I leaned back against the counter and felt the ledger shift where I’d laid it on the countertop. “Should we do this augury before anyone else comes in?”
“If you’re ready.” I was grateful he didn’t look dubious, just perfectly composed. “What actions will bring me success in the coming year?”
I waited. “That’s it?”
“It’s always been enough before.” Campbell sighed. “This was a bad idea.”
“No, wait. Let me see what I can find.” I moved off between the bookcases before he could say anything else that might convince me he was right.
A hush fell over the store before I’d taken more than three steps. It felt like the morning after a heavy snowfall, so rare in Portland—that patient, anticipatory quiet just before someone takes the first step onto a snowy walk, leaving the first footprint. I turned to look back at Campbell, but the bookcases blocked my view. Funny, I hadn’t thought I’d gone that far.
I took a few more steps. They were silent, with none of the tapping across the linoleum I’d become familiar with. It should have been unnerving, but it felt peaceful, as if the world was taking a moment to rest and lay down its burdens. I stood still, listening to the rhythm of my breathing.
At the end of the long row of shelves where I stood, one bookcase stood outlined in pale blue light. I drifted in that direction, still feeling utterly relaxed. As I drew closer, I realized the light was coming from behind it, throwing it into contrast like the moon eclipsing the sun. I walked around it to find the source of the light, a glowing book wedged face-down in a pile of tattered children’s dictionaries. I hefted the dictionaries out of the way and picked up the book.
The glow immediately faded and then disappeared. The book tingled under my fingers, like gripping a live wire. I examined it carefully. The Demon-Haunted World, the spine read, and when I opened the book to the title page, written in silver ink below the title were the words Malcolm Campbell, $750. My first augury, and I’d gotten it right.
I closed the book and hugged it to my chest. The tingling spread from my fingers to my body, a surprisingly pleasant carbonated fizz. I made my way back to the front of the store—this took a while, because I’d gotten turned around—and handed Campbell the book. “Seven hundred fifty.”
“How do I know this is the right book?” Campbell looked at it dubiously.
“Look inside.”
He did so. “I don’t see anything unusual.”
“Well, let me show you—how did Mr. Briggs prove you had the right augury?”
“I knew and trusted Nathaniel, as annoying as he was. You will take some time to adjust to.”
I opened the book and pointed at the silver ink. “I don’t see anything,” Campbell said.
“Well, your name is definitely written there, and the price of the book.”
Campbell held the book close to his face. “I doubt you’d dare lie to me.”
“Of course not,” I said, pretending I hadn’t had that thought just minutes before.
Campbell closed the book and reached inside his suit coat. “This should cover it,” he said, and held out two glass vials, one larger than the other, both filled with a murky bluish-gray liquid.
“What is it?”
“Sanguinis sapiens. Raw magic. It fuels a magus’s abilities, and we use it as currency sometimes.”
“How do I know it’s not colored water?”
Campbell set one vial on the counter and worked free the rubber stopper from the other. “Smell this, but don’t breathe too deeply,” he said.
I took a delicate sniff. It didn’t smell of anything but water and the lingering scent of rubber. “That’s hardly evidence—” I began. I glanced at Campbell, then took a longer look. The lines of his face were outlined in glimmering gold, as if someone had traced them with liquid metal. I caught sight of my hand and gasped; it looked the same, only silver-white. A golden light pulsed beneath Campbell’s coat like a heartbeat, and his hands and fingernails shone. “Wow,” I said.
Campbell smiled. It made his cheek dimple and was the first genuine expression I’d ever seen on his face. “You’ll have to trust me that it’s enough for the augury,” he said, “but then I’m trusting you, so it seems a fair trade.”
“All right.” I pocketed the vials, one in each pocket—I had an image of them breaking each other, saturating my pants and leg, that I really didn’t want to see come true. “Is that… is there anything else I can help you with?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe… there’s something you can help me with?” Campbell raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Briggs… is there magic to, you know, clean up the blood?”
“Lucia didn’t take care of that?”
“No.”
Campbell swore under his breath. “I’m sorry you were left to deal with it,” he said. “Come with me.”
The shadows cast by the dangling bulb were deeper today, shifting like something living. I sternly told my imagination to take a back seat and descended the stairs, one hand on the rough unvarnished wood of the rail. My rubber soles made almost no noise on the steps, which creeped me out further. I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned on the light.
Mr. Briggs’ blood was a black, dried blotch on the floor. It would take a lot of scrubbing to get it clean. I stood on the bottom step and watched Campbell walk around the bloodstain. “This shouldn’t take long,” he said, settling his overcoat more securely over one arm. He squatted, and held his hand out palm-down over the dark red smear. The traces of golden light, fading now, gathered from all over his body into his hand.
Campbell clenched his hand into a fist. The golden light coalesced into a ball and fell from his fist to land in the center of the bloodstain. The smell of violets filled the room, and the light spread to fill the space, lapping at the edges of the stain and turning black. Campbell opened his fist, and the black stain began to boil, making small tarry bubbles everywhere it touched the blood. The bubbling increased until the splotch was fizzing like soda poured out on a table. Eventually it stopped. Black flakes covered the place where the blood had been, dry and matte-dull. Campbell stood. “Do you have a broom?”
In one corner, there was an industrial-size porcelain sink and a couple of tall, skinny metal lockers. One of them held a broom and a mop. I returned with the broom, and Campbell said, “You can sweep it all up and throw it away. I’d do it, but not in these clothes.”
He had a point. “Thanks,” I said. I quickly swept the residue into a little pile. There wasn’t even a stain to mark where Mr. Briggs had fallen. “I appreciate it.”
“Not at all.”
Campbell shrugged into his overcoat and followed me upstairs, where he put his hand on the front doorknob. “Miss Davies,” he said, “if you’re convinced you’re the right woman for the job, I suggest you learn quickly. Not everyone who comes looking for an augury will be as accommodating as I.”
“You think I can’t handle it?”
“I think you need help. Good morning, Miss Davies.” He let himself out, and I saw him walk quickly to his Jaguar, head bowed against the intermittent drizzle the wind blew into the glass window. I thought about running after him, insisting that I could handle anything his people threw at me, but that would have been petty and childish. And I didn’t want to be either of those things.
went to the office and dug out Campbell’s file, then wrote the augury record on the next blank line. I guessed that it was aug. spec. like all his others and prayed I wasn’t wrong about that. At least now I knew what sang. sap. meant. Then I put the file away and sat at Mr. Briggs’ desk. My desk, now. Campbell was right; I needed help. I just wasn’t sure who to turn to. I remembered my list of questions and swore quietly. He probably knew the answers to some of them, possibly even the most urgent, which was what is the catalogue for?
The vials pressed against my legs, hard and cold even through the fabric. Where was I supposed to keep them? I hadn’t seen anything like them in
my admittedly cursory search of the store. And there was only one other place to look.
Now that Mr. Briggs’s presence had been exorcised, I could finally examine the basement. It wasn’t as big as the store, maybe half its size, and its low ceiling and exposed beams made it feel claustrophobic. The spaces between the beams were dark, but free from spider webs, for which I was grateful. Cabinets, old-fashioned wooden filing cabinets, lined two of the walls from floor to ceiling. A third held shelves containing steel safe deposit boxes ranging in size from the width of my hand to the length of my arm. A ring of keys hung from a nail near one of the cabinets. So much for security.
I examined the little keys. Each was stamped with a letter, A through G, and their teeth were worn with use. The boxes were labeled with the same range of letters plus a three-digit number. I tried the C key in box C134; it opened easily. It turned out to be empty. I tried another box and found the key worked there as well. Definitely not the most secure set-up. Had Mr. Briggs’ murderer been after the contents of one of these boxes? If so, it seemed unlikely I’d ever find out.
I put the vials of liquid magic into box C134 for lack of any better option. There might be records of the boxes’ contents around here somewhere, or their owners. Then I turned my attention to the filing cabinets. My guess was right: they were full of more files like the ones in the office, organized according to the recipient of the augury. And some of them were old. I found one dated 1791, the paper crumbling and brown with a dark and dusty scent. I could barely read the name, let alone what book she’d received. The papers weren’t as tightly packed as the ones upstairs—there was plenty of room to add more files. I guessed the ones in the office were active files, and these belonged to recipients who were dead. That was a lot of auguries over the years.
A couple of drawers held books that turned out to be the cousins of the ledger from the front counter. They were big, heavy, leather-bound tomes filled with lines of crabbed or elegant handwriting, some of it faded with age. I searched the volumes until I found the oldest. 1, Augustus de Kemper, the 14th of May AD 1782. That was far too old. History wasn’t my strong suit, but I was pretty sure there hadn’t been any European settlements on this side of the country in 1782 that could support a bookstore. More mysteries to add to my list. But first, I really should try that augury about abdicating.
Far away, I heard the bang of the door opening. I ran up the stairs without turning out the lights and wove my way through the cases to the front of the store. An elderly couple stood there, arm in arm, looking around with interest. The woman turned her attention on me. “You’re younger than I expected,” she said. “Harry, don’t you think she looks young?”
“Can’t believe I haven’t been in here in ten years,” the man said. He was tall and straight-shouldered, with thick white hair cut in a military-style flat top. “Never did care for Briggs. There was something squidgy about him.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead, dear.”
“I didn’t say he was bad, I said squidgy.”
“That’s not even a word.”
“Can I help you?” I said, inserting my words into their conversation like a crowbar. “You can, um, browse if you want—”
“We just came to see you, dear,” the woman said. “I’m Harriet Keller. This is my husband Harry. I know, Harry and Harriet, it’s funny, isn’t it?” She didn’t look like she thought it was funny. She looked like someone who was tired of people joking about their names.
“I—” Harriet Keller was much shorter than her husband, gray-haired and plump and wearing a hat that I did think was funny. Not that I would have commented on it. If she’d worn glasses, she would have looked like a stereotypical small-town librarian. “What do you mean, came to see me?”
Harriet smiled, burying her eyes in a mass of wrinkles. “Oh, dear, we’re the first, aren’t we? With Nathaniel being murdered, and you not being one of us, you’ll have to expect a certain amount of curiosity.”
“Has this place always smelled of onion?” Harry said, sniffing.
“Harry, be polite.”
“That was polite. I didn’t say ‘stink,’ did I?” Harry focused on me for the first time since entering. “What’s your name, young lady?”
“Helena Davies.”
“Funny that it wasn’t Judy Rasmussen. I could swear I’d heard she’d be next. Why is that?”
“I don’t know. But the store acknowledged me, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“Funny business.” Harry shook his head. “Did Nathaniel mail out the catalogues yet? Haven’t seen ours. Not to put a burden on you, of course. Hope you don’t mind me pointing out you’ve got quite a job ahead of you.”
“The catalogues. I’m mailing those out…” How was I supposed to get all those boxes to the post office? “Soon,” I concluded.
“Don’t suppose you could give us one? Save you at least a little postage.”
“I… yes, I could do that. Wait here, please?” It was irregular, sure, but maybe I could get some information out of these two nice people. Who might only appear to be nice. Wasn’t there something about the murderer returning to the scene of the crime? And Harry Keller might be old, but he didn’t look like a weakling.
I retrieved a catalogue from the topmost box and brought it back to the Kellers. “I, um, hope you like it,” I said, feeling like an idiot. How could I ask them what it was for without betraying how incompetent I was?
Harry and Harriet exchanged a knowing look. “You don’t know, do you, dear,” Harriet said, putting a wrinkled hand on my arm. “About the catalogue.”
I flushed. “No need to be embarrassed,” Harry said, “everyone’s got to learn somehow.” He rolled the catalogue into a cylinder and slapped it once or twice against his palm. “It’s a basic divination tool, for the sort of everyday questions that aren’t worth paying for a full augury. Wears out after three or four months, but until then—let’s show her, shall we?”
Harriet nodded and held out her hand for the catalogue. “Let’s see. How about ‘where should we eat lunch?’”
“Fair enough.” Harriet opened the catalogue and Harry, without looking, planted a long, bony finger in the middle of the page. He glanced down, and scowled. “Keep the Home Fires Burning. I wanted to go to IHOP.”
“Well, it’s not like we’re forced to obey,” Harriet said, closing the catalogue. “It’s only a recommendation.”
“So, it’s… sort of fortune telling?” I said.
“But far more accurate than any horoscope,” Harriet said. To my surprise, she reached out and patted my cheek. “Don’t worry, dear, you’ll do just fine. Nathaniel always swore by that book of his.”
“Book?”
Harry and Harriet exchanged glances again. “The custodian’s book,” Harriet said. “Don’t you have it?”
“Oh, that book,” I said without knowing why I’d lied. “It’s… thorough.”
“See? Harry, we really should come in for an augury soon.” Harriet linked her arm with her husband’s again. “Good luck, dear.”
I leaned against the countertop after they’d left and let my eyes focus on the knob for lack of anything better to do. So, there was a book, one I hadn’t found yet, and it presumably had everything I needed to know. Why had I lied? Because I don’t want people knowing how lost I am. I turned around and went back to the office. The augury could wait. A more thorough search was in order. I was going to find that book if it took all day.
The door banged open again. I ran back in time to see a man in a heavy coat and a mail carrier’s uniform drop a bundle of letters and shiny mailers on the counter. “Have a nice day,” he said. I picked through the letters once he was gone. None of them had return addresses. All of them were typical white business-sized envelopes that didn’t feel like they had more than one sheet of paper inside. I tore one open and shook out the contents.
There was no salutation, just a single handwritten line: Is my mother trying to kill me? Then, belo
w, a name and address somewhere in New Orleans. I stared at it. All right, so people could mail in their questions for auguries. Presumably I’d have to ship them the books. And bill them. I dropped the letter on the counter and massaged the bridge of my nose. Like I needed more impossible tasks. I gathered up the mail and took it back to Mr. Briggs’ office. These could wait until I found the book.
But it turned out Harriet had been wrong about people’s interest in me. There was a lot of curiosity. Five minutes after the Kellers left, another customer—the kind who knew what Abernathy’s was—came through the door. Then another. By noon, the place was… not crowded exactly, but after the quiet and emptiness of the previous day, it felt packed to overflowing. Most of them, again as predicted by Harriet, only wanted to meet me. After the tenth introduction, I gave up on trying to remember their names.
Three of them wanted to buy auguries. They didn’t seem to mind the audience, but I asked them to write their questions down anyway. I gave my best impression of someone who knew what she was doing and accepted payment—two fat unmarked envelopes and a stack of musty books with cracked leather bindings. I shoved the last at random onto one of the shelves, reasoning if Abernathy’s worked the way Lucia had explained, organizing the new acquisitions was the last thing I should do. I hoped the books were valuable enough to cover the augury they paid for.
The second augury gave me a clue as to the mysterious aug. fam. notation. The woman, a tall Amazon named Bethany, said, “It’s on behalf of my brother, not personal,” as she handed me a slip of paper with her question written on it. I nodded like that made sense. Presumably Abernathy’s knew what kind of augury to produce even if I didn’t. Personal augury, family augury maybe, and aug. spec.—another thing I could have asked Campbell. But I was learning.
I carved out some time around two o’clock to shovel reheated lasagna into my complaining stomach. People kept showing up and prowling the shelves, just as if this were any ordinary bookstore. After lunch, I sold a couple of books the mundane way to a bright-eyed man wearing an outdated fedora—at least, I thought it was a fedora, Viv always complained people got those confused with trilbys, and it was certainly a mystery to me. “I promise this isn’t a cheap way to get around paying for an augury,” he said with a wink.
The Book of Secrets Page 6