I sat behind the counter and massaged the small of my back. A complete database of Abernathy’s customers would be nice, though I couldn’t immediately think how I’d use it aside from no longer having to write a repeat customer’s address every single time. Judy would probably have some ideas.
I stretched and kneaded out a particularly vicious knot just beside my spine. This afternoon hadn’t been too bad. Maybe good sense would win out, and everyone would stay calm, and Malcolm would catch the killer. He might even catch the guy tonight.
I was getting really good at optimism.
I came swimming out of a dream of dancing at prom with a faceless stranger to find the music hadn’t been just in my head. My phone was ringing in my bedside table drawer. I fumbled around in the darkness until I found it. Groggily, I said, “Hello?”
“Samantha Bannister is dead,” Judy said.
I fumbled my phone and peered at it, but couldn’t see the display clearly. “What time is it?”
“Who cares? Did you hear what I said?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“She’s a magus. An Ambrosite paper magus. Brittany and her team found her outside her house about an hour ago, drained of her magic.”
That woke me up fully. “Did they catch the killer?”
“If they had, I would’ve led with that.” Judy sounded exasperated with my slowness. “Don’t you see what this means?”
“The killer’s begun striking at magi.”
“And the Ambrosites are going to go crazy blaming the Nicolliens. It’s going to be war.”
“They wouldn’t be so stupid.”
“Of course they would. People don’t think with their brains when they’re angry. I wanted you to know in advance.”
I turned the clock on the nightstand to face me. “Judy, it’s not even six o’clock!”
“I’m sorry. I’m…honestly, I’m scared. I’ve never seen my father this furious. He and Brittany nearly came to blows, and I’m not totally sure she’d pull her punches. It’s not like it was her fault.”
“I bet she’s mad about it.” Brittany Spinelli was the Nicolliens’ top hunter, a steel magus nearly as good a fighter as Malcolm. At least, I thought Malcolm was better, but that could be my attraction talking.
“I think she was angrier with herself than anything else. I hope they catch the guy soon.”
“Me too. Is it cowardly for me to admit I’m grateful now the leaders imposed those time restrictions on their people? I don’t want to referee any fights.”
Judy sighed. “Let’s just hope Campbell is sensible enough to stay away.”
“He will,” I said, though I wasn’t sure. Malcolm’s singlemindedness when it came to hunting invaders meant he put his own safety second. I didn’t think he was in much danger, but I also didn’t want to see him torn apart by a mob even he couldn’t fight.
“I’m sorry I woke you. I needed to talk to someone who’s on the outside of all this.”
“Aren’t you on the outside, too?”
She let out a single hah of laughter. “Not as far as my father is concerned. He thinks he knows where my loyalties lie, but I’m trying to see both sides. Is it bad to wish the killer would take out a Nicollien magus next?”
“You don’t really think that.”
“No, I don’t. Not at all. But it would be nice for this not to be faction against faction.”
I sat up and leaned against my headboard. “I wonder if that’s the point.”
“What?”
“Maybe the killer is trying to build tension between the factions. Turn this into a civil war.”
Judy was silent for a moment. “It does look like that’s what’s happening, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a thought, anyway. I don’t know anything about the investigation to know if it’s likely.”
“I have to go,” Judy said. “I’m going to suggest the idea to my father. He’s so angry about the idiocy of the Ambrosites he’s not thinking clearly. He might be able to make use of this.”
“I’ll call Mal—” I squeezed my eyes shut until I saw spots. “I’ll call Mr. Parish and let him know. Maybe they can work together.”
“Good luck convincing Parish,” Judy said, and hung up.
I turned on my lamp and dropped my phone back into the drawer. Should I try calling Parish immediately? It was awfully early. I scowled and picked up my phone. Putting off an unpleasant task didn’t do anything but make it more miserable, and I was sure Parish was already awake, dealing with the death of one of his faction.
Parish picked up almost immediately. “Do you have good news?” he said, as if he’d been waiting for my call.
“Um…I don’t have an augury, if that’s what you mean. But I heard about Ms. Bannister’s murder and I—”
“I don’t have time for this, Ms. Davies.”
“Just listen! What if the killer is trying to increase tension between the factions? Start a war?”
“Nicolliens don’t need an excuse to fight.”
“Mr. Parish, most of them don’t hate Ambrosites. They’re able to get along with them. I’ve seen it in Abernathy’s”—or I did before you and your asinine policy—“and until this killer came along, everything was mostly peaceful. Doesn’t it look like someone’s going out of his way to make the Nicolliens into the enemy?”
“I think the Nicolliens aren’t sufficiently interested in rooting out the evil in their midst. That makes them the enemy. Thanks for your help, Ms. Davies. I’ll be by for an augury this afternoon.”
He disconnected, leaving me holding my phone to my ear with a rising desire to scream. So the entire faction was the enemy because of one rogue magus? For all Parish knew, it was a rogue Ambrosite with a hatred of Nicolliens who wanted to make them look like villains. I was leaning toward that theory myself. In either case, though, the killer was getting what he wanted—a war between magi. And I had no idea what that would look like.
I put away my phone and wearily dressed. There was no way I was getting back to sleep after that. I’d have breakfast, and then I’d…sit around waiting for the mail and the first rush of customers. There had to be something else I could do.
My phone rang again at about seven-thirty. “Hey, Hellie, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, Cynthia. What’s up?”
“Why should something have to be up for me to call my baby sister to chat?”
“Isn’t it a little early for a heart-to-heart?” I gritted my teeth at “baby sister.”
“I’m still mentally on east coast time. Anyway, I wanted to have dinner with you, just the two of us. Nothing fancy.”
“I…okay.” She’d have to leave soon, right? And then all these awkward attempts at bonding could end. “Where?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice, but not too nice, all right?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“It’ll be fun!”
I stared at my phone for a bit after she hung up. What did she think she was accomplishing? I caught sight of my manicured nails and sighed. She was trying, I’d give her that.
By eight thirty I was bored and frustrated. I’d cleaned every surface I could think of, had counted the cash in the till twice, reorganized the stash of sanguinis sapiens, and scrubbed the sink in the basement (wearing long purple rubber gloves to protect my beautiful nails). I eyed the remaining stack of paperwork sitting beside the computer, waiting to be entered. To hell with it. I called Malcolm.
“This is Campbell. Leave a message.”
“Hi, it’s Helena,” I said. The abruptness momentarily scattered my thoughts. “Um. I was thinking—suppose the killer is trying to start a war between the factions? I mean—you’ve probably already thought of that, but it sounds like nobody else has, so I thought…anyway, that’s all.” I hung up before I could make the call more personal. It was business between us, nothing else.
I called Jason. “Hey, hon,” he said. “I’m almost to work, so I can�
�t chat.”
“Oh.” I felt deflated and relieved at the same time. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“Just hearing your voice cheers me up. Want to get together tonight?”
“Sure, I—no, wait, I forgot my sister wants to have dinner tonight, just the two of us.”
He laughed. “Don’t sound so thrilled.”
“I’d rather be with you.”
“And that cheers me up further. I wish we could do lunch again, but it’s the weekly get-together where the guys from the office tempt fate by going out to eat without any women present. Someday someone’s going to sue for sexual discrimination, but until then it’s beer and brats down at the pub.”
“Have fun. I’ll talk to you later.”
With Viv at work and Judy probably still busy with her father, that exhausted my range of conversational possibilities. I could call my mother, but she’d just want to praise me for making friends with my sister, and I didn’t think I could stay civil for that. So I went into the stacks and picked a book at random, settled behind the counter, and read. It was a manual for refinishing bathrooms, boring and soothing, and following the instructions and diagrams, which were small and poorly printed, kept my mind occupied until Judy blew in at ten minutes to ten.
“Father sent me with instructions,” she said.
“I don’t take instructions from William Rasmussen,” I said, slamming my book closed.
“I know. I told him that. But some of his ideas make sense, and I thought it was worth showing them to you, let you decide if you wanted to use any of them.” Judy handed me a folded sheet of paper. “Also, he’s throwing a party tonight and you’re invited. It’s to show there’s no animosity toward Ambrosites on the part of the Nicolliens.”
“Who else is he inviting? Not Mr. Parish?”
“Yes, absolutely Mr. Parish, and a dozen other prominent Ambrosites. And Lucia, and some of the other neutrals who work for her.”
I unfolded the sheet of paper. “Oh, there is no way in hell I’m doing that,” I said. “Or that. And I don’t know if I should ban people just because they’re saying bad things about the other faction. Isn’t that a First Amendment right?”
“It’s up to you as custodian what kind of speech to allow.” Judy came around and read over my arm, being too short to see over my shoulder. “But I think reminding them that we’re all working for the same ultimate goal is a good idea.”
“I agree. I’m not good at making speeches, though.” I tossed the paper at the counter, where it slid across the glass and fluttered to the floor beside the stool.
“You are if you get riled enough. And I’m pretty sure they’ll rile you today.”
Memory struck. “Oh, no. The party’s tonight? I told my sister I’d have dinner with her.”
“Then you’ve got a good excuse to get out of it, haven’t you?”
“But I accepted her invitation first.”
Judy grabbed my forearm. “Helena, you have to come to this. Aside from Lucia, you’re the most prominent neutral power in the Pacific Northwest. If you don’t come, it’s like saying you agree with the Ambrosites. It will make things worse.”
I glanced at the front door. People were already lining up outside. I groaned. “You’re right. I’ll just have to put Cynthia off until tomorrow.” I pulled out my phone and texted her quickly, surprised at how guilty I felt about telling her no. I saw people tethering their familiars to the light post outside and groaned again, inwardly this time. Stupid as the theory that a familiar had done the killing was, I could sympathize with the Ambrosites who wanted to outlaw all of them.
Almost nobody wanted an augury. What they wanted was to talk—about the death of Bannister, about the threats many of them had received, about what Rasmussen was doing about it. It frightened me, how many of them had been threatened personally and not just about their familiars. All anonymous, of course, the cowards, but I couldn’t imagine that some of those letters didn’t come from magi who knew these Nicolliens and had been friendly to them up until now. Staying impartial was harder than ever when they wanted me to join in their damning of the Ambrosite faction.
“They’ve always hated us,” one man shouted to be heard over the others. “This is some Ambrosite with a grudge against Nicolliens, trying to make us all look bad. As if possessing a familiar makes someone evil enough to commit murder!”
“We need to do something about it!” cried another man. “Take the fight to them!”
There was general agreement to this. I felt the mood of the crowd grow angrier, verging on becoming a mob. Outside, familiars under the watchful gaze of two Nicollien steel magi howled.
“Stop it!” I shouted. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that you’re giving the killer exactly what he wants—discord between the factions?” I no longer cared whether my theory was true; at the moment, it made perfect sense. “There’s only one villain here, and the hunters will track him down. And then we’ll know for sure. But all the rest of you, Nicolliens and Ambrosites, you’re all innocent of everything except blaming each other.”
“The Ambrosites have been threatening us,” the first man said. “That’s not innocent.”
“Don’t expect me to believe Nicolliens haven’t done their share of threatening,” I said. “And before you go on, let me point out that I don’t care who started it. You’re all adults. You don’t have to respond to those threats. Let the hunters and Lucia deal with the problem.”
“You’re young, and you’re idealistic,” said an older woman near the back of the crowd. “You don’t understand this conflict.”
“Don’t I?” I felt anger rising within me. “I listen to you people—both factions—every day. Until two months ago you all came in here and mingled and got along just fine. If it’s idealistic to believe you’re capable of behaving like reasonable people, fine, I’m an idealist. But my way isn’t the one that will leave people bloody on the killing fields.”
“I’m not going to wait for someone to attack Belial,” said the first man. “I have a right to defend myself.”
“I agree,” I said. “But I’m not going to support you if you strike preemptively. And I’m not going to make Abernathy’s a place where you can stir each other up to violence. So unless you have an augury request, I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.”
Muttering, the crowd dispersed, leaving me with just one man holding an augury slip. When I returned with his book, the store was empty except for him. He was thin and short, wearing a T-shirt with a bulbous-looking spaceship on it and a really old pair of Birkenstocks, but his smile was unexpectedly charming and it comforted me.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
“Which part?”
“Not letting them get away with believing they’re justified in holding on to their anger. They’re good people, for the most part, but they’re scared, and scared people can do a lot of damage if they let their fears take over.”
“You’re sensible. Why don’t you tell them that?”
“I do. But I’m one of them. The Neutralities and their custodians have tremendous influence on the magical community in part because they stand outside the factionalism. I think secretly most people on both sides wish the conflict could end. But now that there’s almost no one left who remembers what it was like before Marie Nicollier and Frank Ambrose went to war over familiars, it’s easy to think this is all it will ever be.” He smiled ruefully. “And to think Nicollier and Ambrose were the best of friends once.”
“Sometimes best friends make the worst enemies.”
“That’s well said. I may steal it from you.” His smile went mischievous, and I laughed and waved goodbye to him.
“Jeremiah’s a good guy, even if he does have weird ideas about his familiar,” Judy said from behind me. I startled. She was nearly as good at sneaking up on people as Malcolm.
“What weird ideas?”
“Hmm, not so much weird as uncommon. He treats
his like a tool instead of a pet, like most Nicolliens.”
“I don’t think that’s weird at all. It’s how I’d look at them, if I had to have one. There won’t be any familiars at the party tonight, will there?”
Judy shook her head. “No. Father wants to downplay their existence for now. No sense rubbing in the key point of contention.”
“That’s a relief.” My phone buzzed. THANK YOU, Malcolm texted. That was all. I tried not to feel disappointed. “Now, why don’t we see if we can finish that database and take it for a spin?”
9
The Rasmussens’ home was a white two-story antebellum structure, complete with pillars, that would have looked more comfortable in the center of a plantation. It wasn’t large enough to be overwhelmingly grand, and the long cracks in the driveway made it seem more human, but it still dominated its corner of the block. I parked my car a few places down the street and walked back along the sidewalk to the front door. Several other cars, most of them much nicer than my ancient Honda Civic, were parked in front of the house and in the driveway. I rang the doorbell and waited.
Immediately the door opened. A white-haired gentleman in a conservative suit and white gloves far too warm for this weather greeted me with a gracious nod. “Please go through the hall and past the sitting room to the patio.”
Awed, I did as he said. A staircase circled the round entry to the second floor, and past that was a long hall extending through the house. The hall was tiled in giant squares of granite and rose two stories above my head. Impressionist paintings I hoped were reproductions hung along the walls, bright blotches of color against the stark white.
I passed an opening that led to a sunken living room done in contemporary Scandinavian décor except for a black baby grand piano in the far corner. Did Judy play, or had it belonged to her mother, who’d died seven years ago? Judy never talked about her, so all I knew was her death had been of illness and not anything connected to the Long War. I couldn’t imagine Rasmussen doing anything so nonviolent and tranquil as playing the piano.
The Book of Mayhem Page 9