The Book of Peril

by Melissa McShane

  “Ms. Pontarelli, you may answer the charge,” the other man said.

  “I have no answer,” Lucia said. She sounded so weary. “Ms. Davies is correct on all points.”

  “But everything I said was taken out of context,” I shouted. Malcolm’s hand closed hard on mine.

  “Ms. Davies, please remain silent when not in the Blaze. Call the next witness.”

  “Malcolm Campbell,” someone out of my range of vision said.

  “I would like to lodge a formal protest,” Malcolm said, letting go of my hand and standing. “My investigation is quite urgent, and my presence at this tribunal is unnecessary. I charge William Rasmussen with abusing the tribunal with his frivolous request.”

  “So noted,” said Ragsdale. I found, if I didn’t look right at the fire, my vision became clearer. I could see Ragsdale as a pinkish blob to the right of the Blaze. “Please take your place within the Blaze.”

  I felt Malcolm move away and folded my hands together in my lap. “What instructions did Ms. Pontarelli give you?” Rasmussen said.

  “She asked me and my team to investigate the origami found in Miss Davies’ apartment that apparently was the source of the oracle’s troubles.”

  “Did she give you any specific instructions?” He once more stood with his back to his victim. Now that I was free of the Blaze, I could see he addressed the Board members. It was such obvious grandstanding I wanted to smack him.

  “She suggested a line of research,” Malcolm said.

  “Which was?”

  Malcolm paused. “She requested we begin with the Beaverton market and discover whether Ms. Rasmussen had purchased such an origami.”

  “And you did this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you found?”

  “We found no evidence Judy Rasmussen had purchased an origami of any kind in the last three weeks.”

  Rasmussen spun around and advanced on Malcolm. “Yet you continued to investigate Ms. Rasmussen.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Rasmussen sounded surprised. “But you—”

  “We are investigating the origamis themselves, not the person who planted them,” Malcolm said, his voice cold. “An investigation, I might add, that is currently going nowhere because I am required to stand before this tribunal and state facts already known to you. Ms. Pontarelli did not instruct me to persecute Ms. Rasmussen, and from what I have seen she has performed her duties with impartiality.”

  “That’s enough.” Rasmussen’s voice was rushed, as if he’d realized he’d let Malcolm control the conversation. “No further questions.”

  “I should think not,” murmured another metallic-sounding voice, this one higher-pitched.

  “Ms. Pontarelli?”

  “I have nothing to add,” Lucia said, sounding less tired. I felt like cheering.

  “Then you are excused, Mr. Campbell. Thank you for your time.”

  I saw Malcolm as a bulky, blurry shape approaching me. He took my arm and helped me stand. “Can you see?”

  “A little.” Enough that I didn’t need his help, but having him close was such a pleasure, I decided not to say anything. We crossed the carpeted room, then my heels were clicking across the flagstones, and by the time we reached the black stone hallway, the afterimage of the flames was a bright-silhouetted black spot in the center of my vision.

  “I would expect the Board of Neutralities to be aware of its custodians’ abilities,” Malcolm murmured as we followed the dark-robed lantern bearer down the hall. “The Blaze appears as a shifting mist that burns when the person inside it does not speak the truth. It never occurred to me that it might have some other appearance.”

  “A very bright fire,” I said. I disengaged my arm from his, wishing I had an excuse to hold onto it. “Blindingly bright. Will it kill someone if they keep on lying?”

  “It is an unpleasant death. I’ve seen it twice. Once it was someone I cared about.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Malcolm’s shoulders slumped, then straightened as if he’d put something heavy behind him. “I wish I could say he did not deserve it, but he chose to lie rather than accept the consequences of the truth. The Blaze is as impartial as the Board of Neutralities strives to be.”

  “Your testimony helped more than mine did,” I said bitterly. “He made me condemn Lucia, and I never got a chance to tell how things really were.”

  “You were honest, and that will have to be enough.” Malcolm pressed the elevator call button. “I, on the other hand, may have hurt her case by my obvious disgust at having to be there.”

  “Is the Board of Neutralities really just those three people?”

  “There are nine members, but they are scattered throughout the world. Only three were close enough to attend in person. The others—did you see the prisms? Those are a sort of remote projector, or transmission device, that allows the members not physically present to see and hear the proceedings. It allows the Board to convene in full no matter the location of its members.”

  I wasn’t sure how that was better than a laptop and a video camera, but I decided not to ask. “When will they decide? Come to that, what will they decide? What’s the punishment if they condemn Lucia for not being impartial enough? Is that a violation of the Accords?”

  “It is, and if she is condemned, she will be removed from her Neutrality. They may decide she needs a harsher punishment. Death is a possibility.”

  “Death? Is that really what Mr. Rasmussen wants?”

  “He wants Miss Rasmussen exonerated, and he wants his power vindicated. Lucia stands in the way of that.”

  The elevator arrived, and we both stepped inside. “Just between the two of us, I’m not very impartial where Mr. Rasmussen is concerned,” I said.

  “Nor am I, but no one expects me to be. I hope you are able to overcome your dislike. Your impartiality matters even more than Lucia’s does.”

  “I won’t refuse him an augury, if that’s what you mean. How is the investigation going? Is it really so bad, you being pulled away from it?”

  “Not quite as bad as I suggested. But bad enough. We don’t have time for Rasmussen’s posturing.” The elevator opened. “I’ll be sure to let you know when we learn anything,” Malcolm said. He strode away toward the exit. I followed him more slowly, stopping to return my name badge at the reception desk. It wasn’t until I reached my car that it occurred to me I could have kept it for later use, though what use, I had no idea. Viv would have kept it.

  I drove home through the pouring rain, the windshield wipers flashing across my field of vision fast enough it looked like my car was blinking. I couldn’t help Lucia. I couldn’t help Abernathy’s. All I could do was wait, and hope. And do my job.

  spent the rest of the day texting Judy about the tribunal. By the time I realized it was a long enough conversation for a phone call, we were already about thirty texts in and I was too tired to break it off. Judy wanted me to repeat the details several times, particularly about the Blaze, which she’d never seen in any form. I made sure to remind her I believed Lucia was innocent, and to her credit, Judy didn’t dismiss it out of hand. Then, because it was Thursday and I believed in tradition as well as clean laundry, I drove to my parents’ house and settled in for a night of washing clothes and watching old Marx Brothers movies. None of that relaxed me at all.

  A couple of people came in the next morning for auguries, and as if in answer to my inward pleading, Abernathy’s performed both as if nothing had ever been wrong. I rejoiced in my heart, but didn’t fool myself—the problem still hadn’t been solved. I made myself think positively. As long as the oracle still gave out correct auguries, there was still hope. But Malcolm hadn’t contacted me at all, which made thinking positively really hard.

  The door opened, jingling like Christmas bells despite all the gloom in the air. “Hello, welcome to—oh, hi, Mike.”

  Mike Keyes stood in the doorway like someone who’d never been in a bookstore before. “
Hey, Helena. So, this is where you work?”

  “Yeah. Come on in. I’m guessing you didn’t come here for a book.”

  Mike grinned. “You know I’m more into movies than books. Yeah, I wanted to ask, have you seen Chet recently?”

  The air felt suddenly cold. The memory of a shadowed figure holding me up by my collar, Chet’s dull eyes, rose up before me. “I haven’t seen him since… I don’t know, last Friday?” When he faked that mugging, the jerk. Anger dispelled my awful memories. “I don’t want to see him again, Mike.”

  “I know. It’s just that he’s disappeared. His car’s gone, and most of his things. His boss said he hasn’t shown up since Monday. I know you’re mad at him, Helena, but you have to admit he was always responsible with his job.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with me.” I knew exactly what it had to do with me.

  “I don’t know. I’ve talked to all his friends, and I thought, maybe he’d come to see you one last time.”

  “Before doing what? You don’t think he’d try to kill himself?” For a moment, I remembered Malcolm’s anger, how close he’d been to violence the night Chet beat me, and wondered… but no. Malcolm was always honest with me, and he’d promised not to kill Chet.

  “No. But if he’s run off, why would he do that without telling anyone? Without telling his boss?”

  I sat on the stool behind the counter and clasped my hands together to still them. “I don’t know, Mike. He hasn’t tried to contact me, and if he had, I would have called the cops. I’m sorry he was upset, but I’m not responsible for his happiness. Neither are you.”

  Mike shrugged. “You guys really had something. I thought you’d be more upset about this.”

  “We had something for about two months. You’d better not be suggesting I owed him anything.” I clasped my hands so tightly the knuckles went white.

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry, that was stupid. Look, if he does contact you, will you at least tell me before you call the cops?” He sounded genuinely worried, which made me regret turning my anger on him.

  “I will. Mike, you’re a good friend,” I said, relenting.

  He smiled. “To him, or to you?”

  “To both of us. Thanks for caring.”

  When he was gone, I sat at the counter with my chin in my hands and let my mind wander. What if I’d stayed with Chet? It wasn’t as ridiculous as it sounded because it had taken me several months to get up the nerve to break it off. Suppose I’d never done that? Would I even have gone to the interview at Abernathy’s? My life would have been so different. So much worse, to be honest.

  The door opened again. This was the most traffic we’d had all week. “Good morning—”

  I stopped. My visitors were two men I’d hoped never to see again. “Ms. Davies,” said Detective Acosta. Detective Green nodded at me once, then turned his attention to the shelves, as if waiting for predators to come leaping out of them. “I see you’re still employed here.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Acosta shrugged. On his thin frame, it looked like a couple of insect legs jerking back. “No reason. I’m glad to see you haven’t suffered due to your former employer’s unfortunate death.”

  Acosta and Green had investigated me back when Mr. Briggs had been murdered, and I wasn’t sure they were convinced I hadn’t had something to do with it, despite the investigation proving otherwise. “I miss him,” I lied, “and it’s been a struggle to replace him. But it’s not been that bad. And I like the job.”

  “Place smells better,” Green said, his nose twitching.

  “Thank you. Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?”

  “You can tell us when you last saw Chet Zigler,” Acosta said.

  I inhaled the wrong way and coughed as if my lungs were trying to escape my body. “Excuse me,” I choked out when I could finally breathe again. “You’re the second person to ask me that today.”

  “Really? Who was the first?”

  I had the feeling I’d said something wrong. “My friend Mike. Chet’s friend too. He hasn’t seen Chet for a while and wanted to know if he’d called me or something.”

  “Has he?”

  “No. We had a fight, and I told him to stay away.”

  “You had a fight,” said Acosta. The little notebook I remembered too well came out. “What was this fight about?”

  Now I knew I’d said something wrong. I felt as sweaty as if I were standing in the center of the Blaze. “It was last Friday,” I said. “Chet hired someone to pretend to mug me so he could rescue me and prove he was a worthy boyfriend.”

  Green snorted with laughter. “That sounds like a movie cliché.”

  “It is. It’s the sort of thing Chet thinks is clever. I told him to get lost and never come near me again.”

  “You were upset,” Acosta said.

  “Of course I was upset. I was carrying the store’s deposits at the time. I thought the mugger meant to kill me and take all the store’s money.”

  “Upset enough to pull your own prank to get revenge?”

  “What? Of course not. I’m not stupid and juvenile.”

  “Just following up all the leads.” Acosta made a note. His pencil mesmerized me, all that looping around writing who knew what. “You haven’t seen him since?”

  “No. Which is what I told Mike.”

  “You don’t have any friends who might feel compelled to get back at Chet on your behalf?”

  This was starting to sound eerily accurate. “No.”

  Acosta made another note. “There were signs of a struggle at Mr. Zigler’s apartment. Drawers thrown open, bedding disturbed, furniture out of place. Do you know anyone else who might have reason to wish him harm?”

  Anyone other than me, you mean, Detective? “Are you sure he didn’t just leave in a hurry? Because that sounds to me like someone leaving in a hurry.”

  “Let us worry about the detecting, Ms. Davies. Do you have some reason to believe Mr. Zigler might have wanted to get out of town?”

  “No. I put together what you said and what Mike told me.” And my reasonable supposition that Chet might have been afraid Malcolm would change his mind about not killing him.

  “Like I said, we’ll worry about the detecting.” Acosta closed his notebook with a snap and put it away. “Let us know if Mr. Zigler contacts you, Ms. Davies. Right now he’s considered a missing person, and we’d like to be able to close this case.”

  “I will, Detective.”

  Acosta handed me his card, which I put into my pocket. I followed them to the door, feeling if I didn’t see them out, they might hide in the stacks and spy on me. Then I went back to my stool, but found I was too restless to sit. I wandered through the stacks, not wanting to do the next augury. It was increasingly difficult to face the oracle, but what else was there for me to do? I straightened a few shelves and rearranged some of the books to increase the randomness, half-hoping this would be enough to help the oracle see things straight, knowing it was foolishness.

  Six o’clock approached, and I was bone-weary and wishing this was the kind of business that closed on weekends. Sunday seemed much further than one day away. I spent the last half-hour tidying up, sweeping the floor and spritzing the chipped, cracked countertop with glass cleaner. At least this was something I had control over.

  My phone rang. “Sweetie, I need a huge favor,” Viv said.

  I groaned. “I mean, sure, Viv, anything for you.”

  “You’re so funny. I need a ride.”

  “Where from?” I picked at a flaw in the glass with my fingernail.

  “The van broke down on my way to a gig—not my performance, someone else’s. The tow truck is going to take something like an hour to get to me. Can you pick me up?”

  “You mean wait with you until the tow truck gets there.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “No problem. I’m closing up. Where are you?”

  Viv hesitated. “Well, I’m in Gresham
.”

  “Gresham?”

  “I did say it was a huge favor.” She had the wheedling tone to her voice that I’d never been able to say no to.

  “That’s not terribly huge. Oversized, maybe.”

  Viv gave me directions, and I locked up the store and headed out. Gemini fell into place three cars back when I’d gone a few blocks. Let’s give him something to do, I thought. I took a few unexpected turns and lane changes. He was good at keeping up with me, eventually falling back enough I couldn’t see him to play games with him. I realized I was a little lost myself and had to correct to get myself back on course. My phone buzzed once with an incoming text that might be from Viv, wondering where I was. Not that I was going to text while driving. My sister Cynthia had once gotten in a serious accident doing that, and I’d learned from her mistake.

  Traffic was heavy on a Friday evening, and I wished I’d gone out of my way to take the freeway, not that it would be much better than the surface streets. This, at least, was a straight shot from the store to the location Viv had given me. I turned on the radio and couldn’t find anything good to listen to, so I turned it off again and let my thoughts wander. How much longer would the tribunal go on? If they found Lucia guilty, who would take over the investigation? That would almost certainly slow it down, damn Rasmussen and his pride. At least Malcolm’s team would go on with their work. Maybe the delay wouldn’t matter. I swore and banged the steering wheel. I was thinking like Lucia was already convicted.

  This worn-down part of Gresham depressed me further, full of dispirited auto repair shops and convenience stores whose yellowed windows only hinted at what lay within. I arrived at the location Viv had given me and couldn’t see her or her van. All I found was a series of abandoned warehouses, their windows, small and located near the roofs, grimy and closed, their doors padlocked. Tiny green plants grew up through the many cracks in the concrete, a strange contrast to the industrial appearance of the buildings. I drove once around the block and found an area surrounded by a fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond it was a small junkyard, filled with old appliances and piles of used tires. No sign of Viv.