The Book of Peril (The Last Oracle 2)

by Melissa McShane

  The next page was headed Chapter Five—Illusions and had another cheery illustration, this one of the same dog looking into a mirror that reflected a horrible monster. I shuddered again and began reading. The Athenaeum had chosen well for me; the book was thorough, but basic, and after I discovered I could get a definition of an unfamiliar word by tapping on it, my reading went very quickly.

  I learned illusions affect the eye and the mind in different ways. Most illusions have real-world existence, so, for example, an illusion cast on a familiar affects everyone who sees it the same way. But there are some illusions that affect the mind of the target, so he is the only one who sees the illusion. Those are far more complicated and frowned on as being close to mind control, which I learned was impossible and forbidden. That didn’t make much sense to me—why forbid something that can’t be done?—but it wasn’t what I was there for, so I moved on.

  I also learned some of how a magus puts an illusion on something. It has to do with creating a shape out of what’s available, sometimes just the dust in the air. Yet—I didn’t understand this either—an illusion doesn’t always have a tangible presence. Illusory smells do, and sounds, and of course if you touch a familiar (ugh) you’d feel a dog’s fur and muscle. I wouldn’t, but other people would. Yet some illusions, the quick ones, have no tactile component. That sounded like what was afflicting the bookstore. I hadn’t felt anything different, and Martin hadn’t said he’d felt anything either. Yet this didn’t sound like a quick illusion. Someone had designed it to be undetectable—we’d only discovered it by finding the origami.

  That thought set me searching for information on origami magic, but Magic For Beginners didn’t touch on that at all. I closed the book and went to the next one, which wasn’t a book, but an article about illusions. It covered in brief what I’d read in the first book, but in a different way. The author organized her topic by types of illusions: ephemera, which were the quick and dirty non-tactile illusions; chimera, which were visual illusions with one other sense added; and magnifica, which were complex multi-sensory illusions like the ones put on the familiars. Then she mapped examples of those onto a graph. One axis was labeled “Speed,” the other “Believability,” and according to the graph, you sacrificed speed in creating the illusion for its believability and vice versa. The article fascinated me, but still didn’t tell me what I needed to know.

  The third document was the driest and the hardest to follow, but within only a few lines I knew I’d struck gold. It was a foreword to a book about basic origami, and the author—not the same as the author of the book—had clearly spent a lifetime studying her subject. I couldn’t understand more than half of it, but I did learn creating a paper illusion was slower than the traditional way but could produce detailed, believable magnifica that would activate with only a word or a thought. Anyone could use them, even non-magi, which was why Lucia could suspect Judy at all. On the other hand, even a paper magus skilled in traditional illusion might have need of origami, so this didn’t narrow the list of suspects at all.

  I read on. The activation of origami illusions was pretty simple, enough that I felt I could do it just from having read this foreword. I couldn’t think of a reason for me to want to. Origami illusions were meant to be set off in the immediate area they were supposed to affect, but they could operate at a distance—several miles, the author said. The origami they’d found in my apartment couldn’t possibly still be active, but why hadn’t Martin detected the other one? Because something was still influencing the oracle, and if it could be miles away, what could I do?

  Finally, I closed the last document and stood staring at the blank wall. The information had to be in the Athenaeum somewhere, but where? I placed my palms on the discs again.

  What would you like to learn about today?

  “Illusions plus… reflection. And/or deflection,” I added.

  There are thirty-eight thousand, seven hundred and two records for [illusions] +[ [reflection] AND/OR [deflection]]. Would you like to narrow your search further?

  I drummed my fingers on the pillar. “Restrict it to records about mind-altering illusions.”

  There are four hundred and seventeen records for [illusions] +[ [reflection] AND/OR [deflection]] SUBSET [mind-affecting]. Would you like to narrow your search further?

  “Add ‘origami’ to the search terms.”

  There are sixteen records for [illusions] +[ [reflection] AND/OR [deflection]] + [origami] SUBSET [mind-affecting]. Would you like to narrow your search further?

  “No. Display as electronic files.”

  You have insufficient credits to review all sixteen records. Please apply another payment.

  I popped another tube of sanguinis sapiens over the needle, then another. Then a fourth. Payment is sufficient. The little door at the bottom of the pillar slid open, and I removed the flash drive and pocketed it.

  What would you like to learn about today?

  “I’m done, thanks.” I gave the wall a little wave I immediately felt stupid about. It was hard not to think of the Athenaeum as living, as I often did Abernathy’s. I should make time to talk to Gauthier, compare experiences. How long had he been custodian? Decades longer than my five months.

  Back at my apartment, I inserted the flash drive and waited for the list of files to come up. Again, the file names were gibberish—or, more likely, had some significance I wasn’t privy to—but each had a title and a summary. In the fourth one down, I found what I’d hoped was there.

  The document was someone’s Ph.D. thesis, published by the Université Magique in 1985. Originally written in French, either the Athenaeum or some helpful scholar had written the translated text in English side by side with the French. It was also clear and readable for a thesis, though there were plenty of unfamiliar words and no contextual help for understanding them. The author was a paper magus who’d spent seven years studying origami in Japan. That sounded like an awfully long time to spend on folding paper, but given that it was also studying magic, maybe I shouldn’t judge.

  The earliest mages, he wrote, fought each other as well as the invaders. In Japan, illusions were as favored a weapon as steel or wood. Magi would create illusions to turn their enemies’ attacks against themselves; a magus might believe a trusted friend was a hated enemy, and attack and even kill his allies. In the later days of these conflicts, when the paper aegis was developed, paper magi learned to trap their illusions in origami creations. These could be triggered by anyone, which was an advantage, but more important was the fact that origami illusions could be triggered from a great distance, protecting the user from being attacked when his victim came to his senses.

  One legend tells of Inoue Natsuko, a paper magus of great power, who trapped her enemy in a “mirrored maze,” a magic whose construction is lost to history. The mirrored maze, it is said, caused the victim (whose name is also lost to history) to mishear things said to him and to misperceive those speaking to him. Though those outside the illusion could tell he was behaving strangely, everything they said to the victim was turned by the maze into a statement that reinforced the illusion. The legend has more than one ending, but all agree the victim took his own life.

  Origami such as the mirrored maze would never be created today, as they are close to mind control, which is strictly forbidden. However, were someone to construct such a paper illusion, it would be nearly impossible to conceal its power from anyone who cared to look. The records of magi such as Inoue suggest they circumvented the problem by creating dozens of smaller origami whose magical signatures obscured that of the big magic. Locating the big magic, it is supposed, would be merely a matter of triangulation.

  I sprang to my feet and grabbed my purse. I needed to see Inoue’s journal. The rest of the secret had to be there. My eye fell on the clock at the corner of the screen. Just after noon, and I’d promised Viv I’d go on a picnic with her at one. There wasn’t time.

  Sighing, I shut down my computer and dropped the flash
drive in the desk drawer next to the other one. Maybe I should tell Lucia, get her to look into it. I called her, left a message, then headed downstairs, being sure to lock my door first. It was going to be impossible to have fun with this discovery weighing on my mind, but I owed it to Viv to at least try.

  “You’re not having fun,” Viv said an hour later, around a mouthful of egg salad sandwich. “It’s Jason, isn’t it? You don’t like him.”

  “I like him,” I protested, though the truth was I found him a little bland. He and Heath, Viv’s current boyfriend, were playing Frisbee nearby, looking at us every time they caught the disk to make sure we appreciated their manly prowess.

  “But there’s no spark. Helena, when are you—”

  “Don’t say it. I know it’s stupid, so you don’t have to say it.”

  “All right, I won’t. I’ll just say you need a good roll in the hay.”

  “Viv!”

  Viv laughed and waved at Heath, who’d made a flying leap and landed hard on his side. “Sometimes all we need is a little physicality. Closeness. And Jason’s cute.”

  “He is cute. But you know I’m not good at one-night stands.”

  “It doesn’t have to be night. Afternoon is a great time for sex. Particularly Sunday afternoons.”

  “I can’t do that. Taking him back to my apartment feels wrong. He’s practically a stranger.”

  Viv sighed and picked up another sandwich. She had an appetite like a stevedore. “Then get to know him. He’s a nice guy, and he’s into you… and now you’ve tuned out again. Stop thinking about H.I.M.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You were.” Viv put on a sunny smile and made room for Heath on the blanket. “Isn’t this a perfect day? How nice it’s a Sunday.”

  “I think I ruined this shirt,” Heath said, plucking at a grass stain. “You ladies ought to take a turn.”

  “I’m so unathletic I think the Frisbee might try to escape,” I said, smiling at Jason. He was very cute, with blond hair and bright blue eyes. Almost as cute as—

  I snatched up the Frisbee and patted Jason on the cheek. “Let’s all play.”

  I missed more throws than I caught, mostly because I was terrible, but also because Judy’s problem, and the question of the origami magic, were hard for me to stop thinking about. I never used to be so hyper-focused on work. Then again, I’d never had a job like this one before, one with so much responsibility even before you factored in the magical aspect of my employment. I leaped high to catch the Frisbee. It skimmed my fingers, throwing me off-balance. I landed and immediately tripped and fell.

  “You all right?” Jason asked, helping me up. He kept hold of my hand when I was back on my feet. I thought of Malcolm, shoved the thought away, and squeezed Jason’s hand.

  We held hands again on the way back to our cars. Jason’s smile was nice, warm and amused, and he was interested in me, and why shouldn’t I have someone in my life? Someone uncomplicated who didn’t know anything about the problems I dealt with on a daily basis?

  I let him follow me around to my car door, where he said, “I’d like to see a movie with you later this week. What do you think?”

  “I’d love to.”

  He kissed me lightly on the cheek, squeezed my hand, and said, “I’ll text you.”

  I’ll text you. What had people done before everyone had cell phones? Well, I knew what they’d done—flailed around trying to reach each other, kept pocket change in case they needed a pay phone, or had a secretary whose sole job was answering phones and taking messages. I loved old movies, but there was no way I’d want to live in one.

  My phone rang when I was halfway up the stairs to my apartment. “Hi, Viv.”

  “Are you going out with him?” Viv’s eagerness gave her words extra force.

  “Should you be this excited about my date?”

  Viv snorted. “We could measure the time between your dates in geological eras. You should be excited, too.”

  “I am. I will be. I’m just preoccupied.”

  “With H.I.M.?”

  I wished she’d stop referring to Malcolm that way. “No, with Abernathy’s. I wish I knew what to do.” I unlocked my door and pushed it open.

  “I thought Malcolm and his team were on it.”

  “They are. I just want to help.”

  “You can help by doing your job, can’t you?”

  I sighed. “That’s what Lucia said.”

  “Then we’re both sensible. Come hear me play tomorrow night, all right? It’s at the Blue Orchid at eight.”

  “I’ll be there.” It would be fun. If I could remember how to do that.

  “And, sweetie, try to leave your troubles behind.” She hung up.

  I had my shoes kicked off and the door locked behind me—so sensible—when the phone rang again. “Where did you ever learn about Inoue Natsuko?”

  “Hi, Lucia.”

  “I don’t have time for pleasantries. I only have time for this call because I’m waiting for my lunch to heat up. You think Inoue knew something about our mystery magic?”

  I ignored Lucia’s dismissive tone. “Why couldn’t it be a really old form of magic that’s been rediscovered?”

  “It could. But Inoue didn’t leave many records, and the ones she did leave don’t have anything to do with origami or even illusion magic. So—nice try, but it won’t get us anywhere. But thanks.” She hung up.

  I threw myself on my sofa and sighed. So much for that theory. It felt so right, though. The description of the mirrored maze was like what had been happening to Abernathy’s. If the author of the thesis was right, someone could track down the actual illusion by triangulating with the smaller ones. I sighed again. Not that there were any smaller ones, unless the one in my kitchen counted. Which it did. It frightened me a little, though—if Inoue’s victim had committed suicide, what might be Abernathy’s ultimate fate if we couldn’t stop the illusion?

  Well, there was someone else who might be able to make use of it. I didn’t have Olivia Quincy’s number—she never answered her phone or checked her voice mail, anyway—so with only a slight hesitation, I called Malcolm. The phone rang a few times, then someone said, “Hello?”

  The voice was a woman’s. A woman answering Malcolm’s phone.

  A dozen horrible scenarios played through my mind in a fraction of a second. Then I reminded myself if they were having sex, she wouldn’t have picked up the phone. “Hello. I’m trying to reach Malcolm Campbell?”

  “He’s not available. Can I take a message?”

  Don’t assume she knows about magic. “This is Helena from Abernathy’s Bookstore,” I said, hoping I sounded detached and professional even though inside I was crying. “Could you ask him to call me? It’s about an order he placed.”

  “Sunday service, huh?” She sounded mocking, and for another fraction of a second, I was sure she could see me through the phone, see my ruddy cheeks and my fingers clutching the arm of the sofa. “How nice of you. I’ll tell him.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and hung up before she could. Then I set my phone on the cushion next to me, aligning it with the cushion’s corner, and waited for my blush to fade. That could have been anyone. It could have been his mother, or his sister, except he didn’t have a sister and I knew all his female friends and it had to have been the lovely Andria.

  I went into the kitchen and dug a tub of ice cream out of the chest freezer my mother had convinced me to buy. If I was going to be stupid, I was going to do it in company with my old friend Mister Tillamook.

  he Blue Orchid smelled, despite health code regulations, of cigarette smoke, as if the stink of tobacco and nicotine from thousands of club-goers of years past had sunk into the carpet and upholstery. There was something about the place that made the words “ground-in” come to mind. The lighting was dim, not in a fashionable way but as if they couldn’t afford electricity. The pattern on the stinky carpet was meant to be ‘80s abstract but merely looked dirty. The acoustics were
weird—every other table picked up the sound from whatever band was playing in a different way, and some seats were unusable because the noise was too loud. The Blue Orchid had only two things going for it: first, the owner, Tammy LaFayette, was connected to the indie music scene in Portland and booked the best up and coming bands. And second, they made the best mojitos in the state, possibly in the entire Pacific Northwest.

  I sipped my drink and tried not to breathe too deeply. I was sure I’d come away from the place smelling like a stogie-chewing barfly, but I’d promised Viv, and I looked forward to a night out. Malcolm had never called back. I told myself he was busy and heroically refrained from calling him again. Judy was still imprisoned, and neither Rasmussen nor Lucia would tell me where, the former because he disliked me, the latter because, in her words, “You’d only mess things up.” Monday was our busiest day, and without Judy’s help, I’d been overwhelmed within half an hour of opening. I took another, longer drink. For once I wanted to get drunk, but I was driving, so the number of mojitos I allowed myself was one, and I intended to make it last.

  “Hi everybody, we’re the American Suffragettes,” shouted Amie Turrada, the lead vocalist, and Viv struck up a catchy beat that led into one of their most popular songs, “Nobody’s Lady.” I tapped my toe to the beat and watched a couple of people get up and dance in the tiny spot between the tables and the band. I liked watching Viv play. She made it look effortless, though I knew she was working up a sweat under the hot, dim lights. Then she spun the drumsticks in both hands like a six-gun shooter in an old Western. It made me laugh, and she caught my eye, which told me she’d done it on purpose to cheer me up. I had such a great best friend.

  “They sound good tonight,” Betsey Trainer said, sliding onto a tall chair next to me with her own mojito.

  “They sound good every night. What are you doing out on a week night? Don’t you have stock portfolios to manage?”

  Betsey leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Ruth lost her job today, so going out was mandatory.”