The Book of Peril

by Melissa McShane

  “It doesn’t.”

  “I mean it’s nearby. I think it might be somewhere else in the building. It’s just not in the oracle. Let’s check the rest of the store.”

  It took another hour of searching before Martin was certain whatever it was wasn’t in the office, the break room, or the basement. The basement took most of the time, with Martin muttering under his breath as the cheerful, maddening tune continued. “You live upstairs, don’t you?”

  “I do, but no one goes there but me. There can’t possibly be anything in my apartment.” I tried not to feel disappointed at his failure.

  Martin lowered the contraption and blew out his breath. “There’s an influence on this building, Helena, and I’ve looked everywhere else. Let’s find it, and worry about the how and why later.”

  I led him up the stairs and into my apartment. “Don’t you lock your door?” Martin said.

  “Most of the time,” I said, feeling sheepish and defensive at the same time.

  Martin shook his head. He began playing the tune again. “I’m going to wait in the living room,” I said, and fled before my ears could start bleeding.

  I stood by one of the windows and looked down at the street. Martin had parked his little white van, property of the Gunther Node, a few places down from Abernathy’s magically reserved parking space directly in front of the store. The glass chiming drifted to my ears, made unintelligible by distance. If Martin couldn’t find the influence, whatever it was, what next?

  I heard him coming down the hall, but he went into the kitchen. I hated the Friends song. It was far too cheerful. Then it stopped. “Helena, come here,” Martin said.

  I went into the kitchen and found him standing over the set of crockery jars supposed to contain flour and sugar. Mine contained fun-size Snickers bars and tea bags. “Look at this, but don’t touch it.” He had his hands behind his back as if he were afraid he might not be able to heed his own advice.

  He’d pulled the two medium-sized jars away from the others, leaving a space between them and the wall. In the space was a… thing. I couldn’t begin to describe it properly. All I was certain of was the thing was made of paper, folded like origami into a three-dimensional shape. It looked a little, a very little, like an exploded snowflake crossed with a lion reared up on its hind legs. “What is it?”

  “An illusion. A strong one.”

  I almost forgot myself and touched it, but jerked my hand back in time. “But we can see it.”

  “It’s not meant to conceal itself. It’s fooling someone else, almost certainly Abernathy’s.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  Martin shook his head. His intent gaze on the thing made him look like he wished he could destroy it with the power of his mind. “I don’t know. I’ll have to get a team up here to analyze it.”

  “But how did it even get here?”

  “Helena, I don’t have answers to those questions. I take it you’ve never seen it before?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No. That would have been too easy, that you bought it because you thought it was pretty and then, well, hid it away where no one would see it.”

  “I’m the only one who comes here, though.”

  Martin’s gaze flicked to me. “How often do you lock your door?”

  That sent a chill through me. “I—”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I had an image of someone creeping up the steps in the dead of night, sneaking into my home, going through my things. They might have done anything. “Can you take it away?”

  “I’m afraid to touch it. Something as complex as that might have a self-destruct fold in it.” Martin pulled out his phone. “I’ll get some people over here right away. You go back to work.”

  “I can’t work knowing something that could explode is in my home,” I exclaimed.

  “It’s not going to explode, and you’ll be in the way up here. Shoo.”

  Grumbling, I went back downstairs and sat at the counter. I was too keyed up to do any more auguries, and the residual effect of Martin’s magic, the feeling that the oracle was already active, had me feeling disoriented as well. So there was something affecting the oracle, something someone had planted in my home. It made me furious. Keyed up, disoriented, and furious. This would be a day for the history books.

  The door flew open. “The monitor is in the trunk of my car,” Judy said. She was lugging a box the size of, well, a computer tower, and her purse dangled from one elbow. “I opted for a desktop because I didn’t think we’d need much portability.”

  “That’s fine.” I decided not to comment on how long she’d been gone. It wasn’t as if she could have helped Martin any more than I could. I went out to her car and brought in the monitor, which was the size of a small television. “I take it we needed something this big?”

  “It was only fifty dollars more than the smaller size. Be glad I didn’t buy two monitors. Once you’re used to a dual display, you can never go back.” Judy produced a pocketknife out of nowhere and began opening boxes. “I’ll get this set up if you want to move my car to the parking lot.”

  “Wait. I have to tell you what’s happened.” Quickly I went over what Martin had done and discovered. Judy’s pleasant demeanor gradually dropped away, and her eyes grew hard and cold.

  “Someone’s been interfering with Abernathy’s,” she said when I wound down. “But who?”

  “I hoped you might have an idea. You know more about the magical world, and magi, than I do. Who might want to hurt the oracle?”

  “It could be someone’s idea of a sick joke.” But she didn’t look convinced. “Lucia’s team will learn more. Then we can watch the criminals go before a tribunal and get what’s coming to them.”

  “Which is what?”

  Judy shrugged. “Could be banishment. Could be imprisonment. Might even be death.”

  “You can do that?” It sounded like vigilante justice to me. “How do you have the right?”

  “This is a hard world, and the Long War is merciless,” Judy said. “We have to police ourselves because the mundane world won’t do it. Sometimes it means harsh punishments. Whoever did this knows that, and knows his life could be forfeit if he’s discovered. That’s the way things are.”

  “I guess,” I said. I didn’t want to think about it, though part of me cried out for vengeance against whoever could do this to my charge. “Go ahead and set up. I’ll take care of your car.”

  When I returned from moving Judy’s car to the rear parking lot, I found another familiar white van parked in Abernathy’s spot. I went upstairs where Martin and a handful of magi filled my kitchen to bursting. Most of them didn’t seem to be doing anything, but one of them hustled me away when I stepped inside, moving me all the way to the end of the hall as I protested. “You need to stay out,” she said. “You’ll be a distraction.”

  “I won’t say anything. I won’t even move.”

  The woman shook her head. “Everything in that room containing sanguinis sapiens has to be mapped out thoroughly, to exclude it from the magic we’re working. That means humans, too. Your presence will disrupt the magic, and we don’t have time to map you into it. Be patient. Wait downstairs.”

  I grumbled again, but went downstairs and annoyed Judy by hovering around and asking inane questions about computers that showed I didn’t know anything but how to power them up. Judy finally snarled at me, “Get out. You’re driving me crazy. And find out what the wi-fi password is. I know you don’t remember it, but your father will.”

  Grumble, grumble. I texted Dad and got back the wi-fi password: bumblebee64, my nickname as a child plus my height in inches. I hopped off the stool, and the door banged open. “Any luck yet?” Lucia asked.

  “I don’t know. They won’t let me up there. They won’t let you up there either.” This made me feel obscurely pleased.

  “They will if they know what’s good for them.” Lucia brushed past me. I trotted after her,
but stopped at the office desk to give Judy the password. She grunted at me in acknowledgement. I hurried along.

  The magi had all moved into the living room and were drinking coffee, my coffee from my cups. I stifled my irritation. Lucia said, “Well?”

  “We deactivated it,” said the woman who’d hustled me away. “There were no clues as to who purchased it or activated it. Not even a hint as to who made it. Somebody knew they were doing something illegal.”

  “I wish I could say that narrows down the suspects.” Lucia snapped her fingers in the direction of the kitchen, and one of the magi hurried away, reappearing with a cup of coffee. Lucia took a long drink. “We’ll have to go about this the old-fashioned way.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Who has access to your apartment?”

  “Just me. I have the only keys.”

  “You’re the only one who ever comes up here?”

  “My mom sometimes comes over—but she’s not a magus, and wouldn’t have any idea how to buy an illusion like that, even if she wanted to. And my friend Viv, who isn’t a magus either. That’s it.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  I flushed, because Malcolm’s face immediately came to mind. “No.”

  “You’re sure there’s no one else?”

  Her rapid-fire questions felt like an interrogation, and I suppressed a feeling of unwarranted guilt. “No, I—well, Judy comes up here sometimes.”

  “Judy Rasmussen?” said the woman.

  “She works for—with me.”

  The woman and Lucia exchanged significant glances. “What?” I said.

  “Nothing,” Lucia said. The woman put down her coffee cup and turned away as if hiding her expression.

  The smell of coffee drifted to my nose. At that moment, it nauseated me. “You can’t suspect Judy? She cares about the store almost as much as I do.”

  Lucia didn’t look convinced. “She was plenty upset about not becoming custodian. And she tried to get you to abdicate in her favor.”

  “Yes, but she… she changed her mind. She’s happy being my assistant.”

  “Are you sure about that?” the woman said.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “It’s not up to you,” Lucia said. She set her cup on the coffee table. “Let’s dig a little deeper.”

  I followed her down the stairs, with the herd of magi trundling along behind us. Judy looked up when we entered. “Did you find out who did it?”

  “Been to Beaverton lately?” Lucia said.

  Judy’s brow furrowed. “Last Tuesday. There was a sale, and I bought a bunch of books. Why?”

  “That seems like a menial job for someone like you.”

  “Hah. You’ve never been in a bidding war with a one-eyed Teutonic giant named Wilhelm. It’s a serious adrenalin rush.” Judy smiled in fierce, reflective memory.

  “So you don’t mind doing what Helena tells you?”

  Now Judy’s lips thinned into a taut line. “Lucia, what are you getting at?”

  “You never really gave up your ambition to run Abernathy’s, did you?” Lucia sounded calm, but her eyes were those of a coldblooded predator. “You figured if you pretended to give in, you could bide your time, wait for your opportunity. Tell me, did you intend to destroy Abernathy’s, or was that an accident?”

  “Lucia, stop,” I said. “You don’t have any evidence. You’re harassing her.”

  “I know she had motive and opportunity, and she’s wealthy enough to afford that kind of illusion. That gives me enough to hold her while I investigate.”

  For the first time, Judy looked afraid. “Helena,” she said.

  “Lucia, you can’t mean you’ll arrest her?”

  “Detained. For her own safety. If people find out she tried to sabotage the oracle, they might get upset. And when magi get upset—”

  “My father isn’t going to let you get away with this,” Judy said.

  “He can take it up with Enforcement,” Lucia said. “Are you going to come quietly, or do I need to have Testaverde put you under a lock?”

  “Lucia—”

  She cut me off with a gesture. “If she’s innocent, we’ll find that out. Back to work, Davies, and lock your damn door in future.”

  Judy stood. “I didn’t do it,” she told me.

  “I know,” I said. “What do I do?”

  “Find some way to prove it,” she said, and then she was gone in a double column of magi, all of them looking stern and ready to kill.

  ews of Judy’s arrest spread rapidly through the magical community. The following day, Abernathy’s was as crowded as it had been when I’d become custodian, filled with people who wanted to know the truth. I tried to explain how little we knew, but rumor was so much more interesting than truth, I couldn’t get anyone to listen to me. I denied Judy’s guilt to everyone, but again, no one cared. The Ambrosites saw her arrest as somehow proving the righteousness of their own cause. The Nicolliens accused the Ambrosites of abusing power in falsely arresting the daughter of the Nicollien leader. The arguments grew loud and heated, and my repeated calls to Lucia for help went unanswered.

  I finally called Malcolm instead. Maybe that was a mistake, given that he was an Ambrosite and loyal to his own faction, but he was also fair-minded and competent and charismatic enough he could get them all to shut up. I hoped.

  He arrived when two of my long-time customers, two women I’d thought were reasonable about their differences, circled one another, screaming insults in a way that said they were a hairsbreadth away from a clawing fight. Malcolm sized up the trouble, then stepped between the combatants. “This isn’t the place for such fights,” he said. “Respect the oracle and its custodian. You’re upsetting Helena.”

  “Filthy Ambrosite,” the Nicollien woman said.

  “I object to that characterization. I bathe thoroughly every day,” Malcolm said. “Now, I would prefer not to have to break up your fight with force, but I promise you I will if you make it necessary. Personally, I think you should take it to the killing fields, but there is a very good gym down the street five blocks, and I’m sure they would let you work out your aggression there.”

  The Ambrosite woman called him a dirty name, but she stepped back, breathing like she’d run a marathon, and pushed her messy hair out of her face. “You’re not worth it,” she told the other woman and left the store. The Nicollien seemed deflated by this, and after a moment she left too.

  “Thank you,” I said in a low voice.

  “My pleasure,” Malcolm said. He came to join me at the counter. Around us, the “customers,” awed or frightened by Malcolm’s presence, kept their arguments to a low murmur. “Lucia should have sent enforcers to help you. She must have known something like this would happen.”

  “She’s busy trying to pin everything on Judy,” I said, not holding back bitterness.

  “The evidence seems strong.”

  “Well, seems is a stupid substitute for what is,” I exclaimed. “Judy would never do anything to hurt Abernathy’s. How the hell do you know what the evidence is, anyway?”

  Malcolm leaned closer, though no one was near us to listen in. “Lucia asked me to investigate the provenance of the illusion. Me and my team, that is. Quincy is one of the few local magi who understands the Asian art of origami.” He paused, and added, “Your loyalty is laudable, but I wonder how well you really know Judy Rasmussen.”

  “Well enough for this. I’m telling you, she didn’t do it.”

  “Then I will keep that in mind.”

  “You—that’s it?”

  Malcolm smiled. “You are a hard woman to fool, Helena, and you see through illusions both magical and mundane. If you are convinced of Judy’s innocence, I would be a fool to disregard that.”

  His words were so honest my cheeks heated up. “Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you called me. I also wanted to speak to you about the investigation. Judy went to Beaverton last Tuesday?”

  �
�Yes. I know it means she was in the neighborhood of the market and could have bought—”

  “I’ll take your word she did not. However, the illusion almost certainly came from the market, so my question was, on what day did the first troubles surface?”

  “Let me think.” What day had it been? I counted backward. “It was Thursday a week ago,” I said. “I remember—” I shut up. Malcolm didn’t need to know I sometimes kept track of time by the days he was in the store. “I remember,” I finished. “Thursday, so just over a week ago.” I was struck breathless by a realization. “Judy went to the estate sale last Tuesday. That was after the problem started.”

  “That’s good, but not conclusive. She might have—and I’m speaking purely as devil’s advocate here, and as her accusers certainly will say—she might have purchased the illusion at any time before setting it off, so to speak.”

  “True.” I slumped against the counter and gave the stink-eye to someone who frowned at my poor posture. “How do I prove she’s innocent?”

  “You don’t. You let Lucia and me and the other teams investigate. If it’s not Judy, we’ll find that out.” Malcolm straightened his cuffs. “Have you had any more trouble with that ex-boyfriend of yours?”

  “What? Oh. No, like I suspected, I haven’t seen him. Mike—he’s a mutual friend—says he’s sorry and wants to apologize, but I told him to tell Chet not to bother. I’m sure he’s sorry about it. I just don’t care.” I almost asked him about Andria, but decided that would be too nosy and far too intimate, given that I only knew about her from having seen his augury slip. I was expected to keep the confidences of Abernathy’s patrons, and I felt that might mean keeping them even from the patrons themselves.

  “You know you can call on me any time if he does turn out to be trouble.” Malcolm looked around the store. “It seems things are calmer now, so I’ll leave you. I’ll tell Lucia to send someone over on a more permanent basis.” He nodded to me, one colleague to another, and left the store. I watched him through the windows as he walked to his car. True, he was gorgeous, and maybe it was natural for me to have a crush on him, but he had a girlfriend who might become a permanent fixture in his life and wishing things were otherwise was stupid.