by J L Collins
“Me leaving the Athenaeum would leave it defenseless, you see,” he’d said over his steaming mug of chamomile and honey tea. “Where I go, the magic goes. We keep the most important relics hidden away from the rest of town in here, you know.”
I’d leaned forward but Erie had quipped, “Like An Leabhar na Ciallmhar! The oldest Book of the Wise in all of Danann!”
An Leabhar na Ciallmhar…It hit me all at once, stealing the breath from me. Why hadn’t I realized before, what Rourke’s death meant? Only the heads at the MARC—including all fully-trained Shadow Hands—knew the truth behind his job. As Keeper of the Pages, Rourke possessed the kind of magic that was built within the Athenaeum itself. His magic was the building’s magic and vice versa. The loss of that magical protection that only a Keeper could provide meant one thing and one thing only.
I slowly rose from my seat across from Aunt Bedelia and Zoya who were still speaking in hushed tones.
Uncle Gardner had returned, with a group of Shadow Hands trailing behind him. As he turned to face the few Shadow Hands standing around listening, Uncle Gardner tightly clutched the top of his cane. “And without Rourke’s magic in place to keep the Athenaeum’s defense up and running, we’re working on borrowed time here. The truth is anyone could come in here and wreak havoc on the place until we get a new Keeper of the Pages officially sworn in here.”
“They could try,” the shortest of the Shadow Hands said, holding her ground with the kind of ferocity that earned her an amused twitch of Uncle Gardner’s mouth.
He made a good point though, about anyone being able to try their hand at creating chaos in the Athenaeum—after all, that was exactly what Rourke’s duty was to stop. It made me wonder how anyone could have gotten the drop on Rourke though. To me, he was almost like Yoda from the Star Wars movies back home. It would have needed to be done very acutely and precisely.
“Sir,” I said, putting the pieces together with my Shadow Hands expertise creeping in on me, “How is it possible to drain the magic from the Keeper? Is that what we’re thinking might have happened?”
“There are a few most precious and sacred pieces of magic that even I do not know.” With a great sigh, he rounded on me, the concern in his eyes like uncharted territory. “I think the thing we should really worry about is the why, Gwendolyn. Why would someone need to steal the magic from the Keeper?” he replied, very clearly already on the same page as me. “I’ve sent another team down to where it’s kept. They’re already searching to make sure it’s where it belongs,” he quickly added, nodding toward Aunt Bedelia and Zoya, “Not everyone is aware of what may be going on. Let’s keep it that way. Go have a seat with them and I’ll let you know if we find anything important.”
I bit back my reply and watched him and his team of Shadow Hands head back to the scene of the crime. As much as I was dying to know what happened and to dig into the evidence and the perimeter of the investigation myself, that snotty Shadow Hand from before was right. It wasn’t my place anymore—I’d given up this life of magical investigating and maintaining Spell Haven’s safety a long, long time ago. Who was I to push myself on Uncle Gardner now, when all he wanted before was for me to work at his side? In all honesty, I knew I should feel more grateful he was giving me as much as he was.
Slouching back into my seat in an overstuffed armchair, I smoothed my hands over the frizzy lilac strands of hair framing my face in an effort to get my hair to behave.
Aunt Bedelia straightened up in her seat, handing Zoya yet another tissue that she blew heartily into. “You’ve got that look on your face,” she said, pursing her lips in a way that reminded me of my father.
My hands formed into fists in my lap out of sheer frustration. “This? This whole thing? Rourke and the library and—and someone coming in and murdering him in cold blood? I just don’t get it, Aunt Bee. Rourke was a good person. Why would anyone do such a thing?” Because I knew that was the truth of it. Rourke hadn’t simply keeled over because of old age or some silly user error with his magic. There was a reason why he above anyone else, was the Keeper of the Pages. He could handle all of the knowledge that many of us could not.
Zoya’s lip trembled as I sighed. “I keep thinking that myself, Gwendolyn,” she whispered, dabbing at her face with another tissue. “Rourke was the best part about this place. Him not being here is like . . . like the whole Athenaeum is dead.”
A chill traveled down my spine at her words. She wasn’t wrong—it really did feel like the library was mourning with us somehow.
“We need to find whoever did this. And we need to make them pay,” I whispered back, not looking at her but at the black marble tile floor. The golden veins striking through it seemed to waver the harder I looked. It reminded me of when Erie and I used to sit here and read back-to-back on the floor sometimes.
Erie. How were we going to break the news to her? As much as I cared about Rourke and the Athenaeum, she was even closer to him, and was the true reader and bibliophile between the two of us.
“Perhaps we should head back to the Apothecarium, dear. I can whip us up some lunch and I’m sure it would be a more private, quiet place to speak to Erie about the situation,” Aunt Bedelia said, making no bones about having pried into my thoughts.
I glared at her, resenting the intrusion. “I’m fine right where I am. I need to stick around and help if I can, anyway.”
“I suppose it’s a darn good thing that you are on your vacation, dear. You’ll have more time to get involved. Don’t look at me like that, Gwendolyn. I think we both know that’s what your intention is,” Aunt Bedelia mused, daring me to say otherwise.
I sank back into my chair. “Okay, so maybe I’d like to know a little more about what’s going on. What does it hurt?”
“Pfft. Knowing is one thing. Acting upon what you know, is something entirely different,” she muttered, still fussing over Zoya as she shakily stood up.
More and more of the more experienced Shadow Hands—some I’d even graduated with myself, were coming up from the stairwell at the end of one of the wide hallways that I knew led down to where they kept some of the more powerful relics and spell books. My heart jumped in my throat as I tried to read the expressions on their faces. It was no use though, as Shadow Hands are trained to not let their body language betray their thoughts.
The din of voices in the main sitting area grew louder by the minute. Aunt Bedelia and Zoya were now speaking with the two other librarians, delivering the startling news to them. Sunlight glinted off the marble floors as the massive front doors opened once more, this time letting some of the more prominent members of the MARC and even Archmage Bacchus inside.
The Archmage was cutting through the surge of people that had all somehow formed a circle around the few of us, his handlebar mustache flapping along as his heavy footsteps echoed. “Gardner! What is this news I hear of? Rourke, dead? Have we made any arrests yet?”
I knew Uncle Gardner was groaning to himself before he faced the Archmage with a tired but respectful nod, pulling him aside to speak with him. Several of his Shadow Hands exchanged looks with one another. One of them—a bulkier young man with a scar that sliced down one side of his face pulling at the corner of his wide-set eyes—was coming up from the hallway, pushing past the others, trying to get my uncle’s attention. I couldn’t help but cringe when I saw another Shadow Hand yank at his thick sleeve to pull him back away from the two elders.
“Sir!” the bulky Shadow Hand with wide-set eyes repeated even louder, this time catching everyone else’s attention as well as my uncle’s. “Ahem, sorry, sir. But uh, Rufio finished conducting his search for the book—there are no traces of it anywhere.” The collective gasp in the room was interrupted all too quickly by the Shadow Hand as he continued, “We are working to expand the search parameters past the Athenaeum. And Rufio is requesting to see you, sir.”
5
A Hangover Cure
“I don’t really see how this is supposed to make me
feel better.”
The steam quickly rose up from my cup of Aunt Bee’s mood-enhancing tea, this one a new flavor I’d never tried before. I held up the warm teacup closer to my face, taking in the subtle hint of bergamot and something spicier. “What’s this one supposed to do, anyway?”
“Time will tell,” she said with a sad smile, clearing off space at the small table for us. “Although for the time being, I’m just hoping for a simple motivation kick,” she added as she gestured to the crowded back-end of the Apothecarium. “Inventory is never fun when you have to handle it by yourself. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve been stung by stray stinging nettles, or worse, pinched by one of those.”
I looked over my shoulder at where she was pointing. A handful of ugly gray creatures were skittering over one another inside a small glass tank. They slightly resembled hermit crabs, but with bigger pincers and slimy, gray shells.
I winced. “What are those things?”
Aunt Bee just shrugged and took a sip from her own cup of tea. “Biggle crabs. They emit a disgustingly noxious smell from their shells that happens to be very beneficial in clearing warts. I use them for some of my skin treatments for ogres and trolls. They’re usually the only ones who can stand the smell.”
“Ugh. I hope you charge them extra for all the pinching.”
She chuckled before sitting down across from me. “Believe me, my work doesn’t come cheap. Speaking of . . . I don’t suppose you’ve given more thought to what I said before?”
“About what?” I said innocently, giving in after I saw the look on her face. “I don’t know. I can’t help wanting to do something more—to make sure that Rourke’s killer is caught.” Not to mention the missing ancient text that could be deadly in the wrong hands…
“I know, Gwennie-Bee. It must be very difficult to hold back from something like this when it’s what you were trained to do, but dear, Gardner has everyone on his team to help him with this investigation. You have your own life now, and with that comes your own set of worries. You can’t be expected to hold the weight of two worlds on your shoulders.”
The steam rising from my cup was now twirling in on itself until it spread out into what was unmistakably the word ‘frustration.’ I rolled my eyes.
“See? That’s exactly what I mean,” she said, pointing to the frothy white word before it vanished. “You’re supposed to be enjoying your first vacation in how many years again?”
“This is my first real vacation,” I mumbled, pushing the cup and saucer away from me. “It’s not like I asked for any of this to happen. It’s my duty to make sure that everyone here is safe, Aunt Bee. And with Rourke dead that leaves the entire realm in danger. You know that, right?”
An indignant sound came out of her mouth before she narrowed her eyes at me from behind her glasses. “Of course, I know that, Gwendolyn! I may not be privy to all there is to know about how Rourke’s magic worked or how the Athenaeum truly works, but I know a thing or two about magic and its traces. And it felt like the death of all magic inside that place. I’ve never felt anything like it in all my years.”
A warm breeze let in from the front, swooped across the planked hardwood floors. I looked around her to see my Aunt Ginevra striding into the shop. She unclasped her dark green cloak, hanging it over her arm with a grim expression on her face.
“Bedelia? Are you in here, darling?”
“Back here, Ginny. Gwendolyn’s here, too.”
Aunt Ginevra flashed me a warm smile as I stood up to hug her. “So nice to see you—I hadn’t realized it was already time for you to visit us again.”
“She’s on vacation,” Aunt Bee said before I could get a word in. “And she’s spending it here.”
“Not . . . exactly,” I cautioned her, still looking at Aunt Ginevra. It killed me how much my cousin Erie looked just like her mother. “I did intend on spending some time here before . . . well, I’m assuming Uncle Gardner told you what happened this morning?”
She nodded. “He did. I just don’t know what to do with myself, quite honestly. Rourke was a truly good man. Our whole realm was a better place because of him. Between hearing that and dealing with Tristan—oh. And dealing with matters at the manor house, I could use my own kind of pick-me-up,” she added nervously, glancing behind me at Aunt Bee.
Yeah, that wasn’t exactly subtle. “What’s my brother done now?” I asked, almost cringing at the possibilities. Ever since my younger brother Tristan had supposedly been on the straight and narrow this summer, he’d been somewhat of a shut-in at Brady Manor where my Uncle Gardner and Aunt Ginevra lived. Because of the factions of Dark Market loyalists who were hell-bent on making my brother’s life miserable (or end it altogether) he had to live with them for the time being—something he very much resented.
Without a word, Aunt Ginevra turned away and walked down one of the aisles closest to the back of the shop. The top of her head bobbed along the tops of the wooden shelves until she found whatever it was she was looking for. With the clink of glass on glass, she picked it up and headed back toward us, brandishing a bright green glass bottle. On the label was what appeared to be a werewolf lying half out of a bed with a hot water bottle over his head, reading ‘Howled Over—the hangover cure that works!’
“I’ll take another bottle of this, darling,” she said with a sigh. She watched me carefully to gauge my reaction.
“Well I know that’s not for you,” I said sourly, shaking my head. “Is he still sulking up in his room, drinking all day?”
“He’s just having a . . . difficult time.”
“Difficult my rear! Ginny, you know he’s acting like a petulant child. There’s no need to sugar-coat things with her,” Aunt Bee snorted, finishing the last of her tea with a long-drawn-out sip.
I frowned. “That’s saying something coming from her.” She hardly ever let Tristan go a day without spoiling him. “So, what’s his deal now, Auntie?”
It was very clear that Aunt Ginevra was holding back, but she told me about his recent run-in with one of the Dark Market loyalists who were out for blood. “He tried to tell me and Brennrie that he just needed some fresh air, but neither of us bought it. He was going stir-crazy to the point of setting foot in the Market, can you believe it? And when the two of us went to him about it, he just pretended as if it weren’t important. As if his life hardly mattered to us,” Aunt Ginevra finished, sniffling softly into a handkerchief she pulled from inside her cloak. “As if we haven’t tried to do everything to keep him safe.”
“Brennrie’s here, too?” I asked her, surprised to see that Tristan’s pretty ex-girlfriend was hanging around again. The last time I’d checked, she was through with my brother and his wannabe-martyrdom.
“Yes, they’re trying to work through their differences I suppose. As if her being a Fairy wasn’t different enough for them. She has a good heart though, and she really does care about him, so I don’t get in the way of things between them. Whatever makes him happy enough to get him out of bed each morning is fine by me.”
I could see the concern in her eyes, but thought better of trying to pry more information from her. I was just going to have to visit my brother and see things for myself. Maybe I could get his depressed butt out of bed. It probably wouldn’t be much different than trying to wake up a lazy teenager so she can get to school on time…
Oh shoot. I remembered what I wanted to talk to my family about before the whole fiasco at the Athenaeum happened.
“I nearly forgot to mention this to you, but I figure Uncle Gardner has his hands full at the moment. Something weird has been happening to me back home.” I proceeded to tell my aunts about the strange bits of relatively strong magic I’d been able to accomplish back in the Human Realm, and about how I’d simply been thinking about the weather when an actual weather occurrence well, occurred over my kitchen table.
“That’s . . .”
“Interesting,” Aunt Bee finished for her sister-in-law, looking positi
vely perplexed. “I didn’t think that was possible in the Human Realm. We have whole statutes and laws here in various texts that say so. Why, I can hardly even use my full telepathy there.”
I nodded. “I know. That’s kind of why I brought it up. Uncle Gardner had mentioned something about the Council voting in some new magic regulations in regards to the Human Realm. I thought maybe that might have something to do with it.”
“But that hasn’t happened yet, dear,” Aunt Bee said, sharing a troubled look with Aunt Ginevra. “They have to have a meeting and Merlin knows how long it will take for them to decide on things. It could take a whole season before we know the outcome.”
Aunt Ginevra placed the bottle of ‘Howled-Over’ on the counter next to a small crate of ‘Homemade Bloodble Gum’ in bright colored wrappers. “A rain cloud in the middle of your meal—I must say darling, that’s the first I’ve heard of that one. And you’re sure you weren’t somehow using your wand without knowing?”
“No, I’m sure of it. It was in my pocket. And magic doesn’t exactly work like that here, much less there in my house. I thought that maybe if the laws were being changed that some of Spell Haven’s magic was leaking into the Human Realm. And any good magical amplifier like my wand might make that magic even stronger. It just . . . worries me.” Magic doesn’t belong there, as much as I wish it could just for my own convenience. So, what could be causing it?