“I…what?” It was so unexpected I fumbled my fork. It hit my plate with a dull chime.
Cynthia smiled. “I know you’re tied to that little store of yours, but don’t you think it would be fun to take in the sights together?”
Take in the sights? “Cynthia, you used to live here.”
“It’s been six years. I’m sure everything’s changed.”
I looked around the table for some kind of rescue. My parents looked thrilled. Jason was smiling. Jake had his head down over his steak and was ignoring the rest of us. “I…well, sure. That would be…fun.”
“And you can bring Jason along,” Cynthia purred, giving him a long, slow look just to irritate me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Accompanying two lovely ladies around town? I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do.”
Cynthia laughed. To everyone else, it no doubt sounded pleasantly cheerful. I was the only one it drove crazy.
My phone buzzed again, and I leaped to my feet, nearly sending my chair crashing into the glass-fronted sideboard behind me. “I’m done eating,” I said, and ran for the living room, my napkin falling unheeded at my feet.
In the living room, I dropped into one of the suede-upholstered love seats and pulled out my phone. I’d told Viv I was having a family dinner, so whatever this was had to be important. Or, knowing Viv, she was just having a crisis over her latest boyfriend, whose name, I’d finally remembered, was Rick. Her relationships were frequently dramatic, but this one was more dramatic than most.
It wasn’t Viv. It was Malcolm.
TERRIBLE ATTACK. QUINCY SERIOUSLY INJURED BY INVADER. THOUGHT YOU’D WANT TO KNOW.
3
I sucked in a breath. Olivia was a paper magus, not a steel magus like Malcolm whose magical aegis made him immune to an invader’s attack. The thought of her dead, drained of her magic, horrified me.
The next message read SHE’LL SURVIVE and the third, somewhat longer, said AUGURY VERY ACCURATE THANK YOU. WILL SEE YOU IN THE MORNING FOR ANOTHER AUGURY.
“Is everything all right? You look awful,” Jason said.
“A friend of mine was in an accident. She’ll be all right, but it’s still scary.”
Jason put his arms around me and hugged me. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Cynthia came in and flopped onto the couch opposite me. “We’re going to play games as soon as the washing is done.”
“So why don’t you help?” I snapped, disentangling myself from Jason.
“I tried. Mom said I was excused. She said you should come help her. Jason can keep me company.” She smirked and patted the couch cushion next to her. I shoved my phone into my pocket and left the room, trying not to stomp.
“You could be a little nicer to your sister,” Mom said. She was rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. I gathered a few more plates from the table and dumped them into the sink.
“I was being nice. She’s the one who’s constantly sniping at me.”
“Helena, I know you and Cynthia have never had a close relationship, but can’t you see she’s trying to change that? She doesn’t actually want to see Portland. She wants to spend time with you.”
“I don’t have a ton of time to spare. Neither does she, if she’s got that big meeting all next week.”
Mom stopped with a tumbler in one hand and the long-handled scrubber in the other and looked me in the eye. “Just—make an effort, please?”
I sighed and rinsed a handful of forks. “I’ll try. But if she keeps making a play for my boyfriend, I’ll scratch her eyes out.”
“She’s just being friendly.”
“In most states, we call that flirting, Mom.”
Mom laughed. “She’s in love with Ethan and has no interest in anyone else.”
I started clearing away the other glasses. “Maybe. I think she just doesn’t like seeing me with anyone.”
“Don’t be so negative, Helena.”
I heard Cynthia’s pealing laugh coming from the living room, overlain with Jason’s deeper chuckle. “It’s not negative if it’s true.”
We played board games in teams, Mom and Dad, Cynthia and Jake, me and Jason. Our team lost constantly, no matter what game we played, mostly because I was worried about Olivia, but also because I couldn’t help being conscious of Cynthia’s attention to Jason. Her constant comments on his play and his appearance went unnoticed by everyone else, and Jason, despite his promise to me, flirted back.
By ten o’clock I was on edge and miserable and ready for the day to be over. When Mom proposed one more round, I said, “I have to work tomorrow, so I think we should go.”
“Oh, of course,” Mom said. “It’s been a lovely evening, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been great, Louise,” Jason said. “Thanks for inviting us. And it was nice getting to know you, Cynthia.”
“Same here,” Cynthia said. “How about I call you tomorrow, Hellie, and we’ll make a plan?”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Good night, everyone.”
In the car, Jason said, “You want to come back to my place?”
“Listen, Jason, I’m really tired. Maybe some other time.”
“I thought that’s what you’d say,” Jason said.
I shot him a quick glance. His jaw was set and he was looking away from me, out the passenger window. “I have work tomorrow. What was I supposed to say?”
“Work’s always your excuse when you just don’t want to spend time with me.”
“Oh, it’s my fault? Maybe you should have gone home with Cynthia.”
He turned on me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I was too tired to be polite. “You promised me you wouldn’t fall for her flirting.”
“I wasn’t flirting! She’s a nice person and we were having fun together.”
“Call it what you want.” I swerved into the parking lot in front of his apartment and parked across two spaces. “You know how I feel about her. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Why does it have to come down to sides? She’s not as bad as you made her sound.”
So Jason wasn’t immune to her charm, after all. Anger burned hot inside me. “Well, you didn’t have to grow up with her constantly putting you down and stealing your boyfriends. So excuse me if I don’t think your opinion is valid.”
“What’s new? You never do.” He got out and slammed the door behind him, flung open his front door and stormed through. I swore and backed out of the parking lot. He didn’t understand.
By the time I reached home, I’d cooled off enough to regret the argument. It wasn’t Jason’s fault if all he saw was the front Cynthia put on for the world. I shouldn’t have been so awful to him. I’d have to call in the morning and apologize—no, I could text him when I got in. Viv kept telling me there was always something you could apologize for, even when you were in the right, and in this case I’d let my anger at Cynthia spill over onto Jason.
Safely at home with the doors all locked, I texted Jason: I’M SORRY I HURT YOUR FEELINGS. MY SISTER MAKES ME CRAZY. CALL ME TOMORROW? Then I tapped back through my contacts until I found Malcolm’s texts. Derrick, a bone magus who could heal most physical injuries, must have healed Olivia—but I didn’t know if a bone magus could heal someone of the loss of their magic. All humans were reservoirs of magic, though without an aegis no human could use theirs, and invaders saw humans’ magic as their rightful prey. If someone’s magic was drained, I didn’t think it regenerated naturally, so there had to be some other way of restoring it. I was pretty sure it wasn’t as simple as drinking down a tube of sanguinis sapiens.
I plugged my phone in, put on my pajamas—men’s extra-small button-up, more comfortable than a nightgown—and pulled out my journal. I’d been keeping it for about two months, after reading the diaries of several of Abernathy’s former custodians. I wasn’t great about writing every day, but I usually managed three or four times a week. I wrote what Malcolm had said about i
ncreased invader presence in the city, wrote about Hallstrom’s augury, then set the little book aside. It was bound in tan leather and looked very professional, not at all the kind of diary I’d choose for my own journal, if I were keeping one, which I wasn’t. I didn’t like the idea of my private journal making its way into the Athenaeum someday on the grounds that a custodian wasn’t allowed a personal life, or some other justification.
Maybe that was why I hadn’t found Silas Abernathy’s journal in the Athenaeum. He’d written a book about his travels after abdicating the custodianship, and I couldn’t believe he hadn’t written about his years as a custodian, but maybe he’d felt it was too personal to make public. I could certainly understand that.
I opened my journal again and wrote: My sister Cynthia is in town and wants me to show her around. I can’t imagine she won’t pry into my work life, which means I’ll have to work at keeping Abernathy’s nature secret. I wonder if other custodians, or magi, ever have to keep the magical world secret from family or close friends? It’s already hard enough keeping this from my family, and they aren’t inclined to pry. It probably wouldn’t be an issue. Cynthia would be in meetings all day, and Abernathy’s looked dull if you didn’t know its secret. No trouble at all.
I turned out the light and snuggled into bed. The rosebuds carved into the headboard looked blobby and ugly in the dim light from the window. No, that was my irritation talking. Hopefully tomorrow Malcolm would come with more information, and it would be a better day. It would be hard for it to be worse.
I woke to the sound of someone pounding on my apartment door. I blearily stumbled to it, remembering to peer through the newly-installed peephole before unlocking it. “Finally,” Judy said, pushing past me. “I should be grateful you’ve learned to lock your door, but mostly it’s just annoying.” She had a box of donuts and the air of someone with something on her mind.
I sat at the kitchen table opposite her and nibbled a maple-glazed donut. “What’s up?”
“Some interesting news, that’s what’s up.”
I dropped the donut. “Is Olivia okay?”
“Yes—wait, what about Olivia?”
“Malcolm told me last night she’d been badly hurt, but that she’d survive. You hadn’t heard?”
“No, but they’re Ambrosites, so I wouldn’t have.” Judy was as impartial as I was, but her being the daughter of the Nicollien leader meant she was privy to certain facts I wasn’t. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Campbell wouldn’t have told you unless that was the case.”
“So if it’s not about Olivia, what is it?”
Judy poured us both coffee, then took a bite out of a donut. “Someone died last night. Not a magus, just an ordinary person. Drained of her magic. But there weren’t any invaders in the area when the team showed up.”
“I take it that means something.”
“Invaders are slow. It’s how our magi are able to take them out so easily—well, not easily, but you know what I mean.”
“So what does it mean?”
Judy shrugged. “No clue. A new kind of invader? Father’s had his second in meetings all night, trying to work out what might have happened. And keep it from happening again.”
“I though Ms. Guittard was in Seattle.” Amber Guittard, a stone magus, was the Nicollien second-in-command in our area and a sweet-voiced woman I liked a lot more than I liked her boss.
“She was. She ward-stepped back last night for this. We had to weaken the wards of our house to allow her to move from Seattle to there.”
“Did Mr. Rasmussen tell Ryan Parish?”
Judy made a face and took a fierce bite out of her donut. “I don’t know. It all happened in Nicollien territory, so Father may think it only matters to them. He probably should tell him.”
“I could tell him.”
“You can’t. I’m telling you in strict confidence. I shouldn’t have said anything, except I wanted you to know Father will probably be in here this morning for an augury about the death. No more traffic than usual, otherwise—Father’s trying to keep it quiet. He’d pop a vein if he knew I’d told you privileged information.”
“All right.” More faction nonsense. I drank more coffee and grimaced. “Malcolm’s coming in for another augury this morning.”
“In the middle of Nicollien time?”
Her casual way of putting it, as if the Nicolliens had some God-given right to a chunk of my time, irritated me. “I told you I’m not going to hold anyone to that decision. And they respect Malcolm, even if some of them hate his guts.”
“Yes, but if he’s here when Father is—”
“They can behave like grownups. Mr. Rasmussen knows he has no authority over Abernathy’s.”
Judy shrugged. “It’s you who’s going to have to weather the fallout. If I were you, I’d call Campbell and warn him off.”
“Malcolm’s not afraid of Mr. Rasmussen.”
“No, but they hate each other. Like I said, it’s your problem, not mine.” Judy wiped her mouth and took her coffee cup to the sink to rinse it. “I’m going to work on the database. Shout if there’s a fight. I want a front-row seat.”
I ate another donut after she left and stared at my phone. Maybe Judy was right. I could at least warn Malcolm—no, that would mean being partial, unless I was equally willing to warn Rasmussen, which I wasn’t. Damn them all for being so touchy and stupid.
Judy had been only partly right; there were more Nicolliens at the door than usual when we opened at ten, but all of them were hunters wanting auguries to guide their teams, as Malcolm had suggested. I had to get them to form a line…maybe I needed one of those little wheels that spat out numbered tickets. I took the day’s first augury slip and walked into the oracle.
When I emerged, the store was deathly quiet, more quiet than the oracle had been. Everyone waiting for an augury had their attention fixed on Malcolm, who looked as composed as ever in a charcoal-gray suit with a cherry-red waistcoat and tie. The hostility was thick enough to swim through. I bit back a handful of harsh words and handed the book to the plump middle-aged woman waiting near the cash register. “It’s $300, Barbara,” I said. “Wait here and I’ll get Judy to take payment.”
I walked at a measured, calm pace toward the back of the store, went into the office, and shut the door behind me. “Malcolm’s out there and I think they want to eat him alive.”
“I warned you,” Judy said without looking up from the computer.
“Well, I need you to come take payments and fill out the receipts. There are a lot of them today.”
Judy shoved the chair back and stood, stretching like a cat. “It’s never boring here, at least.”
“That’s not true. It was really boring last Tuesday.”
“So I exaggerated. Mostly it’s not boring.”
The crowd hadn’t moved while I was gone. “Next,” I said, and escaped into the oracle.
When I returned the second time, the tension wasn’t quite as great, though all the Nicolliens eyed Malcolm like they were hoping he’d sprout fangs and attack someone. “Here you are,” I said to the augury’s recipient.
“This is supposed to be Nicollien time,” the man said. “Why don’t you—”
“Why don’t you tell me how to run Abernathy’s?” I said brightly. “Oh, wait, that’s none of your business. You all know the time restrictions your leader placed you under aren’t binding on me. And you’re all free to come here any time you like. As is Mr. Campbell. That will be $600. Judy will take your payment.”
The man snarled at me, and in the corner of my vision I saw Malcolm tense. I stood my ground, though my heart was beating a little too fast because the man was heavily muscled and taller than me. Slowly I crossed my arms over my chest and glared back. He might be an idiot, probably was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid enough to attack the custodian of Abernathy’s, especially on the premises. Finally he took the book from my hands and turned his back on me. I caught Malcolm’s eye and could almost fe
el him quivering with the desire to attack the man. It was nice to know he was still my defender, whatever else might have passed between us.
I did another four auguries before Malcolm handed me his slip. “I should have waited,” he murmured, “but once I was here, I couldn’t leave without looking as if they’d chased me out. I apologize if this makes trouble for you.”
“It’s no trouble, and don’t you dare let them frighten you.”
He smiled, an amused, sardonic expression. “‘Frighten’ is hardly the word I’d use.”
“Well, I thought ‘intimidate’ would be insulting.”
“Indeed.” He glanced over his shoulder at a beefy man and a tall, muscular woman who were glaring at us. “I believe they think I’m taking up too much time.”
“That just makes me want to spin out this conversation further. So, seen any good movies lately?”
His smile broadened. “Stop tormenting them,” he said, but I could tell he wanted to laugh.
It took me a while to find Malcolm’s augury, which turned out to be another volume of the child’s encyclopedia I’d given him the day before. We’d never had the full set, and it was looking increasingly scanty with all the gaps from the missing volumes. I checked the title page—still $450—and carried it back to the front counter. “It’s—” I began, then registered that the room, which had been still and tense before, had gone positively glacial. I put the book on the counter. “Mr. Rasmussen,” I said.
The tall, well-dressed man standing by the door inclined his head to me, for all the world like a king acknowledging an obeisance. His round-framed glasses made him look like a professor of some obscure discipline, but his eyes, light blue and cold, reminded you that he had power and was not afraid to use it. “Ms. Davies,” he said.
“Are you here for an augury? Because I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”
“I don’t mind,” said the short woman who was next in line after Malcolm. “I’m sure no one minds.”
The Book of Mayhem Page 3