The Book of Mayhem

by Melissa McShane

  I texted back EVERYTHING. COME FOR LUNCH?

  I realized after getting her YES reply that I couldn’t talk to her freely in front of Judy—couldn’t tell Judy Malcolm had been here at all—but I needed comfort and reassurance so desperately I was willing to think of ways to get Judy out of the store for even a few minutes. Because my evening was going to be full.

  I took a deep breath and tapped Jason’s name. I would give anything not to have this conversation tonight, but it was past time I was honest with both of us. CAN I MEET YOU AT YOUR PLACE AFTER WORK? I typed. WE HAVE TO TALK.

  13

  Abernathy’s felt colder than usual, with a wintry chill in the air that matched the chill in my heart. I should have been grateful for it; it was going to be an unusually hot day. I trudged through the store to the front door, wishing I’d dressed more warmly. There was already a line outside of people peering through the store window. Someone banged impatiently on the door. I felt like flipping her off, but tensions were already high and I didn’t want to antagonize my customers further.

  I flipped the sign to OPEN and unlocked the door. “Finally,” said Brittany Spinelli, pushing past me. “Don’t you understand what’s at stake?”

  “I’m sorry for the delay,” I said, and held out my hand for her augury slip. “Everyone please form an orderly line, and we’ll do this as quickly as possible.”

  “You’d better,” Brittany said. “That bastard could have fled the country already.”

  “Campbell’s not that sensible,” said a man farther back in the line. “He’ll want Will Rasmussen next.”

  I felt tears prick my eyes, and fled into the oracle before they could betray me. Once inside, I unfolded the paper. How do I kill Malcolm Campbell?

  I’d known what they were all here for, but seeing it laid out so baldly in sharp, pointed black letters made me feel even colder. I looked around. This was a question the oracle shouldn’t answer, and to my relief the oracle’s light was blood-red like the light of a dying sun. No augury. I blotted my eyes and waited a few minutes to regain my composure, then went back into the store.

  “There’s no augury,” I told Brittany, handing back her slip.

  “What?” Brittany’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

  “The oracle won’t tell you how to kill someone,” I said, pitching my voice to carry over the low murmurs of conversation. “So don’t bother asking.”

  The noise swelled into shouting, some yelling at each other, some yelling at me. I stood my ground until someone called out, “You’re defending him, aren’t you? I’ll see you before a tribunal for violating the Accords!”

  “I’m sworn to be impartial, and to carry out the will of the oracle,” I said. “It’s true I think you’re wrong to try to enact vigilante justice when Lucia is carrying out the investigation. But I’ll serve as I’ve promised no matter what those auguries say.” I felt my throat close up on those last words and swallowed hard.

  “Campbell deserves death for what he’s done,” Brittany said. “Amber was a good woman, and he slaughtered her like an animal.”

  “Then the investigation will prove that. Unless you think Lucia Pontarelli should go before a tribunal for not finding the results you’ve already decided are true. Now—if you have a valid request, I’ll take it. Otherwise, get out of my store.”

  Brittany stared me down. She was several inches taller than me and muscled like a bodybuilder, and I had a moment’s fear that she might attack me, she looked that furious. I kept my expression calm and determined, ignoring how sweaty my palms felt. What would I do if she hit me? Lie on the floor bleeding, probably. That angered me, that knowledge that I was helpless against her, helpless to save myself or to help Malcolm. My anger buoyed me up, and I stared back at her, daring her to strike.

  Finally, she spat out a blistering curse and turned away. “I want another augury,” she said.

  “You’ll have to go to the end of the line,” I said. Fury flashed across her face again, but she stormed off, shoving people out of her way. I took the augury slip from the next man in line. Where do I find Malcolm Campbell? I ignored the despair filling my heart and walked into the oracle.

  All morning, the requests were variations on a theme:

  Where is Campbell?

  What do I do to find Malcolm Campbell?

  Where is Campbell hiding?

  When will Campbell kill next?

  After the third augury, I was numb with fear and horror. With my barely-formed faith I prayed, every time I entered the oracle, to see the blood-red glow of no augury. The blue-tinged light that had formerly filled me with such joy now seemed a harbinger of doom. Every book I took from the shelves bore the potential for Malcolm’s death.

  By the seventh augury I wanted to break down and cry at how I was contributing to this deadly hunt for the man I loved. One of these hunters would interpret their augury, and find Malcolm, and then someone would die. And if it was him…

  I leaned against a bookcase, pressed my face against the unfinished yellow wood, and breathed in the smell of pine and old paper. “Why are you helping them?” I whispered. “They want to kill him. Isn’t that crime enough for you to prevent?”

  Silence. The oracle never spoke except through its auguries—and once when it was in extreme distress. Of course my turmoil meant nothing to it. “Answer me!” I screamed. “Say something that will help me make sense of this!”

  The bookcases swallowed my voice. Motes of dust floated through the blue-tinged sunlight. Peace, unexpected and surprising, touched my heart. I shoved it away. I didn’t want to feel peaceful. I wanted to rage and throw books and scream until my throat was raw. I flung the augury I held away to ricochet off a shelf, knocking three more books over. “I need an answer,” I said. My words came out choked with tears. “Just one sign that I’m not contributing to a man’s death.”

  I heard a sighing as of a great wind, though I felt nothing. A few more books toppled. Once again the feeling of peace came to me, easing my troubled heart. I closed my eyes and listened to the wind, imagining I could hear voices. They were unintelligible, speaking gibberish, but I felt less alone. “It’s not enough,” I whispered, wiping away more tears, but my fear for Malcolm and the pain I felt were draining away.

  I opened my eyes and walked over to where the augury had fallen atop two other books I’d knocked off the shelf. One was a battered copy of a Julia Child cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume 2. The other was much smaller, as big as my two palms side by side and as fat as Abernathy’s instruction manual. Its spine was blank, and the numbers 1937-1939 were imprinted on the cover.

  Curious, I opened the book at random. It was handwritten, not printed, and it seemed to be a diary. December 17, 1937: The fad for aug. fam. prophecies continues. People are buying them as Christmas gifts for relatives, which strikes me as unorthodox and potentially frivolous. But the oracle fulfills their requests, so I must conclude it doesn’t object to being used in this way. I like to pretend I feel its amusement every time one of these requests appears. Does the oracle understand our humanity, our frailties and flaws?

  I dropped the book in shock, then dove to retrieve it, hoping two impacts with the floor hadn’t damaged it. Hands trembling, I turned to the first page. Written in very dark letters across the faint lines like notepaper were the words The Diary of Silas Abernathy, 1937 to 1939.

  I clutched the book to my chest and closed my eyes again. “If this is an answer, thank you,” I whispered. I wasn’t allowed to request auguries on my own behalf, as that would violate the Accords, but there was nothing that said the oracle might not take pity on a custodian in extreme distress. Or it’s a coincidence. But some things are too big for coincidence.

  I retrieved the augury and brought it back to the customer, who had his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s about time,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Be polite, or I’ll take it back.”

  “You can’t do that
.”

  All my fears for Malcolm, all my pain at my current situation, drifted at a distance. I was still heartsore, but something bigger than myself had taken hold of me and was buoying me up. “Watch me,” I said, putting steel into my words, and was cheered further to see him recoil. Tentatively, he took the book from my hand and offered me an envelope full of twenties. Abernathy’s was making good money off the Nicollien vendetta; I hadn’t yet sold an augury for less than $2000. If they wanted to find Malcolm, they were going to have to work hard to do it.

  The door slammed open. Judy blew through it, storming past people and forcing them to step aside. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. Her voice was flat, lacking in its usual fire, and she looked as if she’d been crying. I could hardly blame her. She snatched the envelope out of my hand and grabbed the ledger and receipt book from where they lay on the counter. “I’ll handle this. You do the next augury.”

  I set Silas’s diary on the counter below the cash register and took the next augury slip. Where is Campbell hiding? It wasn’t as emotionally difficult to read as the last one. I had Silas’s diary. Everything was going to be all right.

  I did nearly forty auguries before one o’clock, when the last Nicollien went away satisfied. It felt as if the oracle was trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible, though I couldn’t imagine why. It was surely as indifferent to Malcolm’s fate as it was to every other inquiry. Or was I wrong about that? If it was alive, as I suspected, it might have hopes and fears the way every sapient creature did.

  I slumped against the counter and picked up Silas’s book. It was covered in textured tan suede with little gold brackets capping the corners, and the words were imprinted in gold the way his other book, Reflections, was. I stroked the cover. It was like petting a mouse. It even felt warm to the touch, warmer than the shelf it had been lying on.

  “That’s the last of them,” Judy said, emerging from the back hall. “I hope one of them gets lucky.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “You’d better not defend him. I don’t give a damn about your hopeless crush right now. He killed Amber and I want him to suffer.”

  The pain I’d been holding at a distance descended again. “Lucia will handle it.”

  “She’s always liked Campbell. She won’t stay impartial any more than you will.”

  “Shut up!” I shouted. Judy took a step backward in surprise. “Don’t you dare accuse either of us of failing in our duty. I just spent three hours helping people who want to kill someone I…care about. You think it didn’t occur to me to lie? To give them the wrong book?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You damn well did mean just that. If anyone’s failing to stay impartial around here, it’s you. You’re hurt, and suddenly that means your promises fly out the window. I guess you were really a Nicollien all along, weren’t you?”

  Judy’s lips compressed in a tight, angry line. “It’s not the same.”

  “It’s exactly the same.”

  The door swung open. “Hey,” Viv said, “sorry I’m…is something wrong?”

  “Judy was just leaving,” I said. “She’s going out to lunch, and she’s going to think about what I said. And she might come back afterward.”

  Judy glared at me. “It’s your store,” she snarled, and pushed past Viv and out the door, making the bells jangle so hard I thought they might fly off. I slumped against the counter and buried my face in my hands.

  “Wow, what did I walk into?” Viv put her enormous tote on the counter and leaned against the cash register.

  “So much has happened, Viv, and I’m glad I fought with Judy because half of it I can’t tell her.”

  “A story! I’d be more excited if I could see your face. You don’t sound happy.”

  I lifted my head. “Malcolm killed someone. A powerful Nicollien.”

  Viv whistled. “He’s an Ambrosite, right? I can’t believe they’re not all in here, wanting to find him.”

  “They were. It’s been a busy morning. But that’s not it. I gave Malcolm shelter last night, and he told—”

  “What do you mean, gave him shelter? Did he sleep in your apartment?”

  “On the couch. Stay focused. He told me he killed Ms. Guittard because she was one of the serial killers.”

  “She what? What do you mean, one of the killers?”

  “Just that. Malcolm tracked her down and confronted her, and he had to kill her to defend himself. But nobody knows the truth, so he’s on the run.”

  “What’s Lucia doing?”

  “Trying to find him before the Nicolliens do.”

  “You have to tell her what you learned.”

  “You have no idea how much trouble I’d be in for not calling her the second Malcolm showed up. Besides, I have no proof of Malcolm’s story, just what he told me. It wouldn’t make any difference. And the Nicolliens aren’t listening to reason.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me. He was gone before I woke this morning.” The memory of last night surfaced, and I cringed inside.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Viv knew me too well.

  “I did something stupid. I kissed Malcolm.”

  Viv gasped. “You did not. What did he do?”

  “Sat there like a statue and then sent me away to my bed. Viv, I’m so embarrassed. I thought he…and I was so wrong.”

  “Helena, what about Jason?”

  “That makes it a hundred times worse. I didn’t think about him at all. I was ready to sleep with Malcolm and I totally forgot I have a boyfriend. What kind of awful person does that make me?”

  “One who’s in love with someone she can’t have.”

  Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I thought I was over him because I had Jason, but the truth is I’ve never let Jason in the way I would if I really cared about him. I’ve been dreading the day he tells me he loves me, because I don’t feel that way about him. And that’s not going to change even though Malcolm and I can never be together.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  I remembered kissing Malcolm and the tears fell harder. “Positive.”

  Viv hugged me while I cried. “You’re not an awful person,” she said. “You made a mistake, that’s all. Jason was your rebound guy, and we all know how badly those relationships can turn out.”

  I wiped my eyes with the tissue she handed me. “That’s nice of you to say, but I think I knew on some level that I was using Jason as a substitute for what I couldn’t have. I should never have done that.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “What I have to. Break up with him. I’m so afraid, Viv. I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “No way to avoid that. Get it over with quickly, that’s the best way.”

  “I wish I could have you do it for me. You’re experienced at letting a guy down easy.”

  Viv pulled an injured face. “I think there’s an insult in there somewhere.”

  I laughed. “You know there isn’t.”

  “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and get something to eat. It’s like raiding the refrigerator of the gods, what with all the food your mother gives you.”

  We collected our meals (veal parmigiana for me, baked ziti for Viv) and retreated to the break room in case someone came in. “So were you arguing with Judy over Malcolm?” Viv asked.

  “She’s siding with the Nicolliens and accused me of not being impartial.”

  “She’s just upset. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

  “Maybe, but she needs to remember as long as she’s working here, she can’t take sides either. Ms. Guittard was a close friend of hers, and she’s hurt and angry and wants vengeance.”

  “So you definitely can’t tell her about Malcolm.”

  I forked up a bite and stuffed it into my mouth. “Nope,” I said around my food.

  “That’s gross. I don’t need to see what you’re chewing.”

  “Then don’t look.”


  I heard the door open, and quickly swallowed and rose from the table. “Can I help you?” I said to the short, thin man standing just inside the door. He wore a T-shirt with a Ravenclaw House crest and a really old pair of Birkenstocks. I vaguely remembered seeing him before.

  “I’d like to use my safe deposit box,” he said with a pleasant smile that warmed me. “It looks like I missed the rush.”

  “It was busy here just an hour ago,” I said. “Please follow me.”

  In the basement, I looked up his name in the safe deposit ledger. “Jeremiah Washburn,” I said. “Box G-243. That’s one of the big ones.”

  “Probably too big, but I believe in being prepared.” He inserted his key next to mine, and I pulled the box free and staggered under its weight. Washburn helped me get it onto the table. He was stronger than he looked.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

  “It’s why Abernathy’s is here. Well, not really. Abernathy’s is here because of the oracle. But the safe deposit boxes are important to the magical community. So I don’t mind.”

  Washburn put his hand on the lid of the box, and I turned away to give him some privacy. “Ms. Davies,” he said, stopping me, “what do you think of all this? The murders?”

  “I…don’t know what to think,” I stammered, caught off-guard by the question. “I know Mal—Mr. Campbell’s team was close to catching the killer. At least, that’s what they told me.”

  “Which makes Malcolm Campbell’s killing of Amber Guittard mysterious, don’t you think?”

  “I…suppose so.” How much could I reveal? I still felt bound to keep Malcolm’s secrets, whatever else had passed between us.

  “Very mysterious. I think it’s unfortunate that so many magi have let anger and hatred blind them to pursuing our real enemy.”

  “I agree. This morning all of them wanted auguries so they could track down Mr. Campbell.”

  “Which you were forced to give them.” Washburn smiled again. It was guileless, empty of hate, and it reminded me of Derrick’s smile, though the two men couldn’t be more dissimilar otherwise. “I honor you for it.”