstone did nothing because they both spoke truth, or Dunne had tricked her out of her name with the aid of a green pebble.
But when she looked back at Dunne, she saw no triumph or smugness there. He said, “I’ll keep your name safe.” He held out the bloodstone. “Souvenir?”
She took the stone.
Dunne gestured to the desk. “Off to work, Miss Silver Salem. I’ll bring up that trunk of books, then leave you to it.”
* * * *
After she settled in, Silver found it all too easy to lose herself in the work of translating Collier Dunne’s strange spellbook. He pointed out the passage he was most interested in, but Silver had to work on several chapters to fully understand what she was studying.
Stacks of her reference books stood about the desk, and she used up a ream of paper on failed attempts at translation.
Collier was virtually absent the whole time, perhaps in an effort to not distract her. Each day, Silver woke early, ate the breakfast Coll provided, then secluded herself on the third floor until Coll knocked and asked if she w
anted dinner. Then she went back upstairs to work again.
He clearly wanted to ask about her progress, but didn’t. Silver sometimes told him of a revelation or a hint, which he ate up as eagerly as the food.
She’d discovered many things already. The book discussed mystical bargains with otherworldly beings, a dangerous endeavor for even the most seasoned mages and witches. Silver knew only the basics of the practice. In her father’s words: don’t do it. While some beings might deal fairly with humans, most had ulterior motives and many struck bargains with every intention of harming the human foolish enough to agree. If Collier was hoping to free someone of such a bond, he had his work cut out for him.
Her progress was steady, but slow. Piewicket was little help, either unable or unwilling to enlighten Silver on any aspect of the translation, only urging her to press on with the work.
“Easy for you to say,” she told the cat. “You’re just sleeping all day.”
When I see my prey, I pounce, the cat replied. My prey is nowhere near. But your prey is the words in front of you. Keep hunting, and you’ll be rewarded.
As the days passed, Silver began to have increasingly odd dreams, waking up in the small hours of the night convinced she had a nightmare, but unable to recall anything about it.
One night when it happened again, Silver sat shivering in bed. What if the spellbook was affecting her psyche? What if there was some curse in it lying in wait for anyone who read it? Such things were possible.
Then Silver shook her head. Her poor sleep was due to hard work and the intensity of her efforts, combined with being in a strange new place. Her stomach growled, and she decided that a snack was necessary. Surely Coll had been exaggerating for effect when he warned her to keep inside her room that first night.
She pulled on her robe over her nightgown. Unlocking her door, she crept down the stairs through the utterly silent house. Collier must be asleep in his room, and Piewicket either curled in a corner or hunting somewhere.
In the kitchen, Silver turned on the light so she could find what she needed. Before she could open a cabinet, she noticed some dark red spots on the floor by the back door. She knelt down to examine them.
Her fingers touched sticky wetness, and when she dared to smell the stains, she caught the unmistakable scents of copper and iron. Fresh blood. Silver’s heartbeat accelerated in an instinctive reaction to the primal scent. The phrase was fight or flight, but at the moment, Silver was entirely on the side of flight.
She took a deep breath, trying to remain rational.
“Piewicket?” she asked out loud. The cat was a fearsome killer of rodents, and Silver certainly found occasional victims in the past. But there was too much blood on the floor for that. She stood up again, nervousness still pinging around inside her.
The trail of blood spots went from the back entrance across the kitchen to the little hall leading to the basement door. She cautiously tried the handle and found it locked.
Well. Piewicket could open doors very well for a cat, but she certainly couldn’t lock them.
Before Silver could decide what to do next, she heard a thump from below. Someone was in the basement. Or something was.
Silver fled upstairs before she knew what she was doing. She shut her bedroom door and locked it, her heart pounding. She swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat. Why was there blood on the floor of the house? Why was she even here? What madness led her to agree to stay in the home of a stranger who dabbled in magic?
“Calm down,” she told herself. “Calm down.”
She counted silently, hoping that would slow her heart. Only after an agonizingly long time, during which she heard nothing but the breeze outside, did Silver dare to walk back to her bed, sitting down on the edge. There was an explanation for all this. Once morning came, she’d go down, examine the kitchen in the light, and it would all make sense. She’d ask Collier if something happened.
But could she trust his answer?
Silver must have slept again, for when she woke, it was already half past ten. She never slept so late.
Downstairs, she discovered that the kitchen floor was as clean as ever—no trace of the blood at all. Collier was nowhere to be found, but on the table she found a cold breakfast of buttermilk biscuits, cheese, and an apple. A note lay nearby.
Out on business. Back by dark. Have a good day and don’t talk to strangers. Coll.
She made coffee and hurriedly ate her food. While she did so, she studied the note as if it too needed translation. What did she expect it to say?
I am secretly a raving monster and I killed someone last night. Don’t mind the blood.
Or perhaps:
You were dreaming, girl. There was never blood on the floor, and you never even left your room.
She rose again to check the basement door. Still locked. Which told her nothing. She’d simply have to wait for Collier to return so she could casually ask him if he’d mopped up some incriminating evidence in the early dawn light.
Surprisingly, Silver managed to put the event out of her mind for most of the day. Upstairs, she lost herself in the work of translation, worrying at a particularly complex line that defied all attempts to be read.
“What is inside, bring outside?” she muttered. “As in, so out? No.” She frowned. The meaning was right there, just on the other side, frustratingly close yet still hidden. “What is drawn on the outside…” She checked another book on Aramaic. She was missing something.
Just as the light outside was fading, she made a crucial connection. “Aha! It’s not bring. Draw as in drawing with ink!” She smiled, knowing that put her on the right track. Soon this spell would make sense.
There was a knock on the door. Coll called, “Miss Salem? I’m back. You up there?”
“Yes!” she said cheerfully. “What is it?”
“Dinner. Come down if you’re hungry.”
She was always hungry. Silver put out the light and walked down to the dining room, still delighted with her breakthrough.
When she saw Coll standing there, though, she remembered the odd incident from before, and all the good feeling evaporated.
“What’s wrong?” Coll asked, his smile fading into concern.
Why was there blood on the floor last night?
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just hungry,” she said, taking her seat. She’d have to tread carefully around Collier until she knew what was going on.
The aroma of the dinner distracted her again. “Is that veal?” she asked in surprise.
“Is that all right?”
“Of course.” She hadn’t eaten veal in two years. Times were hard, and such expensive items virtually disappeared from most American tables, the Salem table included.
Apparently, Coll had funds enough that he could afford veal for a weeknight dinner. And naturally, it was delicious. Silver had to force herself to eat slowly. She remembered too many comments from her late husband about how she shoveled food down. You eat like a cow, he’d said once. Show a little respect for me, if not for your own appearance, woman.
“Do you like it?” Coll asked, sounding a little worried. “You’re not really eating.”
“Yes, I am,” she said. “I can’t believe you found veal in the shops.”
“I know where to go. Oh, I got you some tea. So you don’t have to suffer my coffee any longer.”
“Thank you!” Silver smiled at him, pleased he thought of it.
He looked at the floor. “I had to buy more food anyway, so it was no trouble.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. And the food.” She gestured to the fancy meal with her fork.
“I almost chose some wine,” he said, “but I wasn’t sure how you’d view it.”
“Don’t purchase bootleg alcohol on my account!” she said.
“Not purchased,” he said with a little smile. “My basement happens to be rather well stocked with pre-Prohibition goods. Wine among them.”
“That’s what’s in your
basement?” she asked warily.
“Yes, mostly. But don’t worry. I keep it locked up. I doubt anyone knows about the supply, or else someone surely would have stolen it years ago while I was gone traveling.”
“Oh.” she said faintly. A very reasonable explanation for the locked door. And she didn’t even have to ask.
“But my concern was more…well, I didn’t want to you to think I was trying to…”
“I don’t think that, Mr. Dunne,” Silver said, blushing. “And if you were the type of man to try to get a girl drunk, wouldn’t you have tried the first night?”
“Suppose so.”
The conversation stopped then, and Silver felt suddenly shy. She shouldn’t even be talking about such things with a near stranger, though there were times when Coll didn’t feel like a stranger at all.
“I think I had a breakthrough today,” she said, to change the subject.
“You did?”
“Yes. It’s far from complete, but I believe it won’t be too long. A few more days. Maybe a week.”
“You think…it could be done by the end of the month?” he asked with hope in his voice.
That was just over a week away. The end of the month was also Halloween, of course, an evening ripe for mystical happenings. So that was his concern about the deadline, and why he couldn’t spare the time to seek out another translator. “I’ll do my best.”
Coll took a breath, then said, “I know you will.”
That night, Silver had no trouble falling asleep. The triumph of unlocking that tricky passage made her both complacent and sleepy. She looked forward to the next day, when surely she’d do even better. She hadn’t felt this excited since her early school days, when she enjoyed unlocking the puzzles her teachers offered her.
Thinking of all that, Silver was surprised to find herself standing in her hometown, looking over the familiar college campus. She walked around, wondering what brought her here.
Then she saw the library down the street, a large building with marble columns and a Greek-style facade. Of course, she thought. She must need to get a few books for something she was working on.
She made her way to the building, climbing the steps eagerly. She tugged at the heavy doors until they finally opened. It was quiet inside, but the lights were on, so she continued into the foyer. If only she could remember which book she came for! Oh well, she’d know it when she saw it.
One Touch of Silver Page 3
