Someone had been in the house. Not only in the house but in her bedroom, in her purse, stealing her book.
Magnus.
Seething anger burned through her as she hunted through the debris for her phone. She checked her pockets, then realized with a groan that she’d set it on the trunk in the attic so it wouldn’t be in her way or get damaged. She’d left it there when she came downstairs.
Taking the stairs two at a time at a brisk jog left her breathless. She heaved in air as she tapped buttons on her phone. She let it ring until voice mail picked up, then punched the red “Phone” icon to end the call, pulled up her text app, and composed a message, her fingers angrily stabbing the letters on the keypad.
WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!?!
A minute passed, which seemed like a month, before Magnus’s reply hit her inbox.
Um . . . watching I Spit on Your Grave with Cecily. Why?
Molly made a face. Another slasher movie. You took my book. I want it back.
His response came immediately this time. I haven’t even been home today. And what book?
“As if you didn’t know what book,” Molly muttered. You know what book. One of the burning books. I want it back RIGHT NOW. You had no right to go into my room—INTO MY PURSE!!—and take it.
A few seconds later, her phone rang. Molly jabbed the key to answer and started yelling. Eventually, her brother outshouted her.
“I did not take your stupid book!”
Molly fell silent. After a moment, he went on, a little more calmly. “I didn’t take it. I haven’t been home today. I think you should get out of the house and call the police.”
“There is no one in the house, Magnus. I’ve gone through the house.” She flinched inside at the white lie. “You just need to admit you took the book. You came in while I was in the attic and went through my purse and took the book.”
He paused, then asked warily, “What were you doing in the attic?”
“Going through Mother’s boxes.”
His indrawn breath hissed across the line. “No, Molly. You promised you wouldn’t give her things away.”
“I’m keeping the ones that have sentimental value.”
“It all has sentimental value.” His voice rose and thickened, signaling an impending tearful meltdown.
“You really need to keep her underwear for sentimental reasons?” she snapped. Her waspish tone stung him into silence. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. But you have to trust me that I’m not giving away anything of emotional importance.”
He didn’t respond. She would have thought he hung up but for his breath rasping over the line.
“Magnus, just bring back the book. Bring it back right away, and I won’t mention it again.”
“I don’t have your book.”
“Just bring it back!”
Snarling at him only seemed to calm him. His voice was smooth and low and his tone patronizing. “First, how would I know you had one of the books in your purse? I thought Cary Welch had them all. Second, why would I take them? I have no interest in them. Third, it seems to me that they are becoming an obsession with you. I’ve already told you I didn’t take it, and yet here you are, yelling at me to give it back. I haven’t been there, yet your book is missing and you won’t call the police to check out the house. You’re refusing to see reason. Perhaps you should seek psychological help for that.”
Her phone blipped as he disconnected the call. Molly paced the room, fuming, wishing he were here so she could sock him in the face. She didn’t need to call the police. Magnus had been here. He just didn’t want to admit it.
But . . . what if he hadn’t been? She could be alone in the house with a stranger. An intruder with nefarious purposes, she had thought only minutes earlier. Did she really want to go to bed uncertain that she was alone in the house? Calling the police seemed a little extreme when she was certain the intruder had been her brother.
So she called Cary, surprised to hear the rumble of a car engine in the background when he answered.
“Molly.” His voice was a low rumble, a purr, a warm, soothing caress even though it sounded like he had her on speakerphone.
“It’s me. Are you in the car?”
“Just grabbing a quick bite to eat before grading homework. The kids opted to stay with their grandparents for a couple more days, and I didn’t want to cook for just me. What’s up?”
“The book is missing. I had it in my purse, and now it’s gone. I was in the attic going through my mother’s things, and I thought I heard a door slam. When I came down, I found the book was gone.”
“Wait, you came down out of the attic even though someone might be in the house? Molly, that was very reckless and dangerous. You could have been hurt.”
“I assumed it was just Magnus, but he insists he wasn’t here. But who else would take the book? He has a problem with them, doesn’t want me reading them anymore. He’s the only one with a reason to steal it.”
“Still . . .”
“He thinks I should have left the house and called the cops. It’s pointless to waste their time when it was just my lying, scheming, crazy brother.”
“Hang on, I want to pull over.” For a moment, she heard nothing but the distant sound of traffic outside his car, the rustle of his clothes as he maneuvered the car off the road. Then he took her off speakerphone. “That’s better. Now, how certain are you that it was Magnus?”
“Very.”
“Give me a percentage.”
She huffed out an impatient breath. “Are you serious?” He was. “Fine. I’d say I’m no less than ninety-five percent and no greater that ninety-eight percent certain that Magnus took it.”
He chewed this over for a moment. “Are your doors locked?”
“They’re always locked.”
“Is there a key hidden outside?”
“Are you coming over?” Her heart sped up a few beats a minute.
“I’m too far away. Harvey and Dottie took the kids to dinner in your area. I’ll have him swing by. He’ll identify himself once he lets himself in, so just listen for him. Stay in the attic. If the door locks from the inside, lock it.”
“I don’t really think that’s necessary.”
There was more than just the suggestion of an iron core in his voice this time. “Key, Molly?”
“Outside in the planter on the left, as you’re facing the house. Looks like a rock. There are several real rocks in each planter to help camouflage it. I’m not waiting in the attic, though.”
“Just do it, Molly. For my peace of mind, at least.”
And for those eyes and those lips and all the rest of you. “All right.”
“Call me when Harvey leaves.”
“I will. But won’t this be a little awkward?”
“I’ve already explained everything to Harvey.”
“Everything?”
“Well, enough for him to get the idea. Call me soon.”
He disconnected without a goodbye. Molly tucked her phone in her jeans pocket and closed the attic door, locking it. While she waited for Harvey to arrive, she tidied up the mess she’d left. When she picked up a stack of old shirts her mother used to wear to work in the garden, a folded paper fell out and tumbled to the floor, hitting the toe of her shoe and skidding under the trunk. She set the shirts aside and muscled the trunk away from the wall, pulling it forward enough to reveal the paper that had fallen underneath. Newsprint, folded in half, discolored at the edges. She snatched it up, heart racing, fingers fumbling it open.
The Augury Group Exonerated in Police Investigation
The Associated Press
Seattle, WA—The Augury Group, a highly secretive research group, has been cleared of all suspicion in the mysterious deaths of three Seattle-area citizens.
“There just isn’t any evidence that they were involved in any way,” said lead detective Chad Dutton. The company came under police scrutiny when family members came forward with infor
mation linking them to the suspicious deaths. “We still consider the circumstances of all three deaths suspicious, but magic? It doesn’t exist. There’s some other explanation we just haven’t discovered yet.”
The family of Des Moines executive Larry Vicker disagrees. “There was something going on, and the Augury Group was involved. He had two meetings with them—the last one three days before his death. A large amount of money was drawn from his bank account right before that meeting, and then suddenly, he’s dead. People don’t just drop dead for no reason,” Vicker’s daughter, Melanie Holt, said in a statement to the press Tuesday morning.
The medical examiner has yet to determine the cause of death for Vickers and two other people, Seattle bank executive Leslie Parker and Bellingham co-op farmer Roy Van der Veen. In all three cases, the deceased were affluent, died suddenly with no apparent cause after withdrawing large sums of money from financial accounts, and had recently met with the Augury Group.
“This is a major setback,” said a despondent Jacqueline Van der Veen. “My husband didn’t die of nothing. If the Augury Group isn’t responsible, the medical examiner needs to figure out what killed him. If he can’t, he needs to turn the case over to someone who can. While they still hold Roy’s death as suspicious, it affects our business.” Van der Veen went on to say that while her husband’s cause of death is undetermined and considered suspicious, the insurance company is reluctant to pay on his life-insurance policy. “Money is tight,” she admitted.
“We’re delighted with the police department’s decision. Our client is a firm of researchers, not perpetrators, of magic and the paranormal,” said Max Wilhelm, attorney for the Augury Group. “This isn’t Harry Potter’s world. You don’t wave a wand and say an incantation and people drop dead. That is pure fantasy. There is no evidence that magic even exists—that’s what our client is researching.”
When questioned about the large sums of money withdrawn from the accounts of the deceased shortly before their deaths, Wilhelm explained, “Our client relies on donations and grants to continue research. All three alleged victims believed in and supported that research. Our client offers its sincere condolences to the families of the deceased with its assurances that the Augury Group was not involved in any aspect of their deaths.”
The family of Leslie Parker was unavailable for comment. The King County Medical Examiner’s Office declined to comment, as these are still pending cases.
The Augury Group, twice in twenty-four hours, plus Kevin Kincaid’s tabloid article about magic. Molly didn’t think it was a coincidence that she’d found the dilapidated warehouse owned by the Augury Group and then an article in her mother’s belongings mentioning them. Didn’t think it was coincidence that the Augury Group was connected to magic, her books were thought to be magical, and Kincaid unearthed an article about magic.
What business had Eloise McKinley with a paranormal-research firm? She didn’t know how one would go about researching magic (magick?), anyway. If she could find it, she would ask, but she somehow doubted the firm would give answers. “Highly secretive,” the article called them. Good luck Googling them, Milton Spurlick had said.
But maybe Milton Spurlick was just an Internet idiot. Molly was no research novice; she’d spent hours every week for years scouring the Internet, seeking out rare books and booksellers.
She pulled out her phone, brought up her Internet browser, and entered the company name in the search bar. Lots of information about augury itself, but nothing about the Augury Group. She tried all combinations she could think of, and tried them all in two other browsers as well, with the same results.
The Augury Group, it seemed, was a phantom.
So engrossed was she in her search for information that she jolted and nearly dropped her phone when she heard a voice call up the attic steps.
“Miss McKinley, it’s Harvey Cohen. Cary Welch asked me to stop in.”
Molly held a hand to her runaway heart, willing its speed to slow, and drew in a shaky breath. She hadn’t heard him come in. She unlocked the door and trotted down the stairs, meeting him in the second-floor hallway.
“Detective Cohen. I appreciate your kindness.” She shook his offered hand. He held on a moment too long, carefully scrutinizing her face before letting go. He looked resigned. No, more than resigned. Defeated.
“It’s a pleasure to help one of Cary’s friends. He’s like a son to me.”
Awkward. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have asked you. This must be very uncomfortable for you. I don’t know what he was—”
He held up a hand to stop her mortified apology. “Miss McKinley, please. It’s all right. I could hardly expect him not to move on. Now.” His gaze swept the hallway. “I’ve been through the house. There’s no one here but us. It doesn’t appear that any of the exterior doors were forced open. You can feel safe to be here—unless you fear your brother, in which case we should sit down and have a lengthy discussion.”
Molly flushed. “He’s challenging, to say the least, but I’m not afraid of Magnus. I’m mostly infuriated that he snuck in here and stole my book and is now lying to me about it. Cary overreacted a bit, sending you here. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
“Assuring the safety of someone is never a waste of time.” He moved down the hallway to the stairs, Molly trailing a step behind him. “I’ve checked all your doors and windows. You’re locked up tight. I suggest you keep hold of the spare key for a while rather than put it back outside.” He stopped on the bottom step and held it out to her. Molly pocketed it and followed him to the front door, where the detective reached inside his jacket and produced a business card.
“In case you ever need it. I’ll be more than happy to help you in whatever way I can.”
“Thank you again for your time.”
“My pleasure. Good night, Miss McKinley.” After making sure the knob was locked, Harvey Cohen sent a pointed glance at the deadbolt and closed the door behind him. Molly peered through the peephole at him as she engaged the deadbolt. He didn’t move until he heard the lock slide into place.
The detective had closed all the curtains as well as locked all the windows. Although she liked looking out at the night, Molly left them closed, feeling less exposed in her jumpy state. She tapped out a terse message to Magnus—Police just left. No one in the house. No sign of breaking & entering. I know it was you. Just bring back my book!—before calling Cary.
“Molly. What did Harvey find?”
“There was no one in the house and no sign of anyone breaking and entering, so it must have been Magnus. He’s the only one who would have any interest in keeping the book from me.”
He made a noncommittal sound. “Maybe you should let him keep it for a few days, then swipe it back when he comes home.”
“No, he’ll leave it at his friend’s house, so I can’t get it.”
“You could always go over and ask her for it, tell her Magnus accidentally left it there.”
“She knows about the books—she’s the one who told them she thought they were magic books and I shouldn’t read them. I doubt she’d give it to me. Besides, I don’t know where she lives. I’ve never even met her.”
“Aaaah.” The long, drawn-out murmur was saturated with sly realization. “So Magnus has a secret girlfriend.”
“A secret friend, anyway,” Molly said, a trifle sharply. She’d already explained to him her unreasonable certainty that Magnus should not be romantically involved with anyone. “He insists they are not involved in that way.”
“When is his next group session? Follow him to her house from there.”
Molly brightened. She hadn’t thought of that. “He has group on Wednesdays—tonight.” She frowned. “Which means he lied to me about having group on Monday. I wonder where he went instead.”
“He’s a grown man, Molly. Give him some room. After you get the book back,” he added practically.
Suffocating sister. Meddling Molly. Ignoring the sting of being ch
astised, she said, “I found something in my mother’s things in the attic. A newspaper article about the Augury Group.”
His tone sharpened. “Read it to me.”
She did. He was silent for several long minutes when she finished. Finally, he said, “I need to talk to my father about this. I wonder if he knows about the Augury Group.”
“Do you think they have something to do with my books? Maybe that’s why he didn’t want anything to do with examining them.”
“There are too many coincidences for me to discount that theory, but I don’t want to make any assumptions just yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I talk to him. Let me know what you find out when you follow Magnus.”
“I will.”
“And Molly . . .” His tone lowered, taking on that husky caress that paralyzed her mind. “I think we should have dinner tomorrow night at my house. We can watch that book burn and make love all night.”
“All night?” She smiled into the phone. “Don’t men hit their sexual peak in their early twenties?”
“Testosterone peaks at eighteen. Sexual performance, however . . .” He trailed off. “I’d like you here, whether we make love for an hour or ten. I’d just . . . like you here.”
Her own voice dropped low in tone, making him hiss in a breath. “Then I’ll be there.”
“Bring that delightful saffron robe.”
“I’ll bring something better,” she promised. She checked the clock and cleared her throat. “I need to leave if I’m going to catch Magnus at group. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Definitely.” And just like that, the line disconnected. Not a man who favored goodbyes—or hellos, for that matter.
Molly took only enough time to shed her dusty cleaning clothes and whip on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. A glance out the window at the gathering storm clouds in the sky made her grab a light rain jacket, and then she was on her way.
Seattle traffic was such that his group session was halfway over by the time she parked. His car was up the street half a block, across from the building where his psychiatrist held offices. She locked the doors and waited in the gathering gloom for Magnus to make an appearance. After twenty minutes, she was chilly and started the engine to run the heater. Ten minutes later, it began to rain. Good. Magnus would be less likely to pay attention to his surroundings—and possibly spot her—if he were dodging raindrops on the way to his car.
Burning Books Page 17
