The Book of Secrets

by Melissa McShane

  “It doesn’t look—”

  Yamane held up a hand for silence. She walked toward the counter. I saw, as her feet kicked her robes out of the way, that she was wearing Converse sneakers, and I quickly looked away before anyone could see me smile.

  Yamane ran her finger down the spines, top to bottom, touching the first letter of each title, all of them aligned perfectly with each other. “Is the oracle Japanese, do you think?” she said.

  “I don’t know, ma’am. I just know this is how titles are written in English-language books, and it’s convenient for spelling things out, don’t you think?”

  “Agreed.” She beckoned to Parker and the man. “See here.”

  The first letter of each title, reading down, spelled out a name: R Y A N P A R I S H.

  Yamane nodded once, then bowed to me. I bowed in return. “The transfer,” she said to her companion, who set his laptop on the counter. It was the strangest contrast to the Victorian cash register.

  The man began typing, paused, entered a few more letters and numbers, then turned the screen to face me. “Is the amount satisfactory?”

  I swallowed. I’d never seen that many zeroes after a number before. “That’s fine.” I hoped Abernathy’s didn’t mind me making that decision, but I had a feeling money was irrelevant to the oracle.

  The man hit Enter, and a little status bar sprang up, gradually filling up with blue. I watched, holding my breath as if that would keep something catastrophic from interfering with the money transfer. But nothing did. The bar disappeared, and TRANSFER COMPLETE blinked on the screen a couple of times. The man shut the laptop and returned to Yamane’s side.

  “Our thanks to Abernathy’s for its service,” she said, and turned to leave.

  Two of the flankers opened the door and stepped out ahead of her, scanning the street for threats. Yamane seemed to take this for granted. She and her companions left, followed by the other flankers and Campbell, who brought up the rear. He paused in the doorway, and turned to look at me.

  “I see you’ve found your footing,” he said with a smile.

  “I hope so. I still have a long way to go. But I feel more confident now.”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “You have unsuspected depth.”

  “Like C. K. Dexter Haven,” I said without thinking.

  “The Philadelphia Story?”

  I gaped. “You know it? It’s one of my favorites. Though I think it has questionable morals.”

  “You mean the suggestion that men aren’t responsible for their own philandering? I agree.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You really do have unsuspected depth,” he added, and closed the door gently behind him.

  I watched him through the window as he hurried to catch up to the Archmagus’s party. Handsome, charming, and he had excellent taste in films. I wonder if we might not become friends, after all.

  I left the CLOSED sign where it was for the moment. I felt I’d earned a break, and it was lunchtime. I heated up my lunch (shrimp scampi, not the greatest reheated) and sat down to eat, but I felt restless, and the break room was really cold. Maybe the location of the thermostat was in the missing instruction manual, in which case I wished I hadn’t been so cavalier about not needing it. After a moment’s reflection, I gathered up my plate and went upstairs to the apartment.

  It was warmer there, and the rooms smelled of the same apples I’d smelled in the oracle, not a whiff of onion anywhere. I sat at the little table and ate, feeling my tension bleed away into the walls. Golden light filled the air, playing across the velvet sofa and the white-sheeted figures surrounding it. I finished eating, rinsed off my plate, and lay down on the sofa, running my fingers across the curve of its back. The ceiling was higher than I was used to, high and white and not at all grimy despite how long it had lain untended. If Silas had lived here, he must have been so happy.

  I rolled off the sofa and went to look out the window at the cars passing below. The parking spot in front of Abernathy’s was unoccupied. No one was clamoring for my attention. Warm sunlight touched my hands where they rested on the sill. You could put a plant here, it’s so deep. Maybe a geranium.

  I turned around and leaned against the window so the sun could warm my back. Then I took my phone out and selected a number. “Lucia, it’s Helena,” I said. “Who owns the apartment above the store?”

  “I didn’t know how much crap you have, or I would have stayed home,” Jake said. He carried a cardboard box as big around as his arms could go, and pretended it weighed as much as he did.

  “Those are clothes, and you can blame Viv for how many there are. Put it in the bedroom—that’s on the other side. Thanks.” I passed him with my own armload, a stack of unopened boxes containing plates and bowls and glasses, and set them on the kitchen counter. Mom was already busy unloading some of our other purchases. She’d gone a little nuts shopping for me, getting all sorts of gadgets and things for my first kitchen. I didn’t want to remind her I didn’t know how to cook.

  “Helena, come look at this,” my father said from the living room. He’d installed a TV, not too big, over the radio cabinet, and set up some shelves for my DVD player and other “essentials” to the modern entertainment experience. “I didn’t want to obscure the radio, even if it doesn’t work. It’s still a beautiful conversation piece.”

  “I helped,” Viv said. “Well. I held tools and gave my opinion about where to put that chair.”

  “I love it. Isn’t it weird how the TV doesn’t look out of place? I was afraid it would clash.” The room still looked vintage, but the TV gave it more of a retro look. My computer, which I’d set up in the study, did look out of place, but I figured I looked out of place in that man cave, so Silas would just have to endure. It had been his apartment, after all, and I liked to pretend he knew I’d taken it over. Lucia hadn’t told me any more than that it had belonged to him, and I wasn’t sure I wanted any more details. Pretending was more fun.

  A crash echoed up the stairs. Jake came down the hall with another box. “They broke through,” he said. “Looks like they’ll fix that outer door today. How come they’re working on Sunday, again?”

  “I couldn’t have stayed here if they didn’t,” I said, ignoring the rest of his comment. What my family didn’t know was that the crew working on restoring the bricked-over rear entrance to Abernathy’s was made up of Wardens, most of them magi. Their biggest problem was hiding the magical aspects of their construction efforts from my family. “It’s going to be so much more convenient.”

  “I’ll be more comfortable if you install an alarm system,” Dad said. “I’d be happy to pay for it if your boss won’t.”

  “They will. But thanks.” The alarm system, also semi-magical, had been put together by a team of Ambrosites who’d brought with them a fat yellow envelope. Inside were the keys to Mr. Briggs’ Civic and a message in an elegant cursive hand: The police discovered the title is in the name of Erica Withers, whom they believe to be Abernathy’s owner. Consider it yours for the duration. No assassination required. I hadn’t seen Campbell since the day of the Ambrosite augury, and now I wished I knew how to reach him, to thank him. But I hadn’t been able to nerve myself up to asking Lucia for his number. It felt bold, and in general I left bold to Viv.

  We all trooped back down for another load, but there wasn’t much left—another box of clothes, a few odds and ends. My framed samurai and geisha, which I intended to hang in the study. I’d left all my stuffed animals in my old room; it felt like saying goodbye to another life, starting something new.

  Dad disappeared into the study, muttering something about a wireless network. I wasn’t sure I needed that, but I didn’t like to disappoint him when he was so happy to do it. Jake followed him. I left Viv hanging clothes in my closet and followed Mom into the kitchen, where she was still putting things away. “It’s a nice kitchen, isn’t it?” I said.

  “It’s a wonderful kitchen. It’s so well laid out, and this gas range… they don’t m
ake them like this anymore. I still think you should get a chest freezer. I know how you eat. You need a place to put your frozen pizzas.”

  “I’ll think about it. I still haven’t gotten my first paycheck yet.” I leaned against the table and watched her arrange my new dinnerware, red earthenware I hoped was unbreakable. “I’m a little afraid of all this. I didn’t actually think they’d let me use the apartment.”

  “You’re taking on a huge responsibility. It’s only fair they give you rewards as well.” Mom put away a final plate and came to give me a hug, squeezing tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Prouder than of Cynthia?”

  “You know I don’t play favorites. But… things always came easily for Cynthia. She always knew what she wanted to do. I’m glad to see you with some direction, finally.” She released me with a grin. “Not that you were aimless. But you know what I mean.”

  “I do.” I picked up a wire whisk and brandished it. “What exactly do you picture me doing with this?”

  “Scrambled eggs. Batter for French toast. You have to learn to cook sometime.”

  I pretended to hunt through the boxes. “Where’s that ad for the chest freezer?”

  Viv appeared in the doorway. “I’m getting rid of some of your clothes. The thrift store will be pleased with your generous donation.”

  I moved toward her, picking up speed as she turned and ran. “I have to okay everything, Viv! Don’t you dare throw out my things!”

  “All right, but you need to reduce your wardrobe by at least half. It’s called frugal living and it will make you happier.”

  “Both of you move those clothes and let me make the bed,” Mom said, but she was smiling.

  Jake poked his head in the doorway. “Hel, there’s someone downstairs for you. I think it’s a customer.”

  “Can’t be. We’re closed on Sunday.”

  I went downstairs and into the store, where to my surprise I found Judy, dressed in a full-length gray wool coat and matching tam. She carried a large tote from Barnes & Noble and looked annoyed. “What do you want?” I said, feeling defensive.

  “I brought you this. It was in Ross Dunlop’s house.” She pulled a large book out of the tote. It was plainly bound in drab green buckram, with no dust jacket, and had to be nearly two inches thick. I took it from her and flipped it open. It was handwritten rather than printed, had no title page, and at the top of the first page I read Protocol for performing an augury.

  “The instruction manual!” I turned a few more pages. Banking information. The proper storage of sanguinis sapiens. “But why do you have it?”

  “I asked Lucia if I could bring it to you.” Judy folded the tote into a neat rectangle and put it away in her coat’s deep pocket. “It’s not as if you know any of this.”

  “No.” She’d sounded defensive rather than angry. “And I don’t…” Now she sounded subdued. “What you did, with the oracle. I couldn’t have done that.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “No. I couldn’t have.” She let out a deep breath. “All this time, I thought it was just Nathaniel being spiteful, not wanting me to be the custodian. Now I wonder if he didn’t know something everyone else didn’t. You saved the oracle. It really is what you’re meant to do.”

  I gaped at her, completely at a loss for words. “Judy…”

  “Anyway, that’s what I think.” Judy was suddenly her old brusque self. “Though you really ought to have proper instruction. The manual is useful, but look how big it is. You’ll never be able to find anything.”

  “It’ll take time, sure.”

  “So I thought…” She finally looked directly at me instead of everywhere else in the store. “You could use some help, and I’ve had all the training. I’m sure the Board won’t have any trouble assigning you an… assistant.”

  Her rosy cheeks were bright red. “You’d want to do that?”

  “Why not? I mean, you’d be lost without help.”

  I smiled. “Come on upstairs,” I said. “I think you should see where Silas lived.”

  Melissa McShane is the author of the Extraordinaries series, beginning with BURNING BRIGHT. Her other books include the Crown of Tremontane series, beginning with SERVANT OF THE CROWN, as well as EMISSARY and THE SMOKE-SCENTED GIRL. After a nomadic childhood, she settled in Utah with her husband, four children, three very needy cats, and a library that continues to grow out of control. She wrote reviews and critical essays for many years before turning to fiction, which is much more fun than anyone ought to be allowed to have.

  You can visit her at her website www.melissamcshanewrites.com for more information on other books and upcoming releases.

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  Appetizer:

  Book Cover

  Title Page

  Main Course:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dessert:

  Closing

  About the Author

  Copyright & Publisher

  More from Curiosity Quills Press

 

 

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