The Book of Lies

by Melissa McShane

  The Book of Lies

  The Last Oracle Book Four

  Melissa McShane

  Copyright © 2019 by Melissa McShane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Alexandra Brandt http://www.alexandrajbrandt.com

  Cover Images © Gutaper | Dreamstime.com

  © Elena Kozyreva | Dreamstime.com

  © Alexlibris | Dreamstime.com

  Created with Vellum

  For DawnRay and Jenna and all the hardworking people who make conventions possible

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  The front room of Abernathy’s felt close and warm and comforting thanks to the overcast, which dimmed the evening light to almost nothing. Winter in Portland was usually a cold, rainy time, but this year, an unexpected amount of snow had fallen, and dirty piles of slush filled the gutters. It made for a depressing sight, especially in daylight, when I couldn’t ignore it. So I’d decided to fight back.

  The fir tree I’d bought at the specialty lot was the smallest one I’d ever seen that wasn’t a bush. It stood about two feet tall, though what it lost in height it made up for in perfection of shape, conical and even on all sides. Its needles were a deep blue-green and gave off a rich scent that brought the forest indoors. Judy steadied it in its pot and adjusted a few of the branches. “I think it’s too small.”

  “There’s not a lot of room on that side of the counter, and I think it’s exactly the right size if we put it on that box.” I carefully lifted the little tree off the counter and set it on the box I’d covered with a spare white sheet from my apartment. “Go outside and make sure it’s centered.”

  “This was your idea. You go outside. It’s freezing out there.”

  I shrugged and ran outside, not bothering with a coat even though it was as cold as Judy had said, cold and windy with the scent of more snow in the air. I backed away from Abernathy’s plate glass window with the name of the store painted across the top and accidentally stepped off the curb into slushy, frigid snowmelt. It slopped over the top of my shoe and instantly soaked my foot. I cursed and shook the slush off my shoe, then took a few more careful steps until I was standing between two cars parked at the curb.

  Christmas lights burned blue and gold and green all around the window, framing the tiny tree like something off a Christmas card, though with petite Judy standing behind it, arms folded across her chest, it would be a card from a disgruntled elf. I could imagine her tapping her toe impatiently.

  “To the left,” I said, though she couldn’t hear me, and gestured to convey my meaning more clearly. Judy rolled her eyes and hitched the box in the indicated direction. “Perfect.”

  “Oh, that is so adorable,” Viv said, startling me. She had a large cardboard box in her arms and the tip of her nose matched the pink of her hair.

  “If that box is full of ornaments, we’re never going to fit them all on the tree.”

  “Mostly it’s full of menorahs I picked up at a vintage store. I think we should put some up, show our holiday spirit.”

  “Well, Abernathy’s is religion-neutral, so it’s a good idea.”

  Behind the window, Judy turned and walked away. “I think she’s impatient,” I said.

  “Let’s get this finished,” Viv said, hitching the box higher.

  The warm air of Abernathy’s, scented with pine and cinnamon, wrapped me in its embrace when I opened the door. As far as I knew, Abernathy’s was indifferent to human customs and holidays, but it had made the store smell like hot rolls at Thanksgiving, so I wondered if I was right.

  I stopped for a moment just inside the door and looked around. Bookcases, dozens of them, stood at all angles to each other, extending deep into the store. At times like this, I could imagine them huddled together, some close enough for only one person to pass abreast, sharing secrets and laughing over the books they contained. It was whimsy, but Abernathy’s was unique—no mere bookstore, but the greatest oracle the world had ever seen.

  “Come on, Helena, let’s set these out,” Viv said. “Judy, you know you want to.”

  “I’m not a big fan of Christmas,” Judy said, but she held a string of tiny LED lights in one hand and a mug in the other. “I made cider. Well, I heated it up.”

  “Thanks.” I accepted the mug from her and took a long drink. It set a little fire burning in my belly that sent out trickles of warmth throughout my body. “What do you think, white or multicolored lights? Or all one color?”

  “White,” Judy said, “so it doesn’t clash with the window. I don’t know about this. Nathaniel never decorated for the holidays. You didn’t decorate last year.”

  Viv set a menorah made of art glass, colorful and beautiful, in the window sill to one side of the tree. “It’s not just for the holidays, it’s for the big convention, or whatever you called it.”

  “Conference of Neutralities,” I said. “Lucia said a lot of people would be coming to visit Abernathy’s. I’m nervous about that.”

  “Why? You outrank most of them,” Judy said.

  “There’s no ranking among Neutralities—”

  “Not officially. But everyone knows who’s more important, and they all behave accordingly. No one’s in a position to judge you except Claude Gauthier from the Athenaeum and maybe whoever comes from the Sanctuary, and Claude’s not that kind of man.”

  “At least it only happens every three years, right?” I set down my mug on the counter. “They’re all so much more experienced than me, and I’m sure there are traditions I don’t know about.”

  “Don’t worry so much,” Viv said. “It gives you wrinkles.”

  “I don’t think I’m at an age where I have to worry about wrinkles forming, thanks.”

  The door flew open, letting in a blast of cold air. “Good afternoon,” Jeremiah Washburn said with his characteristic smile that always drew one out of me, it was that charming. “I see you’ve been infected by holiday cheer.”

  “You make it sound like a disease,” Viv said.

  “A good one, maybe. Don’t you tend to say ‘Merry Christmas’ when someone says it to you?”

  “I say ‘Happy Halloween.’ It throws people off their game, and sometimes I get candy.”

  “Not everyone is as creative as you.” Jeremiah swept her a little bow. Viv smiled at him and went back to digging in the box, but I was pretty sure I saw her blush.

  Jeremiah’s smile broadened, if that was possible. He unzipped his coat, revealing a T-shirt with a picture of a turtle with four elephants standing on its back, bearing up a disc with waterfalls pouring over the edges. I’d known him for five months and I couldn’t remember ever seeing the same shirt twice, though he’d g
iven up his Birkenstocks for tennis shoes in deference to the weather.

  “Can I help you with something? Or is this a friendly visit?” I couldn’t help glancing at Viv, who had her back to us and was fussing with the second menorah, a bright silver sculpture with golden candles.

  “Safe deposit box, please.”

  I led the way through the store, past the bookcases and into the back hallway that led to the basement stairs. In addition to the oracle that gave auguries to customers, Abernathy’s had safe deposit boxes in the basement, protected by powerful magic. I took the keys off the wall and waited for Jeremiah to extract his key from his jeans pocket. “How have things been? The hunt goes well?”

  “As well as you’d expect. Things are finally returning to normal after that serial killer business last July. Fewer invaders, and they’re easier to destroy.” Jeremiah was a wood magus, and unlike other magi I knew who hunted the monsters trying to destroy humanity, he worked alone. Not totally alone—he also had a familiar, a tamed—or was that subdued?—invader he used to fight and destroy its kin.

  “You don’t capture them, then? I thought that was what Nicolliens did.”

  “I leave that to the hunting teams. Familiars are essential to the fight, but I don’t want any part in creating them. I’m satisfied with what I do.”

  I nodded, and turned away to give him some privacy, but he stopped me in my tracks with “Helena. Do you think…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll be done here in a minute.”

  I ascended the steps and shut the basement door behind me. I almost thought…but no, if Jeremiah were going to ask Viv out, he would have done it by now. Viv, for her part, seemed uncharacteristically shy around him, but I’d never known her to be coy in her interest in men. And Jeremiah wasn’t her type—short and skinny and a true product of geek culture. She’d certainly never said anything that indicated she was interested in him. Yet she’d been single for nearly three months now, which in Viv’s world was more like three years. I shook my head and proceeded back through the store. I could just ask her, but the fact that I needed to ask was so unlike my best friend I felt funny about doing it.

  Viv and Judy were having an amiable argument about the tree topper when I arrived. “This isn’t going to be one of those A Charlie Brown Christmas incidents you read about, is it?” I said. “Hanging one giant ornament that makes the tree bend in half?”

  “I say angel. Judy says star,” Viv said, holding out a simpering cherub with a hollowed-out bottom.

  “Stars are traditional. The star on our tree has been through three generations of Rasmussens,” Judy said.

  “Do I get the tie-breaking vote?”

  “Choose me and I’ll bake you cookies,” Viv said.

  Judy rolled her eyes. “Bribery. How juvenile. I’d bake a cake.”

  “Now you’ve made it impossible for me to choose.”

  Viv flew the angel around my head. “Pick me, Hel,” she sang in a falsetto voice, “and I’ll put in a good word for you with Santa.”

  “Wrong part of the Christmas story,” Judy said.

  My phone rang. The display read Rick Blaine.

  My heart gave its usual thump. “Sorry, I have to take this,” I said. “Let Jeremiah choose. He’s Jewish, he’s got no preferences.” Though if I’m right about his preferences, that angel will be swaying atop the tree when I come back. Jewish. And Viv had brought menorahs. Maybe I was wrong about her feelings.

  I hustled into the office and shut the door. “Hello?”

  “Sorry to call so early,” Malcolm said.

  “I don’t care when you call so long as you do. How are you?”

  “Better now. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.” I sat in my office chair and put my feet up on the desk. “We’re putting up a little Christmas tree. I wish you could see it. It looks like something a Munchkin would have.”

  Malcolm chuckled. “Where I am, they don’t celebrate Christmas, and it’s incredibly early in the morning. I destroyed two invaders a few hours ago and now I can’t sleep.”

  “No more details. If I don’t know where you are, I can’t tell anyone.”

  “I know. Has anyone asked?”

  “No. Lucia gives me skeptical looks sometimes when your name comes up, but she does that to me all the time anyway. And they’d have to be fans of Casablanca to recognize what I named your number in my phone.”

  “Still no luck with the Accords, then.”

  “Unfortunately, no.” I’d started studying the Accords, the rules by which Neutralities like Abernathy’s were governed, almost the moment Malcolm had gone into hiding. But five months of study hadn’t found me a loophole that would allow me, custodian of a Neutrality, to have a relationship with an Ambrosite, one of the two factions magery was divided into. I was expected to be impartial in my treatment of both, and I was, but the rules didn’t think that was good enough. They were very clear: no custodian was allowed romantic attachments to members of either faction.

  “Keep trying,” Malcolm said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up with specifics, but I think I’ll be able to return home soon. In the next month or so.”

  “Too late. My heart is already light. You think the storm has passed?” Malcolm had killed a high-ranking Nicollien in self-defense, a woman who’d turned out to be a murderer, but that didn’t stop most of the Nicolliens from wanting him dead in retribution.

  “I’m sure there will still be a few who want to duel, but from what I hear, the initial outrage has faded, and word of Ms. Guittard’s actions has spread widely. Anyone who wants to kill me will have no official support.”

  “Do you really think Mr. Rasmussen would have defended someone who tried to kill you?”

  “As head of the local Nicolliens, he might have believed it his duty to do so, despite the Nicollien Archmagus’s instructions.”

  I twined the curly cord of the office phone around my fingers and shifted my grip on my cell phone. “The Nicollien Archmagus wanted you punished. I think his instructions were half-hearted.”

  “So do I, but that will be irrelevant shortly. Will you be happy to see me?”

  That made me smile. “Malcolm, ‘happy’ is a weak word for what I feel when I think about seeing you again. I love you.”

  “And I love you.” I heard him yawn. “I think I might be able to sleep now. Just speaking to you relaxes me. Though not as much as having you in my arms would.”

  “I can think of much better things to do if I were in your arms than relax.”

  Malcolm laughed. “Soon enough, love. I’ll talk with you again tomorrow.”

  “Sleep well. I love you.”

  I disconnected and stretched, tilting farther back in my chair. It was unfair that Malcolm and I had only had a few hours together before he’d gone on the run. Five months of phone conversations, getting to know each other better over long distances, was better than nothing, but it was nothing compared to how wonderful it was to have him near.

  I leaned over awkwardly and opened the bottom drawer of the desk, pulling out a thick sheaf of pages bound only by three silver rings. Slips of colored Post-Its stuck out on every side, giving it a cheerful look that was completely inappropriate. The Accords were huge, covering every conceivable aspect of magery and life as a magus. They’d been written seventy-two years ago, after magery had split into the Ambrosite and Nicollien factions, and delineated clearly the responsibilities and rights of each, as well as the rules governing Neutralities. I slapped the Accords on the desk and retrieved a slimmer notebook from the drawer. My notes, for all the good they’d done me so far.

  I’d spent the first couple of months reading the sections specifically about Neutralities, cross-referencing, checking definitions, taking copious notes, and obliquely asking Lucia questions to confirm my understanding, and now I’d moved on to the Accords in general. Lucia already believed Malcolm and I were together, but I didn’t think I should confirm that su
pposition. Though it did make me wonder why she never lectured me about him. Maybe I ought to take a chance on asking her about Malcolm. She might know something I didn’t. Or maybe her silence was a warning, some kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy the Neutralities operated by.

  I flipped the pages of the Accords idly, then pushed it away and stood. I was having fun with friends today, not beating my head against the iron wall that stood between me and the man I loved.

  The angel stood proudly atop the tree when I returned. The star nestled into the branches just below. “I see you figured it out,” I said.

  “Jeremiah is a traitor,” Judy said irritably.

  “Just because he didn’t pick his leader’s daughter,” Viv said, not even bothering not to sound smug.

  “Would you two stop bickering? Let’s have more cider. Only an hour left before closing, and the weekend,” I said, picking up my mug. The cider was cold, but I swigged it down anyway.

  “How’s the famous Mr. Blaine?” Viv asked.

  “As well as ever. I don’t know where he is.”

  “Just talking to him is a violation of the Accords,” Judy said, but without making it an accusation.

  “I know that, Judy, you don’t have to keep pointing it out.”

  “You’re going to end up in trouble, and I don’t want that.” Judy scowled and collected her mug. “There’s more cider in the break room.”

  Telling Judy the truth about me and Malcolm had been the biggest risk I’d ever taken. Her father, William Rasmussen, disliked me and hated Malcolm, and if he knew what we were doing he’d have brought us both before a tribunal. I’d dithered about it for a week, torn between fear that she’d feel it her duty to tell him and the sense that a real friend didn’t keep those kinds of secrets. But when I’d told her the truth, she’d sat there staring at me for several seconds, then said, “You didn’t have to tell me.”