by Krista Walsh
The man had been strong enough, if only for a moment, to shove her out of the way. If the security system hadn’t been enough of a clue, the man’s strength was a sure sign that he was someone otherworldly. Add that to his interest in her safe…
Acid burned the back of her throat. Vera shut the front door of the shop, ensured the deadbolt was thrown before she turned the alarm system back on, then headed toward the back room. She stepped over the worn paperbacks and shiny hardcover books that had scattered across the floor when the man jarred the bookcase, cringing at the necessity of reorganizing everything on the shelves before opening tomorrow. But even the added item on her to-do list didn’t outweigh the concern that prickled her skin as she entered the cramped restricted room and turned on the overhead light.
He’d had no trouble getting through the secure door to this room. After the first burglary attempt, she had called Ezel, the Ghurgzic demon, to have a second alarm system installed on the inner door to make sure the contents remained safe. The thief had managed to disable it without issue.
And aside from Ara and Ezel, no one knew the location of her safe.
With slow steps, she approached the wooden cabinet at the back. The legs had scratched the floor when the thief had pulled it out of the way, and the books on the shelves inside had been jostled, tilting forward to rest against the glass.
For a moment, Vera stood still, staring at the closed door of the safe. Not only had he found it, but the dial sat at the fifth number of her seven-digit combination. He had been so close to getting it open.
Right until she’d stepped into the room, she’d believed he was going after her other occult books. Many of them were extremely rare and could have been sold for upwards of five grand apiece. They also would have been easy to snatch, sitting behind their glass doors.
Instead, he had gone for the safe, and his target shouted at her as proof of what he was after. She felt numb.
It can’t be. How could he know?
Swallowing the ball of worry in her chest, Vera touched the dial of the safe with the tips of her fingers, wary of any lingering magic from the way he’d chanted over it. After taking a breath to steady her shaking hand, she slid the last two dials to the correct numbers and jerked the handle. The lock clicked and the door opened with the rumble of metal grating on metal.
Two books lay within. The first sat on top of the other, its leather cover and worn pages a familiar sight to her. It was one of her most prized possessions — a reference tome with in-depth knowledge about the species of the otherworld. It contained their history in this dimension, with all the wars and political changes that had occurred since they’d first broken through the veil millennia ago. Only earlier this week she’d flipped through its pages to help Allegra Rossi, a succubus who had also fallen victim to Jermaine’s trap, resolve a supernatural issue at the Garden Hotel.
As old as the book was, and as rare as the information might be, the pages didn’t contain any knowledge that couldn’t be found by discussing the subject with most otherworldly scholars. The age of the book might make it worth a pretty penny, but she suspected money wasn’t the thief’s goal.
Vera shifted the top book to the side and pulled away the oilcloth that kept the second book hidden from view, while preventing its antiquated leather cover from drying out.
She ran her fingers over the ridges on the spine, the faded brown leather stretched over the wooden boards of a medium octavo, a little larger than a standard paperback. It wasn’t heavy, only about a hundred pages or so, but the paper was thick and infused with the heady aroma of age and magic. On the cover, a black etching depicted a wolf, its muzzle open in an eternal howl. Around its neck, a silver-leaf chain glinted under the light, binding the wolf to its captivity.
The Book of the Fettered Wolf. That was how her mother had always referred to it. Although the words weren’t written anywhere within the text, its title was as much a part of Vera’s ingrained knowledge as how to walk. The fettered wolf symbolized ultimate strength and potential betrayal, bound in chains in order to protect the world. Very suitable for a book that offered the reader so much power that it had been deemed too dangerous to keep in the world. It had been hidden seven hundred years ago, passed down through the bloodline of the Norse gods to the present-day keeper.
The only knowledge Vera had as to what the book contained were the stories that had been shared from keeper to keeper, that it was a collection of every otherworldly species that had passed into this dimension. The words within, and therefore any understanding of its true power, would require a skilled translator to interpret, but no one in her family had relied on that detail to keep it safe. After her mother’s death, the responsibility of guarding the book had fallen on Vera’s shoulders.
One more responsibility for her to carry.
And now someone was trying to steal it. Although she’d kept the secret of where she hid it close to her breast over the last twenty years, someone had known exactly where to find it. Someone with magic.
Vera’s mouth went dry. She bundled the book in the cloth and held it to her chest, then used her hip to slam the safe shut.
They will not get their hands on it, she swore. Not a chance in the seven hells.
2
The hum of customers chatting quietly in the shop the next morning created the perfect backdrop of white noise for Vera to tell Ara about last night’s trouble. She’d waited until a sufficient crowd had arrived before bringing up the subject, wanting to make sure no one’s attention was drawn by the conversation.
She pulled Ara toward the end of the front counter, closer to the stairs that led up to her apartment. From there, they were partially blocked by one of the bookcases, but she could still see the front door and the customers in case someone approached close enough to overhear.
Ara listened intently as Vera told her about the scuffle. When Vera mentioned the thief’s ability to shove her into the bookshelf, her friend’s tan skin ran pale and her eyes widened. She glanced at the patrons to make sure no one was listening, then leaned closer to Vera. “That’s incredible. Not to mention more than a little terrifying. Are you all right?”
“I did some damage to the wall, but otherwise, yes. More surprised than anything else.”
“And you’re sure he was after the book? How could he possibly know where it was?”
Vera clenched her teeth, and a sharp pain shot up behind her eyes. While the hours had passed during her sleepless night, she’d had time to muse over everything she’d witnessed, and in the light of day, she was finding her guess was just as sound as it had been in the small hours of the morning.
“I’m certain,” she said. “He was too specific in his search for it to be a coincidence. If it was just for profit, he could have taken any other occult book off the shelf.”
Ara tapped the pads of her fingers against the counter, and Vera noted the faint trace of green vines showing beneath her clear fingernails. The vines started spreading upward, creeping under Ara’s skin like veins before disappearing under the cuffs of her shirt. Ara followed her gaze downward and snatched her hand out of sight, shaking it free to clear the sign of her distress.
A small part of Vera was relieved to discover she wasn’t the only one unable to hide her concern.
Ara tucked her hands under her armpits, then exhaled sharply. The green vines that had come up under her collar and sneaked toward her neck receded. For a brief moment, her skin turned paper-thin, with faint lines creasing around her eyes and mouth. Her eyes lightened from their usual moss green to an ageless silver. Then she blinked and her face smoothed into the mask she habitually wore.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t stick around last night,” she said. “I’d planned to, but I figured the inventory could wait.”
Vera rested her hand on Ara’s shoulder. “I’m not blaming you. If anything, it’s my own fault. I should have taken the first attempt more seriously and moved the book then.” She squeezed Ara in reassurance, th
en ran her hand through her hair before dropping it to her hip. Her nerves were too shot for her to remain still.
“What should we do now?” Ara asked.
“I’ve moved the book,” Vera said. Before she’d taken Vidar and Baxter for a run last night, needing to work off some of her own energy as well as theirs, she’d brought the book to the store’s second safe hidden behind the painting of the shop at the back of the staff room. Usually, the only thing she kept in there was the cash she hadn’t had a chance to take to the bank. “I called Ezel this morning to have the proper wards set over it — which will be a bit of an inconvenience for you, I’m afraid. With the double combination and the protective spells, hopefully it will be enough of a deterrent if the thief comes back and somehow tracks the book down again.”
Vera pulled her planner out of her sweater pocket and splayed it open on the counter. On today’s date, she’d written and crossed off all the security measures she’d set in motion. She stared at the list, trying to think of other ideas. What else could she do? She’d believed she had already mapped out every possibility when she’d first hidden the book, and yet somehow this thief had come for it anyway.
Ara gave her a reassuring smile, a familiar understanding in her eyes. She laid her hand over Vera’s where it rested on the counter. “You did everything you could have done, and you know you did. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She cast a casual glance around the shop before dropping her voice. “The other safe will keep it protected for a while, but I doubt it will stop the thief for long. What should we do about him?”
Vera crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the counter, shifting herself to put her back to the customers. She didn’t want them to see the effort it was taking her to conceal the heat of her anger. “I’ll stand guard. Catch him on his next attempt.”
Ara tilted her head. “You plan on taking it all on yourself? Vera, stop being such a workaholic. If you try to do everything, you’re going to snap. There has to be a better way.”
If anyone else had rebutted her argument like that, Vera would have taken offense. She carried too many burdens to leave room for other people’s thoughts on how things should be done. But Ara had definitely earned the privilege.
Vera had been ten years old when she’d first met Ara. A recent initiate into her vengeance demigoddess heritage, Vera had gone to the woods to carry out a contract on a young man who had drowned his lover in the Haven River. When she’d reached the clearing, she’d found the young man hacking into the trunk of an oak tree to reclaim some evidence he’d stored in a hollow, and the tree’s screams had been as clear to Vera as if he’d been slaughtering a human woman. Vera had prevented him from doing too much damage, and she’d sensed the dryad’s gratitude as a current of warm energy. After that, she’d gone to visit the tree every day after school. There had been something so calming about the woods. The sun had felt warmer under the oak tree’s branches, the grass thicker and lusher.
When developers purchased the land to build a new row of townhouses, Vera had run to her father in tears, heartbroken that they were going to kill her tree. Gregory Goodall had come with her to take a few acorns from the tree’s branches, then worked with her to waken the spirit who lived inside. Ara had stepped out of the trunk and solidified from her spirit form into a slight figure with rough light brown skin lined with dark green veins, round silver eyes, and wild hair that flew around her head like moss.
On meeting them, Ara had taken the form of an eight-year-old girl and was enveloped into the Goodall family as though she’d been born to it. Her oak tree flourished in the backyard of their home in the quiet suburb of Haybrook, growing from sprig to sapling in a few short weeks. By the time Vera had moved out eighteen years later, the branches had soared past her bedroom window.
Although the house was sold after Vera’s father passed away three years ago, Ara still considered the oak her home, returning every night through the garden gate. Vera kept a few extra acorns set aside in case the day should come when that tree was destroyed as well. These days, it was impossible to guarantee the lives of any living greenery in the neighborhood.
And Ara’s well-being had to be protected. In all ways but blood, Ara was her sister, her only surviving relative. The only person allowed to question Vera’s actions with impunity.
She might even be right this time, Vera thought reluctantly, remembering how overwhelmed she had felt yesterday with everything on her plate. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.
Ara puffed out a breath as her thick hair danced under the draft of the ceiling fan. “Bring in help. If this thief can break through Ezel’s magic around the security system and knock you off your feet, who knows what else he’s capable of. There has to be someone who can chase this guy down before he gets close again.”
Vera raised an eyebrow at the implication that she couldn’t take him on her own, and Ara rolled her eyes. “I have no doubt that you’re strong enough to fight him, I’m just saying you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll do what I can, but you know my fighting skills won’t be much help.”
“So what do you suggest? That I share the book’s secret with an outsider?”
“Not necessarily,” Ara said, then huffed and glanced around the room. Lowering her voice, she continued, “You don’t need to share the whole story. We could look at hiring bodyguards from Ezel. She doesn’t ask questions, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra income.”
“Her brothers are seven feet tall,” Vera pointed out. She imagined what her patrons would say about a bunch of Ghurgzic demons wandering around with their wide shoulders and protruding underbite fangs.
“Then maybe she has a stronger security system,” Ara pushed. “I’m just saying that we should look at options. If we want to make sure the book is safe, you might need to do more than keep your eyes open and chase this man away at every attempt. You’d never forgive yourself if he slipped through your trap and got his hands on it.”
“I’m not suggesting we be lax about this.”
“I’m not saying you are.” Ara’s tone held a hint of strained patience. “All I mean is that you are doing too much. One person was not meant to keep the entire world in balance, and you should know that.”
Vera bristled, but before she had a chance to retort, Ara said, “You are incredibly strong and powerful, and in the past that’s been enough. But we don’t know who this man is, how he knew where you kept the book, or how he got through our security system. Once we have answers to those questions, I don’t doubt that you can deal with him, but until then I think we should widen our defenses.”
Although Vera knew Ara’s intentions were good and not intended to slight her, it was hard not to feel attacked. She had always done everything necessary to keep her promises. Every vow had been another weight to her already hefty pile of responsibilities, but she had carried them as stoically as she could, setting aside any other ambitions she might have had for her life.
“I understand where you’re coming from, and I’ll think it over,” Vera said. To prove she meant it, she scribbled Help (?) in her planner. “But until I make up my mind, I need you to trust that I’m not dropping my guard. We might not know who’s breaking in, but we know what he’s after. I will not let him get it.”
Ara sucked in a breath, then let it out without speaking. In spite of her silence, Vera heard Ara’s disapproval. She squared her shoulders and held firm. In some matters, she allowed her friend to guide her without resisting. The dryad’s three hundred years in this world and her observations of the people living in it often helped Vera gain a perspective on situations that she couldn’t see for herself. In this case, however, Vera believed she saw things clearly enough.
“In the meantime,” she continued, “let me know when Ezel’s rep arrives to cast the protective wards on the cash drop safe. It could be that a greater deterrent is all we need.”
Ara flicked her eyebrows and turned her attention to the counter, where a customer was
waiting to pay.
Vera knew Ara well enough to know this wasn’t the end of the conversation. To an outsider, Ara might appear shy and submissive, but she had a stubborn streak that rivaled Vera’s.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t push her to do anything rash before Vera was able to come up with a plan of her own.
***
The rest of the day appeared to pass smoothly. A steady stream of customers walked through the doors, bringing a cool autumn wind and the smell of damp leaves with them.
Vera handled the counter while Ara stocked the books from last week’s delivery. She greeted the customers with her usual silent smile so she didn’t disturb people as they sat at the front of the shop and read their latest finds. At lunch, she took Vidar and Baxter for a walk around the block, and when she returned, she brewed herself a cup of tea and perched on the stool behind the counter as she ran through the list of new releases to see which ones she wanted to order.
Everything was calm and unexciting. Routine.
And yet, she couldn’t relax. Every time the shop door opened, she found herself scanning the face of the customer to see if it was the thief returning to get a better lay of the land. Every loud noise made her jump, and every social exchange required more effort than it usually did.
By closing time, Vera was exhausted. She couldn’t wait to go upstairs and disappear under her blankets with a book. But there was still the process of closing to complete, and she wasn’t looking forward to any final words of persuasion Ara might try to squeeze in while they worked.
The biggest question that had pressed on her throughout the day was why the thief had wanted The Fettered Wolf. Yes, it was powerful, but objects of power were useless unless a person knew what to do with them. The book had been in Vera’s possession for twenty years and in her family’s safeguard for over seven generations, yet she still had no clear idea what purpose the book served. More than once she’d browsed through the pages, hoping to recognize a pattern in the letters so she could teach herself the language, but it continued to escape her.
