The Book of Peril

by Melissa McShane

  For several minutes, I saw nothing but the pale light through which dust motes floated. The room was so quiet, with my shoes on the ancient linoleum making no noise, I might have thought I’d gone deaf. Anxiety weighed me down. When Abernathy’s didn’t have an answer to a question (or, occasionally, chose not to answer), the books went wild in a terrible windstorm. But there was no movement, not even the rustle of pages in the draft I could feel coming from the ceiling.

  Finally, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the deep blue glow coming from a few “rows” over. Abernathy’s didn’t have any organization so mundane as rows or aisles, just meandering paths between the bookcases. I walked a little more quickly than usual to the place where the glow came from and snatched the book off the shelf. It was called Yoga for Beginners, and on the title page, I read Judy Rasmussen, $50.

  “At least it got your name right,” I said when I emerged from the oracle. I handed the book to Judy. She took a fat envelope out of her handbag and peeled a fifty off the roll inside. “I thought you didn’t have any money?”

  “I don’t. I took this out of the bottom drawer. I told you I thought we should make Abernathy’s pay for it.”

  That made me uncomfortable. “But… sorry if this is crass, but isn’t your father loaded?”

  “He is. But I want to be my own woman, as much as that’s possible when I’m still living at home.” She made a wry face. “So I’m living off my salary from this job. Besides, Abernathy’s can afford it.”

  She put the envelope on the counter and opened the book. Her eyes narrowed, and she flipped through several pages. “Maybe I was wrong.”

  She showed me the open book. The ink had smeared into a black, streaky blotch, making the page illegible. “It’s like that all through,” she said.

  “Huh.” I handed her back the fifty. “Try paying with your own money.”

  Judy rolled her eyes but dug through her handbag for her wallet. “This had better work. I was saving this for a new dress.” She handed me two twenties and a ten, which I tucked into the envelope. She opened the book again. “I guess Abernathy’s has some built-in fraud protection,” she said, displaying a crisply printed page with a photo of a woman in a complicated pose. “At least against people using its money for their own auguries.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s all right.” She turned to the title page. “It has my name on it?”

  “In bright silver. At least that worked.”

  “Now we have to figure out what the augury means. I guess I know what I’ll be spending my morning on.”

  I unlocked the front door in time to meet the mail carrier and accept a bundle of letters. So many augury requests. “I guess my day’s laid out for me too.”

  It was another exhausting morning. The only bright note was how about a third of what I’d thought were augury requests were instead payments for auguries. I spent about half an hour entering them in the ledger, by the end of which time I’d decided we were buying a computer and to hell with what Mr. Briggs thought. But that cheerful thought couldn’t keep me from becoming increasingly frustrated at how hard Abernathy’s was making me work for each augury.

  Over lunch (leftover ratatouille and grilled sausages), I said, “Did you learn anything?”

  “I think so, but it’s so straightforward I doubt myself. The book is about yoga, but there’s a recurring theme of finding inner peace, being in harmony, all sorts of self-actualizing nonsense—”

  “It’s not nonsense. I think having inner peace would be nice.” I took another bite and savored the blend of flavors. Sausage was one of my favorite foods.

  “Maybe, but it’s all dressed up in silly flowery language. The point is, the overall message is of being whole. I think Abernathy’s is telling us there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  I lowered my fork. “But that can’t be right.”

  “I told you I wasn’t sure about it. It seems too easy. But if I were reading this augury for anyone else, I’d say that’s what it meant. That the subject of the augury isn’t broken.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. I could feel a headache coming on. “So Abernathy’s thinks nothing’s wrong.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Yet it’s giving out auguries to people who haven’t asked for them and can’t make up its mind which auguries to give other people.”

  Judy shrugged. “Maybe it thinks that’s acceptable behavior.”

  “Maybe. Suppose…” I rubbed my forehead harder. “You know how there are some mental illnesses that change the way you see the world? And the people who have them are convinced the world is different than it is because their brains trick them into believing it?”

  “Are you saying the oracle is mentally ill?”

  “No, I’m saying, what if it genuinely believes nothing’s wrong because whatever it has that perceives the world is damaged? Like, what if it believed Doug Branch’s augury was for Ethan Fifielt?” I stood up. “I think I remember where I left Mr. Fifielt’s augury. I’m going to see if it’s still active.”

  It wasn’t. How to Show and Sell Your Crafts had nothing written on its title page. I took the book with me anyway and went to the office to call the number I’d written down. With Judy leaning on the desk like some kind of bird of prey, I listened to the ringing. Just as I was about to give up, someone picked up. “Hello?”

  “I’m trying to reach Ethan Fifielt.”

  “Who’s calling?” The speaker sounded as if he thought I was a telemarketer.

  “This is Helena Davies calling from Abernathy’s.”

  There was a pause. “What’s this about?”

  “Is this Mr. Fifielt?”

  “Yes. But I haven’t asked for an augury.” He said it strangely, with an emphasis on “asked.”

  “I know. But could you help me with something? If you were going to ask the oracle a question, what would it be?”

  There was a longer pause. “I can’t afford an augury,” Fifielt finally said, in a voice that said it had cost him a lot to make that admission.

  “I won’t charge you for asking the question. Please, Mr. Fifielt, this is important.”

  “All right. Um. Where should I look for a job?”

  Blue light crackled across the cover. I flipped to the title page. Ethan Fifielt, $500. “Thanks, Mr. Fifielt, you’ve helped a lot.”

  “Is there an augury for me? How much?”

  He tried to sound calm, but his too-rapid speech revealed how eager he was, and my heart hurt for him. “No charge,” I said, ignoring Judy’s astonished gestures. “I’ll have it in the mail for you this afternoon.”

  “Really? That’s—thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “That’s all right. You’ve helped me tremendously. Thank you.”

  When I hung up the phone, Judy said, “After all that work, it gives him a free augury? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s not free. I’m paying for it.”

  Judy narrowed her eyes. “How much?”

  “It’s not important.” It really wasn’t important. In addition to my custodian’s salary, which wasn’t small, I got one percent of the value of any auguries I performed. Usually, this didn’t amount to more than about ten dollars, but the Ambrosite augury had netted me a fat chunk of cash, more than enough to supply me with whatever I needed. Between all that and the apartment I lived in rent-free, I was doing very well for myself.

  “Did he spin you a sob story? You shouldn’t believe everything people tell you.”

  “No, but he sounded so desperate, and his question was about looking for a job—” I stopped, struck by memory. “That’s what Mr. Branch wanted, too. His augury was about a job offer.”

  “Abernathy’s was at least close. It was just confused. Two people asking essentially the same question—”

  “It’s more information than we had. But if it’s a true augury, how was Abernathy’s able to fulfil it at such a distance?”
r />   Judy swore under her breath. “It feels like we’re asking the wrong questions.”

  “If you figure out the right ones, let me know,” I said.

  dumped a load of whites into my mother’s washing machine and added liquid detergent. My parents were generous about letting me use their laundry facilities instead of me having to haul a hamper to the laundromat five blocks from my apartment. They always made a night of it, dinner and a movie. I loved being on my own, but I sometimes got homesick, and this was the perfect cure.

  “Helena, hurry up,” my brother Jake shouted.

  “Be patient, loser,” I shouted back.

  “I’m eating your popcorn.”

  “You’d better not, or I’ll call that girl you like and tell her you still wet the bed.” We were such a loving family.

  “Both of you give it a rest and show some respect for family tradition,” Dad said.

  I came back into the room and wrested my bowl from my brother without spilling more than a few kernels. “What are we watching?”

  “It Happened One Night,” Mom said. “Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, directed by Frank Capra.”

  “Is it better than Gone With the Wind? Because I was way too young to watch that,” Jake said.

  “Different,” Dad said. “You’ll like it.”

  Jake settled into his seat. To look at him, you wouldn’t think he was the type to watch old movies with his family on a Thursday night. He looked like the football player he was, big and beefy and not resembling either of my parents, who were tall but slender. But although he pretended indifference, he was as devoted to our family as I was.

  Mom turned down the lights, and I popped the foot of my recliner up and stretched. I’d seen the movie before, but watching it in the comfort of my dad’s shrine to the entertainment gods—surround sound, TV that was almost the size of a movie screen, leather upholstered armchairs with cup holders that cradled you in comfort—was like seeing it for the first time. I nibbled a handful of popcorn. Sheer bliss.

  My pocket vibrated. I muttered under my breath and wormed it out. Lucia. Damn. “Don’t stop the movie,” I said. “I have to take this. Important work business.”

  “What’s so important it has to happen after hours?” Mom said, pausing the movie anyway.

  “Missing shipment,” I improvised. “An expensive one. I told the owner to call me as soon as she had news. I’m sorry. I’ll be quick.” I made a dash for the bathroom.

  “About time, Davies,” Lucia said. “You sure aren’t acting like this is urgent.”

  “I called you two days ago. What took you so long?”

  “I’m sure this’ll shock you, but I do have other business to take care of. Get to the point already.”

  I summed up what we’d learned from the Kellers and from Ethan Fifielt, and concluded with, “It’s like the oracle is confused about who’s asking for the augury. It either doesn’t know who’s asking, or it answers the same question multiple times. What could do that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll send Maxwell over tomorrow to do some divinations, see if the oracle’s magic has been warped somehow.”

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “I don’t know, Davies. Learn to knit? Keep on doing your job, and we’ll either figure it out, or the problem will go away on its own.” She hung up. I swore at the phone, which made me feel better, then put it away and returned to where my family sat waiting.

  “I told you not to wait for me,” I said.

  “We don’t mind,” Mom said. “Are you ready?”

  “Sure.” I settled back into my seat, but I had trouble staying focused on the story. Martin Maxwell, a glass magus like the Kellers, was one of Lucia’s aides, if you could call a couple of bruisers who looked like they could bench press a Volkswagen “aides.” If there was something magical wrong with Abernathy’s, he could find it. But Lucia could afford to be nonchalant about my problem. I was the one who had to deal with it daily. “Learn to knit,” I muttered darkly under my breath, then shook my head at my mother when she gave me a curious look. Too bad solving the problem wasn’t as easy as that.

  I packed bundles of cash into the deposit bag and put it into my tote bag for a run to the bank. It made me so nervous, carrying around that amount of money, that I had a sort of ritual I did to calm myself on the rare occasions I had to go to the bank. Check the front door, though it hadn’t been unlocked since the previous day. Lock the office door and rattle the knob twice. Lock the door leading from the office to my apartment stairs and jiggle the knob three times. Put the keys away in my left pocket and pat them a couple of times, pat pat. Lock the outer door and tug on that, then put that key away in my right pocket, safely out of reach of the other keys. Run to the car, unlocking it as I went, then check the back seat before I got in in case of muggers. It was needless paranoia—I didn’t look like someone carrying thousands of dollars in cash in her tote—but it made me feel better.

  At just after nine o’clock, commuters crowded the streets, trying to avoid the crush on the freeway. I inched along until I reached the First Security branch office where we did our banking. First Security was partly run by magi and offered protections beyond the mundane sort. I liked dealing with tellers who didn’t look at me sideways when I made large deposits. Lucia had warned me about federal regulations governing cash deposits of over $10,000, that the magi who ran the bank were good at misdirection, but making a few large deposits and filling out the required paperwork was easier on them than depositing a lot of smaller amounts. I was still stunned I had a job where I handled any amount of cash approaching that amount.

  The small parking lot was already full. Grumbling, I drove around the block until I found a spot by the curb. I dragged my tote out of the passenger seat and looped it over my head, so it hung across my body. Viv always said this made it harder for a purse snatcher to get it off you, which made sense. But out in the open, with people on the sidewalk and cars passing by, I felt less nervous.

  The First Security lot adjoined another parking lot belonging to some kind of professional building, with a couple of lawyers and a weight loss clinic and a few others whose names on the sign didn’t hint at their professions. I decided to hike across the parking lot and save myself some time. Trees lined the concrete barriers circling the lot, shading it from the morning sun. They smelled deliciously green, and I could hear birds singing to each other in the branches. They stopped as I neared, then picked up the song again after I passed, creating a musical rippling effect that soothed me further.

  The parking lot had two levels, both open to the sky, and as I approached the stairs leading to the upper one, a man came down them. He wore a battered leather jacket, and his short hair stood straight up like a hairbrush. I nodded and smiled at him, clutching my tote without, I hoped, looking like I had a death grip on it. The man didn’t smile back. He kept walking toward me. I veered a little to the right, making it clear I wanted to stay out of his path. He veered to match me.

  “Back off, or I’ll scream,” I said, my voice shaking. I fumbled at my pocket—no, I’d put my phone in my tote, where it had dropped straight to the bottom. He kept coming, his expression flat and merciless. I turned to run.

  The man grabbed me and dragged me over to the trees. I screamed, and he put a large hand over my mouth. “Gimme your bag,” he growled. Something cold dug into my side—a knife? A gun? I shook too hard to try to flee. The man prodded me harder. “The bag, now, or—”

  My hands fumbled with the tote. It tangled around my neck. I yanked at it and only managed to pull my hair, loose around my shoulders. I sobbed and pulled harder. The man cursed and took hold of the bag himself. The cold thing in my side fell away, and I jerked free and ran, stumbled over the uneven cracks in the pavement, and fell hard to my hands and knees.

  A shout in the distance. My name shouted again. Running footsteps as the man tore off in the other direction. Hands, helping me up, then arms supporting me. “Helen
a, are you all right?” Chet said.

  I shook my head, unable to speak. Tears still leaked from my eyes. “It’s okay, he’s gone. He ran away,” Chet said. He held me close, and I didn’t fight him, it felt so comforting.

  “I’m all right,” I said, then clenched my teeth together to keep my mouth from trembling. I felt stupid and weak, and I clung to Chet and let him stroke my hair.

  “You were lucky. That man had a gun. I can’t believe you were attacked like that in broad daylight. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I nodded and stepped away from him. He took hold of my hand to keep me from moving farther away. “Lucky you were—” I stopped, looking him over. He wore a button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up and a skinny tie five years out of date. I’d never seen him so formal. “Why were you here?”

  He flicked a look beyond me, and his mouth went slack with alarm. “I was just, um, running to the bank. Is that why you’re here? I didn’t know this was your bank.”

  I pulled free of his grasp. “You happened to be at the bank I use at the same time as me?”

  His gaze once again went to something past my right shoulder. I turned around. A battered leather jacket and hair like a brush ducked out of sight. I spun back to face Chet, rage filling me. “You set this up?”

  “No, Helena, I—”

  I hit him hard with my tote, again and again, screaming, “You did this on purpose? Did you set that guy to attack me so you could come rushing in to the rescue? How dare you?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  I screamed again and hit him so hard one of the handles tore, dumping my belongings and the deposit bag on the pavement. “Get away from me, asshole! Don’t ever come near me again!”

  “Helena, calm down. You were never in any danger.”

  His soothing tone of voice enraged me further. “I suppose this is your way of showing what a great guy you are? How well you can protect me? Well, you listen to me, Chet—you never had a chance with me, and even if you had, this little stunt of yours would have destroyed it forever.” I shoved him with both hands, making him take an involuntary step backward. “Get out of here. If I see you again, I’ll have you arrested for assault.”