Vance headed inside, shutting the door most of the way but leaving it open a crack. I had a feeling that was an olive branch to Ethan. Ethan’s eyes met mine, and I had never seen him look so serious. “Just be careful,” Ethan said. “I don't want you to get caught in something you can't get out of.”
“You think that's a problem?” I asked, worried.
Ethan looked at me, his eyes concerned. “I don't quite know what to think, when it comes to you.”
I was still trying to figure out if that was a compliment or not when he disappeared inside, the door shutting with a click.
“You think a lot,” Mocha observed.
“Yep,” I said, sounding almost absent about it.
“Let's go,” Mocha said, giving me probably what was close to an order.
I glanced at her in surprise. “Let's go do what he said.” Her tone was unusually warm. “That’s all we can do.”
“So you can be wise,” I teased.
“Sometimes,” she said dryly. “Now stop procrastinating. We have work to do.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Vance can be stubborn,” Wren admitted. “You're not the first person to have a run in with him.”
“Then why—”
“—does Ethan like him?” she finished, her smile understanding. “That's a story he'll have to tell you.”
I nodded, respecting that.
“We all have our stories,” Wren said, distant. Then she shook her head, as if trying to banish the thoughts. I poured her more coffee. A coffee maker had been one of the first things I had bought for the apartment.
“So,” I said, my voice trailing off as I struggled to change the topic. “Lettie raised you?”
“Lettie took my mom in,” she said. “And Sam, and Lizbeth. It's how we met.”
I nodded. “I wonder why my mom left.” That was putting it politely.
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” she said, her voice sad. “If anything, it might give my mom some peace.”
“What do you mean?” I stopped, leaning back in my chair at the card table that served as a dining room table at the moment.
“I think my mom blames herself,” she said simply.
“For what?”
“For your mom disappearing,” she said.
“But she didn’t have anything to do with that.” As far as I knew, anyway.
Wren laughed. “Feelings aren’t always logical.”
I made a face, because I could understand that, of all things. “I wish I'd known her when she lived here,” I said, and I meant it more than I thought I would.
“You can make your own memories here,” Wren said, taking a sip of coffee. Then her eyes were on me. “Do you want to learn more about your house?”
“My house?” I glanced around at it, apprehensive. Was a dead body going to jump out of the walls or something?
“Now that you can do magic.”
“Addie taught me.” I wasn’t sure what Wren was referring to.
“I can probably add to that.” Wren sounded confident. “Did she teach you about the storage space?”
“Nope.” Now I was curious. Maximizing space in a small apartment was always difficult.
“Follow me.” Wren stood, heading into the kitchen. She went to the silverware drawer, pulled it out and felt underneath it. Then Wren looked at the ceiling. I followed, baffled. I didn’t see anything, but I could hear her fingers tapping rhythmically against the underside of the drawer.
“What are we looking for?” I asked politely, lost.
“It's a rune release,” she said. She cackled when a small click sounded. “I haven’t taught you about them yet, but it will give you access to this.”
I dodged as a large cupboard slid out from the wall, revealing a second space behind it. A large, well organized empty space. Inside were some bottles, and it had the potential to be something like a very nice spice cupboard.
“Are there any more of these?” I glanced around my apartment. Okay, part of my brain immediately went to someone hiding in those like the crime show watcher I was. But I shut that down. “What about the bedroom?”
“Come here so you can see what it feels like to find these,” Wren instructed.
I obediently headed towards her, letting her push back the drawer before I felt underneath it. I recognized the runes almost immediately, like an electric shock zapping my fingers when I touched them. It was surprisingly easy to feel, and it made me wonder if I’d felt it before.
“Not what I expected,” I admitted.
The wood was smooth, but just under the tips of my fingers, I could feel faint etchings. Mentally I traced them, careful not to apply too much pressure.
“Release,” I said. I traced the other one, following the circle that it was embedded in. I didn’t recognize it. There were a couple of loops, but a diagonal bar, too. It didn't fit any of the runes I'd studied. “What's this?” I asked.
“It's an historic rune,” Wren said. “It's kind of like – like an owner’s signature.”
“Signature?” I let go of the runes, looking at Wren. Maybe that could give us a clue on who owned the place before me.
She nodded. “It's something that the maker left behind.”
“Cool.” And I meant it.
I led the way to my bedroom, hands propped on my hips as I tried to figure out which furniture to start with. I was mostly grateful at that point that I hadn’t gotten rid of anything. I started by my bed, figuring if I was going to find something, it would probably be there.
“Will the runes always be easy to see?” I asked, pulling out the bedside drawer.
“Not always,” she said. “One of my specialties is things that are hidden. So for me, I was able to see what was there, but also what wasn't.”
I nodded, feeling around underneath the drawer. I could tell that I was on to something, even though if she'd asked me, I couldn't have told her why. It just felt like I was moving in the right direction.
“Wait.” My heart started racing, the electricity starting to sing up my fingers. I could feel the faintest hint of magic, almost like a scratch in the smooth wood. Mentally I ordered it to stop playing around, to show me where it was already.
The etchings became clearer, understandable. Even though I wasn’t looking at the bottom of the drawer, I could see them in my mind’s eye. I didn’t know these runes, either, but there was something about them that was familiar.
“Loss?” I asked, frowning. It definitely wasn't a rune I’d covered in any of my classes. But that was the sense I got from it.
“Loss?” Wren asked.
“I don't know why I think that,” I said.
“Here, let me try.” Wren took my spot, quiet while she tried to find what I had found. She looked at me, surprised. “You're right,” she said, glancing at me. “You shouldn't be able to recognize it.” She frowned, tracing them again. “I can barely feel the marks.”
“Maybe I just got lucky,” I said, feeling awkward.
She was frowning now. “I can’t get it to open.”
“Can I try?” I asked, moving forward. I had no idea if I could actually get it to work, but I figured it was worth a try.
“Go for it,” she said, moving back.
Not exactly sure where that was coming from, I traced the runes again, taking a deep breath.
“You know what to do,” Mocha said, and her steady voice caught me off guard. I flinched, scraping my fingernails against the wood of the door. That was what did it, much to my surprise.
“There's another one,” I said, surprised.
“What do you mean?” Wren asked.
I felt my way around the final symbol, tracing it with my finger. There was a warm indentation, and I didn’t know why, but it just felt right to push my finger in there.
The wood bent, becoming soft, almost like a wet towel.
A door shot out from underneath the main drawer, falling to the floor. It was covered in papers and photos, most of them blank
.
Wren and I stared at it in shock.
“What’re these?” I asked, picking them up and looking at them.
“No idea,” she said, looking at them over my shoulder and picking up a few of her own.
Between the two of us we got them spread out on top of my dresser, in something of an order.
“They seem to be property documents,” Wren said, frowning. “Historical ones. This apartment apparently once belonged to Mildred’s family, but a hundred years ago.” Another piece of paper had slipped out from between the ones she was moving.
I bent down to pick it up. Then I froze. “It's a baby,” I said. It was a small infant, swaddled up in a bassinet, the photo black and white. I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. You could see faint shadows of hands reaching out to the baby, the movement apparently affectionate.
I flipped it over, and all that was written on the back was a small heart.
“Any idea?” I asked weakly.
“Nope,” Wren said, looking just as surprised as I was.
“Should we show this to your mom?” I asked, clutching the photo a bit tight around the edges.
Wren hesitated, and then shook her head. “She’s got a lot going on,” she said hesitantly.
I wasn't sure why, but I was relieved.
“Maybe it's nothing,” Wren said. But she seemed about as convinced as I was.
This was the key to something, I just didn't know what it was. I stared at the photo of the baby, willing it to tell me its secrets.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I wish I could say I'd learned as a child not to stick my nose in other people's business. But that would be a flat out lie. I stood in front of the library, wondering exactly when I had become such a masochist. At least this time it wasn’t for the case? I didn't know if Vance would talk to me again, but I wanted to know more about who'd owned the apartment before me. Who could have possibly accessed the apartment’s magic and stored that photo there?
"All right," I said, trying to pep myself up.
I could hear Mocha snort, although I couldn’t see her because she was sprawled out in the back seat of my car, enjoying the last rays of the sun.
"Thanks for the encouragement," I said dryly.
"Don't mention it," Mocha said lazily. I saw the tip of her tail as she stretched before settling back down.
I shot her a glare, like she could see it. My fingers were drumming against my thighs, a nervous habit. The library hadn’t felt intimidating, but after the near-confrontation a few nights ago, I was nervous. Plus, I’d always had a healthy respect for a place that gave you free books. It was like free education.
"Right," I said. “You can do it.”
"If you keep talking to yourself, people are going to think you’re weird," Mocha said.
“And if I keep talking to you, people will think I’m crazy.” Even though I was mostly talking in my head.
“That’s fun,” Mocha said absently.
I turned and gave her a look. "You're not helpful.”
“Not meaning to be,” Mocha said airily. “They’ve noticed you out here, so you should probably go in before they call the cops.”
Great. The absolute last thing I needed was someone thinking I was a stalker.
I headed inside, looking around for the desk that I'd seen Vance at a few days before. He wasn't there, not that I was really surprised about it. With Yanis’s name coming up on the list, and then the fight with Ethan, I would have been more surprised than not to find Vance there.
Although whether he’d run when he saw me coming, or he just hadn’t come in at all, I wasn't really sure. Instead, there was a bright faced young woman at his desk, her smile wide when she saw me approaching.
"How can I help you?" she asked.
"I was looking for Vance?" I asked politely.
"He’s out sick today," she said cheerfully. "I'm Russke, can I help you?"
I floundered, my mouth open too long as I scrambled with what to say. Was there a signal for who knew about magic? A codeword? Did I just assume they didn’t?
"I'm wondering if the records say who lived in my apartment before me?" I asked.
"What apartment?" she asked, settling back at the desk and pulling up a browser window.
"One of the ones above the coffee shop. BF.”
I saw her eyes light up. "You're Lou.”
I winced, not sure what was coming. “Yes.”
"We don't often get folks like you," she said conversationally, typing at the computer.
No falling rocks, nothing. "Like me?" I asked. I was extra curious now, what she had meant by that. Magic, or something else?
“That don't know they’re magic," she clarified.
Bingo. "Are you –"
"Magic? Nah." Russke didn't seem bothered by that at all. "The gene skipped me, and I'm fine with that.”
I hadn’t even been aware that was a thing. Although now that she mentioned it, it really wasn't that surprising, magic being genetic. I was more surprised that it could skip someone. I would have assumed it was a dominant trait.
“It looks like it was left to Samantha Danvers," Russke said. " Or did you mean before her?"
“Mom left it to me in her will," I said. "What I don't know is who gave it to her in the first place. Or she how she got it.”
Russke nodded, thoughtful, and tapped on the keyboard a few more times. Then her brow creased, irritation causing her to type with more pressure than she had originally. The light clicks were turning into clacks.
I swore I heard a growl.
“You okay?” I asked, alarmed.
“The information seems to have been deleted from our database," she said. She was looking like whomever had done so was going to be ripped to pieces, if she got her hands on them. Maybe magic had skipped her, but something else hadn’t.
“What do you mean?”
"It means wherever the information was, it's been deleted.” She looked annoyed. "Whether somebody’s been messing with my database, or if it was completely unintentional, I'm not thrilled.” Her eyes were narrowed slits. “Be rest assured, I’ll find them.”
Witch or not, I liked her fiery personality. "You're a librarian?"
"I'm not crazy enough to want to do this job full time," she said with a wave of her hand. "That's only for people crazier than me.”
I glanced at the quiet library. “Crazy?”
Russke’s smile was crooked. “This is a slow day, trust me.”
I was going to. If it was anything like the rest of the town, it could mean chaos. "Is there any other place we can look?" I asked.
Russke stood, heading towards a dusty section that I hadn’t been to before. "Maybe the paper records," she said, although I wasn't really heartened by the fact that she didn't sound very optimistic.
It took her a few minutes of paper shuffling before she came back, shaking her head. "No," she said, her lips tight. "They're gone too."
"You’ve lived here your whole life?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
She nodded, although I could see she still looked distracted. "My mom semi-grew up here," she said. "Originally thought about moving, but it's just too close to a convenient place," she said with a shrug. "Besides, my sister’s got a job here now, and Mom wouldn't try and move the family away from that, either.”
The single child in me was envious. My mother had been my only family tie, the main reason I had stayed in one place. I didn’t have that any more. “Semi-grew up here?”
“Moved here when she was young, then moved away before she had us. Then she moved back.” Russke sank back in her office chair, her lips pursed. She was listening, but still seemed to be wracking her brain.
“How did you find out about magic?" I asked, thinking about Miles. Beyond him being cute, it had become obvious that he was going to be around, and I might as well get used to him. Or something.
She looked at me, her gaze coy enough that I wondered which of my aunts or co
usins she knew. "I took an aptitude test," she said. "They give it to all children of magical parents or lineage to test for signs of magic.”
"And you didn't –" I wasn't sure how to phrase it.
"No traditional magic," she said with a shrug. Then she stood, circling in a way that somehow looked majestic and drew attention to the whole library around her. "I'm not magic in the usual sense, but I can keep track of everything in here better than Vance can, and he uses magic.” There was a faint smile on her face. "We all have our own gifts.”
“Your parents are magic?” My respect for her increased. There seemed to be more to her than met the eye.
“Yes,” she said. “And my sister. I’m the odd one out.”
Quiet fell, but it was companionable, her tapping on her computer and me standing there. "Do you know Yanis?" I asked, figuring more information never hurt.
"I know of him," Russke said. "Why?"
“He seems to be a polarizing figure," I said. “And he came up in the investigation.”
"There's a lot of rumors around him," she said. "I don't know how many are true."
“But you know what they are?" I asked.
A brief nod. “But it’s my policy to not discuss gossip.”
Disappointed, I tried to figure out anything else I wanted to ask her about. "Oh," I said, feeling for the copy of the photo that I carried with me. I wasn't carrying the original thing around, paranoid creature that I was. "Do you recognize the child in this?"
Russke peered closely, her eyebrows furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't," she said. "Should I? That seems to be a really old photo."
I pocketed the photo. "I don't know,” I said honestly.
“Is there a date on it?” Russke glanced at my pocket.
I shook my head. “Just a heart on the back.”
Russke wiggled her fingers at me. It took me a second, but I handed her the photo. She took a long look at the back, then at the front, then repeated the action. “It’s a polaroid,” she said thoughtfully. “I recognize the printing, it’s a local company that went out of business in the mid-seventies.”
“So the photo really is old.”
“Very.” Russke hummed. “I’ll look into it and see what I can find about the photo and your place.”
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