Grimoires and Where to Find Them (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 6)
Author: Raconteur, Honor
Date: 2021-04-30
Keywords: The Case Files of Henri Davenport
Publisher: Raconteur House LLC

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Acknowledgement

Acknowledgements

Report 01: Never Take Henri to a Book Faire

Report 02: An "Easy" Case

Report 03: Digging Up Clues

Report 04: Henri Has Friends

Report 05: Interviews

Report 06: Henri Has More Friends!

Report 07: The Game's Afoot

Report 08: Brilliance and Insanity

Henri's Additional Report 1.5: Frustrations

Report 09: Rabbiting

Report 10: Why Do They Always Run?

Report 11: I Don't Want More Complications

Report 12: No

Report 13: An Evening In

Report 14: Plot Twist

Report 15: Walls Should Not Do That

Report 16: Melting Walls are Not for the Faint of Heart

Report 17: Damage Report

Report 18: Stupid is Costly

Report 19: Aliases

Jamie's Additional Report 3.0: Strawberries!

Report 20: Aftermath

Report 21: The Scheme

Report 22: The Plan

Report 23: Uh, Are We Ready for This?

Report 24: A Very Long Night

Final Report: Strawberry Extravaganza

Jamei's Notes to Herself

Thanks for reading the latest Case Files! Interested in more Honor?

Other books by Honor Raconteur Published by Raconteur House

Dear Reader,

Published by Raconteur House

Murfreesboro, TN

THE CASE FILES OF HENRI DAVENFORTH: Grimoires and Where to Find Them

Case Files 6

A Raconteur House book/ published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2021 by Honor Raconteur

Cover by Katie Griffin

Clockwork spare parts by donatas1205/Shutterstock; male man toilet WC by yougifted/Shutterstock; Orbits of Destiny series. Abstract design made of sacred symbols, signs, geometry and designs on the subject of astrology, alchemy, magic, witchcraft and fortune telling by agsandrew/Shutterstock; Shiny yellow leaf gold foil texture background by janniwet/Shutterstock

This book is a work of fiction, so please treat it like a work of fiction. Seriously. References to real people, dead people, good guys, bad guys, stupid politicians, companies, restaurants, cats with attitudes, events, products, dragons, locations, pop culture references, or wacky historical events are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Or because I wanted it in the story. Characters, names, story, location, dialogue, weird humor, and strange incidents all come from the author’s very fertile imagination and are not to be construed as real. No, I don’t believe in killing off main characters. Villains are a totally different story.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

Purchase only authorized editions.

For information address: www.raconteurhouse.com

A lot of people made this book happen. In no particular order – my editor, Ash, who bore with my many, many timeline errors. Caitlin, who caught the timeline errors we both missed and offered invaluable corrections. Sally, who helped me promote the book while I was in the madness of moving across the country. And last but never least, my team of beta readers who caught the other silly inconsistencies I create while writing on the fly. You’re all amazeballs. What would I ever do without you?

Let’s not actually test it, okay. I don’t really want to know the answer.

I strolled arm in arm with my lady fair, relishing our outing immensely. It was the first day off we’d both enjoyed in well over three weeks, and when I’d mentioned to Jamie that a large faire would take place today on the Kingston Fairegrounds, she’d instantly perked up, ready to go. In truth, I was just as excited.

This was no ordinary faire, oh no. It was a book faire.

We stepped into the first of many, many large tents that covered the fairegrounds. Book vendors lined all sides with their wares displayed on tables, signs proclaiming the rarest books in their collection. I spied quite a few old favorites in their literature, a part of me pleased books I loved were still in high demand. The air smelled of leather and old paper, and really, is there anything more delightful in this world?

The place was crowded, more than a few people jostling us on all sides as we entered the main thoroughfare. Jamie stayed close to my side, her arm linked with mine, Clint at her heels and Tasha riding on her shoulder like a trained parrot. Phil was on my other arm, his eyes bright and curious as he looked all around. I enjoyed having Jamie close like this, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. We’d only been dating a short time, just through the summer season, but it still felt new to me. Wonderfully, sweetly new.

“Oh, they have a stack of children’s books over there.” Jamie tugged me that direction, her eyes devouring the titles.

Her skill with Velars was growing steadily, and she could read things well enough now. It still took her a great deal of concentration to devour the written word, and it wasn’t comfortable for her yet. I still read to her regularly in the evenings so she could enjoy a book. Storybooks and things meant for the youth, those she could read handily, and she enjoyed doing so to the young Felixes in her charge.

Both Tasha and Phil lifted their heads, then maneuvered onto the table with light taps of their paws so they could more closely examine the thin books on display. Jamie flipped through a few of them, some recognizable to her, others not.

Phil batted at one. “This one.”

I looked over his head to see the title. Trains, Lanes, and Automobiles?

“What is it about boys and things with engines?” Jamie asked. It was clearly a rhetorical question, as she lifted the book carefully out from under him and handed it to the vendor. “This one, please.”

“Of course, miss.” The vendor kept eyeing her as if trying to place her but failing to do so. Likely because his attention kept deviating to the young Felixes dancing about his table.

I wasn’t about to enlighten him. Jamie’s fame sometimes made it difficult to be out without gathering unwanted attention. Most people still seemed to fall into the categories of either being behind in the gossip, or bad at facial recognition, which gave us grace. If not for the populace’s ignorance of who this stunning woman in the light blue dress was, we would not be able to take our ease in Kingston at all.

Jamie selected two other books and then paid. This vendor wasn’t one who dealt with vintage books, fortunately; otherwise, it might have cost her a small fortune. Taking the cloth bag, she thanked him before we continued on our way.

“What are you looking for?” she inquired of me.

“Nothing in particular,” I admitted. “I just enjoy browsing and discovering new titles. And the selection at these faires is always so much more diverse than you’ll find in a bookstore.”

Lifting the bag in illustration, she agreed. “I’ve already proven that. I’ve not seen these three books before, which is why I bought them so promptly. Is there anything you’d like to find?”

It was a good question. I had to think about it for a moment.

“Another good mystery wouldn’t be amiss. And if you see any history books, alert me.”

“That I can do.”

I linked arms with her again, lost in another one of those perfect moments. They came more often than I’d anticipated. Our lives weren’t perfect or without stress, but this remarkable woman had a way of giving me these special times. Moments when I was perfectly, incandescently happy for no particular reason.

I liked to think I gave her the same sort of happiness in return. She certainly sought out my company often enough and gave me those blinding smiles to indicate she liked our change in relationship. I dearly hoped our emotions kept in step with each other. My heart sometimes seized in fear, dreading it wouldn’t always prove to be the case.

The fear never lasted long, however. Jamie always seemed to sense it and would give me one of those bone-melting smiles.

Her pad chimed, and she drew it out of her handbag, lips pursed. Then she sighed.

“Ellie again?” I didn’t even need to read the screen.

“I really shouldn’t have given her that Kindle,” Jamie mourned. “She was just so excited.”

Sherard, Felix, and I had recently poured our magical energies together to perform a short transfer of objects from Earth to Kingston. I’d sent Jamie’s journal to her family, and in return they’d sent several electronic devices to her. Three of them were electronic books that held thousands of titles in their slim packaging. It had been a technological marvel, truly, seeing the many books a single Kindle could hold. I’d been initially stunned, then aggravated, that so many books were outside my reach.

I’d immediately started in on a translation spell so I could rectify the situation. It had not been going well. The stubborn devices refused to cooperate with magic.

The reminder of my failed attempts last night made me burn with frustration.

Jamie patted my arm consolingly. “You’ll get it, Henri.”

“It won’t even take magic, not even a base coating like a protective ward,” I complained.

“Have you talked to Sherard about this yet? The two of you seem to work best when you bounce ideas off each other.”

I hadn’t. Simply because I hadn’t had much time to work on this puzzle. We’d only had the Kindles a few weeks, after all.

“Not yet, but I will later today, I think. I’ve run out of immediate ideas.”

She nodded in encouragement. “Do it. You know how he loves a puzzle, and you two have fun working together. I might be stuck reading something to Ellie this evening, anyway. She’s going cray-cray.”

I blinked at her, not understanding. Only context and tone hinted at the meaning.

“You mean she’s going crazy trying to decipher something?”

“Yeah.” Jamie made a face at the pad and then scribbled back a response. “One of the manuals has caught her undivided attention. She’s really keen on building a better telephone. I can almost hear her banging her head against the table in frustration. The numbers are thwarting her.”

Ellie was worse than a child in a candy store. She kept bouncing between projects, lured in by the Kindle’s many shiny ideas. These frustrated messages to Jamie were frequent and often coupled with a demand for help deciphering the pages. Some of them had diagrams and illustrations, which helped, but the rest were incomprehensible to the engineer. And the frustration showed.

I empathized. Or I would have if she wasn’t constantly demanding I do something to fix the situation.

“Granted, the world will improve if she can build these things here.”

Jamie snorted. “And then some. I’m really looking forward to some of the things she’ll build me, which is why I’m willing to help. Alright, I’ve placated her for now. Let’s continue shopping.”

We did. I hadn’t seen anything that caught my attention in the first tent. When we entered the second, I spied something immediately: a lovely, beautiful edition of a book I’d not seen since my grandparents died. I immediately went for it, shifting Phil up onto my shoulder. He went readily, freeing my hands to lift the book.

It was a first edition manual of rare botany that could be used for both medicine and poisons. An incredibly rare find; they’d only made a few hundred copies. The information alone was priceless.

I lifted it to my nose and inhaled deeply. Ah, the perfect scent of aged paper, and not a hint of mold. The illustrations were legitimate, drawn with slightly crude lines. This was not a forgery, but an original.

“Henri, do I need to be jealous of the book?”

The teasing broke into my admiration and I shot Jamie an exasperated look. “Don’t be absurd.”

Her dark eyes twinkled with repressed laughter.

“I don’t think you realize what a picture you just made. I thought you only reacted like that to fine chocolates. For a second, I thought you’d start kissing the book. Or licking it. I take it this is something you’ve been looking for?”

The vendor also seemed worried I might do something rash. To a book. Absurd, both of them. I fell into an explanation, my voice rising in excitement.

“I’ve not seen this book since my grandparents died and their estate was liquidated. It’s an excellent volume of botany used for magical work, either for making medicine or poisons. There’s very few like it, and this one has the information I use in my profession. I’ve been searching for even a forged copy of it for years, but this is an original. A first edition.”

The vendor—a stately man with a trim figure and neat grey hair—perked up. “You can tell, sir?”

“I can, easily. The illustrations are a little crude, obviously done with a pen and brush, not reproduced by an artist.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the mistake the forgers always make. They try to pretty it up and give it a hard binding.”

“But it never had one. It’s always been bound with soft leather and a protective sheath.”

I lifted my eyebrows, hoping he had the case.

With a grin, he produced it out from underneath the table and displayed it in both hands for my perusal.

I may have whimpered. He had the sheath too.

Jamie looked the book and sheath over with an interested eye. “That one looks pretty, too, same kind of illustrations as what’s in the book. Same maker, I take it?”

The vendor gave her a nod and smile. “Correct. You’ve got a good eye.”

“My dear sir.” I had to pause and swallow, a half-wince of anticipation on my face. “I’m afraid to ask how much this is.”

“One hundred fifty crowns,” he said, almost in apology.

That amount could pay my rent for the next three months. I wanted to cry. I felt like I might, in fact.

I rarely ever dipped into my savings account, the one maintained by my parents, but for this? I most certainly would. I just didn’t have the checkbook for that account on me. And the book might well disappear if I ran back to my apartment to fetch it. It was a wonder it hadn’t sold in the first hour of the faire. My mind spun with the logistics of how to work this out, as I dearly wanted the book. I didn’t want to miss out on what might be my only chance to obtain it.

Jamie eyed me sideways. “That’s his ‘I must have this’ face. I can tell right now. Alright, Henri, how much do you have on you?”

“Not that much,” I admitted, the words sour and ashen in my mouth.

“I’ve got my checkbook on me.”

The words were like music straight from heaven. I looked at my lover with rising hope. “Do you?”

“And more than enough to cover it, I think.” She gave me a smile as she offered, “How about I pay for it now, you pay me back later?”

Impulse seized me. I put the book back on the table long enough to catch her head in both hands and kiss her soundly on the mouth. “I love you.”

She laughed, alight with joy. “Well, you’re easy. I just have to buy you rare books. Sir, who do I make the check out to?”

I had Tasha climb onto my other shoulder so Jamie could bend over the table and write out the check in her scrawling, cramped handwriting. She blew on the ink to dry it and handed it over with a flourish. The vendor accepted it, then paused as he blinked down at the name.

“Jamie Edwards?” he repeated, as if the name had just pinged recognition. He looked up at her, and I could see him put the pieces together. “The Shinigami Detective?”

“That’s me,” she responded patiently, as she always did.

“I’m ever so glad you’re here, Detective.” He leaned forward, his tone falling to an urgent whisper. “We’ve had some trouble here, but the local cops won’t help us. It’s very hard for us to report a book theft. To them, it’s just a product that’s worth a few coppers. Who cares if one’s stolen? They don’t always realize the value a single book can hold.”

I certainly did. The books around us could total in the thousands of crowns, if they were rare enough editions.

“What was stolen?”

Jamie belatedly indicated me. “This is my partner, Doctor Henri Davenforth, Magical Examiner with the Kingston PD.”

The vendor’s expression lit up in relief. “Then you, Doctor, can truly understand what I’m about to report. The vendor behind me, Charles Ferrington, deals in grimoires. He reported to me not ten minutes ago one was stolen from his table.”

Alarm shot through my system. “A grimoire? What type?”

“That I can’t tell you; it’s not my specialty. He tried reporting it to no avail. He’s rather shook up about it, I can tell you that. He said it’s not something you want to fall into the wrong hands.”

This did not bode well. I didn’t want a grimoire in the wrong hands, true enough, but it was the theft of a book that outraged me. And I’d have a strong word with whichever young cop hadn’t appreciated the value of books.

“Package my purchase, please. Then I’ll speak with him.”

“Thank you so much.” The vendor promptly turned and did so, taking care with the book, his movements quick and efficient.

I belatedly realized we were on a date, and I probably shouldn’t have volunteered us for work. I gave Jamie an apologetic look.

“I’m so sorry, my dear, it’s just….”

She held up a hand. “It’s fine. I know books are your soft spot. And if they’ve already tried reporting this and failed, the least we can do is file the report ourselves and get someone on it.”

Bless her for understanding. “Yes, precisely. And a stolen grimoire is…not good.”

“Yes, explain that to me.”

Phil also seemed worried, as he piped up, “Bad man use grimoire?”

“Not in the sense you mean it,” I assured him quickly, not wanting him to worry. “Hm, how to phrase this. It’s true grimoires contain many spells, charms, and hex designs, but the average person can’t pick one up and use it. You’d have to be a magician to do so. The spells contained in the book aren’t active unless the user has the ability to activate them, if that makes sense.”

Clint followed, but his ears kept flicking back and forth in confusion. “Then, why worry?”

I shook my head. “I said before that grimoires themselves are crafted by magic and often include magical elements or ink. If they’re not properly handled and warded, they can bleed into their environment. I’ve seen the magical backlash from a text not warded, and it wasn’t pretty.”

Jamie winced. “Ouch. How bad is this situation?”

“It entirely depends on the grimoire. Some grimoires are more like instructional texts, with very little magic in them—primers, if you will. Others are filled with charms and are so magically saturated they can’t be out of a box for more than a few hours without affecting their environment. That’s why most grimoires also have a sealing hex on the signature page to help contain the magic.

“I won’t know how bad this is until we find out which grimoire is loose and I have a better understanding of what’s involved. Best case scenario, nothing will happen. Worst case scenario, it makes everyone within a certain radius very ill and threatens the structure of its surroundings.”

She winced again, this time more deeply. “That sounds like my definition of a bad day. Yeah, let’s nip it in the bud if we can.”

My book was handed to me, and I carefully tucked it under my arm before following the vendor through the narrow aisle between the tables to the row behind him. As we came up on the other side of the tent, a vendor turned to see who approached. He was a short man, a bit portly around the middle, but with an amiable enough face. Although he was frowning at the moment, clearly upset.

“Charles,” our guide started eagerly. “This is Detective Edwards—you know, the Shinigami Detective—and her partner, Doctor Davenforth. They said they’ll take your case.”

We hadn’t actually said that.

The vendor lit up with hope. “Oh, thank you, thank you both. I’m quite worried about it. The thief left behind the box it was in.”

I winced. Oh, great magic, really?

Jamie pulled out her notebook from her purse and grimly said, “You’d best start from the beginning.”

I got the details from the upset vendor and let Henri talk him through the particulars. As I took the information down, it occurred to me this might be a good training case.

Gibson and Queen Regina had asked me recently to start training some of the kingsmen in criminal investigation procedures. I’d heartily agreed it was a good idea, and two newbie kingsmen had joined the ranks this past year. One of them we’d worked with on the gold robbery case—the young werefox, Foster. Foster was a good guy, and he really liked working a case. He’d already volunteered himself for the training, and I was happy to take him.

The other one was even newer, a Woodland Elf by the name of Niamh. She’d been recruited by Gibson not only for her tracking ability—there wasn’t a thing in the world a Woodland Elf couldn’t track, apparently—but because of her fighting prowess. Her archery skills could apparently put anyone to shame. I had already dubbed her the female Legolas. Regina was very keen on adding more women into the kingsmen ranks, and no one could argue that Niamh didn’t have the ability to do the job.

I had only met her once, for like ten minutes. I didn’t have much of an impression of her except she was polite and gorgeous.

This was the first case I’d seen that had a touch of magic but might be simple enough to use as a training model. I hesitated to say “easy case” because Murphy was listening and would screw with me just for the principle of it.

I tapped Henri on the shoulder and murmured into his ear, “I want to use this as one of my training cases.”

Henri gave me a quick glance, dark eyes blinking once in surprise. Then he cottoned on. “Ah. An excellent idea, my dear. Do call Gibson, see if you can get approval. I’ll press on here.”

“Okay.” I stepped away, letting Phil and Tasha guard my purchases, although Clint tagged along as I walked out of the tent and away from the door. I found a semi-private spot to make a call via the pad.

Gibson picked up quickly, sounding a touch out of breath. “Jamie. Something burning?”

“Not yet. Trying to keep it that way. Just stumbled into a case I think might be good to use for training.”

“That right? Details?”

“I’m at the Kingston Fairegrounds, where a large book faire is going on. A grimoire was stolen off a vendor’s table without the protective box it was in.”

Gibson groaned, sounding like he was swearing mentally.

“You know, that was pretty much Henri’s reaction? Anyway, they’ve tried reporting it to a local cop, but apparently there was a serious miscommunication, as the cop didn’t take it seriously and wouldn’t report it. Henri’s all hot and bothered, and he’s adamant about tracking this thing down. It’s a simple enough theft, but we have no clues to really go off.”

“Which is why you think it’ll be good training.”

“Yeah. Because that’s always the sticking point on cases—having enough evidence and clues to lead you to the right overall picture. I’ll call in Gerring next”—he was a detective now, but I’d kept him as a partner to give him more experience, and he’d need to join us—“but I thought Foster and Niamh might be good additions.”

“I think it’s a great idea. I’ll authorize it and send them over.”

“Thanks, Gibs.”

“And at some point, have dinner with me. I haven’t seen you in a month at least. I want to hear about how things are going with Henri.”

“Things are still going great with him. In fact, I kinda feel silly for waiting this long to try dating, to be honest.”

“You should, but I also understand it. You were going through so much, adapting to this world, I don’t think you had the mental space for a romance until recently.”

I snorted. He was spot on. It was more than wrapping my head around being on a different planet so far removed from my own galaxy. It was learning a new culture, a new language, feeling completely cut off from every familiar thing I’d ever known. I’d also been managing my PTSD so it didn’t take over, and working my way through issues. It had taken a lot of time and many sleepless nights to adjust to all of that. I really hadn’t been able to handle anything else during the first two years I was on this planet. I hadn’t had the spoons for it.

But I did now. I felt far surer on my feet this year than before. And having Henri as both lover and friend was fast becoming my favorite thing ever.

“I’ll definitely catch you up more properly over dinner, okay?”

“You bet you will. I’ll send people over now.”

“Thanks, Gibs.” With the call done, I scrawled a message to Gerring next.

Got a case. Meet me at the Kingston Fairegrounds.

Gerring’s answer came a moment later.

Coming.

Good man. I looked down at the cat twirling around my ankles. Or, trying—the skirt kind of got in his way.

“Why are you being pesky?”

Clint blinked up at me with Sad Face. “No collar.”

“What, your new police badge collar?”

“Yes. Can’t work. No collar.”

I rolled my eyes to the heavens. “For the love of Mike. Cat. You are fine, you worked for over a year without that collar.”

Sad Face became Epic Sad Face. Clint clearly did not agree.

The badge collar was actually Penny’s idea because of how many times we had to explain the Felixes while out in the field. She had designed a little vest that strapped on, with an embroidered police badge on each side, and a small, dangling badge-shaped name tag on the front. All three Felixes thought they were the cat’s meow with those vests on. They looked for excuses to wear them.

Penny had, apparently, created a monster. Or three.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” I informed my Felix with all the sympathy I could muster. Which was to say, none.

He meowed at me pitifully.

“Use your words, young man.” I scooped him up like a disobedient toddler, throwing him onto one shoulder and marching back into the tent. “You are setting such a bad example right now. You really are like your namesake.”

He pouted audibly as I carried him back in.

Henri was clearly done interviewing, but he continued to chat with the man as I approached.

“—part of a set,” the vendor was saying.

“We’ll do our best to find it,” Henri promised. His head turned as he spied my approach. “Ah, there you are.”

I answered the question so obviously written over his face. “They’re coming. Might take a hot minute, though. One of us needs to meet people at the faireground’s entrance to lead them in here, otherwise it’ll take forever for them to find us.”

“I’ll do that,” Henri volunteered. “I want to have a word or three with the young cop who has failed to appreciate the true value of books.”

I could tell from the expression on his face, the words might be accompanied by a clue bat. Henri was NOT HAPPY right now.

“Are any of those words likely to be clean?”

“I wouldn’t give it high odds, no.” He leaned in to buss me on the cheek before turning and quickly heading out of the tent.

Poor little cop. He’d just pushed one of Henri’s buttons. He didn’t have many, heaven knew, but pushing the wrong one certainly set off quite the reaction. I was sorry I’d miss the show. Shaking my head, I turned back to the vendor.

“Mr. Ferrington, this might seem a bit odd, but I’ve actually called some junior kingsmen in on this case.”

His eyes nearly crossed. “I’m sorry?”

“The Queen wants her kingsmen well rounded, you see,” I explained patiently. “And none of them really know what to do with a crime scene. I’ve been tasked with training them. So, I’ll have three junior people working this case with me. They might ask you some silly questions, but bear with them; they’re learning.”

His expression cleared, and he actually looked intrigued by this. “But that means you’ll have multiple magicians looking this case over, correct? I can’t imagine a more perfect team to investigate with. I’m actually quite relieved to hear this.”

“Good!”

I was glad he was taking this well. Some people would have demanded a more professional team instead. I’ve always had an issue with that idea. How do you get professionals if you never give the young people a chance to learn? I didn’t have the heart to tell him only one of the three was magical, and decided to leave that be.

“I have some more questions for you, but I want to wait until they’ve arrived.”

“Yes, of course. If you don’t mind, while we wait, I’ll sell some books to other customers.”

“Sure, go for it.”

I stepped out of the way but stayed nearby. This was technically still a crime scene, even if there was likely no trace evidence to pick up, except possible fingerprints on the grimoire’s box. More than likely it had dozens of prints from various people and probably not much of anything we could use. Still, worth a shot. I had nothing on me to protect it, but I thought I might be able to filch a paper bag from somewhere. I edged the box closer towards me with my skirt, carefully not touching it, so patrons couldn’t knock into it. I didn’t dare pick it up until I had a better place to put it.

It took a good hour for people to arrive, Henri leading the charge. I looked them over, and aside from Gerring, everyone was in uniform.

Gerring, I think, had been in the middle of something, as he wasn’t in the best of clothes and had basically pulled on a coat to look more respectable. Mud on his boots—yeah, I bet you he was doing yard work when the call came in. Kudos to him for immediately dropping it all and coming straight here. He’d at least pulled his black hair back in a ponytail and washed his face and hands. His sharp blue eyes were already weighing and evaluating everything, the tips of his ears twitching as he took in the many, many sounds of the faire. I realized our resident dark elf might get overwhelmed here. His senses were heightened, like mine, and I found the faire overwhelming at times.

I greeted Henri with, “Are his ears ringing?”

“Quite so.” Henri looked self-righteous and satisfied, a man who had completed his mission.

Looking over at the other three, I asked, “You all introduced yourselves to each other, I hope? Good, good. This is Charles Ferrington, the dealer whose book was stolen. What we know at this point isn’t much. The grimoire wasn’t on display for sale, not really. He was bringing it out for customers to look at but kept it safely under the table for the most part. He brought it out for perusal, set it down, turned around, and turned back five seconds later to find the book gone and the box still here. It was taken out of this box”—I indicated the rather elaborately painted box sitting on the edge of the table—“before being sneaked off. Mr. Ferrington didn’t get a look at who did it.”

Used to my training methods, Gerring jumped in. “Mr. Ferrington, what else can you tell us about the grimoire?”

“It was part of a set, known rather informally as the Reaper’s Set.”

That didn’t sound ominous or anything.

Foster, I was pleased to note, already had a notebook out and was writing notes down quickly. “Can I ask why, sir?”

Ferrington paused a customer on the right side before explaining quickly, “The entire set was written by a rather brilliant magician in the late Revolutionary period. It was hidden in a wall and later found during demolition. The set features an exact method of poisoning, interrogation techniques, anatomy, and the various spells one would use to extract information from another’s mind against their will. It’s a rather gruesome series, and extremely rare. Part of my concern for this volume’s disappearance is that it conveys exact illustrations for pinpoint-targeting spells that could do severe damage in a warzone.”

Ouch. Well, wasn’t this a barrel full of monkeys.

“So, you’re saying that in the wrong hands, this could do serious damage.” Niamh now copied the other two and jotted down notes quickly.

She had no notebook, just a folded sheet of paper that looked like a grocery list. I’d have to get her something more suitable later. Her pretty green eyes swept the tables around us, and a doubtful frown crossed over her heart-shaped face.

“But do we know the thief wanted it for some nefarious purpose?”

I spread my hands. “That’s the question. We are, after all, in a throng of collectors. Avid collectors, no less. With a rare book like this, it could well be the thief stole it for the purpose of either adding it to his collection or selling it. I’m actually surprised to find something like this at a faire.”

“I recently came across it at an estate sale,” Ferrington explained, his mouth drawn severely down at the corners. “I thought I would make noise about the fact I had it today, get some word of mouth going. I severely doubted anyone would have enough cash on hand to buy it, but displaying it would be good advertisement. It’s why I was so careful to keep it under the table and near me unless someone was looking at it. I’m so upset with myself. I literally turned my back on it for five seconds, and this happens.”

“I would think with this grimoire in particular he’d surely have taken the box,” Henri objected.

Ferrington shook his head. “It’s actually quite common for them to leave the box behind. The thieves have discovered that a book tucked into a waistband is easy to disguise. With a coat on, I can’t tell if he’s got a book tucked away or not. But the box makes it uncomfortably sharp and bulky, much easier to spot. And harder to shove in the back of your trousers.”

Ah, a good point. And good information, too.

Phil was the one who pointed out the obvious. “But it’s dangerous.”

Henri gave him a stroke on the head.

“Good, you remember that. Yes, it’s very dangerous. The Reaper’s Grimoire is the type to be very volatile outside its protective box. Most grimoires have a sealing hex inscribed inside the signature page, but that isn’t sufficient for the truly powerful grimoires. I have no idea if the thief wants it for his own purposes or if he plans to sell it, but either way it’s dangerous for it to be running around without its box. Mr. Ferrington, I want to take the box not only for evidence but with the hope that I can quickly reunite it with its grimoire.”

Ferrington nodded fervently. “Please. Frankly, the idea of the grimoire out of its box for any length of time gives me chills. I have no idea what kind of damage it will wreak.”

I didn’t either, but Henri’s expression inclined me to think it would be really bad. While Henri was the type to worry, he wasn’t the type to worry without a reason, so that told me volumes, right there.

“Right now, motive is very murky. We’ll have to leave it as a question mark. Alright, my ducklings, you are here at a crime scene with a missing grimoire. What do you do next?”

“Dust for fingerprints?” Gerring offered.

“Very good. I have no kit on me, so we’ll need to carefully bag the box for now and take it back to the station. But after that, what?”

They all looked at each other, expressions blank, then looked to me for an answer.

“But there aren’t any other clues to follow right now,” Niamh said slowly, her eyes intent on my face. “Are there?”

“There are not. Which is why we’ll have to generate some.” I gave them a winsome smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just as much fun as it sounds.”

Gerring groaned. “That smile always means trouble. This is going to be difficult, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” I admitted freely. “Unless we get really lucky. I have to warn you, you rarely get really lucky.”

For some reason, no one was happy to hear that.

Can’t say I was overjoyed, myself.

Jamie had her methods, of course, and they were excellent ones. But in this particular case, I knew more than she did about the matter. Grimoires were not her forte. So, while she took the lead, I asserted myself more than usual.

To Niamh and Foster, I inquired, “Are you familiar with grimoires at all?”

Foster shook his head.

Niamh gave a half-shrug. “I’m not as familiar with human grimoires, but my own people have a type of grimoire. I think they operate on the same principles. I’ll be interested to see how the types match up.”

“As will I. I know that you do not, Jamie. Gerring? No? Alright, let’s find a quiet spot, and I’ll give you a short rundown on them.”

Jamie seemed agreeable to this plan, so we went out of the tent and found a table at a food stall, ordered drinks and sugary confections, and settled in. I, for one, welcomed the respite. Far from having an easy morning, I had instead about run my legs off. The faire buzzed around us, people passing by as if nothing ill had occurred. I ignored them as we settled in around the table, only shifting as Phil climbed into my lap. I was quite accustomed to having a “lap buddy,” as Jamie described it. I welcomed him and gave him a good rub behind his ears. He started purring as he settled.

With all eyes on me, I cleared my throat. “I’ll make this concise, as we’ll no doubt need to canvas the area.”

Jamie dipped her chin in agreement. “That’s my next suggestion. I want to know what else has been stolen here today.”

Gerring glanced around him, assessing the size of the faire as it sprawled out over the rather extensive grounds, and looked resigned. The other two were not far behind him.

“At least I’m wearing my comfortable boots,” Niamh noted rhetorically. “Alright, Doctor. What else do we need to know?”

“Allow me to explain a bit of the basics. The word ‘grimoire’ can mean quite a few things. Every magician learning the trade begins with a basic grimoire—it’s really nothing more than a notebook filled with the spells we learn. Most grimoires aren’t at all valuable. We learn by inscribing our own grimoires, but we quickly grow past those early editions. And, of course, as children we’re not allowed to use magical ink, so they’re more like notebooks filled with spells.

“My own from childhood, for instance. I only keep it for sentimental value. They’re so low in power they won’t need a box or even a ward. You can treat them much like a regular book without issue. What you’ll see at this faire is not of that ilk. These grimoires are from very famous magicians throughout history. They are filled with spells not found anywhere else—often created by the people who wrote them in the first place.”

Jamie let out a low whistle. “So…depending on the grimoire, you could gain a spell no one else really knows? Or has been forgotten over time?”

“Correct. It’s why collectors are so feverish about gaining a whole set. Often, in fact, magicians would scatter the spell between different volumes to keep any of their competitors from stealing their spells. Unless you have the full set, you can’t guarantee that you have the complete spell.”

I was pleased to see everyone taking note of this. It might impact the case as they worked on it. I was a firm believer that having a full, comprehensive understanding often led to breakthroughs in a case.

Gerring posed a question. “But does that mean our thief wants the spells contained within? Are we looking for someone power-hungry and dangerous?”

“While the possibility is there, it’s…suspect to me. This theft was very much a crime of opportunity. Ferrington was being careful with it, and he’d made no prior announcement it would be here today, which gave our thief no advanced warning. So, if our thief does have nefarious intentions and wants the grimoire for some dark purpose, his timing is incredible.”

Jamie snorted. “Yeah, seriously, the luck of the ages. I’m more inclined to think the thief wants it just because it’s valuable, although we can’t rule out that they’ll use the spells within for something bad.”

“Now, there’s another side to this.” I paused to take a sip of quite excellent lemonade. I might have to buy another cup for the journey home. “Some don’t buy grimoires for the knowledge contained within. In fact, it’s quite common for collectors to buy the volumes just to showcase them. The rarer the volume, the more bragging rights. Some volumes are insanely priced.”

Jamie’s tone turned acutely dry. “Like a certain volume you bought today?”

I slid her a wink. “Worse. These books can be more expensive than a house. They’re in high demand in the right circles of society. We have two points in our favor when it comes to this particular theft. One, the volume in question is highly recognizable, and there’s only one copy of it in the world. It will not be easy to pawn this off. And trying to pass it off as a forgery will only lower its value, doing the thief no good. Assuming he stole it to sell, that is.”

“At least something about this case is in our favor,” Gerring muttered under his breath, still writing away. “And the second point, sir?”

“The second point is that you are in a community of vigilant people. Book enthusiasts are very keen on preventing this sort of crime, they’re well-versed in what’s available on the market, and they’re quick to report to each other if they see something amiss. If we can get the word out about what’s happened, they may well do some of the legwork for us.”

Niamh shot me a dazzling smile. “Oh, that is good news. Then, can we tell people about the theft as we go through the faire?”

“Please do,” Jamie encouraged with a wave of the hand. “Tell absolutely everyone. No sense in keeping this quiet. But if the press gets wind of this, send them to me. I’ll handle them.”

I had little more to add at this point, as those were the basics. I put a hand on Jamie’s arm, drawing her attention to me.

“My dear, there is one other thing I’d like to do. I wish to contact acquaintances of mine and see who else has books from the Reaper’s Set. If the thief is a collector, then he’ll want to lay hands on the rest of the volumes. I’d like to verify, too, if the set has pieces of spells throughout, or if it’s more contained.”

“You think other books have possibly already been stolen?”

“I have no idea, and that’s rather the issue. We need to know. If nothing else, it will help spread word of what’s happened here and put people more on their guard.”

Jamie allowed this with a shrug. “It’s a good idea. Go for it. Gerring, why don’t you go with Foster and Niamh, as you’ve got more training at this sort of thing than they do. We’ll start at the north entrance, you start from the south, and we’ll meet in the middle. You’ve got your pad on you?”

“Yes, and charged,” Gerring promised, patting a bulge in his pocket.

“Good. Clint, Tasha, either of you want to go with them?”

Tasha hopped onto the table and crossed over to Gerring. “I’ll go. Look for sniffies.”

“Good girl, do that.”

We split up at that point, and this time I took more care with my own purchase, keeping it firmly tucked under my arm so a thief couldn’t take it out of my hands. Jamie linked arms with me on the other side, and we traced our way back to the main entrance so we could start this search fresh.

As we walked, Jamie asked, “Which do you think this is? A collector, a thief hoping to sell it to a collector, or a magician who wants the grimoire and can’t pay for it?”

“The first, but I could be wrong.” I waved a hand to the faire in general. “It’s mostly the box that makes me think this wasn’t a magician. Any magician worth their salt would know to take the it along. Especially with a grimoire like this one, it would be almost suicidally dangerous to leave its protective box behind.”

“A magician would know better,” she murmured. “Hence why you’re not really worried about the book’s spells being used. Because you don’t think a magician took it.”

“Not really, no. There was no notice the grimoire would be here, after all. How would a magician know to come here to steal it?”

“How would a collector know to come here to get it?” she countered.

My nose scrunched up in frustration. “Indeed. Or was this a crime of opportunity?”

“It could well be. I mean, we know basically nothing at this point.”

The cat riding on her shoulder let out a happy purr before announcing, “Grandma!”

I choked. My mother was here?

“There’s my cute boy,” Ophelia cooed as she appeared out of the crowd, my father on her heels. She reached out with both hands, and Clint promptly went into them, purring and nuzzling her cheek. She nuzzled right back, a bright smile on her face.

My father ignored them and greeted us, a question on his face. “I didn’t expect you two here.”

“We were on a date,” Jamie explained with a shrug.

“Were?”

“A grimoire was stolen and the theft was reported to us.” I sighed, vexed that our date had been cut short. I’d have to find another day to spend with her properly. “We’re now canvassing the area to see if any other thefts have occurred. I take it you’re both here to shop?”

“It’s such a glorious day,” my mother explained, still cradling Clint and giving him scratches around the chin. The Felix was in heaven, clearly loving the attention. “I wanted to be out and about. And your father vetoed my first suggestion.”

Sotto voce, he informed me, “She wanted to go house shopping.”

I shot my mother a flat, unamused look. She had been far too exuberant about Jamie and I courting. To the point of being nonsensical. She kept making noises about either apartment being too small for us when we got married. About how it would be better if we had a house. Never mind that our relationship was nowhere near that level of intimacy yet. Jamie and I had only been courting for a few months. My mother was truly putting the cart before the horse.

As usual, she ignored me. “How dreadful, that there’s been a grimoire stolen. Some of those are so expensive. I remember some of the books you bought when you were a student, Henri, and they were so pricey.”

“Yes, this one is practically priceless, as it’s the only one of its kind.” The contents of the book were gruesome, but no one could argue its value. “At any rate, we’re trying to determine if anything else was stolen today.”

“If you’re working, you can’t stop to chat,” she said with complete understanding. “But do come to dinner tonight, tell us how things progress. I’m invested now.”

I gave Jamie a quick askance glance and got a nod in return. “We’ll be there.”

Jamie lifted the bag in her arm and asked, “Can we trouble you to take our purchases with you? I don’t want to haul mine about for hours, and Henri’s paranoid about his being snatched.”

I couldn’t exactly argue that point. I rather was.

Rupert held out a hand for mine. “What did you find?”

“You remember the book of botany Grandpapa had? The rare, hand-illustrated one?”

“Oh, yes, you were fascinated with it even as a child. And mad when we sold it.” His eyes flashed down to the bag in his hand. “You found another one?”

“I did, thankfully.”

“Well, that is remarkable.” Ophelia tipped her head to look inside. “Oh, and it has the box, too. I’m happy for you, Henri, I know you’ve wanted that book for a long time. I do feel bad we sold it. We didn’t think you’d want it.”

“I was a child when you sold it. It’s not like you knew I would become a magician later in life.” I tried to be forgiving about it, and it was easier now that I had gained another copy. “But if you could safeguard this one, I’ll collect it when we come to dinner tonight.”

“Absolutely, we can.” Ophelia looked down at the creature sprawled in her arms. “Clint, do you want to go with them or us?”

Clint looked honestly torn, but in the end his curiosity and desire to work won out. He readied himself to spring back into Jamie’s arms.

“Work time.”

“Ah. Then I’ll see you later tonight, as well.” My mother good-naturedly handed him back over.

We parted, and I waited until my parents were well out of earshot before I bent a look on Clint. “And since when, might I ask, has my mother become Grandma?”

Clint blinked at me, the picture of innocence itself. “She’s not?”

That did not at all answer my question.

Jamie snorted in amusement. “I feel like a conspiracy has been brewing behind our backs. Phil, did Ophelia tell you to call her Grandma, too?”

Phil was more trustworthy and forthright about the matter. He gave a nod, tail flicking a bit. “Did. When you and Henri start dating, she said so.”

Of course she had.

Jamie, fortunately, found this situation amusing instead of embarrassing, unlike myself. “I see. Henri, you’re tomato red. Need an icepack for that blush?”

I groaned and found myself unable to meet her eyes. I did not appreciate the position this discussion had put me in. “I do apologize for my mother.”

“Naw, don’t. I’m actually flattered. She really likes me, and I take this as a sign that I’ll be very welcome if I ever do join the family.” She nudged me playfully on the shoulder. “So, ease up.”

It was an excellent perspective. I was glad she saw it that way. I think she knew, too, that I had never seriously courted a woman before her. My parents were relieved to see I had found someone I enjoyed, someone I potentially wanted to share my life with. They’d feared I’d slide into permanent bachelorhood.

I shook the embarrassment off like a dog shedding water. “Alright. Well, let’s get back to work. We have possible thefts to uncover.”

“I’m torn about this,” Jamie stated even as she fell into step with me. “Do I want more thefts or not?”

“More thefts mean more possible data.” I shifted Phil to rest more comfortably on my shoulder. His light weight was barely discernible there, and he liked the view from his high perch. “But it also means more crimes to investigate.”

“Mixed bag.” Jamie made a face. “Not that we get a choice, either way. Well, onwards and upwards, I guess.”

We made the rounds, but no one reported any other thefts. Eventually, we all met back at the lemonade stand for much needed refreshment. Jamie treated us all. The Felixes were sprawled over various laps, absolutely done in after the hours of walking, talking, and general investigation. Or, at least, that was their story.

Jamie flipped open her notebook, ready to jot down anything of interest, and looked at her three students arrayed in front of her. “What did you learn?”

Gerring answered her readily. “Very few booksellers here carry grimoires. We encountered three others, and they all had run-of-the-mill grimoires, in their own words. Most of them were academy textbooks, in fact.”

I wasn’t surprised. This faire didn’t specialize in rare books, after all. Truly powerful grimoires rarely hit the open market. They tended to be hoarded or sold at auction, not at a book faire.

“Of the book vendors we spoke to,” Niamh picked up smoothly, “only two others reported a theft. Both stolen books were rare but not insanely expensive. We wrote those down, as well as their worth, and the victims’ contact information. They weren’t sure how or when the thefts occurred, both men saying they turned their back for a moment and the book was gone.”

Jamie nodded, her hand flying as she wrote all of this down. In her own language, of course. Velars was still not as quick or easy as her native English.

“It’s a common tactic, apparently. Books are easy to disguise under a jacket. Alright, those two thefts might be unrelated, but we’ll investigate them, as well. Nothing else?”

Foster shook his head. “No. That was all we found. The two booksellers were right glad someone was showing an interest and were quick to give us all the info.”

“I bet.” She tapped the end of her pencil against the table in a quick staccato. “Alright. So that leaves the question, is this our same thief? Was he capitalizing on opportune moments? Are the thefts unconnected and we’re looking at someone who’s targeting that series of books in particular? Ahh, so many questions without answers.”

I could tell that only Gerring had an inkling of what to do next. I decided to throw them a proverbial bone.

“I believe it will be easier to prove a negative, in this case. Why don’t you research the Reaper’s Set first? Try and determine who all has volumes of it and if they are still in possession of them. Perhaps contact brokers who might have clients interested in it. If nothing is untoward there, then this becomes more a crime of opportunity than of design.”

Foster, at least, looked relieved to be given a direction. “I think that’s far easier, sir.”

“Let’s divide and conquer a bit,” Jamie suggested. “Henri’s got friends all over, we’ll put out feelers and see if anyone’s got part of this series in a private collection. Gerring, check police reports. I know the cops near here aren’t taking book thefts seriously, but maybe someone wrote something down. Check, too, if any signs of rogue magic have been reported. An unprotected grimoire can wreak havoc, so maybe someone’s spied something. We can reconvene tomorrow afternoon and compare notes.”

“And for today?” Niamh inquired.

“Today was my day off, and it’s mostly gone. I think we can call it quits. We’ve got base information and a good lead for tomorrow. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.” Jamie shifted Clint off her lap as she rose, putting him over her shoulder, which the Felix was quite amenable with.

We all followed suit, and I accepted Tasha from Foster. We made plans to reconvene at the police station, then went our separate ways. I walked with Jamie out of the faire, carrying my bag of other purchases as we went. We had indulged in some shopping while asking questions. Why not? Buying things was the easiest way to open a vendor’s mouth, and we figured we might as well gain some pleasure from this day. It did make for a heavy load, however. I had, perhaps, indulged too much.

Jamie couldn’t link arms with me, as our hands were fully occupied, but she did walk close enough for our elbows to brush. “To your parents’ house for dinner?”

“We might as well. We both have purchases to collect, and they’re expecting us.”

“Okay.” She leaned in to speak in a lower tone, an invitation in her eyes. “And after, dessert can be at my place.”

I warmed to the idea immediately. “I look forward to it, my dear.”

I was sometimes teased by my sister about having no social life, but I did indeed have friends. I didn’t see them as often as Jamie saw hers, of course, because my acquaintances were more introverted, like myself. Still, we enjoyed each other’s company, and if something suggested a meet-up, we agreed readily enough.

I found myself in the odd position of instigating one of these meet-ups. I say odd because I rarely ever prompt such get-togethers.

Since Jamie was running her ducklings through the investigation of the other two stolen books, I took it upon myself to visit a colleague with only Phil for company. Leor Purves was one of the brightest minds I’d had the pleasure of working with in university, and he’d become a magical theorist once he graduated. Our work never intersected, of course, but I did love sitting with him sometimes and throwing ideas about.

Come to think of it, I really should invite Seaton the next time I met up with Leor. The three of us would have a splendid evening together, I had no doubt. Seaton enjoyed a good theoretical debate as well as the next man, after all.

The townhome I called upon was a sizeable one in a very distinguished part of town. Leor tended to work out of his own home most of the time. He claimed he could concentrate better there, and I believed it. My own colleagues were constantly popping in on me, and sometimes it became a nuisance, preventing me from staying focused on a single task. If not for the demands of preserving evidence at the station, I would have vastly preferred to work from home, myself.

I crossed the three stairs onto the porch with light feet, giving the door a sound knock, eyeing the left side as I did so. Dead flowers in pots on the front porch. Oh, dear. Who had been silly enough to give Leor something to tend to? The man didn’t even routinely remember to shave, for heaven’s sake.

The door opened, and Leor himself stared at me blankly for five full seconds. With the ink stain on his nose, black hair a little wild and tufted behind his jug ears, he looked like the mad scientist we accused him of being. He had not shaved recently, the stubble dark on his fair skin, but his clothes were clean and orderly around his bulky frame, so someone had tended to him recently. I gave him time to switch mental tracks and bring himself back into the real world. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand how that was, some days.

Then he blinked, and a smile blossomed on his face. “Henri! Good grief, is it that time already?”

“It is,” I assured him.

“Well, come in, come in. I’m delighted to see you, you know. It’s been a tree’s age, at least. Now, what’s this furry little companion on your shoulder? And is that a police badge hanging from the collar, there, or am I seeing things?”

I let myself in, but not far. Leor didn’t have much in the way of furniture, per se, but stacks of notebooks, journals, and books lined the walls. I didn’t have much room to maneuver in, as the foyer wasn’t wide to begin with.

“This is my Felix companion, and yes, that’s a police badge. He’s part of the department.”

“I’m Phil.” The Felix in question introduced himself and extended a paw to shake with.

Leor didn’t miss a beat, just extended a hand and touched a finger to that tiny paw. “A pleasure, Phil. I say, wasn’t your creator Jules Felix?”

In his light voice, Phil confirmed, “Yes.”

“I heard about you. He came ’round once to throw ideas at me. Fascinating, simply fascinating discussion. I’m quite glad to meet you in the flesh, see how his ideas panned out. Well, let’s not stand here. Henri, I made room in a chair for you.”

“Splendid.”

Chairs were not always empty in this house. I went directly right, as Leor had changed his parlor into his study. More room, he said, but I think it had more to do with the amount of light in here, coming in through the bay windows. He had indeed made an effort to clean up. Not only was a guest chair clear, but I could see part of the surface of his desk. Which was quite astonishing. Prior to this, I could not have sworn in a court of law that the furniture had a top to it, as I’d never seen it.

I settled into the chair, Phil moving from my shoulder to my lap and sprawling out as if he owned real estate on my thighs.

Leor took the chair next to me, crossing his legs comfortably. He noticed that Phil’s nose kept twitching, the little Felix scenting him and looking confused.

“Do I smell of magic, little friend?”

Phil nodded uncertainly. “But not like Henri.”

“No, indeed. I’m half-Baku, you see. Do you know what that is?”

“Dream-eater,” Phil answered, his confusion clearing immediately.

“Indeed. Being only a half-Baku, I don’t need or feel the compulsion to eat dreams, you see, but I do like the taste of them. And I sometimes have friends and family who visit me to eat a nightmare, which I’m happy to do. Do you have a nightmare you want eaten?”

Phil shook his head, golden eyes blinking slowly in that way he did when he was thinking hard. “No. Thank you.”

“The offer’s open if you change your mind later.” Leor gave me a smug grin. “I don’t need to ask you. I can tell you’ve only had good dreams recently.”

“Guilty,” I admitted without qualm. “I’ve started courting Jamie.”

“Oh, are you? I knew you were hesitant to do so, but I’m quite glad you did, Henri. I take it things are going well?”

“Astonishingly so. I’m almost embarrassed for hesitating, in fact.”

Leor looked as pleased as if he were the one dating. “I always felt if you just found the right person, things would go well for you. Out of all my friends, you’re the most thoughtful, after all. You must introduce me to her at some point. From what you’ve said before, she has an amazing vault of information.”

“She does. One of the more intelligent women in my acquaintance, and you know how smart some of my colleagues are. I think she’ll keep you on your toes. I’ll try to arrange a dinner.”

It pleased me that he was interested in meeting Jamie. And I did feel it healthy for him to step out of the house at least once this month.

“Yes, do so. I’ll make time for it.” Leor clapped his pudgy hands together. “Now. Let’s get to the topic that brought you to me. I’m sure you’re busy, what with investigating crimes. You said this is about the Reaper’s Set?”

Henri nodded. “I was at a book faire yesterday, and there was a theft of a grimoire, a volume from the Reaper’s Set.”

Leor let out a low whistle, his bushy eyebrows winging up into his hairline. “No! I just had mine stolen, too!”

I blinked, then immediately whipped out my notebook. “Leor, you should have led with that!”

“Well, I thought that was what your note was about,” Leor responded acerbically. “You just said in your note you wanted to know more about the Reaper’s Set, and I’ve got one—or had one. What else was I to think?”

“Alright, well, you now know I’m investigating the theft. When did it happen?”

Leor looked a bit sheepish as he admitted, “I really can’t tell you when the theft occurred. I just noticed it missing two weeks ago, is all.”

Considering the state of this house, it was something of a miracle he’d noticed at all. Leor was not what one would call organized.

“Can you guess at all when? Night? Day? Why do you not have a ward up?”

“Back of the house is being renovated,” Leor explained. “I’ve some water damage because of bad flashing; it’s affecting the mortar in the brick. I had to take the ward down until construction is finished.”

“Ah. Poor timing. Unless the thief targeted you specifically because your ward was down. But not even a temporary ward?”

“Well, I have one around my bedroom. Now. Because being robbed was very unsettling.”

“I bet it was.” It was so like Leor to absentmindedly deal with the situation after the fact. “Were you referencing it? Is that why you noticed its absence?”

“Yes, in fact. The volume I had—oh, it was volume seven—dealt mainly in magical theory. Fascinating, truly fascinating. I only understood about half of it, to tell the truth. Sometimes, when I like to break my brain, I’ll try to read it straight through. At any rate, I’d gone looking for it, to reference something I’d remembered, only to come up empty. I tore the house apart, in fact, for three whole days. I was convinced I’d mislaid it.”

Leor sighed, shoulders slumping.

I looked around the room, noting that it was indeed dusted and tidy, even the stacks on the floor neatly arranged.

“So, you actually organized your house in an effort to find it?”

“I did, and—you must admit—the state of the house is an improvement.”

I shrugged in acknowledgement. “No room for disagreement there. But still no book.”

“No. And I found later, the back door’s lock was broken. The mechanism had been harmed in such a way that it was impossible to mistake it as anything but a burglary. I’ve replaced the lock, but I still have the old one if you want to take a look.”

“I certainly will. How many people knew you had this volume?”

Leor sat back, propping a foot up on the ottoman nearby.

“I think several people knew. It wasn’t precisely a secret, and I had colleagues over sometimes to help me decipher parts of it. Most of the handwriting in the grimoire is very neat and precise, but the handwritten notes in the margins weren’t usually in the same style.”

“I see.” I jotted that all down, now more alarmed than I had been before. “You said your volume dealt more with magical theory. I was told by the broker that most of the set dealt with death or destruction in some manner.”

Leor grunted agreement, although his expression was sour.

“Half the set, to be precise. The other half was brilliant, in my opinion. A bit dark in topic, but really. People will always find a way to twist things to their own ends.”

“I can’t say I disagree. Jamie likes to say people will always find a more creative way to murder.”

“She’s unfortunately right.”

Leor’s gaze shifted to a particular spot on the bookshelf, which I noticed was predominantly blank. A very telling thing, in this room crammed with books.

“Lady Radman gave us a chance to read some of them before selecting who to sell them to. It was very kind of her to do so. Practical, too. She wanted each grimoire to go into the right hands. Hang on, you said a volume was stolen from a book faire? What in dark magic was one doing at a faire, of all places?”

“The broker had acquired it through an estate sale.”

“Which volume?”

“Four.”

“Oh,” he said in a deflated voice. “That would have been Secilia Bardoff. I hadn’t heard she passed. Shame, that. Quite a brilliant woman.”

I made a note of the original owner. “But truly, Leor, you can’t think of when it might have been stolen? I have no timeline to work from.”

“I know, I’m quite vexed as well. But I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I don’t really use the back kitchen door much, you see. I’m quite depressed over the grimoire’s theft, to tell the truth. There was so much more for me to learn from its contents.”

“I’ll try to find it, along with the other stolen volume,” I promised.

“Thank you, Henri. I did report it, but the police officer I spoke to didn’t seem to grasp the importance of it.”

“I’ve heard this complaint before. I’ll straighten the record out, I assure you. For now, tell me more about the set. I don’t know much about it.”

“Ah, well there are fourteen volumes in total.” Leor hesitated, then corrected himself. “Fourteen official volumes. There is one more people like to include in the set, but it was a diary, not a grimoire.”

I waved him on, taking notes quickly on the arm of the chair, as Phil had no intention of moving from his spot.

“The entirety of it was written by a brilliant magician in the late Revolutionary period, Lord Kerey Radman. He’d actually enclosed the volumes in one of the walls in his home to keep them from being used during the war. Of course, he died on the warfront, and it wasn’t until decades later—when his home was bought and renovated—that they found the volumes.

“To be precise, the volumes’ protections were long since faded, and it was warping the building in some astonishing ways. They had to excavate them in order to be able to renovate and put the building back to rights. The new owner very kindly handed the grimoires over to Radman’s descendants, who eventually decided to sell them—but not as a set. Frankly, we were all very aware of how much they were worth, and the community as a whole couldn’t have afforded to buy the full set. Pieces of it went in every direction.

“My own volume wasn’t something purchased, but received as a gift. I’m a friend of Marvella Radman’s, and she gave it to me as a graduation present. It’s what twists the knife in the wound. I do not look forward to telling her it was stolen.”

This was excellent information, and it gave me something of a lead.

“Marvella Radman, you said. Did she or her family keep any part of the set?”

“Yes, the diary. That, they wouldn’t part with. I can give you her address, if you’d like to speak with her?”

“I would dearly love to. She might know of someone who’s trying to lay hands on the set. Or a volume stolen, as the case may be.”

“Now that you mention it, there was a broker who contacted me a while back, trying to buy my volume. Sasson Walcott, I believe his name was. Said he was trying to collect them all.” Leor snorted. “I have no idea who’d have sufficient wealth to manage the entire set. It would cost a king’s ransom. Even the royal library was only able to afford one.”

My interest was piqued. “The royal library has one?”

“That’s what Marvella told me. Or, at least, they bought one. Who knows if they still have it.”

I made a note to check on it, and wrote down the name of the book broker, too.

“Henri.” Leor put his hands together in a praying fashion, mouth pursed in discomfort. “It truly disturbs me to hear another volume has been stolen. While brilliant, the spells in those grimoires could do irrevocable damage. I shudder to think of them in the wrong hands. Marvella’s family was very careful who they sold each volume to. She only gave the seventh volume to me because she knew I would both put it to good use and use the knowledge inside wisely. I was not the only one gifted a volume in order to keep it in the right hands.”

“I understand,” I assured him, and I truly did. Knowledge misused was often the downfall of people. Not to mention civilizations. “I’m not keen on this myself. What kind of spells were in yours?”

“There weren’t many, really. As I said, it specialized in magical theory. Which, if you understood it, I suppose could be used in the wrong ways. But most of the set had spells best used for interrogations, compulsions, even seeking spells that bordered on unethical.

“I read through parts of the other volumes, you see. And, frankly, they were disturbing. I could see how easily they could be misused. I have nightmares about mine falling into the wrong hands, much less anyone else’s.”

After hearing that list, I knew I’d have nightmares, too. I’d seen what happened when a magician was careless in his craft—he’d started an epidemic in the city. But someone with cutting-edge spells crafted by a genius some claimed was mad? I had to assume the epidemic would look mild in comparison.

“I assure you, we’ll do everything we can to find them quickly. Especially since the volume at the faire was stolen without its protective box.”

Leor’s head jerked up, and he stared at me with jaw dropped. “No! Great dark magic, that’s even worse!”

“No one was happy to have that reported.”

“No, you don’t understand, the grimoires have no sealing hex inside their covers.”

I jerked, startled, then groaned, my head sinking. I really wished someone had informed me of this terrible news earlier.

“At all?”

“None at all. It was part of why the Radman family was so careful in choosing the grimoires’ owners. Kerey Radman clearly never intended for his work to be handed over to another.”

Phil took this in, expression serious, which was an adorable look on his tiny face. “But that means there’s no protections on the books.”

“None at all.”

I could have used better news, not…this. At least Leor had given me people to interview, which might drum up some leads, but I had no faith they would hand me a solution.

“Leor, tell me good news. Your box for the grimoire, was it taken, too?”

“I’m happy to say it was. Well, happy isn’t the right word…you know what I mean.” Leor made a face. “In this case, I’d rather have the box stolen than the grimoire without its protective box.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yes. That means we currently only have one unprotected volume of deadly spells freely out in the public.”

Leor gave it a beat. “I think that sounded more reassuring in your head than it did aloud.”

Grimacing, I admitted, “It did. That’s still the stuff of nightmares.”

Leor was well able to read me and offered, “Good luck? And find them quickly.”

“Thank you.” I sighed. I did not look forward to telling my better half any of this. “I’ll need it.”

I had another case’s paperwork to wrap up before a deadline, so I retreated back to the station. Niamh and Foster had investigated the other two thefts at the faire with me, but it unfortunately hadn’t given us any leads. Just more things to investigate, which didn’t please any of us.

I had told people to meet me at the station in the afternoon so we could compare notes. Henri was off visiting a friend, which surprised me. Unsociable as he was, he did have friends he spoke with. Maybe not regularly, true. It gave me a window of time to wrap things up.

I more or less had things done when Niamh joined me. She sat in the wooden chair I kept at the side of the desk and crossed her legs comfortably, as if she had an invitation to be there.

I found Niamh a little difficult to read. She was stunningly beautiful, enough to be a model or an actress, but she also had a natural poker face. She could have walked right onto The Lord of the Rings set, too, and fit right in. Her tall stature, a height near my own, and the platinum blonde hair that fell in a thick braid over her shoulder gave me the impression. That and the apple-green of her eyes, set in a heart-shaped face, with those wicked elf ears peeking out from beneath her hair. She’d give the impression of an ethereal beauty if not for her red kingsman uniform.

As she took a seat, I gave her a glance and greeted her. “Niamh, hi. Give me two seconds, I almost have this done.”

“Of course.” She extended a hand to the two cats lounging on the corner of my desk and gave them scratches. “Tasha, Clint, hello.”

They purred, enjoying the attention.

I signed off on a few things, stacked them in the right folders, and got them into my outbox. I’d file them in a second, but the air around Niamh suggested she had something to say. Or perhaps ask. I wanted to give her the space to do so while we had no one around. The bullpen was relatively quiet and empty for once. Something of a miracle, that.

“Detective.” Niamh took a breath, visibly deciding how to phrase her question. “Clarify something for me. Why did you ask for me?”

Ah. The expected question. I had a feeling the situation hadn’t been fully explained to her.

“Couple of reasons, really. Queen Regina has requested I teach more of her kingsmen how to handle a crime scene. Because you’re a newbie, I pulled you in to teach. You and Foster, really.”

Her caution eased up a mite. “What’s the other reason?”

“I don’t know you,” I explained with an easy shrug. “And the easiest way to fix that is to work a case with you. I consult a lot with the kingsmen. Half of them are basically brothers to me, and it behooves me to know you better. To know anyone who’s joined the kingsmen ranks. Why not invite you in on this?”

“So, it’s not that I’m being tested?”

I blinked at her, surprised. “Which idiot suggested that? Girl, you’ve made it into the kingsmen, you don’t have to prove anything. Just do the job.”

Her poker face fell away, replaced with curiosity. “You really see it that way. But, you know, that’s the question I keep overhearing. How did I manage to become a kingsman? And then someone suggests it’s Queen Regina’s goal of getting more women into positions of power, and they dismiss my abilities. You don’t look at me and think it’s a political move.”

“No. But then, I lived in a country where women made up the bulk of the workforce. And we were darn good at what we did. Queen Regina understands gender has nothing to do with competency. You got in because you have the right skills; you just need experience. Foster’s the same. He’s got some stigma attached to him because he’s a werefox, but we’re not here to cater to stereotypes.”

Clint piped up with, “Like Foster.”

I gave him a pet, smoothing my hand down his back. “I know you like Foster. He likes you too—and knows how to work with you, which is good for all of us.

“Give it time, Niamh. You’ll prove the doubters wrong eventually. And if they still give you grief five years from now, that’s on them. Not you. You don’t have to prove yourself to the idiots.”

Her expression lifted up into a slight smile. “You’re speaking from experience, I think.”

Snorting, I assured her dryly, “Still dealing with the idiots. Probably always will be. At any rate, the men you’re working with now will not look at you as a liability. Trust me.”

“That’s because I’m pretty sure she can squash me.” Gerring joined us with a grin and a wave hello. “And I know you can.”

Since I trained with him on a weekly basis, he didn’t have any doubt.

“But you are improving.”

Gerring rolled his pretty blues at me. “I’d take that as a compliment if I wasn’t sure you were holding back.”

“I try not to break my colleagues. Bad things happen. Like paperwork.” I pointed to the two files on my desk I’d just finished. “Be a lamb, drop those off for me. Evidence Locker. We’re just waiting on Henri. He messaged me a bit ago saying he had info and possibly a few leads.”

With a nod, Gerring gathered them up and went to turn them in at the Evidence Building.

Niamh leaned in and asked in a low tone, “You’re really training him?”

“He’s already a detective, actually. I’m keeping him with me a bit longer so I can pass along more of my tricks. We spar with each other on a weekly basis, to keep fighting fit.” I sighed, remembering past cases. “You’ll discover the bad guys like to run.”

“But they can’t outrun you, can they?”

My grin turned wicked. “No. But they don’t know that.”

As if a sensor had gone off, both Felixes lifted their heads at the same time, turning towards the door. Then they said in unison, “Henri!”

My cuddly boyfriend strolled in, shaking off raindrops as he moved. He wasn’t very wet, barely damp, but the moisture lingered in the dark curls of his hair and smattered along the tops of his shoulders. He greeted us all with a smile.

“Hello, everyone, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Is it raining outside?” I hoped not. We had possible interviews to do.

“It just started drizzling, and I fear the storm will get worse before it gets better.” Henri deposited Phil onto the desk with the other two, then propped a hip comfortably up against the side of my desk. “Well. I have good news and troubling news.”

“Oh, boy.” I sighed and requested, “Wait until the other two get here. Gerring is dropping something off at Evidence for me.”

“Foster?” Henri inquired.

I had my mouth open to say I didn’t know, when the front door to the precinct opened again and Foster hurried through. He gave himself a shake upon entry, getting the rain off of him as best he could, then spied us. The werefox looked a bit deflated with damp fur but still lively as he crossed quickly to the desk.

“Hello, hello, am I late?”

“Not at all,” Henri assured him. “We’re waiting on Gerring. Was there any progress on the other two stolen volumes?”

“Not much. We had a rare volume of Mrs. Addison’s Book of Manners taken. Apparently a first edition, which is hard to find, as there was a mistake in that one and they pulled most of them from the shelves within the first week. Only a hundred and fifty copies were sold. Still, it’s not in huge demand, so it’s not as priceless as it could be.”

“Worth two thousand crowns,” Niamh pitched in. “The other one was worth a bit more, priced about five thousand crowns. It was a collection of stories, fully illustrated and in mint condition.”

“A McAllister collection,” Foster explained.

This meant nothing to me, but Henri’s expression immediately cleared in understanding. Gerring had told me the McAllister books were tales meant for children. Kind of like a Beatrix Potter or something along those lines, that was my understanding. She was a very well-loved author, and basically every child grew up hearing at least some of her stories.

I picked up the thread. “It’s another of those cases where the vendor turned to help a client, turned back, book was gone. No trace of it anywhere. We’ll have to keep an eye out for it and hope it turns up somewhere. Is there any way we can notify other brokers that these books were stolen and ask them to report to us if they see them?”

“I think we can. It might mean having a few flyers printed up, or something of that nature, but it’s the best way to get the word out. And, really, the thieves either intend to keep the volumes themselves or sell them.”

I felt it only wise to point out the obvious. “The other two books stolen weren’t grimoires, so I’m not sure if we can connect all three thefts to one person. It’s a big faire, bound to attract more than one thief.”

Henri accepted the point with a shrug.

“In the case of the grimoire, I’m almost certain it’s not a magician doing the thefts at this point because the box was left behind. Any magician would know better and not take the risk. And with this set, it’s definitely a risk. But that leaves selling them, and the easiest way to get the full value of the books would be to sell them to another broker.” Henri frowned slightly in thought, absently running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how many brokers there are in the city.”

“Quite a few, I’d think. That’s one of the things we’ll need to figure out, and divvy up, so we can talk with all the players.”

Gerring came back in. I spied his approach and waved him closer. “Okay, the gang’s all here. Hit us, Henri.”

He was used to all my colloquialisms and calmly reported what he’d learned. “My friend, in fact, had a volume from the Reaper’s Set at one time. He reported it stolen two weeks ago, along with its protective box.”

I winced. “Oh, this isn’t going to be good.”

“I examined the broken lock, and he’s quite correct. A thief came in and relieved him of it. He did report the theft but said it wasn’t taken seriously.”

Henri got that devilish gleam in his eye. Like a cat that had done something it wasn’t supposed to but had enjoyed immensely, anyway.

“I stopped by the station in question and had a little chat with the officer who took the initial report.”

I shook my head. The whole city would understand the importance of books by the time we were done with this case. Mostly because Henri would get up on a soap box if he had to.

“Alright, so we have two books stolen from this series. Great. Was this another doom-and-gloom volume?”

“Yes and no.” He waffled a hand back and forth. “Predominantly, no. The volume had a great deal of magical theory in it, hence why Leor had it. He’s a magical theorist. The good news is, he’s given me the names of three other people to speak with, including the woman who gave him the book in the first place. They all have a part of the collection and might be able to shed some light on matters. He mentioned a broker had contacted him a month ago, inquiring if he’d be willing to sell the volume, but Leor ignored it.”

I was happy to hear we had names. People to talk to always helped.

“How did the broker know he had it?”

“According to Leor, it wasn’t a secret. So, who knows?”

Good point. Word did get around about stuff like this.

“That’s the good news, but what’s the bad news?”

Henri’s expression became very pained, his mouth in a long frown that reached the floor. “There are no protections on the books.”

Niamh hissed in a breath, actually drawing back in her chair.

The rest of us were clueless.

Gerring looked at Henri uncertainly. “You mean…like the box is missing, or…?”

Henri shook his head. “No, I mean there’s no sealing hex on the signature pages.”

We all collectively groaned in understanding. He’d explained the importance of that at the faire, in broader strokes.

I couldn’t help but ask, “But does it really make that much of a difference? I thought the box was the main protection, anyway.”

“We do the hex on the signature page for a reason, my dear. It’s not for redundancy. The sealing hex is to prevent magic from splashing against the cover and damaging the volume, but also to contain the magic within the pages and keep it from bleeding out and into something nearby.”

Henri shook his head, looking like someone had kicked his dog and stolen his truck.

“And the entire Reaper’s Set has no such precautions. There are no protective hexes to be found anywhere within its cover or pages. The box created for each volume is its sole ward.”

Oh god in heaven. Noooo, that was not good. I felt my stomach drop at the thought.

Foster spluttered, “But that means the volume stolen yesterday is liable to cause problems, right?”

Henri looked about as happy as a fried frog when he admitted, “Unfortunately. And these books are filled with things I’d rather not have loose in society. My dear, I hate to say this, but when we finally do find the location of the grimoire, you might need to step back until I can evaluate it. The magic leaking from those grimoires might be…too much. Or it might be safe for you to be nearby. But I won’t know for certain until I evaluate it.”

With the chaotic state of my core, I didn’t know if I would be able to assist him. It still took regular visits from Sherard to keep me stable and balanced, although he kept tweaking the spell, giving me a slight boost now and again. We were all cautious about the kinds of energy I encountered, as some types could undo Sherard’s hard work in a second. (A certain explosion in a charms shop comes to mind…). On the other hand, I was immune to almost everything, thanks to Belladonna’s meddling. It was hard to judge it in advance.

I gave him a thumbs-up. “We’ll play it by ear.”

Henri gave the others a warning look. “The rest of you should steer well clear of it. Call me immediately for help and stay at least a half a street back, if at all possible.”

It was a good warning. I trusted them all to be sensible enough to take it.

“Question. Can our thief craft wards around it?”

“Technically, yes. It would take a great deal of time and skill, however. Each protective box would take weeks to make. Especially in this case, with no protection around the Reaper’s grimoires, that isn’t time the thief has.”

“Good point. Are you absolutely certain the thief is not a magician?”

“I would give it very low odds at this point. I’ve seen no sign of magic used in the breaking and entering, and even Leor’s book was stolen when the ward was down.”

Another good point. I could see why Henri was half-convinced. Magicians use magic as a default. Why break in with lockpicks when a spell works just as well, and faster?

Henri turned to Gerring. “You checked with police records, correct? Anything?”

“No one wrote any reports about stolen books, grimoires or otherwise,” Gerring reported with a sour expression. “And there have been a few cases of magical backlash, but it was stupid people applying multiple charms on top of each other. I checked into those.”

“So, not a lead for us.” It figured. I shook my head and asked my boyfriend, “Alright, so, who can we speak with? You said you had names.”

“I’d like to divide and conquer.” Henri looked between my ducklings. “I want to look up all the brokers in the city and notify them of these two thefts. Let’s see if they know anything. It’ll mean a great deal of legwork.”

Gerring waved this off. “All detective work is legwork.”

I knuckled a tear from my eye. “They grow up so fast.”

I got poked in the shoulder for that comment. I did love that Gerring had gotten comfortable enough with me to both dish it out and take it.

“But I think the three of you can divide this up and get most of it done in the next two days. Speed is called for, here. My friend Leor mentioned one person in particular—a man by the name of Walcott who was trying to assemble the set. But there might be others. Perhaps you can even call them, if they’re listed in the phone book.”

“It would save you a lot of time.”

I didn’t think all the brokers had a phone, though. They were still relatively new here. Unfortunately. You have no idea how much I bemoan the lack of phones.

“And what are the two of us doing, Henri?”

“I have three people I wish to speak with.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Marvella Radman—she’s the descendant of the man who created the series, and she was the one who either sold or gave away most of the volumes. She’ll know who has what.”

“Oooh. I definitely want to talk to her.”

“Elfrida Bramwell, a friend of both mine and Leor’s. She supposedly has the sixth volume, and I’d like to see if she still has hers or knows anything about the others. Elfrida is a more sociable person and might be more up-to-date on news.

“And, finally, Jere Mortimer. Jere’s a friend who I attended university with, and an excellent craftsman. He was in the unenviable position of crafting new boxes for all of the volumes, according to Leor. He’ll know more about the protections the grimoires need.”

I was really happy with this interview list. It sounded as if Henri had collected the right names from his friend. I did adore talking to people who were both experts in their fields and familiar with the situation.

“That sounds great. And can we talk to these people today?”

“I took the liberty of borrowing Leor’s phone and setting up appointments with both Lady Radman and Elfrida, who are expecting us within the next two hours or so. Jere is harder to pin down. I think we’ll have to swing by his workshop and hope to catch him. I called Walcott, as well, but there was no answer. We can run by his office later.”

Henri had called people. Voluntarily. Wow, he really was mad about these thefts. Like, I thought the world would have to be in danger before Henri voluntarily picked up a phone. But it was also a sign that the situation was potentially that dangerous. Henri was clearly worried. And if he was worried, I definitely should be.

I wasn’t the type of teacher to hover, so I didn’t try to micromanage my students. I stood, collecting my messenger bag and coat.

“I’ll let you guys manage the broker interviews. It’s more of a head’s up and a request for info, if they have it. Try Walcott again—he’s definitely a priority. He might know quite a bit of info about the set if he’s trying to collect the whole thing. Keep us posted, okay?”

People nodded. Gerring was already going to request a couple of phones and a conference room to work in, smart man. Henri scooped up the cats and got them situated under his coat even as we headed for one of the cars in the back lot.

“Raining,” Clint complained to him.

“That’s why I put you under the coat,” Henri retorted with a roll of his eyes.

“You won’t melt, Clint,” I threw in, shaking my head.

Tasha popped her head up and grinned at me. “Wizard of Oz!”

I gave her a high-five. “That’s my girl.”

As we prepared to dash out into the rain, I gave Henri a side-eye. Since I knew him rather well at this point, I shot him a teasing look and asked innocently, “Should I drive?”

He shot me a look in return, dry as dust. “No. I prefer to live.”

“It’s not like I’d speed in the rain.”

Yes, I was goading him further for my own entertainment.

“Your idea of speeding and mine are vastly different, my dear. I’ll drive.”

And I’d probably be grey before we got there. But I’d live. And Henri might really have a heart attack if I drove on a day like this.

Relationships are all about compromise, right?

Logistically speaking, Jere’s workshop was the closest to us, despite being on the edge of town. And since it might take several attempts before we caught him, I decided to drive by there first.

Jamie sat in the passenger seat, absently petting Tasha in her lap, the pad in her free hand. She was shaking her head in some mix of amusement and resignation.

“I should have known she’d latch onto that first.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fax machine.” Jamie looked up and blinked, as if realizing I wouldn’t be able to follow what she meant by that. “Ah, sorry, let me back up. We have a machine on Earth that allows documents and pictures to be sent via a telephone line.”

I almost missed a stop sign, that’s how jarring the idea was to me. “But how can that possibly be accomplished?!”

“I can’t give you the nuts and bolts, sorry. I’m not an expert on this myself. But what the machine does is break down the image into little chunks of data and then transmit that information along the telephone line. Another machine on the other end interprets the info and prints a physical copy. Which, I grant you, would be really freaking handy in this world. We’d save a lot of time if we could fax records back and forth between police stations.”

My mind whirled at the implications. The ability to send data like this across cities, perhaps even countries, thrilled me. So much information could be shared, and without the costs and delays of sending it by courier.

“How quick is this?”

“Hmm, depends on what you’re sending? You have to understand, fax machines were starting to fall out of use by the time I came here. Email is a lot faster and more convenient. I think only hospitals and law offices still used fax machines regularly. And government offices because they change as quickly as a slow-moving glacier. But a single page could be transmitted in about five minutes.” She paused, eyeing me sideways. “Did I just blow your mind, Henri?”

“I certainly feel that’s the case.”

Sometimes, she failed to understand how impressive the technological marvels she so casually introduced to the rest of us were. It wasn’t that she failed to realize the implications, because of course she knew what these machines would do to society. How they would move us all. But I think she failed to realize how revolutionary they seemed to everyone around her.

“Going back to your earlier comment—I’m not at all surprised Ellie has latched onto this idea first. If she can duplicate the design here, then she’ll make a mint very quickly. Everyone will want a—what did you call it?”

“A fax machine.”

“Yes, precisely.”

Jamie hummed, a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement.

“I think, really, she wants it for her own advantage. She wants to send some of her designs over to colleagues, and the idea of doing that in minutes thrills her down to her little toes. I’m probably going to have to pop over and decipher some schematics for her again tonight.”

I tried not to sound selfish as I reminded her, “You promised to show me one of your movies tonight.”

She snapped her fingers. “That was it! I knew I had something planned. Sorry, I knew I should have written that down. I have no memory these days.”

“Neither do I, my dear, no apology necessary.”

It was the strain of back-to-back cases over the past month that had impacted us so. You had to retain so much information while working on a case, details that might make or break it. Eventually the mind grew weary of remembering it all. I’d hoped a day off would help invigorate the brain cells, but alas, my plan had failed.

“Well, I showed you the Avengers movies,” Jamie mused. “What would be good to watch next?”

I’d requested to finally have the inside joke of Clint, Tasha, and Phil’s names explained to me. So, she’d shown me the movie series that featured those characters. It had taken several adjustments of the verbal translation spell, and I’d finally just applied a charm on very thin paper directly over the speakers, which did the job perfectly well. I’d been able to follow the movies without a hitch, except when it came to cultural idioms, which was to be expected. Now, having seen the films, I could understand her choice of names better.

At the reminder, Tasha preened, her tail flicking. “I’m spy cat.”

Clint was just as bad. “Also spy cat.”

“I hate to break this to you, but I think Phil’s the ultimate spy.” I shook my head in amusement. Jamie had pegged them rather quickly. Phil was the quiet, understated one. Tasha was quiet, but in a sneaking, clever way. You’d never see her coming. And Clint was every bit the talkative, personable one who liked to leap off things.

Phil tucked his tail around his paws, trying to look dignified. He was too young for it to stick, but the attempt was cute.

I redirected Jamie’s attention. “What about one of the movies you like the songs from? The one the Felixes are constantly singing, about cats.”

“Ahhh, Aristocats! Yes, an excellent choice. That one’s animated, though, so might be a bit interesting for you.”

I didn’t follow. “Animated?”

“Right. Think of them as cartoon drawings, but there’s motion to them.”

“Oh.” I thought I understood what this meant but had a hard time visualizing it. “Well, I’d still like to see it.”

“You’ll see all the movies, trust me.” Jamie’s grin was in her tone, a naughty sort of glee. “And k-dramas. And anime. And everything else my sister loaded on those two external drives.”

Between all of the cases and such, I hadn’t spent as much time with Jamie and the gifts her family had sent as I would have liked. It left me with questions.

“Have you managed to review it all?”

“Eh, sorta.” She put the pad into her messenger bag. “I’ve scrolled through all the files, at least. They loaded up everything that was on my own computer, plus the movies and music they know I like. And a few other movies and shows they’re pretty sure I will like. My sister’s taste in movies and books is very similar to mine, so odds are, I will. They actually sent my Kindle along with the two others, so I know most of what’s on there. They did download more, though. Things I had marked on my wish list.”

She sounded excited while listing all of this. I knew the lack of familiar entertainment here in Kingston was a sore point for her. Without understanding the cultural references, most of the comedic plays didn’t make sense to her. Velars was still a challenge to read, so leisurely reading was a goal but not something she could do comfortably yet. Having something from home had to be blissful.

In this sense, her courage and tenacity astounded me. I was very much a homebody. I had no illusions about it. If I was ever taken permanently from Kingston and thrust into a land and culture I didn’t know, I’m not sure I would have fared as well as Jamie had. But thrived she had, and with a smile on her face.

I’ve often wondered why I loved her so immediately. I didn’t mean in the romantic sense, as that took longer to grow, but in the platonic meaning of the word. Why I became so quickly attached when, generally speaking, it took time for me to warm up to people. I rarely formed such a deep bond with someone, but I think her courage was one of the reasons for it. How could you meet this woman and come away with anything but admiration?

She perked up suddenly. “Oh, I know! Why don’t we take turns? I love it when you read to me, but what if I pull out a favorite book and read to you some nights?”

“That sounds splendid, my dear.” I was, in truth, very keen on learning more about her culture and the things she loved. And since the thrice-cursed spell wouldn’t adhere to the Kindles properly, reading them on my own was currently not an option.

“Oh, dear.” Jamie chuckled, sitting back again. “I can tell that reminded you of your current problem.”

“That translation spell won’t behave,” I grumbled. “I’ve contacted Seaton and asked if he wants to join me in figuring it out. He’s keen to do so.”

“I trust that between the two of you, you’ll figure it out.”

“It won’t win,” I promised her darkly. “No machine will ever win. I’ll beat it into submission if I have to.”

She snickered again, amused by my attitude. The frustration was a gnawing thing, chewing on my chest, but I had faith I’d figure it out with Seaton’s help. Maybe pull Leor into it as well. Surely between the three of us, we’d manage to reach a solution.

But there was no time for it now, as we were practically at Jere’s door. I put the thought aside and pulled into the gravel driveway next to the large green barn. This place had originally been farmland, before Kingston’s borders started expanding in every direction. Now it was a barn on the outskirts of the city limits, no farmland to be had. Jere found it perfect for his needs.

Jamie stepped out of the vehicle, her nose flaring as she took in the air. “Wow. That’s a very potent scent of magical…something.”

I’m sure to her senses it was nearly overwhelming. The odor was strong even to me.

“Jere specializes in protective covers, boxes, and wards for grimoires.”

Jamie shot me a sharp look. “You mentioned he was the one who built the boxes for the Reaper’s Set. That’s why?”

“In part. He’s an exquisite craftsman and they no doubt wanted a protective box that fit the volumes. He makes every element from scratch, including the dyes, hence the odor around this place.”

“That makes a lot of sense. Think he’s here?”

“Well, there’s smoke in the chimney, so odds are good.”

I was heartened to see it. Jere was very careful to bank the fire if he left the building even for a few minutes. He wasn’t the careless sort.

I led the way to the front door, which was around the corner of the building. It was ajar, for once, hinting that things had perhaps gotten a bit too potent inside the building. I gave the bell hanging near the door a good thwack as I entered.

“Jere!”

It was impossible to see him around everything. The place was well organized but crammed with shelves of material. At least in this section. The upper level was for all of the crafting, a way to keep the dust out of things. It was filled with leathers, woods, dyes, paper, and jars upon jars of things I couldn’t easily put a name to. Any craftsman who stepped inside would have swooned with envy on the spot.

A thump sounded above us on the wide wooden planks, and Jere’s raspy voice called back, “Henri Davenforth, is that you?”

“It’s me!”

“Got your message about dropping by.” As he spoke, his voice got closer, accompanied by the thump of footsteps against the stairs.

I turned, orienting myself to face the foot of the stairs as he descended. “I have a bit of bad news, I’m afraid, and I wanted to consult with you.”

Jere appeared, leather apron belted around him. His dark mahogany skin was smeared with even darker ink, and his black hair in its multitude of braids was pulled back at the nape. He looked semi-respectable, which was an unusual turn of events. Normally Jere looked as if he’d gotten into a paint fight with children. And lost.

He took me in with a grin. “I’d hug you hello, but you don’t want ink all over that nice suit.”

“I really don’t,” I agreed dryly. “So, do behave yourself. Jere, this is Detective Jamie Edwards, and her Felixes, Phil, Tasha, and Clint.”

Jere blinked at her and the Felixes, then gave a grin. “Nice to meet you! Don’t let me shake hands, I’ve got ink all over me right now.”

Jamie smiled back warmly. “I’ll keep my distance. Bottle explode on you?”

“You think you’re joking, but someone didn’t put the lid on it properly before putting it on the shelf, and then I tipped it over when I bumped into the shelf, and it went everywhere. I managed to dodge most of it, but not all.”

“Someone?” I questioned, knowing full well no one else was allowed to work in here.

Jere made a face at me. “Yes, I’m someone. Anyway, let’s step out and talk. Not safe for the Felixes to be in here.”

I silently blessed him for his diplomacy. He could tell at a glance that Jamie’s core was not stable enough to be in that hot bed of magical influences. She was likely immune to most of it, but I didn’t want to take chances with her. Jere’s eyes were those of a craftsman. Few things got past him.

He led us around to the side of the building, under an awning with a table and set of chairs. Obviously a spot for lunch breaks and guests, as it was nicely done and comfortable. Jamie heaved a silent sigh of relief upon seeing it.

Jere caught my elbow and indicated back to her with his eyes while mouthing, That’s her?

I gave him a nod. Over the years, I’d told my friends about Jamie. Not everything, of course. Some things I kept in confidence, but they were all aware of who she was, despite most never having met her. I could tell Jere was pleased to finally put a face to the name.

We settled around the table, the Felixes choosing to lounge on the surface for once instead of on someone’s lap. Jere took them in with keen interest.

“Heard about these. Felixes, you said?”

Clint chose to answer for me. “We are.”

Jere nodded, not surprised, and watched Clint with avid curiosity. “I only know your creator by reputation, but he did a good job making you. As a craftsman myself, I can appreciate the quality of work. How did you end up with Detective Edwards?”

“I field cat,” Clint answered, as if that explained everything. His chest puffed out, showing off the police vest he wore.

Since he hadn’t actually explained much, I tacked on, “I acquired him for her, in fact. Jules Felix was so pleased with how Clint developed that he asked if she’d take on one more.”

“So, naturally, I ended up with three.” Jamie shrugged, as if this were the only expected outcome. “They’re excellent companions. And quite helpful to me at crime scenes.”

“Really? We must have dinner, all of us, and get to know each other better. I barely see Henri all that often as it is. We have much to catch up on.”

Jamie, being more sociable than myself, immediately agreed. “Sure, let’s set a time after this.”

“I’m afraid we are here on business,” I said apologetically. “But we can do dinner sometime this week and visit properly.”

Jere nodded, understanding. “It is the middle of the workday, after all. Didn’t figure this for a social call. I’m not sure why you’re here to talk to me, though.”

“It’s about the Reaper’s Set.” I settled in to explain better, resting my hands on the table’s smooth surface. “We’ve recently had two volumes stolen. One of them from a broker at a book faire, the other from Leor Purves.”

Jere’s expression changed from smiling to unsettled in a split second, color draining from his face so that he looked almost grey. “Great gods above. Leor had volume seven, didn’t he?”

“Yes, quite so. Volume four was stolen from the faire. How well do you know the set?”

“I would say intimately well, on one level. I had them in hand for nearly a full year while I crafted the boxes for them.” Jere ran a shaking hand over his face, looking as if someone had tap danced along his grave. Then stomped on it for good measure. “Henri, do you know much about the set?”

“Only the basics at this point. And your reaction is scaring me.” As I eyed him, the sinking feeling in my chest twisted in an uncomfortable fashion. “How dangerous is this set?”

“I certainly wouldn’t let it out in the public, if that’s what you’re asking. Lady Marvella Radman approached me roughly ten years ago, requesting that I make the boxes. Frankly, she hadn’t much money for the project. Her family fortune has been in trouble for the past generation. I think that’s why she wanted me, as I was brand new to the field and automatically cheaper than my business rivals. But she was determined to get them settled right, and I think hoping to sell some of them and get some income. She approached me because of a recommendation from a former professor. You remember Gauldie, right?”

I hadn’t thought of that professor in many years. But she had been one of my favorites, a stunningly brilliant woman with a very unique fashion sense. I’d never before met someone who kept her hair purple.

“I do, indeed. A favorite professor of mine.”

“Well, Lady Radman and Gauldie are good friends. It was she whom Lady Radman asked for a recommendation of a magical craftsman. Gauldie and I are still friends—we meet up for tea sometimes—and she thought to introduce us. Lady Radman’s payment to me was one of the volumes, the ninth one.”

“Oh, so you’re one of the people gifted a grimoire.”

“I am.” Jere stroked a hand over his chin. “If you can call it that, in my case. Not many were gifted. The family sold as many as they could, but Lady Radman wanted three specific grimoires to go to certain people, so she put her foot down and got her way. I’m honestly glad. Mine is a treasure, and I’d never have been able to afford it on my own.”

Jamie was busy taking notes, leaving me free to ask questions.

“Was that the plan all along? You took the job as a trade?”

“That’s how strapped she was for cash. I didn’t realize until later how invaluable the set was. But I didn’t even dream of trying to renegotiate the deal for cash instead, despite how lopsided it sounds. I earned every copper, I promise you. The grimoires, when handed over to me, where in a bad state. They’d been put in protective boxes, but when sealed into the wall, the outer brick’s mortar had failed. The boxes were damp and falling apart when discovered. They were bleeding into each other on various levels.”

I winced at this description. “Great magic. How bad was it?”

“Ever see wooden beams trying to grow into each other?” Jere returned, his voice full of dark humor. “Whole back end of the house looked like an elvish shire, but a warped one, with the beams thinking they were trees and the brickwork going back to nature. Craziest thing I’d ever seen, and the air itself was horrible. Thick and stagnant with warped magic. Made me ill, walking in, and that was with a protective ward on me. It took two magical specialists to get them safely out of the building. And then they wrapped them up in binding cloths with hexes to protect the grimoires until boxes could be made. Which wasn’t all that effective, truth be told. I had to put them in staging boxes as soon as I got them here. It was a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry.” I had to interrupt to make sure I knew what he meant. “Staging boxes?”

“I’ve got ready-made boxes that have very powerful sealing wards on them,” he explained. “They’re what I use in a pinch. I imagine your compartments at the police evidence room have something similar, something that can contain powerful magic in a one-size-fits-all sort of way.”

“We do, indeed. Pray continue.”

“Lady Radman was adamant about preserving the covers and restoring the grimoires to their original state. I agreed because it would impact the value of the set if I messed with them too much, but the covers were leather and in a right mess. I had a devil of a time restoring them. And the protections I had to put up until I could get the boxes made—argh, it gives me a headache just remembering it all. With everything going on, it took a year for me to complete boxes for the full set.”

I didn’t like the sound of this.

“The grimoires are that magically potent individually?”

Jere waffled a hand back and forth, making a face.

“Depends on the volume. Some of them, no, not so much. Leor’s, for instance. His barely gives off a magical aura, as only a few of the spells were written with magical ink. Most of it was quite normal, more a notebook than a grimoire. Thank anything you care to name. I had the hardest time beating it into his head that he should put the book back in the box after he was done reading it.”

Knowing Leor, I believed that wholeheartedly.

“And the one you have?”

“Also not as magically potent. Mine deals more with crafting things, including the best way to bind a new grimoire. Which is ironic, since the author failed to take his own advice for most of the set. But I kept that book for a reason. I can make you a full list, if you’d like. Rank them on a scale of most dangerous to least.”

“That would be supremely helpful.” He might be the only one able to give us that information.

Jere pursed his lips in thought. “You say the fourth one was also stolen?”

“Yes,” Jamie confirmed, looking up briefly from her notebook.

“That’s really not good. It wasn’t the most potent of the lot, but it definitely had some power to it.”

I almost didn’t tell him. In the end, I felt it only fair to warn him. “That volume was stolen without the box.”

Jere stared at me, a man waiting for the punch line of a joke in poor taste. “Come again?”

“The grimoire was taken out of the box at the faire,” Jamie reiterated, also sounding pained.

Jere dramatically flopped onto the table. “Nooooo. That absolute moron!”

“We have the box in Evidence Lockup.” Jamie glanced at me, and I shrugged in response. “I think it might need a looking over? We can try to put it back in if we can figure out where the book has gotten off to.”

“Trust me on this.” Jere lifted his head to give us a stern look. “Keep the box with you. You’ll want to immediately put the grimoire back in it. That one, especially, loved to give me trouble. It was constantly bleeding over into surrounding books and making weird things happen.”

I winced. “Noted.”

“Jere…” Jamie tapped her finger to the table’s surface to draw his attention to her. “Can you tell me where your volume is?”

“Oh, I keep mine in the house.” Jere indicated the modest house behind the barn, which had once been the farmhouse. “I can’t leave it in the workshop, too many potential disasters.”

I felt the precaution was wise.

Jamie asked hopefully, “Do you mind if we look at yours? We’ve yet to see a volume from this set. I don’t even know what it looks like.”

Jere seemed to think this was reasonable, as he popped up. “Sure, come in. All of the grimoires are a bit different from each other, but they’re also similar. Radman liked to use dark leather for the covers, and cream paper, so it’s easy to tell if a book is part of the set at a glance.”

Good to know. I had a physical description of the fourth grimoire, and Leor’s, but I hadn’t been sure if they all looked precisely the same.

We followed him down a path lined with stepping-stones. Jere had manicured the area with flowers and trees, making it very appealing to the eye. The house itself was a two-story with a front porch just wide enough for a small table and brace of chairs. We stepped up onto it, entering the white-washed house. It smelled of baking bread, which didn’t surprise me, as Jere had a bread addiction.

We didn’t go far, just through the foyer and to the right, into what was likely his formal sitting parlor.

“I keep it in here,” Jere informed us, moving past the silk-covered couch and chairs, towards the back wall. A china cabinet hugged one corner, the top displaying breakable figurines, while the bottom was a closed and apparently locked cabinet.

“Wait.” Clint darted ahead, then lifted onto his back paws, resting one lightly against the cabinet so he could put himself at eye-level with the small lock.

I knew this behavior all too well and mentally braced myself.

Jamie leaned over him to get her own look. “What is it, bud?”

“Broken lock,” Clint pronounced firmly. His whiskers quivered, nose twitching. “Nothing magical here.”

Jere swore and lunged for the cabinet, only to be checked firmly by Jamie with a hand against his chest.

“Wait, Jere. This might have just become a crime scene. I really need you to not touch anything until I can figure this out. Henri, do you have gloves on you?”

“I do.” I fished mine out of an outside pocket and handed them over. Then, I caught Jere’s arm and eased him back.

Jere watched with open dismay as my partner donned the gloves and opened the door, drawing it down to rest on its hinges.

Nothing was inside.

“It should be there,” he whispered, expression horrified. “I never take it out of this room. I always put it back after I read it. Is the lock really broken?”

“Smashed pretty good,” Jamie informed him, eyeing the lock critically from the back side. “My guess is someone took a screwdriver to this. Jere, when was the last time you saw the book?”

“I—I don’t—I don’t know?” Jere shook his head, the shock of the theft rattling him. “It’s been a few weeks, I think. Henri, what am I supposed to do?”

I clapped him on the shoulder, trying to brace him. “We’ll find it.”

I hoped.

With Jere’s theft occurring who-knows-when, I had to treat it like an active crime scene and hope this hadn’t occurred a month ago. Like Leor, Jere couldn’t actually remember when he’d seen his grimoire last, and let me tell you, I wasn’t happy about not having a real timeline to work from. I like timelines. We’re friends.

I really hoped my pessimistic thought that the theft might have occurred a month ago wasn’t accurate. Talk about a trail long gone cold if that was the case. Henri sat with his friend, trying to pinpoint the last time Jere had actually handled the book. Jere was too upset to think clearly at the moment—not that I blamed him.

Me, I stepped out onto the porch and called in Niamh. The other two were fine doing what they were doing, but Niamh had been brought into the kingsmen for a reason. Her tracking skills were something else. If anyone had a chance of picking up a possible trail, it would be her.

She answered her pad cautiously, with the air of someone who was still getting a grasp on this new-fangled device. “Hello, Detective?”

“Hi, Niamh. I could use you over here at Jere Mortimer’s place. Turns out he had a grimoire, and his was stolen as well.”

She sucked in a sharp, startled breath. “When?”

“We have only a rough idea at the moment. He’s trying to remember the last time he handled it. But the lock on the cabinet he kept it in has clearly been forced open, so this isn’t a case of him misplacing it.”

“I understand. I’ll be right there. What’s the address?”

“I’ll text it to you. See you soon.”

I ended the call and sent her the address. Even as I did so, I wondered if I should be using that terminology. Texting someone with the pad didn’t jibe quite right. It wasn’t like I was pushing many buttons.

Ah, well. They didn’t have a term for it anyway, right? Might as well go with what I was comfortable using.

Some etymologist in the future was going to have a field day with this. I could see it now.

With Niamh dispatched, I retreated back inside. Jere still looked like he was torn between wanting to murder the thief with his own hands and reeling in shock that it had been stolen at all. Clint was draped across his lap like an emotional support animal, and Jere was absently petting him even as he stared hard at the cabinet.

My other furballs sniffed about the room, probably trying to pick up on something out of the ordinary. I wished them luck. For all that it looked like a normal farmhouse, the scent of magic was very strong here. It wasn’t that it carried over from the nearby workhouse, but rather that Jere’s very being imbued magic into the surroundings. It would mask a lot of scents.

I came around and sat in the empty chair next to him, sharing a look with Henri. Henri was upset, too, both outraged at the theft and worried about his friend. He’s a softie, my Henri. I knew he wouldn’t take this well.

But if we were going to do anything useful, I had to get these two back on track.

“Jere? I have about a dozen questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

Jere blinked, as if he were switching mental tracks to process my words. He blinked again, expression clearing before he responded.

“Oh. Yes, I’m sorry. I’m still trying to remember when I last had it.”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. First question. You don’t have wards up?”

“I have so many visitors, clients, and delivery men that come in and out, it makes it impossible to maintain a ward,” he explained sadly. “And there’s never any theft in this neighborhood. It’s astonishingly safe. I never felt the need for one.”

“Gotcha. Something you said earlier didn’t make sense to me. I’m sure it did to Henri, but explain it for us ordinary folk, would you? Why are grimoires so volatile? You said spells are written in the pages, but a written spell doesn’t have a life of its own, does it?”

“It does and doesn’t.” Jere took in a breath, visibly settling himself enough to answer me. “The recipe for a spell, especially one meant to be verbally cast, doesn’t have power when recorded. But most spells aren’t cast. I would say roughly seventy-five percent are either brewed up as potions, crafted into hexes, or designed as charms.”

“Practical magic,” I responded, encouraging him.

“Correct. And grimoires, especially personal use ones, have a great many hexes and charms. Predominantly hexes. We get very tired of drawing them out over and over again. They’re complicated and tedious to craft. It’s easier to draw them out once in our grimoire, and then activate them when we need to.”

Henri picked up the thread for me in his calm, smooth voice. “Magical ink is used to record the charms and hexes in grimoires. That’s so they can be activated and used at will. It’s also why a sealing hex is drawn into the signature page of the book. It keeps the magic inside properly in place so it doesn’t blend untowardly.”

Henri had explained this before, but it begged a question. “So, why didn’t the man who wrote this series do that? Put in protective hexes?”

“My guess is, he was very good at theorizing, not so good at the practice.” Jere gave a brief smile, a flash that was there and gone in a blink. “The design—one of them, I should say—for protective hexes in crafting grimoires was the very design he used on the grimoire’s original boxes. With it created on the page like that, he could easily burn the design from page to box in a second. Faster than transcribing it onto a page with magical ink.”

“Ahhh. Got it. But he couldn’t burn the design into a book’s page?”

“It would threaten the integrity of the paper and the book itself. Transferring hexes like that requires a certain power, and delicate surfaces can’t handle it.”

He was the expert. I trusted he knew what he was talking about. I pulled out my notebook and jotted some of this down, just in case it became relevant later.

“And the magical ink in the book doesn’t bleed into the other pages? It stays properly in place?”

Jere grimaced at the question. “Yes and no. Like all things, magical ink does have a shelf life and will break down eventually. It holds out much longer than normal ink, granted. In theory, the hex inscribed in the book is not only meant to contain the magic, but to preserve the ink.”

The way he reacted gave me a clue. “How much work did the Reaper’s Set take, anyway?”

“More than I bargained for. I had to restore several pages in my volume alone. It was dangerous to leave it as it was.” Jere passed a hand over his face, and I noticed it shook a little. “I really do not like the idea of mine out in the world with some idiot who doesn’t understand how to handle it. Worse, the fourth volume, with no box at all.”

Growing wood and upheaved bricks, he’d said. The estate housing the volumes had been growing and merging into itself by the time they were discovered. Yikes, who wants a warped house going back to nature?

Jere’s head abruptly jerked up. “I need a calendar. Perhaps if I had my planner, I could work through it backwards and figure it out.”

“No harm trying,” Henri agreed.

Jere, funnily enough, took Clint with him as he left the room, hurrying through to what looked like a den. Clint went along for the ride, amenable to being carried about. He was a lazy kitty sometimes.

With Jere out of the room, I dared to ask Henri in a low voice, “Is Jere prone to overreacting or being dramatic?”

Henri shook his head before I could trot the whole question out. “Not at all. He’s the least prone to do so out of my friends. The fact that he’s this rattled tells a story in and of itself.”

“That’s kinda what I’d thought you’d say.”

Houston, we may be in trouble. Because if the expert who worked on this set was paranoid about the books being loose? Then I should be, too.

Jere came back with the planner in both hands, Clint now riding like a parrot on his shoulder, looking victorious.

“I think I have it narrowed down. I had two projects back-to-back that kept me working late hours, so I can confidently say I haven’t handled it since then. I was out of town for several days before that. I think it’s been anywhere from twenty-eight to thirty days since I last saw it.”

I mentally groaned. Crap, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

“Okay. At least we have a time frame to work with. That helps. Jere, sit with me. Some obvious questions are lacking answers. First, who all knew you had a grimoire?”

“It wasn’t a secret. When the sale of the Reaper’s Set was first announced, I was featured in the newspaper as the crafter of the boxes.” Jere passed a hand over his face, letting the planner relax in one hand. “It brought a lot of good business to my door.”

I bet it had.

“Okay. Has anyone recently come to talk to you about it? I’m trying to figure out how the thief knew it was here.”

“Oh. Oh, you’re right, that is a good question.” Jere sat still for a moment, brow furrowed as he thought hard. “I had a book broker, a man named Walcott, come and see me about possibly selling the grimoire. I honestly didn’t pay him much attention, as I was buried in a project at the time. He called again, I want to say a week later? Offered me a higher price than before. I told him no, and I haven’t heard from him since. Let’s see…I can’t think of anyone else. Not recently.”

I noted the name down with interest. The same broker Leor had spoken with. Interesting, and not that surprising. We definitely needed to talk to the man.

“Is there a record somewhere of who has each grimoire?”

“I think Lady Radman would have such a list. Oh, no, I think quite a few people were listed in the newspaper. It was a big story at the time because the grimoires are so expensive. Not everyone was named, mind you. Some people asked to be anonymous. But I want to say over half the owners were listed in the article. And, of course, I have a list of who has each one. If there’s ever an issue with a box, they’re to come to me for maintenance.”

Oooh, list. I loved lists. “Can I have a copy of that?”

“Of course! Anything I can do to help. You’ll warn the other owners?”

“First thing,” I assured him. And meant it. I also wanted to verify who still had their copy and whose had been stolen.

Jere’s expression turned anxious. “What can you do now?”

“Well, I actually called in a colleague. She’s a Woodland Elf, amazing tracker. I’m hoping she can pick something up from here that we can follow.”

Jere seemed to realize the problem quickly. “There are a lot of free-floating scents and magic in here.”

“Like I said, really hoping.”

“I suppose there’s not much in the way of clues, not after all this time.” He looked around again, as if seeing the room with fresh eyes. “I have a maid who comes in once a week to clean. She will have dusted away any evidence.”

Crap on a stick. There went any possibility of fingerprints.

“If you have a maid, then wouldn’t she have noticed the damaged lock?”

“Apparently not,” he sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Yeah…I’d like to talk to her anyway. Here, sit, give me a list of names of people who knew you had the ninth volume and where you kept it.”

Jere sat in the same spot, still slumped and depressed. “I mean, anyone who read the paper would know.”

“I’m referring to the ones who personally knew you and would know where you kept the book.”

“Oh. It’s rather a long list. I didn’t really make a secret of it.”

“Tell me anyway. Too much information is better than none at all.”

It started with his maid’s name. Then family and friends, branching out into colleagues and the book broker who had been interested in purchasing it.

By the time we got through all of them, Niamh had arrived. She knocked at the door and Henri popped up to let her in.

“Ah, Kingsman Niamh, I’m happy you got here so quickly. This way, please.”

Niamh sailed through with a feline grace. Despite her height, she could move so silently she barely stirred the air. I’m told I move like that now, after Belladonna’s enhancements, but it’s hard to see it in yourself.

Niamh greeted Jere with a polite nod. “Hello. I’m Kingsman Niamh.”

“Pleasure, Kingsman. Jere Mortimer, at your service.” Jere looked at her with a sort of masculine awe, as if she’d stunned him on some level. She probably had.

I indicated the open cabinet on the other wall. “The grimoire was stored in there. I’m afraid it’s been about thirty days since he last handled it, so we’re not sure when it was stolen.”

Niamh’s expression turned pained. “I’m not sure if I can pick anything up if it’s been that long. But the theft may have occurred more recently, correct?”

“Correct. Just try. I don’t know how your tracking ability works, so if you can pick something up, that would be awesome.”

She approached the area, eyeing it from every angle, and explained as she went, “My people don’t rely on a singular sense in order to track something. It’s part scent, part visible aura, and part instinct that’s hard to describe to the other races. You don’t really have a sense like ours.”

Of course Henri had to ask, “If you were to attempt to explain it, how would you do so?”

Pausing, she cast him a glance over her shoulder. “Which way is up? Which way is down?”

Henri pointed up then down with his finger.

“How do you know?” Niamh asked with a wry smile. “You see? It’s something you instinctively know but there’s no way to explain it. It just is.”

“Ah. An excellent explanation, thank you.”

“Thank you for asking.” She rolled her eyes. “It gets irritating when people assume I’m omniscient. Now. As for this case….”

I stood well back to give her room to work. It was one of my pet peeves, having someone hanging over my shoulder while I was trying to work. I tried not to do it to other people.

Niamh looked the scene over carefully, stepped back several times, and even turned and stared hard at Jere for a moment. Then she turned back and shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m not picking up much. There have been three people near this case who interacted with it recently. I’d say within the past three weeks or so. I can barely discern one aura from another, and Detective Edwards’ presence is the strongest. Also the most recent.”

“Because she opened the case today.” Jere let out a low sigh.

As little information as she’d given us, it interested me. “You said three. If we rule out Jamie and Jere’s maid, that still leaves one person.”

“Quite probably our thief,” Henri mused. “And you said within the past three weeks? Is there any way to narrow that down further, I wonder?”

It was a good question and one I didn’t have an answer for.

“Niamh, you said you could barely tell the three auras apart. If I put you in front of someone who had been here, could you identify their aura?”

“I think so. But I can’t make promises. It’s very faint.” She shrugged, expression screwed up in a half-grimace.

“No harm in trying. Assuming I can figure out who that third person is.” I half-turned to look at Henri. “We’d better go and talk with Lady Radman and Elfrida Bramwell. At the rate things are going, those two might also be missing their volumes. Or in danger of losing the one they’ve got. We’ve got to call anyone who has one, really. I’m afraid of who else might be missing one at this point.”

He didn’t look too happy with the idea, but he didn’t argue against it, either. To Jere, he swore, “We will figure this out. I don’t think the thief really understands how to handle the grimoires properly. Although, at least yours was stolen with the protective box.”

“No,” he sighed. “It wasn’t. That cabinet is the protective box. I made mine larger so I didn’t get into the habit of carting it about.”

I looked at the cabinet with dismay. “Oh, dear.”

Henri looked outright pained. “No individual box for yours? Truly, you just made the cabinet?”

“It seemed a good idea at the time.” Jere grimaced in a deeply pained way. “Oh, past self, that was a really stupid decision.”

I’ll say. I very kindly did not agree with him out loud. Instead, I said, “One way or another, they’ll leave a trail.”

Jere didn’t look reassured by this—rather the opposite. “I agree that’s the case, but Henri—that means some very dangerous fireworks will likely erupt at some point in Kingston. This many grimoires without protective cases? It’ll be a disaster and will likely harm a lot of people. I’m not sure if I can wish for that.”

Now, there’s a mental image for you. And I was with Jere on this one. That did not sound like my idea of a good time.

We drove to Lady Radman’s next, as she was logistically the next choice. I maintained the right to drive, which amused Jamie, but I didn’t trust her lead foot on these rain-slick roads. It had stopped raining for the moment, at least.

Niamh chose to continue helping Foster track down book brokers, so it was just us and the Felixes in the car. For once, the felines were curled up in their basket between us, taking a chance to nap. With such little sunlight today, they might well be operating on low energy reserves.

“After we speak with the two ladies, I think I want to track down the broker,” Jamie mused aloud.

“Sasson Walcott?”

“Yes, him. Let’s stop by first thing in the morning since it’s past office hours now. I’ve got lots of questions for the man. It’s been said a few times that each individual grimoire in this set is expensive, that trying to sell the set as a whole is nearly impossible because it would have an insane price tag. So, why would a book broker try to collect the set to sell it?”

I saw where her thought process was leading. “He must have a buyer in mind if he’s going through all this trouble.”

“Right? I really want to know who. The very rich do not take the answer no well, after all. Some foul play might be mixed in with this. At the very least, I have some questions for the man. I’d also like to know if he’s the type who can’t take no for an answer.”

It was a good question and one I entertained as well. “Should we alert the palace about the thefts? I would think with the palace wards up, their volume would be the least likely to be stolen.”

“Yeah, I agree, but I’d like to know if the broker spoke to them about buying the grimoire. If he was truly assembling the full set, then he’d have talked to them as well.”

“We’ll get to a phone and start calling people next. I believe this is her house now.”

The circular drive was bracketed by two stone pillars with a modest sign attached to one, claiming: Radman Residence.

When one thought of a noblewoman’s property, certain characteristics came to mind. It was clear at a glance the Radmans did not enjoy a great deal of wealth. This was a nice enough home, a two-story limestone with beautiful gardens in the front yard. But it was more of a cottage to the wealthy, really. Not all aristocratic families managed their wealth wisely, and this was a case in point.

We stopped in front of the door, and I parked the car before taking Phil with me. Clint hopped out on his own, but Tasha chose to ride on Jamie’s arm. All three still wore their official vests proclaiming them as part of the Kingston PD. It was cute but also made for a rather strange sight.

Jamie beat me to the door and gave it a firm knock with the brass knocker. It was opened a moment later by a woman in a plain black-and-white maid service uniform.

“Detective Edwards and Dr. Davenforth to see Lady Radman,” Jamie informed her.

The maid’s expression cleared. “Ah, of course. She’s expecting you. Right this way, please. Can I take your coats?”

As ours were semi-damp from rain, I was agreeable to this. I handed my coat and hat off to her, Jamie doing the same. The foyer was beautifully done in polished hardwood. It smelled of lemon, too, indicating it had been recently polished.

The maid led us directly into what I initially thought was the sitting room. After a blink, I realized this was more a lady’s morning room, as it was appointed with delicate furniture and pastel colors. The windows making up one wall would let in a great deal of warmth and light even on a day like this. I assumed as much, since it was sunset and a soft light still filtered in.

Lady Radman sat in a chair near the sandstone fireplace, enjoying the heat coming off the embers, ensconced in several layers of shawls. She looked…aged, was the kindest way to put it. Her skin was paper thin, so much as to give her an air of translucence. Her hair was pure white and done up neatly in a bun, but her eyes were a sharp and penetrating blue.

“Detective Edwards and Dr. Davenforth to see you, ma’am,” the maid relayed with a respectful nod.

“Thank you, Mildred,” Lady Radman said. “Bring us tea, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With a wave of her hand to the settee nearby, Lady Radman encouraged, “Do sit. I’m very curious as to the purpose of this visit. You said it was in regard to the Reaper’s Set?”

“Yes,” Jamie answered as she got comfortable. “We’re investigating it at the moment.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good start to this conversation. Before we begin on that, do clarify something for me, Dr. Davenforth. Are you in any way related to Ophelia Davenforth?”

I blinked, startled to hear that name coming out of her mouth. “She’s my mother. Are the two of you acquainted?”

Lady Radman’s expression lit up in nostalgic joy. “We are, in fact. I was her tutor, once, when she was but a girl. I haven’t seen her in ages. Is she doing well?”

“Very well. Aside from me, she has a daughter, too. And now a grandchild. She’s very busy in society, trying to improve things and help people as she can.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. I really should call upon her, I think. Maybe have tea and catch up.”

I encouraged her with a smile. “Please do. I think she’ll be quite happy to hear from an old friend.”

“I shall, then. I wish I’d known you were related to her when you first called and requested an interview. I would have been more cordial.” Her caution eased openly, making her more candid. “Now, what’s brought you to my doorstep? I hope the Reaper’s Set isn’t causing trouble?”

“I’m afraid it is,” I answered with a grimace. “We’ve discovered that three volumes have been recently stolen.”

Lady Radman didn’t have much color in her cheeks to begin with, but she looked faint at the idea. “NO! Whose?!”

Jamie ticked them off on her fingers. “Leor Purves, Jere Mortimer, and a book broker had his stolen at the Kingston book faire.”

She thumped her hand against the chair’s arm in outrage. “A book broker? Wind and stars, what was one of the Reaper’s Set doing with a book broker?”

“Apparently, being sold. He got it at an estate sale.” Jamie shrugged, hands splayed.

Lady Radman groaned, clearly upset and not at all trying to hide it. “I cannot believe this. Which volume was stolen from the faire?”

“The fourth volume,” I supplied. “I was informed it once belonged to Secilia Bardoff?”

Her outrage cleared, but only slightly. “Secilia Bardoff. She recently died, I’m afraid. Her health was always poor. It could be her family was unaware of the understanding between us and sold the volume while liquidating her estate. Oooooh, I really should have followed up on that more quickly. I was trying to give them space and time to grieve. I apparently gave them too much of both.”

If she’d had the physical health to do so, I had no doubt she would have already been out of the chair and heading to the Bardoff family to have strong words with them.

“May I ask, what was the understanding?”

With a sigh, she focused on us again.

“It’s quite the burden, being the descendent of Kerey Radman. For all the man’s brilliance, he was terrible about common sense. He wasn’t one who handled life well, if you take my meaning. He was absorbed in the puzzle, in his research, and only when he was called to war did he realize what he’d crafted. What his legacy would be, I suppose.

“So much of his work could be twisted to very dark ends, and especially in a war, the temptation is strong. He was afraid of what people would do with the spells and hexes he’d created. It’s why he enclosed the volumes into the wall of the house, so they couldn’t carelessly be stumbled upon.

“His descendants understood, too, what damage these books could do. But there was so much good to be found in them, we couldn’t bring ourselves to destroy them. When I sold or gifted a volume, I impressed upon each recipient that, if they could no longer safeguard the grimoire, they were to give it back to me. I would find a new caretaker for it.”

All said, that was a very wise approach. I mentally applauded her for the caution.

“I take it that all agreed to this provision?”

“Yes. Each person was very aware of the pros and cons of owning such a powerful book, and they were careful with the grimoires. Or, I thought they would be, at least.”

She seemed peeved that the grimoires had been so easily stolen. I couldn’t blame her for that.

Jamie piped in with, “Each of them put their volume in a secure place. The locks were broken by the thief. I assure you, no one was being careless with them. But does this mean you can give me a list of who has each grimoire? Jere told us all the names he could remember, but his intel might be out-of-date at this point, as it’s years old. I assume your list will be current.”

Lady Radman did not seem assuaged but nodded readily. “I do. I’ll be happy to give you a list. I want this madness stopped. Do you have any leads on where the grimoires have gone?”

“Only tentative ones at this point.” Jamie gave her one of those professional, confident smiles. “We’re still trying to wrap our heads around who all the players are in this case. I have colleagues combing through the book brokers’ stands and shops in the city, looking for grimoires and spreading word of the theft. I hope the thief is stupid enough to try and sell the volumes to someone.”

“That’s a good thought. I’ll spread the word as well.” A shark-like expression crossed her face. “Us old people, we only have time and energy to talk to people. I’ll leave the legwork up to you.”

That seemed fair enough to me. I did not underestimate this woman’s determination or contacts.

“Two more questions of you, if we may. You still have Kerey Radman’s diary?”

“I do. I’ll confirm the location for you before you leave.”

“I’d love to look at it,” Jamie said with a winsome smile. “We only have descriptions of what the set looks like. Seeing one of the volumes would help me identify the others.”

Lady Radman nodded firmly. “Consider it done. What else?”

“Have you been contacted by anyone wishing to buy the diary from you?”

She shook her head immediately. “No, I have not. But I doubt most collectors would be interested. The diary is very personal and contains no spellwork or magical information in it. It’s part of why I kept it in the family. It’s technically not part of the Reaper’s Set, aside from being penned by the same man.”

“Fair enough.” Jamie pulled out her notebook and made a note. “If that changes, do let us know.”

The maid came back in with a tea set, which she set on a low coffee table before pouring us each a cup. I took mine with two sugars, relieved to have a beverage. My throat was dry after so much talking today.

“Mildred,” Lady Radman directed as she accepted a cup and saucer. “Fetch me the black portfolio from my study, please. And the engraved box from the safe. It should still be open, as I was in it this morning, but tell me if I need to come and unlock it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid gave a nod before scurrying back out of the room to fetch the requested items.

Clint sauntered out of Jamie’s lap and headed straight to the distraught woman. He lifted up onto his back legs, tapping one paw delicately to her thigh. Lady Radman looked down at him with open curiosity.

“I’ve heard of them,” she mused, her eyes trained on Clint. “Felixes, correct? The creation of Jules Felix.”

“You’re well informed.” I approved of and was somewhat surprised by her knowledge.

“Old people gossip all day. It’s all that we have energy for.” She lowered a hand and touched it lightly to the side of Clint’s cheek. He rubbed back, purring at her. “How soft you are.”

He introduced himself. “I’m Clint. Pets?”

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were sentient. How clever you are. Here, come up so I can reach you better.”

Clint was amenable to this and immediately hopped up, getting situated and purring at her again as Lady Radman’s fingers stroked the top of his head.

They fell to discussing things, such as what Clint did with a detective. Clint liked to tell all and sundry that he was a field cat. Tasha and Phil seemed content to let him explain, instead finding comfortable perches on our respective laps.

Mildred came back in with the requested items. I accepted both from her, and under Lady Radman’s direction, opened the portfolio to reveal bills of sale or transfer of property notices for each volume. It was incredibly helpful because they had not only names but also addresses for each owner.

Jamie looked over my shoulder and gave a low whistle. “Perfect. Exactly the info we need right now. Thank you, Lady Radman.”

“I want this dastard caught,” she assured her flatly. “And I’ll aid you in whatever way I can to make sure that happens. You may take the portfolio with you, if it will help.”

“If you don’t mind. I don’t want to try and copy important things here and now, only to find that I need more info later. I promise you, we’ll hand it back as soon as we’re done with it.”

Lady Radman encouraged her with a wave. “That’s fine, take it. The diary I wish to keep here, you understand.”

I did, and fully supported this. With one caveat. “Allow me to put a ward up around your safe, just in case. I do not wish to take chances.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you, Dr. Davenforth. Please do. I’m not spry enough to fend off an attacker anymore, sadly.” A glint sparkled in her eye. “Although it might be fun to try.”

This woman must have been a firecracker in her youth. I could see why she and my mother had gotten along.

Looking down at the Felix in her lap, she added thoughtfully, “With Clint’s help, I bet we could drive off a thief.”

Clint perked up immediately, whiskers twitching. “Sounds fun!”

Oh, for the love of magic. These two were incorrigible.

We spoke with Elfrida Bramwell after visiting with Lady Radman, but she hadn’t much more to add to the case, unfortunately. That put us wrapping up interviews a little past sunset. As riveting as the case might be, we stopped investigating after that. It was one of the harder things to learn about being a detective—when to stop and rest. Detectives could run themselves ragged, running around at all hours trying to solve a case. And the hours were strange, granted. But learning how to pace yourself was vital, or you burned out. I was fortunate in this because Jamie was experienced enough to know how to pace herself. I simply followed her lead.

Since my sweetheart was once again translating something for Ellie Warner, I invited Seaton over to my flat for some magical tinkering. Jamie was right in that we often came up with excellent solutions while working together, and truthfully, I didn’t know what else to try at this point. I needed some outside perspective.

Seaton came right at seven o’clock, oddly punctual considering he hadn’t been sure what time he’d be able to arrive. He swept in like a storm, as usual, all energy and motion, although he looked a bit tired. The makeup around his eyes was smeared and his tie loose around his throat, indicating he’d been tugging at it.

Still, he greeted me warmly. “Davenforth, I must say, excellent timing. It’s all been political shenanigans at the palace recently. I could do with a breather.”

Ah, that explained his fatigue. People could be exhausting.

“I’m happy to have you. I honestly don’t know what else to try.”

He set the light coat aside, making himself comfortable and dropping straight into his favorite chair in front of my coffee table.

“Tea?”

“Bless you, yes. I could use a sugar hit. I haven’t had a chance to look much at what Jamie’s family sent over.” His eyes roved over the electronics displayed on the table. For this, I had pulled out a Kindle and her laptop. “Odd-looking things, aren’t they? So shiny and metallic.”

“I thought so, as well, the first time I looked at them. I’ve learned how to use them some under Jamie’s tutelage, but it’s been a struggle. I can’t read the screens or the menus.”

That formidable intellect snapped to awareness in Seaton’s eyes. The challenge had been presented. “No translation spells work, you said. At all?”

“None at all.”

I poured us both a healthy cup of tea and brought them over, handing him his cup and saucer. He accepted it with a murmur of thanks. I took a seat on the sofa, getting situated. This would take a while, after all.

“I have found a workaround of sorts, at least for the audio on the laptop. I’ve placed a translation charm over the speakers—those little grills there on the side—so I can understand what’s being said. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to watch any of the movies Jamie’s shown me recently.”

Seaton took a sip of his tea, staring hard at the inert electronics lying so innocent and docile against the wood surface. “But you can’t attach a spell directly to them?”

“Not in any way, shape, or fashion. And it’s driving myself and Ellie Warner mad.”

“Oh, I bet it is. She especially has been salivating over the idea of new tech.” A naughty smirk graced Seaton’s mouth. “It’s funny seeing her riled up about it.”

“Funny for you, perhaps. Jamie’s spending half her evenings right now with Warner, trying to give her enough information to go on.”

Seaton hooted with laughter. “I can practically hear the jealousy.”

“I am not jealous.” I might have been a touch jealous. Really, who could blame me?

“We’ll fix it so you can go back to spending all your time with your lover.” Seaton’s smirk was outrageous now.

I regarded him with a bland expression and drawled, “I’d appreciate it.”

“So, that’s still going well, then? The courting?”

“It is.” I paused, trying to phrase this right. “I’m not sure why people keep inquiring.”

“People either decide to marry or part ways after six months,” Seaton pointed out reasonably. “The two of you seem content to go at your own pace.”

“Ah. I’m in no rush, truth be told. We barely get any private time to ourselves, anyway. I feel more like I’ve courted her two weeks instead of six months.” Although his observation was worrying. “Do you think Jamie’s also wondering about this?”

“Jamie’s never been one to wait. If she wants something, she’ll go after it.”

I nodded, as he was most certainly correct. And she needed that personality in order to thrive in a world not her own. If she felt a lack in our relationship, she’d let me know.

“I’m glad we’ve found a way to put her back in touch with her family, at least. She’s been far happier.” Seaton waved at the electronics. “Even if they’ve handed us this headache.”

Yes, back to that. I turned my mind to the problem at hand. “Something about Earthian products makes them impervious to magic. I have no idea what.”

“Or perhaps it’s because our spells can’t recognize these objects?” Seaton mused as he sat back into the chair. “Think about it. The spells have directions in them, and they’re told to attach to such-and-such. But telling a spell to attach to a device from another world doesn’t work. The spell doesn’t know what that means. It’s not been developed with that purpose in mind.”

Excellent point. “I’ve tried altering the spells to ‘attach to what I’m touching,’ but that had no effect, either.”

“Ah, so you did try simplifying the spells.”

“I did. For all the good it did.”

“Hmm.” He pondered some more.

I sipped at my tea, waiting for inspiration to strike. It had failed to do so on many consecutive nights now, so it was about due, in my opinion.

“You said the box with a translation charm inside worked for the audio…” Seaton said in a tone that clearly indicated he was thinking aloud. “Have you tried making a glass screen that goes over the device and attaching a translation spell onto it?”

I stared at him without blinking for several seconds. Would that work?

He stared back, dark eyebrow quirked. “You didn’t think of it?”

“I didn’t,” I admitted slowly. “Jamie navigates the devices with her fingers, you see. She’s constantly touching the screens.”

“Ah. So, it won’t work, then. Confound it.”

An idea started to take hazy shape in my mind. “Wait. Wait, don’t dismiss that so hastily. I think you’re onto something. Have you ever seen that setup where a large magnifying glass is attached to a spring-loaded arm? One that can be moved about so a reader can easily read the fine print on a page?”

Seaton sat up sharply, setting the tea down. “Yes. Yes, I know exactly what you mean. Something like that here?”

“It won’t be the most eloquent solution, but wouldn’t that work? At least until we can come up with something else.”

He sprang up, a man on a mission. “We need glass. What glass do you have?”

“For this, we can rob a picture frame.” I was very intent on seeing for myself if this would work.

I sprang up as well, going for an older picture displayed on a bookshelf, one of me in my childhood. My mother had insisted on putting it there, and I only looked at it when it needed dusting. A noble sacrifice for the cause, I think. Besides, it was the perfect size to cover the Kindle. I dismantled it without even a twinge of sentimentality and carried it back to Seaton.

While I was gone, he’d grabbed four short glasses from the kitchen—a handy way for us to prop the glass up. I barely had it resting on top of all four glasses when Seaton had his wand out and a spell rattling off his lips.

“See what is, reflect what the viewer needs, translate all that is viewed through this pane.”

I powered on the device with a touch of a button, waiting anxiously for it to boot up. It did so—and for once, the loading screen looked different. It was no longer in English, but in Velars.

I hissed in excitement, clenching my hands on my knees. “Yes! Alright, that’s a good first step.”

“How does it look when there’s a book pulled up?”

An excellent question. I had to bend a little awkwardly to get a hand under the glass, but I managed. I used a finger to pull a book up at random and started reading it aloud with no issue.

“The Thin Man, chapter one. ‘I was leaning against a bar in a speakeasy on Fifty-Second Street, waiting for Nora to finish her Christmas…’ Is that how you say that word?”

“Who cares!” Seaton laughed in delight. “It worked, and that’s what I care about. Alright, so putting something over the device works. This method is entirely slapdash, however. Surely we can craft something better.”

I had a different take on this. “My dear chap, neither of us are craftsmen. Why don’t we take this to Ellie Warner, have her craft something? She’ll do a far better job than we could.”

He pointed a finger at me, delighted. “Excellent point. And she’s probably the most motivated of us all.”

“Arguably, yes.” Jamie might be her equal at this point in time. Although for different reasons. “And I think if nothing else, giving this solution to Warner will save both women quite a few headaches.”

Seaton was back to smirking at me. “I think you have a different motivation.”

I refused to rise to the bait. The man was enjoying ribbing me entirely too much. I reached for the pad lying nearby and wrote a quick message to Jamie.

We have a solution. The Kindle can be both read and operated.

The response was nearly immediate.

I will love you forever if you bring that solution to me right now. Ellie’s whining is something else.

I chuckled and teased back, Only forever?

Get over here, you brat.

“We apparently have our marching orders.” I stood, carefully gathering the glass. “Fancy a trip to Warner’s workroom?”

“I would, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever been in it.”

“It’s a bit hazardous,” I allowed, “but fascinating to see her projects in process.”

“I bet.”

We left the flat—I locked up behind us—and strolled down to the main street, where Seaton had parked his car. He’d acquired it recently, since he was constantly travelling, and it was a fine one—cherry red in color with butter-cream seats. It must have been custom made, as I’d not seen another one like it.

I slid into the passenger seat, settling as Seaton revved the engine up and entered traffic smoothly.

“How goes the case, by the way?” he asked casually. “I don’t know much, only that Gibson mentioned Jamie had found a good training case for the junior kingsmen. He was quite pleased about it.”

“Ah, well, the case has some very dangerous undertones to it. Are you familiar with the Reaper’s Set? The grimoires made by Kerey Radman?”

Seaton shot me a startled look. “I am. We’ve a volume of it in the palace library. I borrowed it once for a read and stayed up three nights in a row thinking about it. Don’t tell me your crime involves the Reaper’s Set?”

“Unfortunately so. We’ve confirmed three stolen volumes at this time.”

Seaton swore, loudly and creatively. “This is not good, my friend.”

“We know it. We’ve got a list of all the owners of the individual grimoires, and we’re contacting each of them—plus every book broker in the city—in an attempt to stop the thief in his tracks. The hope is that someone has been stupid enough to try and sell the grimoires back to another book broker.”

I personally gave it fifty-fifty odds, but who knows. We might, for once, be lucky.

“But no real leads?”

I shook my head in frustration. “No. One of the owners hadn’t even realized he’d been robbed until we showed up at his door. The thief was clever about how he got in and out.”

“Great dark magic, I don’t like this one bit.”

Another concern crept into my mind. “Seaton, you’ve got access to the palace library. Do us all a favor and confirm it’s still there, would you?”

He shot me an alarmed look. “You don’t really think someone stole something off the palace grounds, do you?”

“It’s an insidious little concern. Remember that time when Edward Jameson kept sneaking into the palace grounds, and we were constantly tampering with the wards? I can’t help thinking about that time. If Edward Jameson got in, maybe someone else could figure out the same trick.”

He groaned, a man pained. “I do not like that idea whatsoever.”

“I can’t say I’m overjoyed by it myself. For my peace of mind, check?”

Seaton snorted. “For my own peace of mind, I’ll check.”

This relieved me. I’d sleep better knowing at least one copy was still under high security.

We pulled into Ellie Warner’s parking lot a few minutes later. I took the glass pane and my pad in with me and we entered through the side door. One should knock, I suppose, but doing so rarely got anyone’s attention. With all the fabrication noises going on in the building, there was no chance of anyone hearing something as quiet as a knock.

I’d been in here often enough that I knew where Ellie’s workroom was, so I led us confidently down the left hallway and into the back corner of the building. Her room was massive, which made sense, as this had once been a factory building. She’d converted it for her guild’s use.

Both women were perched on stools, chatting, as we came in. Jamie’s head turned first—it normally did, as she could hear an approach far more quickly than the average person. She lit up, a delighted smile on her face.

“What’s the solution?” Warner demanded, practically bouncing in place.

“For now, a workaround.” I came directly forward, as the Kindle sat on the scarred worktable between the two women. I placed the glass on top, letting it rest without my holding it for a moment.

Seaton waved to it as he explained, “We spelled the glass. You’ll need to craft something to hold the glass in place—much like a magnifying glass—but you can operate the Kindle perfectly and read it without a hitch.”

Warner promptly propped the glass up with one hand, the Kindle with the other, and tested the theory. She had a struggle trying to do things with her thumb, but she managed more dexterously than I would have. Her delighted smile grew.

“Oh, this is excellent. I can read every word. Well done, gentlemen.”

I gave her a little bow. “I trust you can craft one for me as well? And the laptop?”

“Yes, give me the dimensions. I haven’t seen more than a glimpse of it yet.”

Jamie snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me in, tilting up enough to press a chaste kiss against my mouth. I warmed under the touch, and my expression was undoubtedly besotted as I looked back at her.

“I knew you would figure it out,” she praised. “You and Sherard are a good team that way.”

Seaton asked almost rhetorically, “Does that mean our work here is done?”

“It does in my book.” Jamie looked between the three of us, eyebrows lifted. “Dinner, anyone?”

We’d had a late lunch, which threw off my normal eating schedule. A dinner with friends sounded quite splendid to me. “I’m all for it. Christopher’s?”

“Oh, yes. This is definitely cause for a celebration.”

“I’m parked outside, I can drive us,” Seaton offered. “And perhaps on the way, I can make my case to Ms. Warner about what I want invented next.”

Ellie scoffed even as she hopped off the stool and sailed past him. “Get in line. I’ve got requests queuing out the door.”

Seaton was not one easily dismissed and followed her out, still speaking. “Bargain with me, Ms. Warner. I can offer you magical help in return.”

Warner paused to shoot him a look, this one calculated. “Oh?”

Snickering quietly, Jamie whispered to me, “I’m going to bet Sherard gets his way.”

“No bet.” Although, really, what in the wide green world did Seaton have up his sleeve now?

I somehow didn’t want to know.

After such an exciting night, I expected something to have happened on my ducklings’ end, too. A lead. A clue. Something. Instead, they reported that the brokers were surprised at the news, but nothing earth-shattering came back to them.

They had managed to speak to most of the people on our list. We’d not caught everyone at home the night before, and I’d missed a few of the owners of the Reaper’s Set. I still had two to follow up on, and of course the ducklings were still wading through the many book brokers in the city. But I really, really wanted to talk to a particular book broker, one Sasson Walcott. Henri agreed it seemed a good place to start this morning, so that’s where we headed first.

Henri drove again. It was drizzling, and for some reason the idea of me driving in the rain sent him straight into heart palpitations. I didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like you could go fast in this bumper-to-bumper traffic, anyway. Everyone was commuting to work, and the roads were jam-packed.

As we drove, my pad dinged and I pulled it out. Ah, Ellie. I read the message and snorted in amusement.

“Ellie reports that she now has a hand-held device that will clip onto the top of the Kindle, allowing for both viewing and touch screen ability.”

Henri shook his head. “She stayed up all night, didn’t she?”

“That would be my guess. She’s so excited right now, I think she’s bouncing off the walls. And the caffeine, for once, has nothing to do with it.”

“I noticed that when you handed her the device, you didn’t give her a priority list.”

“Hmm, yeah. Hard for me to do. I have a better grasp of what she can feasibly make with this level of technology, but sometimes Ellie surprises me. The engine modifications to the bike, for instance. She completed those far more easily than I expected. And I know that a lot of the prototype designs are coming out of her pocket. She sometimes has to pick a project based on how easy it will be to manufacture and market, just to keep a good revenue stream coming in.”

“It makes sense. Of course, all of that has to be considered.”

“Yup. I can’t complain, I’m making a mint off everything we collaborate on. Ellie has great business sense.”

Henri shot me a considering look as he slowed at a stop sign. “You could actually buy a house, couldn’t you?”

Outright, if I chose something nice instead of outlandish. The things I invented with Ellie sold very, very well, and I got a percentage of each sale. Not a huge amount, but it did add up quickly when the products went worldwide, as most of them had done.

“I could. I chose the apartment initially because I didn’t have that kind of money when I first started out. And then I stayed because I like living next to you and being close to work.”

“And I’m glad you did so.” The smile he gave me was soft with affection.

I grinned back a little helplessly. Seriously, when he looked at me like that, I melted.

“I am too. Turns out it was a really good decision.”

“The best.”

He made a turn—I actually had no idea where we were in Kingston, so just as well he was driving—and then cleared his throat a little. It was a Henri-ism for something he wanted to say but was afraid might come out awkwardly.

“I’m not complaining, mind you. Well, perhaps I am. We’ve been so busy as of late that we’ve had little personal time with each other.”

“Trust me, I’m not happy about it either. We definitely need to carve out some time. Tell work to go hang.”

He settled visibly, pleased I agreed. “Yes, we need to be firm on this. At the end of the day, let’s settle with our planners and find at least a day in the near future.”

“Done.” Even as I said it, I had a feeling it would happen after this case was closed. Gut feeling. This case was a little more volatile than usual, after all. I also had a gut feeling it would get worse before it got better.

And may the city not implode or melt due to unprotected grimoires running about, Amen.

We pulled up in front of a snooty building. You know what I’m talking about. Where it’s this perfectly pristine business building, every leaf trimmed and arranged just so on the shrubbery, literally looking like someone tore it out of a magazine and dropped it into place on the sidewalk. It didn’t surprise me, not really. The book broker handled the upper crust for his clientele, after all. He would have to, if he was buying and selling rare grimoires.

I only had Clint with me today, as the kittens had decided they wanted to play with Niamh and Gerring. Foster was stuck with phone duty, trying to reach the people we’d missed on the first round. I hoisted Clint up onto a shoulder as we headed into the building. Henri got the door. There was no chime, but a smartly dressed man at the front desk in a three-piece suit greeted us with a cordial smile.

“Hello and welcome to Walcott’s. How may I help you?”

I juggled cat to pull a badge out and show it to him. “Detective Edwards, and this is Dr. Davenforth. We’re inquiring about some stolen grimoires that we understand Mr. Walcott has a vested interest in. Is he available for a quick interview?”

“I believe so. His next appointment isn’t for another hour. Let me inform him that you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

I waited patiently as he left, taking a good look around me. Everything was so polished it gleamed. And the rug was incredibly plush and looked brand new. This place screamed money, but in the wrong way. It was trying too hard to impress. The Davenforths were old money in Kingston, and they didn’t decorate like this.

I could see the same evaluation on Henri’s face, and we shared a speaking look.

The receptionist was back out a second later, smile still intact. “Come through, please. Mr. Walcott will speak with you.”

Excellent, maybe we’d get some answers. I sailed through, keeping my right hand free for a handshake, Henri directly on my heels.

Walcott wasn’t quite what I’d expected. If a gazelle were given human form, it might look like Sasson Walcott. He was tall in a gangly way, thin, and dressed in a light brown suit that blended so perfectly with his skin color it was hard to tell where suit ended and skin began. Even his hair was the same shade. Did the man not understand the beauty of contrast?

I kept the thought off my face as I greeted him. “Hello, I’m Detective Edwards. This is my partner, Dr. Davenforth.”

He shook my hand, the gesture weak and flimsy. His cuffs had some strange ink stains around them, but I suppose being in the book business, ink stains were just a hazard of the profession. He retracted his hand quickly, as if noticing my observation and hiding his hands in embarrassment.

“Detective. Doctor. Please, have a seat. I understand you’re here about some books that have been stolen?”

“Grimoires, to be precise.”

I got my bearings as I took a seat in a blue velvet chair. This room also screamed wealth needlessly. The art on the walls were landscapes, but pricey. The back wall of the office was covered with built-in shelves that artfully displayed books, clearly a silent testament to what this broker could lay his hands on. I’m not sure if even Henri would recognize a single title.

Walcott seemed a little nervous as he took his seat behind the desk. I cut the guy some slack. Most people were nervous when a cop came knocking on their door. Especially a cop like me, with a purple cat in my lap. I had to look Willy Wonka kinda strange.

“Mr. Walcott, here’s the situation.” Henri leaned forward slightly, a disarming smile on his face. “We’ve had a rash of thefts in the past month that deal specifically with the Reaper’s Set. At this point in time, we have confirmed that three grimoires were stolen.”

Hopefully it was only three. Foster would update me if that wasn’t the case.

Walcott blanched. “Good gods, what?”

“Given the nature of the grimoires in question, you can see why we’re alarmed. Especially as two of them were stolen without their protective boxes.”

“I’m equally as alarmed, I assure you. I suppose you’re here to talk to me because I was trying to buy them?”

“Yes, in fact. We understand you were trying to assemble the set in order to sell it as a whole. I find this remarkable, as it’s very expensive to purchase even a single volume. May we ask who wanted to purchase the full set?”

“I admit it was a limited buying pool, but I did have several interested parties. Two of whom stipulated owning the entirety of the set or nothing at all.”

“Is that usual, that sort of request?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Oh yes, not at all strange,” Walcott assured me. “Collectors prize full sets. They’re rarely inclined to buy a single volume without knowing whether they will be able to eventually obtain the whole thing.”

Those people likely had too much money and too little sense, but I was diplomatic enough to not say so. “Can you give us names?”

“I’m sorry, my clients would not want that information disclosed.”

I figured. “Can you tell us if there has been any sign of someone forcibly trying to obtain the set for themselves? You surely hear rumors in this industry.”

Walcott was starting to sweat a little now, his smile pasted onto his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. I don’t deal with the black market, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

Uh. What? I didn’t mean that at all. I shot Henri a look, wondering if I’d phrased something wrong, but he looked just as perplexed.

“She meant someone pressuring another to sell,” Henri clarified.

“Right,” I agreed. “You spoke to quite a few people who have parts of the Reaper’s Set, after all. Not one agreed to sell a volume to you, but surely you heard from them about anyone else who was interested? Or nosing around, trying to do the same thing, collect the full set?”

“I—I, no, I can’t say that I have. Oh, but I do have notes on the people I spoke with. Perhaps those would be of interest to you?”

Seriously, why was this guy rattled? You’d think I was accusing him of a crime.

“Sure, that’d be a good place to start.”

“I’ll fetch them for you.” He popped up like a jack-in-the-box and was out the office door so fast I think air vacuumed in his wake.

I turned to stare after him. “Henri. Did that look strange to you?”

“Very much so.”

“You think maybe he recognized me?”

Henri hummed a note thoughtfully. “Perhaps. That’s what I attributed his nerves to. But….”

“Yeah, something’s still off.”

I got up on instinct and followed Walcott out of the office. He darted into another office farther down the hallway, closing the door behind him. With my super-hearing, I heard it clearly when he slammed the lock into place.

He’d just…locked himself in another room.

Oh yeah, that didn’t look suspicious or anything.

I called over my shoulder even as I ran for the door, “Henri, I think he’s running!”

There was a startled “WHAT?!” and then I could hear him pounding after me.

I didn’t have a warrant, but when someone runs, you chase them. I hit the door hard, and it wasn’t much of a match for my speed and strength, even as sturdily as it had been built. It broke around the lock, the wood giving way before the metal did. I burst through, taking one second to get my bearings, and blinked.

Wait. Where did he go?

An open window caught my eye, and I went for it on instinct, hands bracing on the sill as I looked out. Son of a—seriously? He’d just rabbited out of the window rather than answering some rather basic questions? I mean, he wasn’t even a suspect!

Henri caught up, puffing from the mad dash. “I don’t see him. Did he jump out the window?”

I could hear the same incredulity from him. Gesturing towards the wide-open window, more than large enough for a man to go through, I grumbled, “Apparently. I don’t think I’m that scary, Henri. Something smells, and it ain’t fried chicken.”

“No, something is very off with this whole picture.” Henri tapped a finger to his chin before volunteering, “Why don’t I go back and speak to the gentleman at reception?”

I saw where he was going with this and approved. “I’ll get a judge on the line and get a warrant to search this place. I’ll call in the others while I’m at it. This business suddenly became a whole lot more interesting. I have this sudden, burning need to go through all of the files. All.”

He gave me an approving nod. “As do I.”

As he left, Clint approached, nose going like mad.

I knelt down and put us at eye level. “I need you to get your sniffer out, bud. Go through the window, see if you can pick up his trail at all. I know there’s a lot of foot traffic outside, so it might be hard to catch it.”

Clint nodded seriously, his adorable little face in field-cat mode. “I’ll try. If not, come back?”

“Yeah. If any of our grimoires have been here, they’ll have left an obvious scent. I’ll need your nose here, too.”

“Okay, okay.” Clint sniffed the air, apparently caught what he wanted, and was out the window in a single bound.

Cats and their athletic ability amazed me. I’d at least look before hopping out a window. Him, he didn’t think twice about it.

Shaking my head, I went looking for a phone to use. I knew a judge or two who liked me, and it was time to call them. After I got a warrant in the works, I’d call the other three, have Gerring swing by and pick up the warrant for me. I didn’t want to leave Henri here on his own. The receptionist might or might not be in on it.

Whatever it was.

And to think, I thought this was going to be an easy day of interviews.

Our search of Walcott’s office had to wait until the warrant arrived, which meant cooling our heels a bit. I borrowed a phone and made a few calls, one to Foster to see how he was faring as he tried to reach the other grimoire owners. He’d managed to reach all of them, confirming that each still had their volume, which was a definite relief. At least our thief hadn’t gotten the drop on all the owners. I told him to join us, as I had a feeling we would need all hands on deck.

Niamh was the first to arrive, Gerring close on her heels with warrant in hand. Jamie had already taken charge of the scene, and while she went through the steps of closing the office down for investigation, I started into the files. I had a feeling something in these files would give us an answer to the question of why Mr. Walcott had run.

Clint came back to the same window he’d exited, sitting on the sill and looking peeved, his ears flat on his head.

I greeted him with a nod. “Lose his trail?”

“Yes,” Clint growled, aggravated. “He got in taxi.”

“Ah. Well, that was rather to be expected. I certainly would have, in his place.” It did make tracking him harder, though.

Niamh strode into the room at that moment, both kittens at her heels, and greeted me with a quick smile. “Doctor. Can I help you?”

“Rather, can you help Clint?” I corrected with a wave toward the upset feline. “He was trying to track Walcott, but he seems to have gotten into a taxi.”

“Ah, taxies.” She did not sound enthused by this news. “They’re truly the worst when it comes to tracking. They cut off all presence and scent. Still, I’d like to see where he got into the taxi, maybe later we can track down which taxi driver picked him up.”

“Splendid thought.” I approved.

“Clint,” Niamh requested, already striding toward the window. “Show me.”

Clint turned and leapt lightly back out, Tasha on their heels. Phil, however, joined me. I was pleased but not surprised by this. Phil typically chose to join in whatever pursuit I was in. I had snitched a chair from the lobby area to sit in, with a file open on my lap, so he had no room to join me. But I lowered a hand to give his head a good scratch around the ears. He purred at me, tail flipping back and forth like a happy pendulum.

“Would you care to help me, then?” I inquired.

He blinked golden eyes at me. “Yes. What are you doing?”

“That, my friend, is the question of the ages. I’m trying to discern why Mr. Walcott ran. I assume there is something incriminating in one of these storage rooms. If you could start with a general sweep of this room and the connecting room, see if anything smells odd to you.”

“Like magic?”

My interest sharpened, as that hadn’t sounded like a rhetorical question. I’d felt something was off but wasn’t able to put a finger on it, as I saw nothing abnormal about the room. But his senses were infinitely more refined than mine. “Do you smell magic?”

“Yes.”

I put the file abruptly down. It had just become imperative that I follow him. There should absolutely not be a scent of magic in a file room. The fire-suppression hexes weren’t even in this room, but engraved into the side of the building. I’d already checked for those and security wards.

“Show me.”

He promptly went into the connecting room, his nose twitching, head panning a bit until he’d locked properly onto the location of the scent. Without hesitation, he reached up on his hind legs and pawed at a rolltop desk, currently closed and locked.

“Here.”

I pulled a wand from my pocket, flipped my notebook to a blank page, and enacted a diagnostic spell. “Reveal elements.”

The result alarmed me. I saw a breakdown of magical ink leaking from underneath the closed rolltop, signs of two magical elements bleeding into each other so badly I couldn’t quite discern what I was looking at. The air was charged with such chaotic power that I feared even standing this close to it. I immediately bent and scooped Phil up before darting back out of the room.

Phil’s face tilted up to look at me. “Bad, Henri?”

“Very much so, especially for you. I don’t want you stepping back into that room until I say so, alright?”

“Okay.” He put a paw on my chest to keep himself upright, content for me to carry him about.

I immediately went on a hunt for Jamie, who was in Walcott’s office, going through his drawers. She glanced up at my entrance.

“Hey, I found a client list. We’ll definitely need to sit down and go through it.”

“Jamie, I need that warrant extended if it doesn’t cover us breaking through locks,” I informed her tersely.

She stopped rifling immediately, head popping up. “Why?”

“There’s a rolltop desk in the file room leaking magic at a volatile rate. I must get in there to contain it.”

“Craaaap. Okay, hand me Phil. The warrant covers us breaking stuff to get to files, so I think you’re good.” She reached out both hands for the kitten.

I promptly handed him over and said, “Do not let anyone else into the file room until I’ve cleared it.”

“Yeah, go, go.”

I went, not quite at a jog, hurrying back into the room. I closed the door firmly behind me and immediately put up a ward on the walls and door. Nothing in here would affect Jamie—it would slough right off her like water on a duck’s back. I’d seen her wade through magical auras thicker than this without blinking an eye. But it would impact everyone else, and I didn’t want my coworkers to become ill.

With the ward in place, I could breathe a little easier. I had my bag in here with me, stuffed with items I considered to be beneficial to keep on hand just in case. And it was one of those moments when my preparations proved to be handy. I drew out two bags to contain volatile magic—the same type of bag we’d used for the bad charms in an earlier case. With a containment bag in one hand, I hit the rolltop desk with an unlocking spell.

It popped open immediately, and it was with due caution that I used the tip of my wand to encourage the rolltop to go up.

The first sight of the desk made me hiss.

It was a good thing Walcott had run. If I’d seen this when he was still on the premises, I would have flayed him alive. As soon as we caught him, I still would. How dare he do something not only so senseless but so stupid?!

There was a knock at the door. “Henri, I see the ward, I won’t enter, but at least tell me what you’re seeing?”

Of course Jamie would follow me, worried.

“Walcott was cutting apart a grimoire on this desk.”

A startled beat, then her voice went into the same octave as screeching Felixes. “He was WHAT?!”

“You heard me. He was cutting the charm designs out, it seems. There’s a stack of cut pages off to one side. No wonder the blasted thing is leaking magic all over the place. He’s destroyed the integrity of the binding.”

“Can you do something about it?”

“Fortunately, I have the right bags on me. I can bag this up, clear the area of residual magic, and make it safe for people to enter again. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll stand guard out here just in case. He’s okay, Phil, he’s done stuff like this before.”

Ahh, so my feline friend was also concerned. I did adore that boy.

I didn’t want to worry them further, so I moved efficiently, first pulling on gloves. I didn’t think we’d need much in the way of fingerprints here, but the gloves were also warded to protect my hands. With those on, I approached the first page with caution.

It wasn’t just a charm he’d cut out. It was a cut-out charm resting on a hex design—the magic of both were bleeding together, the charm and hex activating each other’s magic in the worst ways. I gingerly reached for one, trying not to rub the pages together, as that would only aggravate the situation. Like rubbing oil onto embers.

My efforts failed. The charm page was stuck to the hex, enough cling to it that it didn’t lift freely off. Oh no—dark magic, no—

The two combined magics lit in a combustive burst of magic and flame. I threw myself backwards, letting go of both, landing hard on the carpet with a wince I barely registered. I threw up a personal shield, then hastily beat at my own forehead, as I felt heat lingering there. My eyebrows! I think it singed my eyebrows.

Now this was really, truly beyond the pale. To be injured while exercising caution! Walcott and I would have words, no doubt about it.

I rolled to my feet, as I had no time to be sitting here complaining, and threw a quick magical-suppression spell on the burning pages. I had to stop the flames before they destroyed the evidence and possibly burned down the building. The explosion had simmered into a smaller fire, something contained to the desk, so I was able to put it out well enough. Although that left a good portion of the evidence now half-burnt.

Curses. Well, enough remained that I thought I’d be able to write a report and still use this as evidence. Although I’d likely get teased for singeing my eyebrows. (I was fairly sure I had—my skin still felt hot.)

I put the cut pages into one bag, the ruined grimoire into another. Each bag could only contain so much, after all—of both bulk and magic. With everything properly sealed, it was far safer to breathe. I used two different spells to disperse the lingering magic and clear the air, then opened a window for good measure.

Phew, yes, much better. I placed the bags into my black bag, and only then did I release the ward I’d set up and open the door.

Jamie was on the other side, holding Phil, a crooked smile on her face. “Well. At least we know now why Walcott ran.”

My own expression felt strained. “Indeed.”

“Wait, what happened to your head? You look burned.”

“Small fire broke out,” I explained heavily. So, my gut feeling had been accurate. “A hex page and a charm page rubbed against each other wrong, and with the state of things, they combusted into open flame. It’s all out and contained now. How bad does it look?”

“Well, you’re missing half an eyebrow on this right side, and you’ll definitely need to get a hair trim, let’s put it that way.” She took my head in hand, lips pursed as she eyed me. “Does it hurt? Your skin is a painful-looking red.”

“It’s not pleasant, certainly. I have some salve in my workroom I can use to right this.” Her concern was touching, and I appreciated it, but I’d had worse. I was more irritated about the insult than the injury. “Walcott and I will definitely have words when we catch him.”

“Don’t blame you. Although I suppose we should have expected this. Or something like this. His denial about using the black market makes me think that’s what he was doing to actually pay the bills.” Jamie looked around at the filing cabinets lining the walls. “How much you want to bet the illegal activity has no record?”

“No bet.” I tapped the bag in my hand. “I didn’t recognize this particular grimoire, but I’d like to look into it. From what I saw, the cover was in a sorry state, worn and tattered. It could be he decided the contents were more valuable than the intact grimoire.”

“Hmm, yeah, I can see how that would work. Still, doing that alone with no magical protections? I mean, what was he working with, a razor blade and a ruler?”

“I fear so.” I’d left the tools on the desk to be collected later with all of the other evidence.

Jamie shook her head in exasperation. “Fool could have seriously hurt himself. I know you’re dying to get that thing in a proper containment locker, go on. I’ve got plenty of help here until you can rejoin us.”

Bless her. I was practically vibrating out of my skin, so keen was my desire to submit these into proper magical lockup. I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss.

“I’ll be right back. Do not find trouble while I’m gone.”

That devilish sparkle of mischief lit her face. “Wait, clarify that for me. Is this a don’t find trouble without me or I’m full up, can’t take any more today kind of thing?”

“The latter.” I rolled my eyes at her even as I speed-walked past, heading for the front of the building where the car was parked. Rethinking that, I paused at the doorway to relay, “Clint, Tasha, and Niamh are trying to hunt down Walcott’s trail in hopes of finding the taxi he took.”

“Ahh.” She glanced toward the window. “Good to know.”

The message imparted, I really did leave for the car. I wasted no time in loading up, and for once, I was the one speeding as I hurried back to the station. It was no longer raining, but the roads were slick, and I was likely going an inadvisable speed. But with light traffic for once, I made good progress and arrived at the station in under fifteen minutes, which was something of a godsend. I drove straight to the Evidence Building in the back.

Orrin was on duty at the reception desk, looking a little bored until I appeared in a frantic rush, the bag held in my hands. His whiskered nose twitched as he sat up, the werebadger alarmed at my alarm.

“Sir?! Do I want to know what’s in that bag?”

“A dismantled grimoire,” I reported grimly. “Orrin, I need a magical containment locker.”

Orrin’s face fell. “Doctor, I hate to tell you this, but we’re full up right now.”

“What?! How?” I know we didn’t have many magical containment lockers, a dozen altogether, but they were never all full. Or they hadn’t been in the past, the pandemic aside.

“Someone reported a bunch of charms left at a waste site and brought them in this morning. There were so many of them, I had to use about a half dozen lockers. The rest of the lockers are full up with weird potions used on murder cases, as well as a couple of objects recovered from a recent theft that we’re holding for safekeeping until the trial.”

We stared at each other for a full second, both of us displeased with the situation. Orrin dealt enough with magical items that he knew what I had in my hands could be quite dangerous if not properly handled. I’d vetted Orrin for this position, in fact, because of his knowledge and common sense.

“Well,” I said, not sure what else to say.

“Not ideal,” Orrin agreed, eyes fixed on the bag. “You’ve got it contained, sir?”

“I had two containment bags on me, fortunately. They’re sealed for now. But those bags don’t hold up for long.”

“No. No, not long enough for…great dark magic, sir, I don’t like this. We need a plan B.”

A thought whirled to life in the back of my mind.

“I might have one. Orrin, I’m going to leave this here temporarily, and I promise I’ll come back and properly tag it all later. But I’m going to make a request of Gregson and get an expert in here who can build something to cage it.”

Orrin looked relieved. “Yes, sir, go. I’ll take the bag. I’ve got a nice unoccupied bit of shelving it can sit on away from everything else until you return.”

See? The man has good common sense. “Thank you, Orrin, back in a bit.”

I was once again jogging—a despised activity, and a testament to how bad this was—across the parking lot and through the back door. Even as I puffed for breath, I prayed Gregson was in his office. He was a very active captain and was not always in. I got to his office, finding it closed but the light on inside, so I had my hopes up as I knocked on the door.

“Enter!”

Oh, thank anything you care to name. He was in. I pushed open the door immediately and closed it just as quickly behind me.

“Gregson. We’ve had a bit of a turn on the grimoire case, and I need an expert in here immediately.”

This was a good day, as Gregson still had his suit coat on, peppered hair not mussed but still combed smoothly back. He did look prepared for it to turn into a bad day, though.

“Lay the situation out for me.”

“We interviewed a book broker. He ran at the first opportunity. Turns out he was hacking his own inventory to sell it in pieces. I’ve got a dismantled grimoire sitting in Evidence, leaking magic, and it’s dangerous enough to cause injury if not handled correctly. There’s no room for it to stay in Evidence—all the containment lockers are full.”

Gregson sighed, eyes closing in a fatalistic manner. “I keep telling them we need more of those lockers. With the Shinigami Detective on my payroll, all the magical cases come to us by default. Alright. Do you know who to call in?”

“Yes. I’ve a friend, Jere Mortimer, who designs protective boxes for grimoires. He’ll know precisely what to do to put this thing back to rights and get it contained again.”

“Then get him in here. I’ll foot the bill.”

And this was what made him a good boss. “Thank you, sir. I’m borrowing your telephone.”

He waved to the phone sitting on the corner of his desk. I picked it up without hesitation, ringing the operator.

“Number, please.”

“Hiddleston Road, 4889.”

“One moment.”

The phone rang three times, and each ring ratcheted up my anxiety. Oh please, Jere, please be home.

Finally, an answer, sounding distracted. “Hello?”

“Jere, it’s Henri. I need you to grab your tools and head down here.”

“Wha—why? Oh, blast it, did you find one of the grimoires?”

“No. Long story short, the book broker was dismantling other grimoires. I’ve got one in pieces over here and it’s bleeding magic, literally.”

Jere swore, loudly and creatively. Whatever was distracting him before, I had his full attention now. “Alright, where are you? I’ve got staging boxes for this sort of thing. What size is the grimoire?”

“I’m at the police station. It’s roughly six inches wide, nine inches tall, maybe three inches thick? Several loose sheets as well. I’ve got them in containment bags right now.”

I could hear him scrambling for shoes.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. And curse it, Henri, I don’t want you calling me and telling me you’ve found even more grimoires in a dangerous state!”

“Trust me, I hate it more than you do. Hurry, will you?” I cut off his grumble by hanging up.

Gregson regarded me with a sort of weary amusement, the smile not really touching his eyes. “It truly does help me that you always seem to know the right people.”

“Trust me, Captain, I’m relieved that I do. We’d be in dire straits, otherwise.”

That was, sadly, not an exaggeration with this case. I was with Jere on this one. Less volatile grimoires in the future would be my preference, please and thank you.

Henri had left in a screech of tires, and I was very sorry I wasn’t able to record that moment. I’d always wondered what it would take to get that man to actually go full speed. Apparently, grimoires leaking magic was the answer.

I kept digging through the desk, looking for any hint of a clue, as right now all I had were questions. Lots and lots of questions. I may have used up my quota for questions on this case, in fact. Just one answer, was that too much to ask?

Who knows how long I was at it when Foster came in with a worried expression. He was the last to arrive, looking a bit harried after the mad dash across town.

I greeted him with a tired wave. “Hey, Foster.”

“I think I passed Dr. Davenforth on the way in, but the car was speeding?”

“Oh. Yeah, that was likely him.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask. Did something happen?”

“Book broker was slicing up grimoires to sell in pieces. Henri found a dismantled grimoire in the file room, leaking magic.” Even as I explained, I sat back for a moment to give my neck a break from looking down. It was a cushy office chair, too. Nice to sit in.

Foster looked disturbed. “I’m glad he found it, then. This case seems intent on spiraling in more dangerous directions by the day.”

“Yeah, and I can’t say I’m happy about it. Foster, we’ve got about a room’s worth of files to go through, and I’m not really keen on leaving it all here. The book broker is running free, and he might try to come back and destroy evidence. Let’s move it all to a conference room at the station.”

Foster nodded but grimaced at the same time. “It’s a wise precaution, but that’ll take hours. Can I get a police wagon and boxes?”

“Sure, it’s something we do on a semi-regular basis. I’ll call ahead and get it authorized, if you’ll go and fetch it all? Take Gerring with you, he’ll know the procedure.”

Foster shrugged in agreement. “Sure. What are you hoping to find?”

“The man was hunting for volumes of the Reaper’s Set with a specific clientele in mind. I really want to know who was hunting for the full set. That information doesn’t seem to be in his desk. I’ve gone through all of this.”

“It’s interesting because every broker I’ve spoken to has said selling the full set would be impossible. It would be too expensive.” Foster rubbed at his furry chin in thought. “So, who could possibly buy it?”

“It’s a really good question. Even the royal library could only afford a single volume, which says something. Do you guys have oil barons?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Or Saudi princes, maybe?” I muttered to myself. “You know, people who are stupidly rich and have so much wealth they can never spend it all.”

“Ah. A few. Not many in this country, I would think, but I suppose one of them could afford to buy it.”

I had a follow-up question, but I was interrupted by my pad ringing. Worried it was Henri, I immediately yanked it out of a pocket to answer. Oh, it was Sherard. Phew, okay, not an emergency.

“Hey, Sherard, I’m in the middle of something.”

“I hope you can drop it, then, because you’ll want to get over here.”

He did not sound happy. I wasn’t going to like the sound of this. I could see it now. “What’s on fire?”

“The palace grimoire from the Reaper’s Set is missing.”

I stared at the pad, a woman waiting on the punch line. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear out of my left eye like I used to. Say that again?”

“You heard me. I’ve even done seeking spells. The grimoire is not on the palace grounds. The staff is not sure when it disappeared, either.”

“You’re telling me someone stole a priceless grimoire and got it off the palace grounds without tripping the wards?”

“I feel like getting drunk before answering that question.”

What I would give for vodka at this moment. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, resisted the urge to bash my head against the desk—it would only break the desk—and let the breath out again.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting at the East Gate to let you in. Gibson’s with me.”

“Okay, cool.” I hung up and groaned loud and long, my soul leaving my body. Today was a really good day to be a missing person. Shame I hadn’t realized that when crawling out of bed this morning.

Foster was agitated, shifting from one foot to the other. “Does that mean the palace wards are on the fritz again?”

“God, I hope not. Henri’s going to have kittens when he hears this. Foster, change of plans. You and Gerring need to babysit the site here. Call in help from the station to get things boxed up and ready to move. Niamh is still trying to track down Walcott, and I don’t want this place left empty until she’s back, okay?”

“We won’t leave without her,” he swore. “I’ll tell Gerring what’s going on. We can manage this, Detective. Go, and keep us updated.”

“You bet.” I looked at Phil, who had been sitting on the desk like a cat at leisure. “Stay or go?”

“Go,” he answered decisively even as he leapt lightly up onto my shoulder.

I wasn’t surprised by this and hoped he’d be handy. I gathered up my bag and was out the door, hailing the first taxi I saw once I hit the street. I gave the driver directions, then sat back, pulling out my pad.

Oh man, Henri was really going to be upset about this. I might need to cook him curry tonight and offer a good foot rub so he doesn’t combust from frustration. The palace wards had driven him insane trying to keep Eddy Jameson out. Hearing they’ve been somehow compromised again would not go over well.

And this on top of dangerous grimoires. This might just qualify as a terrible, awful, no good, very bad day.

I called his pad, letting it ring with an anticipatory wince on my face.

“Jamie,” he greeted with a sigh, and he sounded done in already. “I was just about to call. The containment lockers over here are full, but Jere’s already on his way. He’s bringing a temporary box to house the grimoire. I’m just waiting on him.”

Annnd of course he’s stuck over there for the foreseeable future. “Yikes, well at least Jere can help. Are you going to be at the station for a while, then?”

He could probably hear in my voice that something was up. His response was cautious, a man bracing himself for impact. “Yes? An hour at least. Why?”

“Fun story.”

“Oh, gods. I hate it when you start with those two words.”

“Probably because it’s never a fun story. Sherard just called. The palace’s grimoire from the Reaper’s Set is missing.”

He didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.

“Henri. Hellloooo~ Henri? You still with me?” Ladies, gents, and gentlefolk, I think I just broke him.

He started swearing in language so vile it would make a sailor blush.

Oh, wow. He really was mad. I winced and let him get it all out.

Only when he stopped, panting hard, did I venture, “Feel a little better?”

“Not at all. Pardon my language. Is Seaton absolutely certain the grimoire was stolen and not misplaced?”

“He said he did seeking spells, and it’s nowhere on the palace grounds.”

“That answers that. Alright. As soon as Jere arrives, I’ll situate him here and meet you at the palace. I assume you’re on the way there?”

“I am. I left Foster and Gerring in charge at the broker’s office with orders to pack up the files and move them to the PD. Sherard and Gibson are waiting for me at the palace gate.”

“Keep me updated. I’ll join you as soon as I am able. But you realize what this means, don’t you? We’ve been assuming the thief is a common sort, not one with magic. Not with the way he’s been doing the thefts. But if he’s managed to circumvent the palace wards….”

“Yeah. He might be craftier than we’ve been giving him credit for.”

Even as I said that, though, I had a thought. Eddy Jameson hadn’t been gifted with magic, just with observational skills and sneakiness. He’d never attempted to take something off palace grounds. But I knew he regularly tested the defenses of the palace, and he’d not reported anything amiss.

It might behoove me to call the kid in, see if he could manage to take something off the palace grounds without tripping the wards. If anyone could manage it—and I was willing to bet he could—it might give us an idea of how the thief had done it.

I shelved the idea for now as a possibility. I wanted to get my hands and eyes on the situation before making any decisions.

I did know one thing, though. Regina was not going to be a happy camper. No wonder Sherard had called in Gibson for backup. I would have, too.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay. I’ll leave word at the gate to let you in. See you soon.” I hung up, letting the pad drop into my lap. Man, what a day. What was it going to do for an encore, set the city on fire?

Phil touched a delicate little paw to my thigh, his face concerned. “Okay?”

“Not really, bud. This ties into something that happened before you were born. We had an issue with the palace wards, and Henri about broke his brain trying to figure out what was going on. He and Sherard are going to be super stressed about this. So, give them both lots of cuddles, okay?”

He gave a nod, a touch too serious. “I help, too.”

“Trust me, on this, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

The taxi pulled in close to the curb. I leaned forward, paying the driver before gathering up bag and cat, and hopping lightly out. I was barely on the sidewalk when Gibson appeared out of thin air and gave me a bear hug.

“Thank all magic,” he said against my ear. “Maybe you can keep Seaton from tearing his hair out.”

“I’ll certainly try. He’d look funny bald. Is he that close to a meltdown?”

“I think he’s actually past the tipping point. I can’t say I’m much better.” Gibson pulled back, then chivied me into motion. “Come on, come on, we’ve got a lot of upset people inside.”

That actually sounded like a really good reason not to enter. Just saying. Not my idea of a good time.

Unfortunately, it was my job to figure out what had gone wrong and try to right it. I sighed and went in.

It was kind of a sad state of affairs that the guards on duty recognized me and just handed me a badge before they waved me through. I gave a quick hello even as Gibson pulled me past them. As we walked, Gibson started catching me up.

“We locked down the library, and they’re pulling records of when the book was last on loan. I understand that unless it’s within the keeping of a royal mage, the grimoire is not allowed outside the library walls.”

“Well, that’s good to know. So, who all has access to the palace library?”

“Thing is, it’s on the tour route, so the public tramps through there about five times a day, if only through the main floor.”

“Giiiiiibs,” I whined, not at all exaggerating my frustration. “I don’t want the whole of Kingston on my suspect list!”

“You think I’m overjoyed about this?” It was true he didn’t look happy. The man walked like he had glass shards in his shoes. “And our good Queen is livid. Expect to update her daily from now on.”

“Great.” I really should have stopped for a drink on the way to the palace. Maybe brought alcohol with me. I had a feeling we’d all want to be drunk before the day was out.

It wasn’t a long walk to the library, basically along a sidewalk and across a courtyard with a fountain—which wasn’t inspiring, as it meant our thief had had a quick escape route. Sherard was pacing in front of the entrance, waiting on me, and lit up briefly when he saw us approach. Then he went back to scowling.

“Before you ask,” he said with righteous indignation, “I checked the wards. They’re fully operational and not reporting any problems.”

“Hello to you, too. I’m doing fine, thanks for asking.”

He ignored my sarcasm. “Where’s Davenforth?”

“Dealing with a dismantled grimoire at the station. He’ll be along as soon as he has it safely under wraps.” Seeing the alarm on their faces, I hastily added, “Not a grimoire from the Reaper’s Set. Breathe. Different grimoire we found while investigating the case.”

“Thank heavens,” Sherard blurted. “You about scared me into an early grave.”

“Sorry, sorry. Anyway, I told him what’s going on here. He’ll be here as quickly as he can manage. For now, let’s—” I caught movement from the corner of my eye and paused, turning to see who was approaching like the Winter Soldier with a mad-on.

Ah.

Upset queen. Of course she was coming down to see for herself what was going on. Regina was not the sort to sit back and watch it play out.

She looked a little mussed, as if she’d been playing a sport or something before getting the news. She wasn’t in her usual skirt suit, but in loose pants and a light, breezy shirt. I greeted her with a quick bow.

“Jamie,” she acknowledged, her mouth in a flat, unamused line. “I’m very disturbed by the report I just received. I’m glad you’re already on the case. Where is your partner?”

“Handling another emergency at the station, but he’ll be here shortly.”

“I trust all of you can figure out what happened and retrieve my stolen property. I do not think any of us will rest easy until that has happened.”

You know, that could be the politest royal command I’d ever been on the receiving end of. Either way, only one way to respond. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I know you’re barely on the scene, so you haven’t had a chance to look anything over yet. But, have you any thoughts on this?”

Fortunately, I did. “I’ve got two at the moment. One, there was a particular book broker trying to assemble the whole Reaper’s Set in order to sell it. When I went to interview him today, he ran for it.”

Her eyebrows shot up into her dark hair. “Was he the thief, then?”

“He was also slicing up grimoires and selling them on the black market, so I can’t jump to conclusions about why he ran. But the fact that he had a potential buyer—or buyers, not clear on that—for this set inclines me to think someone wanted the whole shebang. And rich people don’t take no for an answer very well. I’ve got his office files; we’ll comb through them. I might get lucky and find a suspect.”

She inclined her head thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. “Yes, that does seem like a good lead. What’s your second thought?”

“I’m pulling Eddy Jameson into this. Your resident thief might be able to figure out how a book was taken off the palace grounds without tripping the wards. This might be one of those moments where it takes a thief to catch a thief.”

Her expression was approving. “An excellent idea. It’s true—he’d be best suited for this line of inquiry. Please do call for him.”

“Is he still working in exchange for books?”

“I understand he’s asked for monetary compensation sometimes, so I actually put him on payroll this past month.”

“Ahh.” It made sense. His family wasn’t well off, so of course he’d need money more than books. “Then I can call him in for this without worrying about how to pay him.”

“You can, indeed.” She glanced at the library with a very unhappy set to her mouth. “I won’t keep you. I want to stay updated on your findings.”

“Will do.”

Gibson said, “I’ll call Eddy in.”

“Thanks.” I rolled my head around, loosening up my neck some. Or, trying to. I might need a hot bath later. The stress was definitely getting to me. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.”

I was in a perfectly foul mood by the time I reached the palace gate. I could not believe I was on these grounds again for an issue that had nearly broken my sanity the first time. And no matter how I wracked my poor brain, I couldn’t think of a single way for someone to steal a powerful grimoire and walk off with it. The wards should have reacted to a single piece of paper being stolen from these grounds, much less a magical artifact!

Kingsman Marshall met me at the East Gate, gave me a grimace that might be accused of being a smile, and nodded in greeting. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, every strand of his brunette hair in place, and yet he still managed to give the impression of being extremely harried.

“Doctor. I’m relieved you came so quickly. I’ll escort you in.”

“Thank you, Kingsman.” No point in biting his head off. He wasn’t responsible for the anger coursing through my veins.

“Henri!”

I looked up and around, automatically responding to that light, child-like voice. Ah, there he was. Phil looked quite proud in his police vest. He waved to me from the top of the palace wall with a paw, tail lashing in agitation behind him.

“Phil. Checking the perimeter?”

“Looking for sniffies,” he confirmed with a nod.

“Excellent.” I was relieved to see him up there. If Jamie hadn’t already set him on the task, I would have. “Do continue. We’ll be in the library.”

He gave another nod before darting forward along the wall.

I highly doubted he’d discover anything, but the Felixes seemed to delight in proving me wrong. Sometimes, our most vital clues came from them. I was quite content to let him scour the grounds and see if anything could be overturned.

The palace library was not far from the gates, and I could see it was cordoned off with multiple guards standing at every door, keeping people out. It was a grand old building, one of the oldest on the grounds. Standing at three stories tall, it was made of limestone and granite, and it sparkled a little in the sun. I could normally appreciate the beauty of the old building. Right now, I felt like blowing it sky high.

Hardly conducive to the investigative spirit, I know.

We walked past the guards and through a side entrance I’d never braved before. Marshall didn’t hesitate to take me past the main foyer, with its grand, open balcony that went up three stories. We walked past the dark, polished wood counter and through to the back room where the work was done.

The door was open to the librarians’ file room. I could hear Jamie’s voice, the steady, patient tone she always used when making inquiries of a witness.

“And it’s always noted on these slips when the book is brought out?”

“Oh, yes. Part of it is housekeeping—we need to know who has which book. Some people here are notorious for forgetting they’ve checked a book out, and it will sit on their desk for months before we track them down. But it’s also a matter of finances. We have to prove there’s enough demand to maintain the staff of librarians we have. The grimoires, especially, we keep careful track of because they’re dangerous if left unattended.”

I breached the doorway and paused just inside to get my bearings. It was indeed the file room, the cabinets stretching from floor to ceiling, their narrow drawers closed for the most part, although one was partially open. An army of women clustered around one lone table, all of them looking upset and ready to strangle the thief themselves. Jamie stood tall, her notebook in hand as she jotted things down.

And then there was Seaton, who slunk near the wall, looking as if the world was intent on bludgeoning him about the head today. I knew the feeling well, as I was quite convinced the universe had it out for me too.

Jamie heard my entrance and half-turned, shooting me a sympathetic smile. “Hey. Ladies, this is my partner, Dr. Henri Davenforth.”

I exchanged general hellos with everyone, shaking a few hands.

The head librarian—Adams, according to the badge pinned to her shirt pocket—held onto my hand a moment longer, urging me silently to meet her eyes.

“Doctor, I just informed your partner that the last record we have of the grimoire being checked out was nigh on three months ago. It’s one of the books we rotate through on display so the general public has a chance to look at the rare books we keep here. According to our rotation schedule, it was out on display a week after it was checked out, and then supposedly put back on the shelves the next week.”

“Supposedly?” I hate that word. It means it didn’t actually happen.

Her thin mouth compressed to the point that it looked as if her lips had disappeared into her pale face altogether.

“The Reaper’s Set doesn’t look like anything remarkable on the outside: a dark leather binding with cream pages. There’s nothing distinguishable about it until you open it up. Someone switched it out for another book that looks quite similar. We didn’t discover it until RM Seaton came and requested to see the grimoire.”

Ah. Supposedly. “But the book’s dummy, did that come from here? Or was it something they brought in?”

“Detective Edwards asked the same question. It was one of ours, in fact. A book that’s normally kept on the shelf near the display case.”

I met Jamie’s eyes quickly, and her expression spoke volumes. This looked more like a spontaneous crime than one that had been plotted out. Using another library book in order to dupe the librarians was a bit risky. Bringing in a forged copy would have been the safer bet.

Of course, that assumption begged the question: How in the wide green world did a thief spontaneously steal something and get it past the wards?

It’s not a rhetorical question. I wanted an answer.

“And when you have it on display, is its protective box also there?”

“Yes, of course. The box is part of it,” she assured me. “The display case has a charm on its base to keep the magic of the grimoires under control while they are out of their box. It was specifically crafted for that purpose.”

“And both box and grimoire are missing?”

“No, just the grimoire. The box remained, hence why we didn’t notice the theft sooner.”

Because the missing box would have drawn attention. Clever of the thief to realize this. On the other hand, that meant we had yet another grimoire free of its protective box. This thought did not cheer me. In fact, it made bile rise in my throat. Wherever the grimoires were being held, they would definitely cause issues. Many, many issues. I’d not heard any reports of buildings losing their integrity, or an outbreak of sickness or madness, so it did beg the question of where they were being stored.

Perhaps a search of the records for rogue magic might be in order. Or a call to the local hospitals to see if anyone had checked in for unusual magical sickness. I made a mental note to pass along the idea to Jamie later, assuming she didn’t think of it herself.

Seaton caught my eye and motioned me back out of the room with a jerk of his head. I followed him out, past the counter and into the empty library. He stopped next to one of the tables lining the main floor and turned, still looking haggard and ready to sleep the rest of the year away.

“I think that’s how he got in,” he said without preamble. “Without the intention to steal, the wards wouldn’t reject his entry. Once inside, he could do as he pleased.”

I flipped a hand palm up, a silent acceptance.

“If this truly was a spontaneous crime, and his intent was only to visit, then you’re correct. The wards wouldn’t have triggered, and they would have let him through without a fuss. But what of his exit? If he was carrying the grimoire, the wards would have stopped him and set off quite the alarm. So, how did he get it back out?”

“I believe I’m here to provide you gents with some answers.”

I spun, startled to hear the teenage voice, looking sharply about for its source. In the time since I’d last seen him, it looked as if he’d gained five inches, and his voice had certainly dropped, but there in front of me stood Eddy Jameson. He was better dressed, with clean clothes that actually fit, but there was no mistaking that impish grin.

“Jameson,” Seaton acknowledged, sounding like death warmed over. “Jamie said she wanted to call you in. You came faster than I expected.”

“All in the line of duty,” Jameson answered brightly. “No worries, gents, I’ve cured my wicked ways. I now only sneak in to test the defenses. Queen loves me, she does, gave me a raise.”

I eyed him with due suspicion. This young lout had cost me hair the last time I’d crossed paths with him. I did not trust him farther than I could throw him. Considering his reflexes and new size, I doubted I could even readily lift him, so that should tell you something.

Seaton challenged this assertion immediately. “If you’re so good at testing the defenses of this place, then how did someone steal something and waltz off with it?”

Jameson lost his grin, looking determined. “Now, that bothers me, it does. I take it as a point of pride. Ain’t no one tap dancin’ on my turf, you see. When the Detective called me in, explained what was going on, I came here lickety-split to see it for my own self. Give me the facts, gents. I’ve got a theory or two on how it was done, but I need some facts to make a call.”

I was not at all inclined to talk to this young whelp. I still had ill feelings towards him. Fortunately for us all, Jamie chose to walk out of the file room at that moment, no doubt because she heard Jameson’s voice.

She greeted him with relief. “Eddy, there you are. You made good time.”

Jameson spun and gave her a wide smile. “Detective! I dropped everything and ran here. I was telling the gents, I was, point of pride that someone snuck past me and the guards. I don’t like it, no I don’t.”

“He said he has a few theories on how this might have been done,” I threw in. Mostly because I wanted to know everything he’d thought of so we could plug the holes before someone else had the same bright idea as our thief.

Eddy nodded, head bopping.

“Right, right. Two ways to do it, or as I see it, two easy ways to get around the wards. Both require an innocent dupe. First, take what you’re wanting to get out, and wrap it up in something like papers for disposal. Trash collection happens outside the wards, see. You’ll have to track it, but a staff member will carry it out for you, wards won’t kick up a fuss, and out it goes. You can retrieve it easy before the garbage men come.”

I groaned. The simplicity of that method hurt my soul. Mostly my head, but my soul as well.

Eddy shot me a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, Doctor. Second option is a bit faster for retrieval, means some sleight of hand, but easy to do. Take the thing, whatever it be, and slip it into one of the tourists’ bags—them ladies, they always carry those large bags over their shoulders, full of things. Easy to slip something small in there. Then let them go ahead of you, follow them off grounds, catch back up long enough to slip it back out.”

That also hurt my soul.

I may need a box of chocolates after this.

Jamie tapped a thoughtful finger to her mouth. “The stolen book was on display here for the tour groups that come through. The book it was replaced with was inventory from a nearby shelf. What do you think, Eddy? Sound like he used the bag method?”

“Odds are. Or something similar.”

Seaton was not so easily convinced and demanded, “Show me.”

I, too, wanted to see this in action, actually prove that it worked, and I gave a firm nod.

Eddy shrugged, amenable to this, and gestured toward Jamie. “I need you to carry a bag big enough to fit a book in, and a book to use.”

“I can arrange that.” Jamie put up a hand, staying him in place, then retreated back to the librarian offices. She came back a few minutes later with the head librarian, who had an over-the-shoulder purse clutched in both hands, and while not the largest I’d seen, it was large enough to put a book into with ease.

“They’re not about to let any palace property go marching out,” Jamie informed us with an understanding expression, “but they’re willing to let us borrow one of their blank record books for this purpose. No harm if something happens to it.”

“Works for me.” Eddy clearly didn’t care.

For the intents of the experiment, it would still work. While the book was not incredibly valuable, the wards would still recognize it as palace property and react accordingly.

“Let’s do a dry run,” Jamie suggested. “We’ll gather the staff up, have them pretend to be a tour group, and walk the same route. Miss Adams, if you’ll put the record book in the same place the grimoire would have been? Thank you so much. And please play tour guide, I’d like to see the route the tours take through here.”

An excellent suggestion. It would give us a better feeling for how plausible this scenario was. I found it hard to believe that even a skilled thief could switch books out, put something into a lady’s purse, and pull it out again without a single person catching a glimpse of it.

Jamie had it arranged in minutes. We started at the front doors of the library, the head librarian walking us through the main floor.

She stopped partway and gestured. “We normally stop here, talk about some of the books that are on display, and take some questions.”

Jamie nodded. “Okay, good. Keep going.”

It was a struggle to not turn and stare at Jameson, who was behind us. But the point of this was, the tour group wouldn’t have been staring suspiciously at each other the entire way through the building. I had to act naturally, which meant paying attention to my tour guide.

Miss Adams walked a bit further, then to the next open area, where a grand, sweeping staircase led up to a second level. “We stop again here to tell them about what all we have on the second floor. We keep a great many specialty items up there for our royal mages and kingsmen.”

“Okay, good. Next.”

We continued at something of a leisurely pace until we reached the main counter.

“And then, here’s the last stop before they leave, where we explain the checkout procedure and something of the history of how long the palace library has had a full staff of librarians on hand. It’s actually rather recent, as it didn’t start until Queen Regina’s grandparents took a more direct interest in building the library up.”

Ah? That was news to me, I’d thought their history was longer than that.

Miss Adams gestured toward the front door. “Do we go out?”

“You don’t, no. Or, you can if you wish. Ladies, for the purpose of this exercise, I need you to actually exit palace grounds at this point. I understand this is the last stop for most tour groups and they’re escorted out after this. So, that’s what we need to do.”

Everyone nodded, willing to play this out, and followed Jamie out of the building. We walked steadily toward the gate, and Seaton went ahead to explain that we were doing an experiment, and to ask the guards to let everyone in and out without challenge. We went through, and I spotted Phil sitting on the wall, watching the proceedings with interest.

Once we were past the walls, Jamie led us a little farther, to a spot on the street designated as a taxi service, with several taxies lined up and ready for passengers. Only then did she stop and turn with an expectant look.

“Eddy?”

It was a relief on my part to turn as well, looking for him as I’d been itching to do this entire time. I spied him several feet back, far away from the group, and no one had to ask if he had been successful. The wide grin on his face, stretching from ear to ear, said it all.

He held up his prize and waggled it over his head. “Easy.”

I growled in vexation. Great. That meant I’d somehow have to alter the wards with Seaton in order to plug that hole. How, I did not know. I’m currently open to suggestions, as Jamie liked to put it.

Jamie sighed as well. “That answers that question. Even if he didn’t do it exactly the same, our thief likely probably used something similar to this tactic. Eddy, you’re worth your weight in gold. I owe you ten books.”

To my surprise, he shook his head.

“No, Detective. I’m right glad you called me in for this. It’s my job, too, to keep things like this from happening. I should have warned someone this was a possibility. I won’t take the payment.” Eddy turned and looked me dead in the eye. “I’ll help you, Doctor. Let’s make sure this can’t happen again.”

Well. Someone had matured more than physically since I’d seen him last. I was pleasantly surprised at the change. And if that was his attitude, then I might be willing to accept the help. Heaven knew, I hadn’t seen or heard a thing while he was switching the book in and out of multiple places. This wasn’t something I could have easily tested on my own.

For the first time in our acquaintance, I returned his smile. “I’ll need your help, Mr. Jameson. And am thankful for it.”

Because I was afraid Henri really was going to lose hair at this rate, I offered to cook him dinner that night, with a movie afterwards. He took me up on it readily, and I managed to put a call in to my grocer’s and get all the ingredients for curry delivered to my apartment at the right time.

It was something of a trick, as I had to swing by the book broker’s first and close the scene down, then release Foster, Gerring, and Niamh for the day. Collect cats, all that fun stuff. Going back and forth like that cost me a lot of time. Niamh kept hassling the taxi drivers, too, trying to find out who had picked up Walcott, but at this hour, it was impossible. People were scurrying all over the city. It was better to leave a note with the supervisor at the taxi station, talk with people tomorrow when they got in from their shifts. I told her it was a fool’s errand to try and pursue it today, but she didn’t like being thwarted.

She promised to follow up tomorrow before finally going off. With that settled, I raced back to my apartment. I’m using the word “raced” with full sarcasm because there was no way you could cross the city quickly at that hour. Even sacrifices to the traffic gods got you nowhere.

Henri had swung by our favorite sweets shop and picked up a chocolate cake (which tells you something about his stress level). After a full plate of curry, we dove into the cake with relish.

I’d fully intended to put the movie on after we ate dinner, but instead we ended up on the couch, my legs draped over his, with his hand in my lap as I gently massaged his palm. He was steadily relaxing, and every now and then he would breathe in deeply, a little murmur of contentment escaping him.

He was really cute like this. I wanted to pinch his cheeks.

“Where is the trio?” he asked, as if only now realizing we had an absence of furballs.

“We got home to reports of a rat somewhere in the building next door,” I answered, still focused on his hand. He’d rolled his sleeves up, and I was thinking his wrist and forearm needed to be next.

“You mean to tell me they worked a full day and still had the energy to go chase a rat?”

“Are you kidding? Hunting is the best game ever for them. They lit up and were all sparkly even as they dashed off. I’m pretty sure it’s become a competition at this point to see who gets to the rat first.”

“Ah. Of course.” He settled back another inch, eyes drooping. “I meant to ask. Are you still pursuing your goal?”

“Of…?”

“Sending another journal to your family.”

“That? Yeah, you bet. I haven’t written anything the past three days, but I can catch up.”

I glanced at the laptop, where it was sitting on the coffee table. The solar-powered battery still sat in the window, a silent testament to the fact that I’d not used the laptop today. Sunlight was the only way to charge it.

When my family had first gathered up the laptop, Kindles, and external hard drives full of goodies, I’d vowed to do something in return. And I knew the thing they wanted most was to hear how I was doing over here. It wasn’t possible to tell them everything during our quarterly calls to each other. We didn’t have enough time. So, I hit upon the idea of keeping an electronic journal and saving it all to a thumb drive. It was easy to send to Earth since it was light, and it would help catch them up in detail.

I was also translating over all the cases Henri had written down already. He’d started when he first met me, and it gave my family a good idea of what he was like, since he didn’t participate much during the calls.

My mother was tickled I was dating a gentleman. I think my dad was just relieved.

“Catch up soon,” he urged me. “I know it’s easy to think tomorrow, but it’s just as easy to forget the events of today.”

“That sounds like experience talking.”

“I used to fall into that trap often as a young magical examiner, thinking I’d remember some detail and jot it down later. I had to redo some of my work because I failed to retain it all.”

Now, that was an interesting segue into something I’d meant to ask. “How did you get started as a magical examiner, anyway? I know you’ve been doing it for several years. Was it what you intended to do when you graduated?”

He blinked his eyes open, and they crinkled at the corners in amusement. “No, not at all. When I first started university, my plan was to go into magical processing.”

“Magic…okay, what?”

“Magical processing,” he repeated, lips twisted up in wry memory. “I’m sure you’ve encountered things that were created with magical processing. Shampoos, for instance. Anything with a chemical base that has magic infused into it went through a magical process.”

So, something like a chemical engineer? It sounded that way. “What made you change your mind?”

“Hmm, a number of things. The idea of creating new products appealed to me, as I liked the challenge of it. But when I was in my senior year, barely six months from graduating, my mother urged me to shadow someone in the field for a day. It was a sound suggestion, and I took her advice. I’m glad now that I did. I learned quite a bit about it. It’s deadly dull and extremely repetitious. I discovered that the creation of new products was mostly done by the advertising department. They came up with the ideas, and then the other departments made them feasible. Not at all as I had assumed.”

He would have been good at it. Henri’s good at a lot of things. He’d also have been bored to tears. “I can see why you changed your course.”

“Oh, yes. I was casting about for some other direction, not sure what to do with myself, when a detective visited our university. He had three cases, all cold, that dealt with magical crimes. He wanted help cracking them, as he’d hit a wall and wasn’t sure what else to do to find the culprit. My professor brought together a team of six to help go through the case files, and I was one of them.”

Oh-ho. “And you liked it.”

“The challenge of it was immensely appealing.” A hint of pride entered his voice as he admitted, “We solved all three cases. The detective was ever so impressed with our work and told us frankly that if any of us were interested in becoming a magical examiner, he’d serve as a reference. I didn’t take him up on it immediately, but now knowing some of the scope of the work, it held appeal. I contacted him the next week and asked if it was possible to do an internship with his department. I wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting myself into.”

I had a feeling I knew where this story was going. “They kept you, didn’t they?”

Henri chuckled. “The detective who brought the cases to us was Gregson.”

I laughed outright. “Oh, now that figures!”

“And, yes, he made sure they kept me. I started an internship and was hired a week later. Before I’d even formally graduated, mind you. I’d finished the classes, but the graduation ceremony wasn’t for another month. I was the first in my class to start working. It’s not the most lucrative position, but I honestly don’t know what other profession I’d switch to.”

“I mean, honestly, if you ever felt the need for a change, you could always join Ellie and her crew. She really likes you, and I think you’d have fun inventing things with her.”

He blinked at me as if he’d never thought of it. “She does do hybrid inventions that require magic, but…really? Warner likes me?”

“Henri, most people like you.” Silly man. Why did he even question that?

“Oh. I admit I’ve always had a good impression of her as well. We just normally don’t interact directly without you present.”

“Ahhh. Yeah, I can see how that influences things. But I have to ask, do you feel like you want to switch things up?”

“No, not really. I’m quite content at the station. And I refuse to let anyone else partner with you.”

Now that, I couldn’t let slide. I leaned in to kiss him, the movement chaste but lingering.

“You say that because anyone else who worked with me would fall madly in love with me.”

“Oh, madly,” he agreed, dry as a martini. “Look how quickly I fell.”

“Ha. You took years to fall, my dude.”

He regarded me with a slightly canted head, his expression hard to read.

I stared back, eyebrows rising. What did that look on his face mean? “Okay, I can’t let that look slide. What are you thinking? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know if you are. Well, you are, but perhaps not entirely.” He lifted a hand, brushing a thumb over my cheek in a gentle caress that sent pleasant tingles dancing over my skin. “I found you fascinating from the start. I’ve known many a competent, intelligent woman in my life, and yet, I wasn’t drawn to any of them like I was to you. The first year we knew each other, so much happened. I didn’t have the room to think of emotional entanglements. My first priority was helping you settle into a life here.”

The first year. He was right, that year had been a rollercoaster. I’d barely kept my feet under me some days. His support had been one of the bastions I most heavily leaned on. Looking back, I could confidently say I would have struggled a lot harder if not for him. But the way he said that, it begged the question.

“I’ve always been curious about what the tipping point was for you. Why you decided you wanted something more than a platonic friendship. I know you were writing letters, trying to figure out how to change our relationship.”

A pink flush invaded his cheeks, and he looked away, off to the side. “I’m a little embarrassed to tell you.”

If he thought he could evade this question and I would let him slide, he had another thing coming. I was way too curious. Maybe I could tickle it out of him.

No, try the nice method first. I kissed him again, lightly, teasingly, as if I could coax the answer from his lips. “Don’t be embarrassed, just tell me.”

“I told you it was about six months before we agreed to court.”

That smelled of evasion. And he still couldn’t look me in the eye. “Yes, I know the time frame. But what tipped you over?”

“I don’t actually have an answer for you,” he finally admitted softly. “It’s not that I’m evading. I’ve thought on it many times, but I don’t know. I can’t pinpoint a specific time and say, ah, it was then that my heart changed. And because of that, I can’t figure out why.”

It sounded to me that his heart had finally overruled his head. Henri was a very logical thinker, so this was probably odd for him, weird for his heart to have the bigger say. He really did look confused on this point, and frustrated that he didn’t know the answer.

I switched questions to help him out. “What made you try the love letters?”

“Ah, that I know how to answer. I woke up one morning from a very vivid dream. It wasn’t anything dramatic, but the two of us were out together, having a day of it. At one point, you leaned in to tease me about something, as you’re wont to do.”

Guilty as charged. He blushes cutely, what can I say.

“And then when I spluttered, you kissed me before twirling away with a laugh. It was all so natural in the dream, so easy and simple, our shared affection. I woke up, caught between the dream and reality, and felt hollow at the realization I didn’t have that with you.” His smile was rueful. “I couldn’t bear the feeling. I decided I had to at least try.”

That was a pretty good reason. And yet the question remained, “Whhhy would you hesitate for so long? Six months after that dream, really?”

“Part of it was the culture gap.”

His fingers found their way into my hair, loose for once, and smoothed it. It was an easy way for him to avoid looking me in the eye again. The blush had not faded.

“I didn’t know how a man would approach you in your culture. You accommodate me so much, and I know most of it isn’t natural for you. It’s something you’ve adopted to fit in better here. I didn’t want to start us off on an awkward footing.”

Yeah, okay, that was a genuine concern. We were still figuring out a good way to date that felt natural for both of us. It was easier than I’d feared because we’d been friends for so long, but we did hit those awkward moments.

“And part of it was, I didn’t know how to change our relationship from friends to lovers without throwing us completely off-kilter. Or if you were even interested in doing so. You’re surrounded by some rather amazing men on a regular basis and never show any romantic interest in them, so it made me wonder. Perhaps you wanted to be a career woman.”

Also a good point. I’d not shown my interest in him out of the same fear. “Still. Six months? Am I really that scary?”

“Formidable,” he corrected, grin crooked. “Most of the women in my life are. I was relieved when you said something because I was finally assured we were on the same page.”

Apparently, I’d had to. Henri was way too shy to actually ask a woman out. Although once he got comfortable with you, he became really easy to date. Which was a good thing for both of us.

“I was very happy we were on the same page, too,” I said. “I honestly wasn’t sure.”

“Then what made you reach out?”

“I hate limbos. And I figured, if nothing else, maybe you’d be flattered? That I wanted to date you.”

“Well, I was and am. Very flattered.” The smile on his face spoke volumes. “I’m also relieved we fit rather well together. Our awkward moments are few and far between, and easily rectified, which is far better than I expected.”

“Same.”

“It would have helped tremendously if you had fewer big brothers,” he continued, making a face.

It took a second to click, then my jaw dropped. “Did you get the shovel talk? From all of my male friends?”

“I think Marshall was the only one who didn’t say something.”

I threw my head back with a laugh, then listed sideways into the couch. “And you’re still willing to date me?”

“Oh, you can laugh now,” he groused, meaning it. “I was the one who had to put up with it.”

“Well, now I know why they all keep asking how things are going.”

“Do they really?”

“On an almost weekly basis, someone asks me.”

Henri growled in irritation. “I do know how to treat a woman properly, you know.”

I waggled my eyebrows at him mischievously. “Well, I know. And don’t worry, I’m reassuring them.”

“A relief, most definitely.”

He was so cute when he was peeved. I’d had no idea any of the guys had given him the shovel talk, but it didn’t actually surprise me, now that I thought about it. They were all protective types, and since I had no family readily on hand to protect my honor, of course they’d feel obligated to step in. Really, I’m very blessed to have amazing friends here in this world.

And an equally amazing boyfriend who puts up with all the craziness around me. You know what? For that, he deserved a good make-out session. I set about it with a smile lurking on my face.

Henri made an inquiring noise at the first kiss, then melted into it when he realized my agenda for the evening had changed. He kissed back happily, his hands tangling into my hair. The man’s a good kisser, no lie.

The phone rang.

Are you freaking kidding me? I pulled back to glare at it. “My agenda for the evening is kissing you. Not going back into work.”

Henri matched me glare for glare, also staring at the ringing telephone with indignation. “You can kill whoever it is and come directly back here.”

“Great idea.” I popped up, striding the three steps it took to reach the little telephone table, and snatched up the receiver before snarling into it, “What?”

A voice I recognized—I think it was our front desk clerk, Kynan—answered in an apologetic tone. “Hey Detective, sorry to bother you at home. But we had a man by the name of Sasson Walcott walk in a minute ago. Said he’s turning himself in and is demanding to speak with you and Dr. Davenforth.”

I blinked, my rage immediately flip-flopping into excitement, curiosity, and the feeling that we were heading for a massive plot twist. “Wait, you’re sure it’s him?”

“Positive. Got his ID and everything. Here’s the kicker, and why I’m calling—he said he’s come to us for protection.”

“Protection from what?” I was already mentally putting shoes back on because no way am I going to sleep tonight without talking to Walcott first.

“That, he won’t tell me. Just said if we don’t take him in tonight, that someone’s going to kill him.”

Yup, as expected. The plot twist has arrived. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Henri groaned loudly as I put the receiver down. “This better be good.”

I said, “Sasson Walcott just turned himself in and demanded protection because he claims someone is going to kill him.”

Henri blinked at me. Then immediately lurched to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”

Color me surprised.

Sasson Walcott looked very different than he had earlier that day—no longer the posturing gentleman, but a hunted man who sat hunched in his chair, afraid and miserable. Jamie went ahead of me into the interrogation room, where they’d temporarily stashed him while he was waiting for our arrival. I followed closely at her heels, ready to hear either the truth or a whopper of a story.

With criminals, it could be either.

Jamie spoke as she drew out the chair opposite him, sitting confidently, as if it was her due. “Well, Mr. Walcott, I didn’t expect this. After you ran from us this morning, the last thing I expected was for you to turn yourself in this evening. May I ask what changed?”

“I panicked earlier,” he admitted heavily. “And…after I ran, I went to an acquaintance for help. But doing that meant crossing paths with someone I really didn’t want to meet, and he’s now threatening my life.”

That did and didn’t answer the question. I was still very upset with him, more so after looking in a mirror and seeing the damage to my face. I’d had to trim my fringe and apply several potions and creams to restore myself to rights.

But as much as I wanted to cut this man to the quick, answers trumped my personal feelings.

I sat as well and requested, “Start at the beginning, please. We know you’ve been dissecting grimoires and selling the pages. What started you on that path?”

He stared at his hands—both in cuffs—on the table as he spoke in a dead voice. It was only then that I really noticed his hands. The nails were cracked and the pads stained a very unhealthy purple-grey. I’d suspected he’d been on the receiving end of magical backlash due to his work. The hands confirmed it, although I had to wonder what other ailments now plagued him.

“When I first opened the office, I was sure the clientele would come in quickly. I was in such a good location, after all. But it was slow to build up. I’d jumped too hastily into moving offices, and the rent alone was killing me.

“I happened across an old grimoire in an estate sale, and when I got it back and examined it, I realized the cover and binding were done for. But some of the pages inside were quite unique. The charms were very beautifully drawn. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that with the right charms, a single sheet can sell well. The book was more valuable in pieces than it was as a single volume.”

I winced. “You realize those charms are normally put into glass displays.”

“I did take precautions. I pasted sealing charms on the back of them before selling them.”

That did make me feel marginally better. There was not much margin to begin with, mind you.

Jamie made a noise of encouragement. “So, that worked out well for you. And you decided to continue?”

“At first it was only the books I knew wouldn’t sell well,” he said miserably. “It wasn’t just grimoires, either. Vintage books that I came across with poor covers and bindings. The best find was the geographical book with the maps that folded out. That helped me pay the bills for six months. It was such easy money. And no one questioned why I had these pages, but not the whole book. They assumed I found them at estate sales—which, most of them, I had—and didn’t ask any difficult questions.”

A slippery slope, and I could see how it could happen. The problem was, he’d graduated from small, insignificant books no one cared about to some very valuable books he was decimating for his own ends.

On behalf of the books, I was upset with him.

Jamie led him forward again when he stalled. “And then we showed up at your doorstep this morning.”

“Right. I knew I was in trouble then. You were asking about the Reaper’s Set, but I knew you were camouflaging your true interest. You were trying to sound me out. How did I tip my hand?”

Jamie gave him a wry smile and a shake of the head. “No, we really were there to talk to you about the Reaper’s Set. When the same person’s name crops up in various witness interviews, they become a person of interest. I hoped you would shed some light on the value of the set, maybe give me a list of potential leads to follow.”

Walcott blinked at her as if she was suddenly speaking another language, one he couldn’t understand. “Wait. You really were there about the Reaper’s Set?”

“We really were. Of course, after you left, I got a warrant and searched your office, so I’m very clear on why you ran.”

“I also had to take immediate action on the grimoire you were slicing up,” I threw in with a glare. “You’re lucky you didn’t take a hand off or destroy your office with the way you were cutting out pages. The grimoire was leaking magic everywhere when I found it.”

Walcott looked on the verge of tears. “So, if I’d played ignorant, you would have passed right by me?”

“Eh, maybe.”

He didn’t have the nerves for it, though. I think the only saving grace he’d had so far was that no one suspected him of any foul play. If even one person had, he would have given himself away long before this.

“But that’s a moot point. We know what you’ve been doing. Now, after you ran, you went to whom?”

“An acquaintance,” he maintained stubbornly. Not going to rat out his friend, apparently. “I didn’t know what to do. I assumed you were onto me. I wanted to get out of Kingston quickly but discreetly so you couldn’t track me. I went to this person for help. But while there, I bumped into Searle Massimo.”

He said the name with true fear and a sort of distaste, as if the syllables felt unpleasant in his mouth. I noted the name down in my notebook, excited that we finally had a lead.

“Searle Massimo being…?”

“The man who wants to kill me.”

While I understood why Walcott found that to be the most important fact, it didn’t really explain much. “Why?”

Walcott slumped, and he went back to staring at his hands. “The reason why I was so sure you were onto me when inquiring about the Reaper’s Set was that I had one of the volumes, at one point.”

A chill slid up my spine. Oh, great magic, please do not let him say what I feared he would say. “Had one…and sold intact, I hope?”

He shook his head despondently. “No.”

Jamie threw up a hand, staying him. “Wait, hold up, I’m confused. We’ve verified where each volume of the Reaper’s Set is. All the owners have been alerted and have protections around their books. They’re good. Well, I mean, four of them have been stolen, but no one mentioned a word to me about one that’s been chopped up. And trust me, we’d know—we spoke to the box maker.”

“Ah, you’re referring to the official set. Fourteen books plus the journal, correct?”

I nodded slowly, confused. “Well, yes?”

Walcott shook his head.

“Radman wrote another book, one that should have been included in the set. It was an earlier edition, one written when he was barely out of his teens. It wasn’t as brilliant as the later works. Or, well, I suppose it was more advanced, but not cutting-edge genius. This grimoire was more for the common spells he liked to use. It wasn’t sealed up with the others, but kept out for family use. When it came time to number the volumes for the set, this one was left out, as it wasn’t found with the others. I think the family forgot they even had it, until one of the descendants ran across it in the family library. He contacted me to see if I was interested in adding it to my collection. I said yes, and bought it.”

That uneasy feeling in my gut tightened. I suspected I would not like what he said next.

His eyes came up to meet mine, expression desperate for my understanding and sympathy.

“I fully intended to buy the rest of the Reaper’s Set, to put it all together and add in this new volume, and to repackage it. Sell it as a complete collection. The money from that sell alone would mean I could close up shop and retire, comfortably. No more copper-pinching every month to pay my bills. But no one would sell. Do you understand? I contacted every owner of the Reaper’s Set for months, over and over, and not one person would sell to me.”

“No,” I said in a soft tone, realizing now the point where things went very wrong. “No, they wouldn’t have. Marvella Radman made sure to vet each person who possessed a volume. She didn’t want the information to fall into the wrong hands. It wasn’t about possessing a rare volume to them. It was about guarding a legacy.”

Walcott’s expression crumpled.

“I didn’t realize. Not at the time I bought that grimoire and came up with my plan. I didn’t realize they weren’t like regular collectors. When I failed, for so many months, I was stuck again in the same situation I’d been trying to escape from. Worse, because I’d spent so much time trying to win them over, I’d neglected to sell enough to pay my bills, and I was dangerously low on money. No one remembered this grimoire. No one would notice its absence. And trying to sell it as a long-lost grimoire from the set wouldn’t work. They’d think it was a forgery or something.”

“Even with a Radman providing providence for it?” Jamie protested.

Walcott’s mouth twisted. “The family is hard up for money. Everyone knows that. And some of Lady Radman’s cousins are not…trustworthy.”

“Ah. Got it.” Jamie shook her head, as if not surprised anymore. She also made a note to look into the cousins, which was wise. They might be good suspects.

I winced in anticipation as the words left my mouth. “You sliced it up and sold individual pages, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Walcott admitted, pale now, hands trembling on the table. “It seemed such a good idea at the time. I marketed them as singular hex and charm designs by the famous Kerey Radman, and they sold lightning quick. My bank account was healthy again in a week. What I didn’t count on was him.”

“Massimo,” I said neutrally.

“Bastard,” Walcott muttered. “I don’t know what tripped him onto the series, or how he’d come to be obsessed with it. Massimo’s a well-known book thief. He’s a strange one, likes to collect them so that he seems a smarter, more cultured man. But he’s never had two coppers to rub together in his life, so he can’t afford his own habits. He started stealing years back.”

“And no one’s caught this guy?” Jamie looked irritated.

“No. No one really suspects him, at first. Searle Massimo III. Sounds proper, right? And he’ll look you in the eye and sign a bad check, and a broker doesn’t suspect a thing. He’s a normal-looking human, nothing notable about him, and he’s soft-spoken and polite. Not the type to strike people as a thief—or to attack people on a whim,” he added bitterly, but fear lingered in his tone.

I jotted down the description of him, as it would be handy to have later.

“Ah.” Jamie scribbled out notes as well, a frown on her face. “Which means he’s a good thief.”

“Quite good.” Walcott rubbed at his face with both hands, despairing. “I’ve crossed paths with him on several occasions, as we use the same fence to handle our goods. I sometimes run across lower-end wares that I can’t sell at my shop, and fencing them is easier. Massimo has never bothered me before, and we’ve never dealt directly with each other. Still, I saw him from time to time by coincidence.

“He’s slippery, good at disappearing in a crowd, but I never figured him for the violent sort. He seemed almost…unhinged. I almost didn’t escape from him earlier. When I went to my acquaintance, Massimo was there brokering a deal, as he had two volumes to sell. When he spotted me, he demanded to know if I’d bought a grimoire from the Radman family. I didn’t see why it mattered, so I answered yes, I had, but I no longer had it.”

“And he blew up,” Jamie guessed.

“That’s a mild description. He said he’d seen two different pages now, both with the Radman signature on them, knew what I had done to the grimoire. That I was a travesty to the profession and I was to collect everything I’d sold and put the book back to rights. I couldn’t understand it, at first—his anger. Or even the logic. How do you even start putting a grimoire back to its original condition?”

“You don’t,” I agreed flatly. “You can rebind it, reseal it, but you can’t restore it.”

Walcott nodded as if reassured that I agreed with him.

Actually, I was condemning him, but I wasn’t about to say so and dam up this flow of information.

“I assume you said this to him?” Jamie prompted.

“No. No, I didn’t dare. He was so angry. But my acquaintance said something to that effect, and then Massimo truly lost his temper. He came after me in a rage, and I had to run for my life. He kept waving a carving knife and threatening to use it on me. I’d be dead if I hadn’t run. It was almost…insane, the way he acted. And the threats he shouted didn’t even make sense.”

Walcott looked at us both with pleading eyes.

“He’s not like the others who hold volumes of the Reaper’s Set. He’s obsessed with owning it, owning everything Radman ever wrote. He won’t rest until he has the full collection.”

Obsessed people were often the most dangerous. They did the most harm without thinking of the consequences, often without caring what the repercussions were. To them, satisfying their urges was all that mattered. If this man was that type, then Walcott was wise to run from him. He was correct—a police station was the safest place for him to be until this man was caught.

Walcott’s crime was basically forgery, and with the right lawyer, he’d pay a steep fine and receive six months in jail for it. He must have weighed it out and decided six months was a cheap price to pay to live. I certainly would have made the same choice in his shoes.

I made a mental note to follow up with Seaton and get protective wards around the rest of the grimoires. I believed the other owners had already taken the precaution, but in this situation, double-checking seemed appropriate.

Jamie clearly didn’t have much sympathy for Walcott, but she didn’t say so.

“Alright, Mr. Walcott, I understand what’s brought you here. We’re going to do several things. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to sit you down with a sketch artist and have you describe Massimo to them. That’s going to help us find this guy fast, okay? Then I’ll arrange for you to call a lawyer in the morning. No one’s in their offices at this hour. But you can sleep easy tonight here. How’s that sound?”

Walcott nodded jerkily, relieved. “Good. That’s good. I can do that.”

“And if you want to give us an idea of where Massimo lives, works, who his friends are? That will help us track him down.”

At this, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I don’t know much about him. He frequents Blue Rose Street, though, that I do know. He likes to shop for books there and will often trade inventory with the shopkeepers.”

Since Jamie wouldn’t know that section of the city, I leaned in and murmured, “It’s a well-known area for second-hand shops. Some are bookstores, others are places where you can liquidate an estate.”

“Ahhh. It makes perfect sense that he likes that area, then. That’s great, Mr. Walcott, super helpful as it gives me an idea of where to look.”

“One more question,” I tacked on. “Did he seem at all physically changed? Being around unprotected grimoires has an effect on people.”

“Like me,” Walcott said humorlessly, his mouth twisting up in a parody of a smile. “Nothing obvious from what I saw. He did wear gloves, though. I thought it strange at the time as it was a very warm day, chalked it up to his profession, but…his hands might show signs.”

They probably did. Hopefully, that would help us.

Jamie gave him a nod. “You sit tight for a second while I get things arranged.”

I followed Jamie out, and it was only after the door closed that she and I shared a speaking look.

“A thief who’s been active for years and never caught,” I stated sourly.

“Which means he’s probably using various aliases, moves around the city a lot, and has an everyman face that people can’t recall five minutes later.” Jamie groaned, her head flopping back on her neck. “Oh, this will not be fun.”

I grunted sourly in agreement. “I’m calling Seaton. I want to double-check that good wards are up around each of the remaining grimoires and the owner’s houses until this is well over. I know the thief got around the palace wards, but I don’t think he can duplicate the same process in a house.”

“Yeah, harder to find a dupe there. Still, even with the grimoire owners on their guard, changing locations entirely might not be a bad call. They can bring their volumes to the station for safe keeping, or put them in a bank for the time being.”

“Also a good thought. I’ll suggest it to them.” I gave her a side-eye. “Knowing who this fence is would be a good in. I’d like to know Massimo’s acquaintances.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ll see if I can weasel it out of Walcott while he’s with the sketch artist tomorrow.” Jamie blew out a breath, looking stressed and harried. “And on that note, one, two, three, break!”

I came back into the station the next morning ahead of Henri, as I wanted to process Walcott properly now that people were back in their offices. He had been stubbornly mute on names yesterday, and I hoped to tap him again today to see if he would at least give me the name of one of Massimo’s acquaintances. Just something for a lead. I seriously had no idea where to find this man right now. After a night in jail, I hoped Walcott would be more talkative.

I drove in, as I had a feeling today would be one of those days I’d be darting all over the city. I parked in the lot and came in through the back door. As I slung myself off the bike, I spotted Colette coming out of the Evidence Building and gave her a wave.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” She waved back, then yawned and drank heartily out of the coffee cup in her hand. “Mercy, but it’s turning out to be one of those mornings already.”

Well, that didn’t sound auspicious. “Yeah? What’s happened?”

“Bunch of nothing that people are making into something, that’s what.” She paused at the door and waited for me to catch up with her. “You know how that sliced-up grimoire came in?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, everyone on staff in the Evidence Building is nervous about it. Keep wanting me to move it away from the other magical artifacts in storage. But I was here when Jere brought a staging box in—and it’s solid. I told them so. I ain’t moving it.”

She gave a decisive nod of the head, her multitude of braids swinging a bit with the motion. Normally, she kept her hair up in a two-tiered bun, but today it was in a high ponytail, and she wasn’t in her usual assortment of layers—just a plain tan skirt and white shirt. That told me she’d been in a hurry this morning.

I could make a few educated guesses. “Someone came in for an early shift, saw the box, and panicked? Called you in?”

“No, they bumped into the box, dinged a corner, became convinced it wasn’t sturdy enough to do the job,” she corrected on a long sigh. A lord-preserve-me sort of sigh. “As if scratching a corner of a wooden box is going to do anything.”

“Ah.” I had some sympathy for her. When people didn’t understand much about something, they tended to jump to the wrong conclusions. “Thanks for taking point on this kind of stuff. I know you didn’t sign up for this when you joined.”

“I daresay Henri didn’t either when he signed on.” Colette gave a shrug of her wide shoulders. “But it’s only fair to pitch in while he’s on a case with you. And I understand this one is a whopper.”

“Jere filled you in?”

“That he did. I don’t envy you the task of figuring this one out. Any leads?”

“A good one, actually. If you can call it that.” I made a face, wishing for strong coffee myself. “Long story short, a key witness named a man who he knows is a thief and obsessed with Radman’s works. Odds are, he’s the thief we’re looking for. I’m getting a sketch artist in this morning, but I’m also not holding my breath. My witness described the man as having a very forgettable face.”

“Oh, glory.” Colette offered me her coffee. “Need a sip?”

“Bless you.” I accepted the offering and took a healthy swallow. “I can’t linger. I’ve got ducklings coming in to meet me, but let’s catch up later. Dinner or something.”

“Sure, sure. I’d love to hear how this pans out. And reassure Henri, if you see him before I do, that we’re managing without him.”

I was surprised at that. “Really? Light week?”

“Not as such. Everything that’s come through this past week has been simple. No chance of a backlog building, so far.”

“Ahhh. Well, it was kind of the universe to cut you some slack.”

“I will take it with thanks.” She took her coffee back.

I was sad about that, but I was a grown adult. I could get my own coffee. We exchanged wry smiles, and I went ahead of her to my desk. I had things to get in motion.

The bullpen was relatively quiet at this hour—a quiet that wouldn’t keep for long. Niamh and Foster were already at my desk, which was impressive. Or would have been, if they’d looked awake. Foster held his coffee cup to his nose like a fainting lady would smelling salts.

“Late night?” I asked them, not sure why they were so zombie-like this morning.

“RM Seaton’s reworking the wards and security, trying to prevent a repeat of what happened,” Niamh answered with a yawn. “Of course, that meant we had to step in and guard the palace grounds while everyone got into the new positions. We were up most of the night.”

Gerring strolled up to the desk looking more awake than the others, two porcelain mugs in his hands. He took one look at Niamh and offered one to her.

She took it with a pleased little murmur and promptly inhaled half of it.

I had a feeling that mug was meant to be mine. Gerring’s thoughtful that way—he often brought me coffee if we had an early start like today. But I wasn’t about to question him about it. I had a feeling it had been sacrificed to a more noble cause.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’d let you guys go home and sleep some, but we got a break in the case last night.”

Foster unglued his eyes a little further. “You said Walcott turned himself in.”

“I did say that, yes. And that his life was being threatened by a thief.” I waited, but they weren’t connecting the dots. “Did you guys not see my second message?”

“Second message?” they parroted in perfect, blank unison.

“My second message said the thief who threatened Walcott’s life is collecting everything Radman wrote and is likely the thief we’re looking for.”

It took a second longer than it should have for my statement to connect. Then both of them looked abruptly more awake.

“Do we have a name?” Niamh asked with rising excitement.

“We have a name, a description, and an idea of this guy’s favorite stores. I want a sketch artist to sit down with Walcott this morning, see if we can get something useful.” I felt it only fair to warn them. “Walcott described this man as soft-spoken with a common face. I have a feeling he uses different aliases, too, as he’s been stealing books for years without being caught. It might be really hard to lay hands on him.”

This did not deter Niamh. Her eyes sparkled. “Ooh, a challenge. I’m quite keen on that. Let me sit in with the sketch artist. If the thief touched Walcott in any way, I may be able to pick up something of an aura or scent.”

“Sounds good to me. Gerring, you go with, you know how to set this up.”

“Sure.” Gerring swept an arm to the right, indicating the direction Niamh needed to go. “This way, my lady.”

She gave him a little smile before following his lead.

I blinked after them. Was Gerring…flirting? Seriously? I pointed after them and asked Foster in a low voice, “Have I missed something?”

“Don’t know when it started,” Foster admitted, back to sniffing his coffee. “Caught it myself yesterday, after you separated from us and Niamh returned. He’s bending over backwards to be helpful, flirting just enough to say he’s interested without being pushy. Niamh’s harder to read. I can’t tell if she’s interested or not.”

“If she hasn’t shut him down, she’s enjoying the attention.” So that was Gerring’s type, huh? Tall, blonde, and dangerous. Interesting. “Well. While they’re doing that, we have two things to do. First, Walcott has given me his attorney’s name and number. We need to call and let him know his client is here, arrange for him to come in.”

Foster nodded, then finally drank some of his coffee. “Second thing?”

“We report to our prosecutor’s office that we have a case for them. I wrote down a quick confession for Walcott last night, which he signed, so we have it on file. But they need more particulars in order to do anything with the case, which means paperwork on our end. Why don’t you sit, review the confession so you’re caught up to speed. I’ll call the attorney and then walk you through how to set up a case for the prosecutor’s office.”

Foster seemed agreeable to this plan and promptly sat in my visitor’s chair. I dug out the file and handed it to him. His eyes weren’t crossing as he opened it, at least.

Being sleep-deprived really did a number on the brain. I cut him some slack as I made the call.

The attorney’s secretary sounded put out that one of their clients would dare confess to a policeman without consulting their office first. Which, granted, in their eyes would be stupid. But desperate people did desperate things. At any rate, she agreed to send someone over promptly. My duty done, I hung up and then went searching for the right forms, as Foster was still reading.

Our file room was kept rigidly neat, and it always looked a little like an apothecary to me. There were slender drawers that ran from floor to ceiling, each with their own blank forms. It was still an odd sight for me, I’ll tell you. I was used to pulling up the right form online, or out of a shared drive, and then typing it all in. Here, I had to physically find the right form before loading it into a typewriter and making sure everything lined up right.

Ah, computers, how I missed thee. At least at work.

It pleased me beyond saying that at least I now had a laptop at home.

Forms gathered, I turned to leave, only to hear my pad go off with an insistent ring. Oh no, now what? I pulled it out, saw Sherard’s name, and prayed he was in a fine mood this morning after being up most of the night. I wasn’t sure if I wanted something else to have gone wrong, even if it meant a break in our case.

Against my better judgement, I answered. “Morning.”

“It is unfortunately that,” Sherard agreed in a dark growl. Bears coming prematurely out of hibernation sound like that. I guarantee it.

“That good of a morning, huh? Our young kingsmen are dead on their feet.”

“It’s about to get worse for them. Jamie, I need you, Henri, and your ducklings here immediately.”

“Where’s here and what’s happening?” Even as I asked, I was already jogging back to my desk.

“Wharf Section, specifically an apartment complex on Denton Street. Some fool stashed grimoires all together in one room—”

I’d reached my desk, and Foster’s head came up, tracking me, his ears swiveling to pinpoint Sherard’s voice coming out through the pad.

“—and without any of the correct precautions. It’s…I don’t even know how to properly describe what I’m seeing. The walls are melting.”

I blinked, then stared at the pad in confusion. “I don’t think I heard you right. Say again?”

“You heard me right. The walls are melting. It literally looks like a candle dripping wax. Only it’s brick, and…this is the most disturbing thing I’ve seen magic do in some time. I’ve had to evacuate the building and throw up a temporary ward to contain the magic. It’s seeping in every direction and affecting the buildings around it.”

That was seriously not good. “Denton Street, you said?”

“Correct. I’ve got it contained for now, but I can’t process all of this on my own. And I fear this case in front of me might have something to do with yours.”

“Either way, it’s in our district, so it’s our baby regardless. Give me fifteen minutes, I’ll meet you there.” I hung up and told Foster, “Get the other two, Colette, and as many of those containment bags as you can lay hands on.”

Foster, bless him, immediately lurched out of the chair and ran.

I owed them all a really nice dinner. I called Henri next, my mouth in a flat line and a wince on my face. Oh, this would go so poorly.

He answered, sounding distracted. “I’m sorry for the delay, I’ll be there in a moment. I’m in line to get us all coffee and breakfast.”

Awww. “I’d love that, but honey, you’re out of time.”

He could no doubt hear it in my voice. Once again, it had all hit the fan.

The next time he spoke, it sounded as if he were moving, and quickly. “What’s happened?”

“Sherard just called. Some idjut stashed grimoires in a room with no protection spells. It’s affected a whole apartment building on Denton Street. The walls are apparently melting.”

Henri made a pained noise. “Has Seaton managed to put any kind of containment around it?”

“Said he had to ward the building. It was leaking magic in all the wrong ways and impacting the neighbors. I think our missing grimoires have finally exploded. You better get down there immediately. He needs our help—it’s too much for one man to properly contain and process.”

“I’m five minutes away. See if Colette can help us. And call Jere.”

“Ooh, now there’s a good idea. I’ve got Foster collecting containment bags and the other two. We should be ready to roll by the time you get here.”

“Ever so efficient,” he said affectionately. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Yup.” I hung up and blew out a breath. Colette was right.

It was going to be one of those mornings.

One look at the apartment building in question and I understood precisely why Seaton had called us in. I’d thought it might solely be because of our missing grimoires. And I did expect the need for magical remediation, all things considered. But this…this far outstripped the scope of my expectations, and I wasn’t envisioning anything good to begin with.

In all my days as a practicing magician and a magical examiner, not once had I seen something even remotely like this. It truly looked as if the three-story brick apartment building was made of wax and was slowly melting from the top down. One corner in particular, the far-left side, was the worst off.

The sight was so dumbfounding I barely remembered to climb out of the car. Even after I was out of it, I stayed on the sidewalk, jaw agape. Was this an illusion? Surely, it had to be. How could brick even do that?

“Davenforth!” Seaton called to me. The words thank all magic were not said, but implied in his tone. “Oh, you brought Colette, too! My dear lady, you are more welcome than words can express.”

Colette’s expression, I felt, mirrored my own exactly. Her eyes were wide in her ebony skin, jaw dropped in an almost exaggerated manner. “Good gods, man, what in great magic is going on here? I thought it was just a grimoire not properly sealed!”

“No,” Seaton corrected grimly, his face dark with anger and perhaps a touch of fear. “No, it’s an entire room of them.”

Colette immediately did a superstitious sign in front of her chest to ward off bad luck.

Too late for that, I fear. Our bad luck seems to not only be active but strung together.

I questioned anxiously, “And what of the people who live in this area? I can’t imagine they’re not affected.”

“Badly so. I’ve been fielding reports of people who are violently ill, hallucinating, the works. One man turned violent, was waving a butcher’s knife and chasing people. The police had to help me chase him down and he’s in the hospital, now, being treated.”

Seaton ran a hand over his face, looking tired already, the makeup around his eyes smudging and aging him ten years.

“I’ve ferried more than a few to the hospital while waiting on you. The ward I have up now is only the first step to mitigating this disaster, I fear.”

A hand lightly touched my shoulder, and I turned my head to see Jamie leaning slightly into my side. She watched the building with a sort of grim resignation, as if mentally steeling herself to deal with it. I looked at her, this beautiful woman I loved more than anything, and it took every ounce of willpower I possessed to not immediately drag her from the scene.

A single spell would do nothing to her. A string of spells, for that matter, wouldn’t touch her. But this—I didn’t know what this even was. This blend of magic and auras and power looked like an oil spill, only one touch of a candle’s flame away from becoming sheer carnage. Jamie was immune to magical spells, yes, but this wasn’t even a spell. Raw energy morphed in front of my eyes. It had no rhyme or reason, and Jamie’s protections might not even recognize it as magic. Belladonna had warded her against almost every spell known to man, and many an artificial construct as well, but this? There was no predicting this.

Her eyes found mine, and I saw knowledge there, a recognition of what this was, even though she couldn’t see it like I could.

“I shouldn’t go past the ward,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

“No,” I answered, relieved she understood. “No, please don’t. I have no way of predicting if you’re immune to this or not, and I can’t take the chance.”

“How bad does it look to you? I tried looking through the magic specs, but they basically overloaded and whited out on me.”

Ah. That made sense. The spells on the police-issued glasses wouldn’t know how to read or interpret this scene. For that matter, I didn’t either.

“It’s truly terrible. Imagine an oil spill that is residing near an open flame, and that’s akin to what I see in front of me.”

She winced. “Ouch. Okay, we’re going to work on evacuating the immediate area. How far back do I need to pull people?”

“Ten blocks. At least.”

“Ten, I think I can do. Sherard!” She dropped her hand from my shoulder and jogged toward him, no doubt to work on pulling kingsmen and other police officers in to coordinate the evacuation and get people out of range quickly.

I left her to it, as she was best suited to doing that portion of the work. Myself, I had this mess to deal with.

“Henri.” Colette waved to the building ahead of us, her expression a little lost. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I’m not sure we can until Jere gets here. Honestly, we don’t have enough bags to contain all of this. And even with a royal mage here, the amount of cleanup is just…too much for the three of us.”

She nodded in agreement but not in relief. “Yes, I’m not saying otherwise, but…I think protection hexes on our skin would be best. Even protective clothing isn’t enough here.”

A very excellent suggestion. I did keep coveralls in one of my bags for situations…not like this, not on this scale, but where magic had gone wild. But she was correct—they didn’t fully cover my hands, my head, or my feet, and we needed full protection here.

“I can draw a hex on you, if you would return the favor?”

“Chest,” she directed. “Or back of the neck.”

“Back of the neck, less likely to have something smudge up against it.”

“Oh, good thought.” She immediately retreated back to the car, fetching her own bag.

I did likewise. We needed to get in there and assess the full damage so we’d know what kind of help to call in to mitigate damage and set things back to rights.

I had Colette’s hex drawn onto her skin and she was working on mine when Seaton joined us. He looked over the design and gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Excellent idea. Me next, if you would, dear lady.”

“Sure,” Colette agreed easily. But her tone was worried. “We’ve got our friend Jere coming in. He’s the one who creates protective boxes for grimoires.”

“I’m aware of him. Excellent craftsman, or so I understand, and I’m relieved he’s coming. I’ve made my own calls, and I have a dozen kingsmen heading this direction. Six to aid Jamie and her ducklings in evacuation, the other six with us.”

I did not think nine people sufficient for the task. “Just them?”

“No, we’re drawing on the local police station as well. While waiting on your arrival, I notified them and gave instructions, so they’re gearing up as well and should be here momentarily. I’m sending in uniforms to spread the word, ordering an evacuation of fifteen blocks’ circumference around this building.”

So, he was choosing to be even more cautious. I couldn’t say I blamed him. And thank anything you care to name that a royal mage had the power to call a radio station and issue those kinds of orders without argument.

Time. Time was very much not on our side at the moment. This situation would not improve with age. It would only get worse, and we’d suffer the longer we were in there.

“Hello, all,” said a voice I knew well.

I couldn’t look up—Colette would smack me for ruining her handiwork—but I knew who was approaching, and I was grateful Gibson was on scene. He was a man who knew how to get the work done without panicking in the process.

“Gibson, you made excellent time,” Seaton greeted him. “Let me catch you up. We’re applying protective hexes directly to the skin for full coverage. A friend of these two is coming to help, and he specializes in crafting protective boxes for grimoires. We’re evacuating everyone within fifteen blocks of this area. Who all did you bring with you?”

“Usual suspects. We’ve got Marshall, Lansing, Rembar, Jonestone, and Baker.”

“Excellent, their magic is up to par for this.”

Colette finished and gave me a tap on the shoulder. “Done. Sherard, sit down.”

I changed places with Seaton, letting him sit sideways in the car to give Colette access to the back of his neck. It was a relief to be able to lift my head again, even if the view wasn’t one I wished to see.

Gibson offered a hand, and I shook it. “Very glad you’re here.”

Then I offered a hand to the rest, greeting the other kingsmen who were still staring at the building in jaw-dropped astonishment.

With Colette busy, I pulled each aside, painting the hex on them, too. Then Gibson started to help, no doubt realizing we really had to get in there to get things sorted.

Eventually, we had no more reasons to delay. The idea of retrieving the grimoires from the Reaper’s Set was only semi-motivational. Retrieving them meant having to deal with them at their most chaotic. Still, best to get this over with. I grasped my bag in a white-knuckled grip, promised myself a three-day weekend after this, and waded through the ward as if I had glass in my shoes.

Seaton led the charge, throwing over his shoulder, “The landlady gave me a key to the place, so the apartment is already open for us.”

A wrinkle I hadn’t thought of, but he’d been on scene longer than any of us. “Good to know.”

Marshall called from the rear, “I’ve only got twenty bags on me. How many books are in there, RM Seaton?”

“Too many to count at a glance,” Seaton reported. He did so with open dread even as we topped the first riser and continued up past the second level. He did cast a glance over the open wood balustrade and gave us all more of a clue. “The apartment is a standard one-bedroom, and it’s filled with bookshelves to the point that I can’t see a single wall or surface.”

We were going to be here for ages. Assuming the building held up that long.

“Why would anyone store that many grimoires in one place? Even us magicians don’t have more than a dozen or so grimoires!”

“My only thought is that this is either a very stupid collector, or more likely a thief using this place as a storeroom. I can’t think of any other possibility. And since most of the grimoires have no protective boxes, I’m leaning toward thief over collector. A collector would be adamant about keeping the box with the grimoire. Removing it lowers the value of the grimoire, after all.”

A sound point, and sound reasoning. I had no objection. It just pained my soul that we had to clean up after this idiot.

And I definitely did not bring enough bags, although I’d brought all the station had in stock.

Gibson muttered, “I’m preempting that problem now.”

I cast a glance over my shoulder, saw him pause long enough to pull out his pad and scribble a quick note. Ah. Calling for more bags to be brought in. Smart of him to do it now. Binding cloths might do the trick, too, if some of the grimoires were a low enough level. Although we’d have to get up there to make that evaluation.

We stepped quickly up to the third floor. The apartment in question was immediately to the left, the door wide open. The…liquid…door. I swear to you, it was trying to drip off its own frame even as I looked, and the wood fibers were in a liquid puddle on the hallway floor.

Was the floor inside even safe to step on?

Seaton seemed to have the same question, as he stepped gingerly inside. “I did throw down some reinforcement spells to keep this apartment attached to the building. But…well, they’re already getting sucked into this magical soup. Step lightly, everyone.”

I really, truly did not like the look of this.

The first glance inside the room reinforced what Seaton had described. It was a standard one-bedroom with an open floor that connected living area to kitchen, with room for a small table in between. The table was mounded over with books, as were the kitchen counters, so clearly this place was not lived in. It was meant to store the books, nothing more.

The walls had bookshelves of all types, nothing uniform about any of them, and they were crammed with books. Not even arranged vertically as usual, but horizontally, to buy the owner more space. It was entirely ridiculous.

And the protective boxes around the grimoires were scarce, indeed.

I couldn’t tell at a glance how many grimoires there were, but I did see that some vintage books were mixed in. Not all of them were grimoires, then. Which was good, but only marginally helpful. I wished I could tell which would be our Reaper’s grimoires, but unfortunately their exteriors weren’t remarkable—just plain leather covers. We’d have to shuffle through this mess to find them. And it was a chaotic mess, no question.

No wonder the building was suffering from the onslaught. There was absolutely nothing here to contain the magic. Not every grimoire comes standard with protection—that was a modern addition. These grimoires looked old, some of them at least a century, so odds were half of them didn’t have a sealing hex on the signature page. And not all of them looked to be in the best condition, either. The covers gave that impression. So, we had poor quality grimoires stacked together by a thief known for leaving protective boxes behind. Ye little gods, I felt a migraine incoming at the sight of this madness.

Baker—a kingsman I did not know well—gave a groan long and loud as he stepped into the room. “Where do we even start?”

“Books nearest the door,” Colette advised with a sharp, pragmatic nod, as if she was agreeing with her own assessment. “The more we clear out, the better the situation gets. If we start with the books nearest us, we have less of a chance of the floor collapsing halfway through the job. Skip the vintage books for now, focus on the grimoires first.”

It was an entirely practical suggestion, and I approved. “Seaton, I also think that’s the best way to go about this.”

Seaton inclined his head towards Colette, expression approving.

“As do I. Alright, unprotected grimoires first. The boxed ones we’ll leave be unless they show signs of being compromised. Baker, Lansing, you’re better runners than the rest of us. You two stay at the door and run the grimoires down and set them in the bottom parlor for now.”

Also a good suggestion. We couldn’t take them out of the ward yet—there was no one to guard them outside, and we didn’t have enough vehicles for this haul. But leaving them up here wasn’t an option, either. The downstairs parlor at least assured that the books wouldn’t go straight through the floor and crashing through other apartments.

I felt sorry for the two kingsmen, however, as that would be quite the workout.

They didn’t argue. We set to the task, and even though I had a protective hex written on my own skin, I still went for the nearest grimoire gingerly, half-expecting it to explode in my hands. It looked so much like a badly brewed potion ready to boil over, I couldn’t help my caution.

It was a relief to get it into a containment bag, the top tightly shut, and hand it over to Baker, who was nearest to me.

And then I got to repeat the process with the next grimoire.

Seaton owed me dinner for this. With dessert.

Ten books in, I stopped wincing quite so badly, and my movements sped up. Some part of my hind brain recognized that the quicker I got through this, the safer it would be. I didn’t have enough bags on me to empty a bookcase, but I got halfway through it, Baker running up and down the stairs for both Colette and me. With no more bags, I paused for a breather.

It was stuffy in this room, a feeling that grew with each minute. A humid, cloying sort of dampness that clung to the skin and inside of my lungs. It felt like being in a swamp even though I was standing in the middle of a city. A fine sweat covered my temples and trickled down the small of my back, a highly unpleasant sensation. I was due a long bath after this.

What worried me was I could feel my magic steadily draining. Sealing the grimoires itself took very little magical power, but when you multiply that drain by ten, twenty, a hundred books—it unfortunately added up quickly. My magical core could feel it, plus the drain of maintaining the hex drawn onto my skin. I was so battered on all sides by this magic soup, as Seaton put it, that the protection hex had to draw heavily on my core to keep me protected.

I was trying to pace myself, as I was not the strongest magician in the room, and everyone else might outpace me at this rate. But I couldn’t falter, either. They were relying on me, as I was relying on them, to get this done. Hopefully, we’d finish before I was forced to stop.

I turned to see how everyone else was faring. Gibson and Marshall had come far better prepared than I, and they’d emptied out a bookcase between them. However, they, too, seemed to be low on bags.

“Why don’t I go down and fetch more bags?” I offered. I could use a breather, and it wouldn’t hurt to check if Jere had arrived.

Seaton waved me on, so I went, breathing only slightly easier in the stairwell. This area of the building felt more…solid? I wasn’t sure how to explain it. The sound echoed more firmly here, my shoes making the right tap-tap noise against the hardwood. In the apartment, it was more akin to walking on a firm sponge.

I felt considerable sympathy for the owner of the building, whoever that might be. The job of restoring this place into a habitable structure would be no mean feat. I’d see if I could possibly give them a short list of experts who could take on such a renovation. There weren’t many with the right skill set.

I made it down the stairs without issue and out the door. The kingsmen’s red van stood unlocked, parked along the curb, and I went for it first. As I opened the back door, however, I heard a honk from behind me. Sensing it might be for me, I half-turned and saw Jere pull in sharply behind my car. The street was barely wide enough to allow this, but with the evacuation in process, I supposed it wasn’t much of an issue.

I was relieved to see him. He’d made good time. He had, after all, come from across the city. I abandoned my search for a moment and went up onto the sidewalk to greet him.

“Henri,” Jere said with exasperation. “We really must stop meeting like this. And what the devil’s with this building?”

I winced. “Didn’t you hear what was happening?”

“Colette couldn’t tell me much, just that you needed help containing a volatile set of grimoires in a building.” He looked doubtfully at the building in question. “That looks a sight more than a few grimoires to me. Takes more magic than that to cause…this.”

“An apartment of grimoires,” I corrected him, weary and too strung out about the situation to stay mad. No doubt my anger would return when I had enough energy for it. “An apartment of unboxed, unprotected grimoires all stacked on top of each other.”

Jere stared at me, a man truly wanting to doubt what his own ears had just reported to him. “I don’t like what you just said.”

“I can’t say I blame you.”

“I want you to take it back.”

“Sorry, old chap, would if I could.”

Jere whined, “I did not consent to this problem today.”

I nodded with sympathy. “I didn’t either.”

“I am stuck in cringe, and it hurts.” He really was cringing. “An apartment?”

“One bedroom, if it makes you feel better.”

“Can’t say it does, no.” Jere ran both hands roughshod over his face. “Any sign of our Reaper grimoires?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m…not relieved, since you’re still going through the whole thing. Right. Well. I hastily packed up some of my staging boxes.”

Jere’s vehicle was one of those modified trucks with a covered bed, not quite a van, but something similar. When he opened the back of it, I understood what he meant. He had a customized built-in shelving unit with twenty-four compartments, and judging by the size of it, each compartment could comfortably house a very thick grimoire.

It was brilliant, perfect for the thicker tomes that wouldn’t fit in the bags.

“Excellent. Let me add a protection hex to your skin and we’ll start bringing those down. Can you drive up onto the sidewalk and into the ward’s protection? We’re all so busy upstairs and trying to evacuate the area, there’s no one to really maintain perimeter down here at the moment.”

“I suppose the ward is functioning as perimeter security. Sure, give me a moment.”

I left him to it, returning to my task of retrieving the bags, which was easy—boxes of them lined the interior of the kingsmen’s van. I grabbed a box, grunted at the weight of it, then hauled it toward the door.

Jere parked at such an angle that he had the back doors open and facing the front door of the apartment building. He hopped lightly out, grabbed his own bag, and was right on my heels as we stepped lively up the stairs.

On the way up, we passed Baker, and I threw out a quick introduction. “Baker, this is Jere, our expert.”

“Pleasure,” Baker said with a quick smile. “Good of you to come.”

“Oh, Henri owes me for this. Baker, any grimoires too dangerous or big for the bags, I’ve got compartments in my van downstairs. You can put one in each compartment.”

“Good to know, sir.”

We went all the way up, my arms protesting by the time we reached the right door.

“Jere, I hear you!” Colette called through the open door. “I’ve got a bad one right here.”

Jere dodged ahead of me, attending to her call for help. I stepped to the left, out of the way of their progress, trying in vain to find some spot to put the box down that wouldn’t be directly in our footpath. We didn’t have much room to maneuver in this cramped apartment.

As I reached the kitchen island, that spongy feeling under my feet turned worse. It felt more like rotten wood giving way. I felt the dip, felt my weight go in the wrong direction, and had only a moment of realization and panic before my left foot went straight through the floor, the wood splintering.

Two strong hands latched onto my shoulder and waist, yanking me firmly back. I fell that direction instead, my heart in my throat. It was only a second, then my rescuer and I fetched up hard against a bookcase.

“Davenforth, I could be wrong,” Gibson drawled in my ear, “but I don’t think you want to go that direction.”

I cursed the man for joking in this moment even as my own dark humor snorted a laugh. I held onto his arms for a second, gaining my balance and bearings.

“That, I do not. Good reflexes, thank you.”

He held me steady until he was sure I wasn’t about to repeat the experience, then let me go. My heart thumped loudly enough to beat its way out of my chest. Before I could do much at all, I had Colette at my side, looking my ankle over, making sure I hadn’t injured myself.

“I’ll renew the reinforcement spells.” Seaton marched for the spot with an angry twitch near his eye.

Jere threw up a staying hand. “You continue on, sir. I’ve got this. I know a few tricks about stabilizing something that is inundated with magic soup.”

Seaton paused, giving him a good look over. “You’re our magic containment expert, I take it? Jolly good. If you don’t mind, let me watch over your shoulder. I’m always up for learning a few more tricks.”

That attitude pleased Jere, and he waved him in closer. Even as he did so, he instructed, “Everyone out until I’ve got this apartment stabilized enough to work in.”

“Splendid notion,” I agreed faintly.

Herding people out of a dangerous area sounds easy, right?

Wrong.

I don’t know what it was about telling someone to evacuate, but they reverted to childhood right in front of my eyes. You know, they lost all ability to listen, forcing me to repeat myself three times and put a hand on their shoulders and physically move them even as I said it the third time. That kind of reversion. And so much spluttering from them.

“No, but—”

“Is it really that dangerous?”

“Can’t I—”

No. No, you may not. Move. Now.

We’d started in close and worked our way outwards. Sherard had already contacted the local station before we got here, and they were suited up and moving before I could join them. Their captain took the lead—which I was fine with—and I fell into line, helping as she directed.

Four hours later, we had everyone evacuated, with fifteen blocks clear on all sides. I looped back around to the station, intending to double-check we really were clear. Ah, how I miss walkie-talkies. And cell phones. Mostly cell phones. Not that my pad wasn’t a dandy substitute, as substitutes went, but…well, they still weren’t universal in Kingston yet. They were getting there, but not yet. And a pad only really works if there’s another pad to connect to on the opposite end. Maybe I could get Ellie to work on that. Surely there was some way to let a pad call a phone.

I did touch base with my ducklings even as I jogged back to the station. They reported everything was fine and they were also on their way back. Good, good. If everything was under control at the station, I’d go back to the apartment building and see if I could help there. Henri was worried about me being around that magic, but I had a feeling I’d be pretty much immune to all of it. Sherard had tinkered with the spells on my core since that charms shop explosion, so I was sure I was much more immune than before. And they likely needed every hand they could get.

The station was crawling with people. Like, standing room only in some places, people wailing about not knowing what was going on. A lot of shopkeepers and such yelling about needing to get back in, this was disrupting business, how long do they need to stay away?

Yeah…okay, nice to know people were selfish no matter what universe they were in.

Many reporters stood in the mix because, of course, they’d caught wind of this and wanted the story. I recognized a few faces in the crowd and gave them a wave. I’d tell them what was going on, but hopefully we could keep the Reaper’s Set thefts under wraps a little longer.

I’d barely breached the front door when Captain Johnna spotted me, and her face lit up in relief. She went straight for me, elbowing people out of the way to get there, and snagged my arm, pulling me in close. If she was trying for a confidential conversation, she failed immediately. There were too many people talking over each other to try for a whispered conversation.

“Detective,” she greeted, her greying blonde hair frizzing out of its bun, a sort of desperate look on her face, “can I put you on the spot?”

“Uh…how?”

“People are trying to sneak out and get back to their shops, and they’re not really taking no for an answer. But if you say not to go…”

Ahh. Because if the Shinigami Detective said not to go, it might mean something. Aish. I hated using my fame, but I saw her point, and we couldn’t afford to have people going back there. You know what, screw it. Let’s do this thing.

“I’ll take care of it.”

She lit up in relief. “Thanks so much. Climb on a table if you wish. Also, I have the landlady of the apartment building in my office for you to interview.”

“Oh, yeah? Great, that’s helpful. I’ll talk to her in a sec.”

At least I didn’t have to hunt for the lady in question in this crowd. That would have taken all day. I spied a table nearby that wasn’t being used, and with an easy vault, got myself on top of it. That attracted some attention, but the far corners of the room didn’t notice.

I clapped my hands loudly above my head to get more attention, turning in place as I did so, my feet making a tight circle. People generally quieted, orienting themselves so they could see me better. Okay, I’ve got most of the bullpen’s attention now. I sucked in a breath to speak loudly, as this had to carry to every corner.

“Everyone! I’m sure you’re wondering what to do and what’s happening. Let me fill you in. I’m Detective Jamie Edwards, and you probably know me as the Shinigami Detective.”

A wave of murmurs accompanied by some sharp inhales followed that announcement.

“I was called in by RM Sherard Seaton to help with a very dangerous situation. Here’s the gist—some moron thought it a great idea to store a bunch of unprotected grimoires all in one place. The apartment building on Denton Street was full of grimoires, stacked tightly together.

“Any magician worth their salt can tell you that’s a really bad idea. The magic in that apartment has become volatile and dangerous. It’s not only threatening the integrity of the building, but it’s spreading in all directions. So far, we’ve had multiple reports of people becoming violently ill, hallucinating, and one person was so unhinged they were attacking people with a butcher’s knife.”

“She’s not exaggerating,” Captain Johnna threw in loudly, backing me up. “We’re still dealing with those poor souls who were too close and got directly exposed. They’re all in the hospital right now.”

Thank you, Captain. And good to know. I’d need to check on those people after this.

“It is very, very dangerous for you to go back in before we’ve cleared the air. You’ll become ill. Violent. Start hallucinating. You will do NO good trying to go back in early. Rest assured, we want this cleaned up more than you do, and we’re tackling it with all speed. Multiple kingsmen and two magical examiners are working right at this minute, and RM Seaton is doing everything in his power to make sure this doesn’t go from bad to worse. What I suggest you do is find somewhere else to go. Friends, relatives, take a mini-vacation—go somewhere. I imagine this will take several days.”

A woman at my feet timidly asked, “Do you have a timeline?”

I smiled down at her, assuring her silently that it was fine to ask. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry. Not at this moment. I was dispatched to help clear the area, and I haven’t spoken with the team inside in about four hours. I imagine this will take a few days, but I could be wrong. It depends on how bad the situation is inside that building.”

A reporter’s hand in the crowd shot up. “Detective, is this something like a magical gas leak?”

“That’s a really excellent way to look at it.” I approved. The metaphor was sound. “You can’t see or detect it, but it might well kill you. Please let the experts handle it. I’ll take one more question.”

Another hand shot up, but two people asked in near unison, “Do you know who’s responsible for this?”

“I can’t disclose anything else at this point. It’s an ongoing investigation. No more questions, please, I’ve got a lot to do if we’re to get people back home sooner rather than later. Also, clear out of the station if you can. We don’t have enough room in here, and you want us to work so we can get you back to normal quickly.”

That worked, and they started filing out and dispersing. Phew. Okay, that was done. Next.

I hopped off the table lightly, glad the cats had decided to sleep in this morning. They normally weren’t enthused about going in if I was just doing paperwork, and that had been my agenda for today. They were safely home and not in the middle of this madness.

Captain Johnna led me through the throng and into her office. The building was an old one and clearly renovated—it had likely been an apothecary or something, as it didn’t look like a police building. Her office showed the signs of its age, as there was exposed piping overhead and brick on the far wall. Kind of an industrial look, and she’d embraced it with a metal desk and metal-framed chairs with cushy leather seats. Kinda cool, I had to admit.

Sitting in one of those chairs was a woman in her late fifties, hunched over and staring at her hands as if they held life’s source code. She looked frazzled, dark hair in a braid coming apart over one shoulder, and I would not have been surprised to find out she’d dressed in the dark. While fighting off monkey ninjas. The landlady of the apartment building, I assumed. She looked appropriately exhausted.

Indicating her with a wave of the hand, Captain Johnna introduced us. “This is Christina Orton. Miss Orton?”

Her head lifted slowly, as if she were coming out of whatever dark thoughts she was consumed by and only now realizing other people were in the room. She blinked at us owlishly, not entirely with it.

Johnna took a seat behind her desk, keeping her voice gentle. “Miss Orton, this is Detective Edwards. She’s the lead detective on your case.”

Uh. I am?

Orton turned and gave me a slight smile, and it looked so sad, I wanted to hug her. “Detective. Thank you for helping. I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

Yeah, she looked really lost. I sat in the chair next to her, gently taking one hand and focusing on her. Trying to get her focused on me.

“Let me walk you through what is happening. Okay? Then I need to ask some questions, and we can figure out what to do from here.”

She nodded slowly. Seriously, she looked like a druggie coming down from a high.

I was really getting concerned, here. She had been at ground zero, after all. “Ma’am, have you been looked at by a healthcare professional?”

“Oh. Yes. They treated me and gave me a potion to take to purge…all that. They said it would take twenty-four hours before it all left my system.”

Ah. That would explain it. “But you’re clear to be out like this?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. But I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

No family, from the sound of it. And her friends were likely her neighbors. I saw the problem. “After we talk, I’ll help settle you into a hotel for the next week, okay?”

Her expression lifted a bit. “Oh. That would be nice. I could sleep.”

She so needed to sleep this off. I was perfectly good with this game plan.

“Yeah, you can. Let’s talk quick so you can do that. Now, right at this moment, we’ve got a team of people in the building trying to sort all of those grimoires. A royal mage, kingsmen, two magical examiners, and an expert on grimoires are all working in there. I don’t know how long it will take for them to get it cleared, but they’re working as fast as they can. Once they’re done, I’ll see about a remedial team going in after them and renovating the building so it’s back to normal.”

Her smile this time was genuine, and much happier. “Can you save my building, then? It’s not lost?”

“Ma’am, we’ll certainly try. Have you got insurance on the building?”

“I do. I’m not sure if it’ll cover this.”

“It’ll cover it,” I promised her firmly. “I will not let them finagle their way out of this. It might take some time, but you’ve got multiple experts trying to sort out this mess and make it safe for you to go home again.”

Tears burned in her eyes, and she gave a shaky nod. “I’m very grateful to them. When it first started, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

That was a good segue. I leapt on it. “When did it start? What was the first sign?”

“Well, I suppose in a way it first started about three months ago.” She paused and looked at me. “It’s probably been three months. I’d have to check my records. But that’s when that man came and asked to rent an apartment.”

I pulled my notebook out of my pocket, ready to jot things down. “What was his name?”

“Samuel…Samuel Laughlin.”

Not the name of our thief. Alias? Or a different person? “Can you describe him to me?”

“He’s soft-spoken, very polite. Not much taller than me, thin, with a charming smile. Human, with a sort of plain look to him, but not ugly.”

That helped but didn’t. “What’s his hair color? Skin color? Anything distinctive about him?”

“Brown hair…I think. His skin was a little tanned, but more on the pale side.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to think. “I didn’t see anything different about him. He looked like a normal man.”

So nondescript that he didn’t really stick in the memory. Like our thief. Coincidence? Or was she having a hard time recalling because she was under the effects of a pretty serious magical cocktail right now? I’d definitely need to follow up and interview her again later, see if her story matched up.

“Okay, and this man, Laughlin, he came to you to rent an apartment three months ago. Did you see him often? Did he pay on time?”

“He always paid on time, once early by several days. I saw him perhaps two, three times a week, and at all hours of the day. He rarely stayed for long, as far as I could tell. And he was always bringing in a box, or a book, or something. And not taking much of anything back out. The first day he moved in, all I saw were bookcases coming up the stairs. I thought him a well-read gentleman and assumed that meant he’d be on the quieter side, not one to cause trouble. I was relieved.” She snorted in dark amusement. “More fool me.”

“Yeah…no way of predicting this kind of madness. Trust me. Okay, so you saw him, but he wasn’t doing anything to raise suspicions. So, what was your first clue something was going wrong?”

“It was the smell, I think.” She frowned down at her hands again. “The building started to get this humid, damp sort of smell. Like the air before a mother storm sweeps through. I was concerned, thought a pipe might be leaking somewhere, but I had a plumber in and he couldn’t see anything wrong. That was about three weeks ago. And then I noticed the roof on the side of the building was sagging badly. And I thought, oh no, it’s the roof. The roof’s letting water in. So, I called in a roofer, but he couldn’t come in until early this week.”

Of course, pros were busy, that made sense. “So, you didn’t suspect it was anything magical. What did the roofer say?”

“He said it was a problem but couldn’t figure out the source. He suggested I call in one of those reno-wizards.”

Ahh. Now, that was a good suggestion. I didn’t know any of them personally, but I’d come across the term before. Reno-wizards—formally known as renovation wizards—specialized in performing a scrying spell on buildings to determine issues. They could tell you if there were plumbing issues, dry rot, infestation, etc. all without needing to open up the walls.

“And you did?”

She nodded, upset again.

“I didn’t want to. They’re pricey, you know. But I’d already called in two other professionals, and they couldn’t tell me what the problem was. So, I thought, I’d better, as the building was becoming unsafe very quickly. People were telling me they felt ill. I couldn’t afford to lose my tenants, and I was feeling ill myself. Something was very wrong.

“After the roofer left, I found someone I thought could help. I called in a reno-wizard and she made room for me in her schedule, as she said it did sound problematic, and she could at least take a quick look and tell me who to call in to fix it. She came in early this morning, before business hours, and bless her for it. She didn’t even do any spells. Just took one look at the building and told me to get everyone out, now.”

I bet, to a reno-wizard especially, it would have been obvious at a glance.

“She was so panicked, so frantic, and I didn’t even think of disobeying her. I immediately cleared all my tenants out, and she demanded to know where the nearest phone was. I told her, the pharmacy lets people borrow theirs, and she went across the street and placed a call. I don’t know who she called, but not ten minutes later, I had a royal mage on my sidewalk, swearing like a sailor and putting a ward up over my building. I assume she called him.”

“There’s a hotline for reporting magical issues,” I explained patiently. “It’s rather new, about a year old, but if you see something that’s magically dangerous, you can call it in. I bet, because she’s a reno-wizard, that she was able to escalate the process, which is why you had a royal mage pop in like that. I’d very much like to talk to her. What’s her name?”

“Oh…it was Naomi. Naomi Maslin. I don’t think I paid her.”

“You won’t need to. We’ll pay her for her services.” I wrote that name down, with a note to pay the lady. “You absolutely did the right things, trying to sort this out, and I will make that clear to your insurance company. Now, one more question, and I’ll take you to a hotel. Do you have any information on file for Laughlin? Any references you took for him?”

“I, uh…” she struggled to think. “My application form has them jot down a person to contact in case of emergency.”

“That’s great. I’ll need that file. Is it alright if I take over your office for a bit and look through your files?”

“Yes, of course, whatever will help.”

“Good, thank you. Alright, let’s get you up and to a hotel.”

Johnna cleared her throat. “Detective, you’ve got enough on your plate already. Why don’t I get Miss Orton settled in a hotel?”

I was chomping at the bit to go and see how everyone was faring at the apartment building. So, I wasn’t inclined to turn down the offer.

“That’s kind of you, Captain, thanks. Just tell me which hotel you put her in, as I’ll have follow-up questions.”

“I’ll note it in the report for you,” she promised.

“Thanks.” I gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be in touch shortly, Miss Orton. You sleep things off today. I’ll try and speak with you tomorrow.”

“Alright, Detective.” She gave me a spacey smile, a glazed look in her eyes. “Thank you.”

I gave both women a quick smile before extricating myself and slipping back out. When I reached the bullpen, I saw that most people had left, with only a few stragglers. Foster, Gerring, and Niamh were waiting outside, and they perked up as I exited the office.

“Oh, good, you guys caught up.” I joined them and gave a quick recap. “I just spoke with the landlady, got some info. A reno-wizard looked at the building this morning. She’s the one who reported the problem. I want someone to interview her and get what she saw all neatly written up. Also, she needs to be paid, and since she reported an issue to the Crown, it’ll be a government check. Her name is Naomi Maslin. Follow up with her, please.”

Foster gave me a sharp nod. “On it. What about you?”

“The person who is renting the apartment is named Samuel Laughlin, and there’s an application somewhere in that building that lists not only his info, but an emergency contact. I want to get that info and see if we can’t track this guy down.”

Foster asked the obvious question. “Is this the same thief? Searle Massimo? Since he’s collecting grimoires.”

“That is the million-crown question, isn’t it? I want an answer as much as you do. Miss Orton, the landlady, described him as a very nondescript man, which raises my suspicions. Let’s see if we can verify it, one way or the other. Meet me back at Denton Street when you finish interviewing Maslin.

“Niamh, Gerring, I want to play a hunch. Hit up the hospitals, see if anyone by the name of Samuel Laughlin or Searle Massimo was admitted. If he’s been in and out of his apartment, he’d have been hit with a strong dose of magic cocktail before anyone else. Surely he’s suffering from side effects.”

Gerring let out an ooh. “That’s a great idea. We’ll see if he’s gone to any of the hospitals.”

“Thanks. Disperse, and report in regularly.”

Gerring and Niamh gave a nod before they were out the door. I paused a moment to message Sherard, Colette, and Henri, figuring I needed to give them a head’s up. They might or might not want me in the building. Depends on how bad it was inside.

Coming your way.

My pad beeped with a message that Jamie was downstairs. I was heartily glad to take a break, and we all trooped down the three flights, weary beyond belief and absolutely famished.

My better half, bless every strand on her head, had grabbed us all lunch before coming to meet us. After using our magic for four straight hours, trying to mitigate the effects of the room, we were all drained and in need of refreshment.

Jamie had snagged a table from somewhere and spread our lunch out on top of it. Sandwiches, chips, cookies, glass bottles of water—it all looked splendid. I greeted her with a smile.

“Thank you, my dear.” Oh, dear, my voice sounded froggy. Was I that dehydrated?

She gave me a once-over, then did the same to the others. “Yeah, you guys could definitely use a break. Why don’t you sit in the cars, give your feet a rest?”

“Sounds like heaven,” Colette sighed.

We lined up at the table, selecting food to take with us to the cars. As we did so, Jamie asked the group in general, “How much is left?”

“Half the room,” Seaton answered, the exhaustion evident in his voice. “We had several volumes so volatile that we couldn’t just cram them into a bag. Jere and I were forced to stop and craft something stronger to hold them before we could trust them in one of his temporary holding boxes.”

Jere grunted sourly. “Even the Reaper’s Set wasn’t this bad. And they were in poor condition when I first laid hands on them. I think the problem children are the oldest of the collection—the ones that have been together longest. That’s why they’re bleeding into each other so badly.”

A guess that was probably not far off the mark. “I wish dearly we had found the Reaper’s Set up there.”

“I looked very carefully at every grimoire and didn’t see them. Unless they’re buried in a stack somewhere, I don’t think they’re up there. RM Seaton even threw out seeking spells, and they still didn’t show up in the flat, so I really don’t think they’re there. And I’m honestly rather glad, as I shudder to think of what they’d have done in that insanity.”

I grunted in agreement. He had a point there. Although, I still wished we’d managed to lay hands on those missing grimoires.

A problem for a different day. Certainly not today. I collected my sandwich, chips, two cookies—I had more than earned my sugar—and a bottle of water before heading to the passenger seat of my car.

I let Jamie catch up with the others as I ate. I did feel slightly better but not replenished. The magical drain of working in that apartment was not so easily restored. Between bagging up grimoires and maintaining my protection hex, I had very little magical power at this point. My magical core was smarting, in fact, from the constant drain over the past four hours. Really, all I wanted was a nap.

And a bath.

I, in fact, fantasized about the bath.

Oh, but nap. Nap sounded quite appealing as well.

“Henri. Henri?”

Someone’s calling me. I turned my head a little and smiled at her, this beautiful woman whom I loved, and who loved me. Why was she looking at me in concern, though?

“Is something wrong, my dear?”

“You are really out of it,” she informed me.

“Out of what?”

“I mean, honey, that you are at zombie stage. I think if I let you sit for five seconds, you’re going to fall asleep on me.”

I blinked at her, the thought crystallizing. “Oh. Can I have a nap, then?”

“You’re at that stage, huh?” Shaking her head, she turned and called, “Sherard! I think we better do an exchange of the guard. You guys are wiped.”

Seaton didn’t trot over (no one had the energy for that), but he did come to stand at her side, looking at me, the person slowly becoming fused with the car seat. He seemed ready to object until he saw me, then his lips pursed.

“You see?” Jamie responded as if he’d said something aloud. “And the others aren’t much better. You’re looking like you want a nap, for that matter.”

“Don’t bring up naps,” he whined at her. “Gods, I’d kill for one. But I am worried about Davenforth and Colette, especially. They’ve been pushing themselves to keep pace with us, and they just don’t have the magical power to do that. But…we’re halfway done.”

“Like I said, change of the guards,” she repeated patiently. “You guys are seriously done-in. You are all so tired at this point you’re likely to make mistakes. Let me call in Jules, yeah? And some of the other kingsmen. We’ll switch you guys out, let everyone here rest. I think that’s a better option than running you into magical exhaustion or making a serious mistake that blows the building up.”

I may have wanted a nap, but I was still awake enough to take in her point and agree with it. “Seaton, she speaks sense. I honestly don’t know if my legs will carry me back up those stairs.”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily. “My own are protesting just as loudly. I hate leaving matters half-finished. And Jules Felix couldn’t move fast even if a meteor was heading for him.”

“I’ll ride herd on him,” Jamie promised soothingly, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Trust me, I’ll make sure people keep up a good clip and help out here. Why don’t you guys take all of these books to the station, yeah?”

“Station’s Evidence Locker doesn’t have room for all of this,” I protested.

“Uh. Ooh, good point. Um…palace Evidence Locker?”

Gibson spoke up from the vehicle behind me. “That should have enough room for this first round. And we can call in people to help us offload. Jere Mortimer’s truck, especially, as he’s got more grimoires than the rest of us in those staging boxes and we’ll need to take the boxes out entirely.”

Excellent. I did appreciate delegation in moments like this.

Jamie turned to see the people in both directions. “Then, do we have a game plan? Cool. I’ll call Jules. Gibs, you call some more kingsmen in.”

“Done,” he assured her.

Smart of her to call Jules Felix herself instead of having Seaton do it. Felix was far more likely to respond positively to the request if she was the one asking.

If we were moving, then I needed to switch to the driver’s side. It was too much effort to get out and walk around, so I slid over, grunting as I did so. I could hear Jamie speaking to Felix as I moved.

“Hey, Jules. I’m pulling you in for an emergency. No, I’m serious, it’s an actual emergency. How does a room full of unprotected grimoires leaking into each other sound to you?”

I couldn’t hear much of his response, but there was a high-pitched note, like a tea kettle going off.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s that bad. We’ve already had one round of people in here trying to mitigate the damage and clear the apartment, and after four hours, they are exhausted. I need you to come in, now, and take over. No worries, Gibson is calling in other kingsmen to help, but trust me when I say, it’s taking an RM’s power to keep the building from caving in. That’s how bad this is looking. It’s on Denton Street, you know where that is? Yeah? Awesome, see you in a few.”

Of course Jules Felix came running when she called. I shook my head, amused but not surprised.

Jamie jogged over to the driver’s side, opening the door and leaning in a little. “What do I need to tell the people coming in, anything?”

“We’ve had to do repair work to the floor every thirty minutes,” I relayed to her, the memory of almost falling through the wood replaying in my head. “The floorboards are so fragile they’re either warping or breaking.”

“Ouch. No wonder you guys are drained, if you’re fighting both building and books at the same time. Uh…I kinda told the landlady this could be fixed. Did I lie to her?”

An excellent question. I didn’t have a ready answer for it. “Anything can be fixed. This might take more effort than usual.”

“Got it. Okay, go, go. And go straight home afterwards, you’ve earned the rest of the day off.” She leaned in quick to give me a chaste kiss. “I’ll check on you later. Maybe pick up dinner on the way in.”

“I look forward to it.” The idea was, in fact, quite appealing.

“Good, go.” She bounced back out—because, of course, she had energy to spare—and was already off, back to working on the logistics of it all.

Because I did not trust myself, I focused solely on starting up the car and following Gibson. I didn’t know where precisely to go, he did, so follow Gibson. Just follow.

I might have zoned out a little during the drive. I had no memory of it, at least. I blinked and suddenly realized we’d stopped. And we were on palace grounds. I hadn’t been challenged at the gate—Gibson’s doing? I had to assume so.

It took willpower and mental bribes, but I managed to pull myself out of the vehicle. Then I stayed there, feeling a little light-headed for a moment. Oh dear, I really had overdone it.

A hand landed on my shoulder, and Gibson peered at me intently, brow furrowed. “Davenforth. I think you’re done.”

“We have to unload the grimoires,” I protested. I didn’t actually want to unload them. It was the responsible part of me speaking.

“No, you’re done,” Gibson repeated with a firm shake of the head. The line of his mouth brooked no disagreement. “You and Colette are both swaying and barely keeping your head up, you’re so exhausted. I’m glad Jamie interrupted us when she did. I should have been keeping a better eye on both of you. Just hold tight for a moment longer. I’ll have someone drive you home.”

He gave me no room to protest, just spun on his heel and was off, calling out to people.

I looked around myself, trying to gain my bearings, but nothing looked familiar. Had I been in this section of the palace grounds before? Even while working on the wards here, I hadn’t visited the whole place. I did see a flag flying above one of the buildings, though, and it was the kingsmen red. We must be near their compound, or on it.

Colette came over and leaned against me and the car, using us both to prop herself up. Since she was not an insignificant woman in size, I felt my own muscles strain to keep us both up. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing deeply as if she were honestly attempting to sleep while upright.

“Colette.” I put force into her name. “Do not sleep on me.”

She made a noise of disagreement, a sort of growl-slash-whine. “People can sleep standing up. There’ve been studies.”

“And you are not going to validate those studies. Gibson is fetching someone to take us home.”

Her displeasure lifted, and she gave a smile. “Oh, I do like him.”

“He’s a good sort,” I agreed.

A young kingsman came jogging up to us, looking unfairly awake and sprightly. “Doctor Davenforth, Doctor Harper? I’m to take you home.”

Colette finally opened both eyes and gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Kingsman.”

He had us loaded up in no time at all. I gave him the direction for my own flat and Colette’s, and he drove quite competently. It took willpower and grit, but I didn’t fall asleep during the drive. Colette did. I had to prod her awake.

The young kingsman escorted her to the door and stayed planted there until he was sure she was well on her way up to her own flat. Only then did he come back to the car and resume driving me. My flat was not far from Colette’s, fortunately.

“I’m not sure if I can ask any details, sir.” He paused at a stop sign and gave me a quick smile over his shoulder. “It’s alright if it’s too classified for me to know. But did something happen?”

“A flat full of grimoires without protective boxes all jammed together. We spent four hours trying to clear it and keep the building from falling down.”

“Great magic, sir, that sounds dreadful! No wonder you lot are all so exhausted. I’m not a magician myself, but we all get training in supporting those who are. I’m not sure how much I could help with this type of situation, though.”

“I’m sure Gibson can tell you. Taking us home has been helpful. I’m not entirely sure I’d have made it back under my own willpower without getting into an accident.”

“You do look very tired, sir, if you don’t mind my saying. You and the other magical examiner. I can tell how hard this case must have been, as you all looked at your wits’ end.”

“That we are.”

He pulled up to the curb and parked. “This one, sir?”

“This one. Thank you, Kingsman. I appreciate your time.”

“Not at all, sir. Have faith we’ll get the situation back under control while you rest and recover.”

His attitude was refreshing, to say the least. I approved of it. “Thank you.”

I dragged myself bodily out of the car’s back seat and into my own building. Phil must have seen my approach from a window, as I was barely into the tiled foyer when he appeared at lightning speed down the stairs.

“Henri!” His light voice was surprised but also suspicious. He knew I shouldn’t be home halfway through a workday.

I waved, a tired wiggle of the fingers. “Phil. I’m done-in. We had a very difficult case this morning.”

“Need help?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say no, but I remembered something important—Phil was meant to be a magician’s familiar. It wouldn’t hurt for him to inhabit that role, for a change.

“I need to rest. Will you watch over me? If something untoward happens, I need you to run for help or use my pad to contact Seaton.”

Phil gave a serious nod. “Will.”

“Excellent.” I got up to the first landing, realized Tasha and Clint were on the stairs above me, and directed them. “One of you go to Colette. She’s in the same shape I’m in. Someone needs to watch over her.”

Tasha and Clint exchanged glances, and Tasha said firmly, “I’ll go.”

Colette was close enough that I wasn’t worried about Tasha going by herself. She was only eight blocks down. The kitten could traverse that distance easily.

Clint had a different worry on his mind. “Jamie?”

“She’s fine. Coordinating efforts, not in the middle of things. If you want to report to the palace and see if you can help the kingsmen, though, you can. I’ll put you in a taxi if you wish.”

He was obviously torn, then shook his head. “Stay with you.”

Did I look so bad that I required two Felixes to watch over me?

I decided, for my own sake, to not answer that question.

I was all set to help people at the site, but I had barely gotten everyone coordinated to go into the building and pick up where the first group had left off when I got a call from Niamh. If she was calling, I figured it had to be important, so I stopped right at the edge of the ward to answer her.

“Speak, Niamh.”

“Detective, I think we found him. But…I can’t be sure.”

“Yeah, you’re going to have to clarify that.”

“We’re at a nearby hospital, Rexford’s. We asked if anyone by the name of Samuel Laughlin was admitted, and they said no. But when I asked about the first patient they saw with the right symptoms, they reported a name to me that we hadn’t heard. What makes me suspicious is that this man came in yesterday evening with those symptoms. He predates all other patients by a good fourteen hours.”

“Oooh,” I crooned. “That is so very suspicious. And what name did he give the hospital?”

“Nye Abbott.”

What was this guy, a spy? Seriously, how many aliases did he have?

“Get a description of him if you can. And show the staff the sketch we’ve got, see if you get a match. Any idea where this man went after he was discharged? I’m assuming he was discharged.”

“After he was treated, he vanished. Skipped on the bill, too.”

“Of course he did.” Color me surprised. “Alright, good, sounds like you have a lead. Follow up on that, I might meet you at the hospital later. It depends on how much help they need here.”

“I think we’ve got this,” Gerring pitched in. “We thought we’d give you the name in case it would help.”

“And it might. We’re trying to catch something of a lead ourselves. If you’re done there, go over to Blue Rose Street and see if you can drum up someone who knows this man.”

“That, we can do. He’s slippery, but supposedly people do business with him, so someone has to know him, right?”

“You’d think. Good luck, though, I have a feeling you’ll need it. I’ll keep you updated.” Ending the call, I looked around, saw Jules, and jogged toward him. “Jules!”

He turned and gave me a distracted smile. “Hi. I’m ready to go in.”

“Yeah, about that, can I go in?”

He blinked at me, gave me a once-over, and then shrugged. “Your protections should be more than adequate for this. If I’m wrong, I’ll reset you.”

Jules was not nearly as protective of me as the other two, and I trusted his eyes and magical sense. I, too, felt like this place would just roll right over me, like water off a duck’s back. Sherard had made sure of it after the last time I’d gone down, and I trusted his work. And I really needed to check the landlady’s files.

We both went in, but while Jules went up the stairs, I deviated to the office to the left of the front door. Even as I entered, my nose crinkled in distaste. The ozone in here was something else. If you mixed paint fumes with the scent of fresh tar, and added in tropical humidity, you’d get something close to this smell. Yikes, no wonder everyone on the first shift had been done-in after four hours. I couldn’t imagine frantically working in this environment, and it had to be so much worse on the third story.

The office was organized and simple. A desk for the paperwork, three tall filing cabinets arrayed on a wall to the right, two chairs in front of the desk for visitors. I went for the filing cabinets, pulling open the drawer most likely to have Laughlin’s file. Quite a few names under that letter, but I found his mid-way through and pulled it out.

It was thin, which didn’t give me much hope, and when I flipped it open, I sighed. Yup, about what I’d expected. The application was a single sheet, and there were only three receipts for the months he’d paid rent. Nothing else.

But the application was what I’d come in here for. I tucked the folder under my arm and jogged back out, as I had no desire to stay in the building a second longer than I needed to. I got outside, breathing in fresh air with relief. Better.

Foster had been patiently waiting for me outside, and he popped up eagerly, no longer leaning against the side of the car. “You found it.”

“I did. Hopefully it holds the goods. Update me first. Maslin?”

“Found her, got her witness statement and an invoice,” he assured me. “It’s all in the folder in the car.”

“Cool beans. We’ll deal with that later.” I flipped the folder open as I walked to him, reading quickly through to the bottom where a contact name and an address were listed. Then I groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?” Foster came in closer, tilting his head to read over my shoulder. “Nye Abbott. Wait, isn’t that the name Niamh and Gerring found at the hospital?”

“He’s listed as his brother. Ha. Okay, no, I guess there’s a chance Nye’s really his brother and just happened to be exposed to that madness while visiting. My gut says this is another alias, but there’s a real possibility he’s got a partner in this business.”

“We have to verify it, one way or another.”

“We do. Bad thing for a detective to do, assume anything.”

I tapped a finger thoughtfully to my mouth. On Earth, it was pretty easy to verify a person’s identity. We had lots of helpful databases for that. But here, nothing easy about it. It’s why Massimo’s use of aliases worked so well—there was no way to readily check someone’s identity. Switch your name, move to a section of town where no one knew you, bam. New person.

But here, at least, he’d listed an address with Nye Abbott’s name. And I needed to speak with Abbott, anyway, since he’d skipped out on a hospital bill.

“Let’s check the address, see if anyone knows him.”

“Might as well,” Foster agreed. “I can drive. I know that area of town.”

“Awesomesauce. Go for it.”

Foster had driven his own vehicle in, so I hopped into the passenger side, willing to be chauffeured. He drove a bit like I did, anyway. That was to say, with a lead foot. I approved.

As he drove, he cleared his throat. “Detective. I heard from Niamh that you chose to bring both her and I into this because the Queen wants some of her kingsmen trained in investigative procedures.”

“Correct.” Where was he going with this?

“I just wondered why us? Is it because we’re junior agents?”

“Yeah, that’s part of it. I mean, you’re easier to pull from the roster because you’re not assigned to one place in particular. But I don’t want you to think you’re the only ones I’ll train. I think I’m supposed to do around twenty people, all told.”

At least, Regina had made noises to that effect.

Foster made a low noise in the back of his throat, taking this in. “But not the senior agents.”

“Totally depends. Marshall and Gibson have both told me they’d love to learn how to do what I do. They’re usually super busy so I’d have to find a way to block out their time for a case. Not easy to do.”

“Hmm. I didn’t really know the difference, at first—what a kingsman does verses what a detective does. Now that I’ve experienced it, I realize there’s quite a bit that’s different. You don’t approach a case in the way I was trained to. And we deal with completely different matters most of the time.”

I could see that intelligent mind clicking away. Foster had been brought into the kingsmen for a reason. And his brains were the main reason.

“But you also see the overlap, don’t you?”

“I do,” he admitted readily. “Like with the last case I helped you on, with the stolen gold. And this one, where the integrity of a city is under threat because of this man’s greed and stupidity. You often work with RM Seaton on cases like this.”

“Well, Sherard loves working cases with us. He enjoys the intellectual challenge. And working with two of his best friends. If he hadn’t gone royal mage, he probably would have ended up as a magical examiner. That’s how much he likes the work.”

“I can see that, actually.” Foster slowed for a stop sign, looked both ways, then went through the four-way intersection. “And he would have been good at it. I know a few of my superiors have made noises about you and Doctor Davenforth joining the kingsmen. Do you think that will happen?”

“Eh, not anytime soon. I’ve really just hit my stride at the station. I’m not really in a hurry to leave it yet.”

“I’m glad. I think you’re doing a lot of good where you are. Although I’d be happy to see you join us, too.”

Something about the way he said that made me realize. “You know, don’t you?”

“That you’re not from this planet?” he responded calmly, with only a glance towards me. “Yes. I know.”

“Kingsman security clearance,” I muttered to myself.

Dummy, dummy, dummy. I should have realized long before this. Of course he could pull my file and read through it if he wanted to. He had the clearance to do so and nothing to stop his curiosity.

“When did you read my file?”

“After the first day I worked with you on our previous case.” He shrugged, a little abashed. “I realize now I should have asked. But…I couldn’t put the pieces together. You knew so much, so many things I’d never heard a hint about. And every person we worked with deferred to your knowledge, even experts in their field. There had to be a reason. And—don’t take this the wrong way—you don’t quite look like the other humans from this world.”

“It’s my skin tone,” I admitted easily. “My mother’s from a people that have an olive skin tone that doesn’t really exist in this world. Sometimes I think people assume I’m really, really tan or something. I let them think what they like because I really don’t want to explain my story over and over. They know too much of it as it is.”

“That they do. I didn’t tell anyone else what I read. I kept that confidence, as I felt bad about even reading the file.”

Foster really was a good guy. I wanted to hug him. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

His brows lifted slightly. “But it mentioned in your file that you know a unique fighting style. Can I possibly ask for a sparring match?”

“Why is it that whenever the guys learn I know how to beat people up, they volunteer themselves for a match?” I shook my head, laughing. “Sure, Foster. I like to spar with the kingsmen about once a week, anyway. Come with me sometime, and I’ll introduce your arse to the mats.”

He grinned from ear to ear, happy as a clam. “I look forward to it.”

Well, at least I won’t ever be short on sparring partners. There’s that, right?

Foster confidently took us into the correct neighborhood, and it didn’t take long for us to get on the right street. The houses here were nicer townhomes, not upper class, but a good two steps up from lower class. We pulled up to the right door and I slid out, making sure my badge was handy.

The front yard of the townhome had a clutter of bikes and discarded toys, which I noted as I went up the sidewalk. The place was in that state of not-quite-maintained, a sign of a young family. I got the impression of parents constantly trying to keep things clean and organized but getting distracted by children. The front door was a cherry red—cheerful—and I gave it a sound knock, then stepped back, waiting at Foster’s side.

It opened a moment later, a werefox mother with a kit on her hip, looking stressed out and sleep deprived. The kit was fussy, with a runny nose—clearly fighting a cold. The mother’s alarm was clear on her face when she saw Foster’s red kingsman uniform.

I threw up a hand to forestall this. “Don’t be alarmed, ma’am. We’re here trying to find a witness, no one is in trouble. I’m Detective Edwards, this is Kingsman Foster. We’re looking for Nye Abbott.”

She blinked at me, liquid brown eyes confused. “I’m sorry, Detective, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What about Samuel Laughlin?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Searle Massimo?” That last one was a bit of a stretch.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Hmm. Alright, switch tactics. “Ma’am, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, about…four years?” She thought about it, then nodded, agreeing with her own assessment. “Yes, that sounds right. Before that, it was my grandmother’s place. We bought it from the family and moved in as newlyweds.”

“Can I have your name?”

“It’s Bella Evans. Do you need to see my ID card?”

“If you don’t mind. I have to jot down who I spoke to.”

“Of course, just one moment. I have to put him down.” She turned and stepped into the house, calling over her shoulder, “Please come in for a moment. I’m sorry there’s no real place to sit.”

She was not kidding. Toys, blankets, and general stuff covered every surface. I had a feeling both mama and baby had been sick for several days. She put her child down into a bassinet near the kitchen table, then turned and dug in her purse, fetching out the thin, tin ID with her information imprinted on it. She came back and handed it over with a worried smile.

I took it, looked it over, and jotted down her info in my notebook. Not that it couldn’t have been faked as well, but I doubted the housewife in front of me was involved in a nefarious book theft.

Foster spoke to the woman in a warm, patient tone. “We were given this address as a reference. We’re trying to find Nye Abbott. You’re not implicated in any way. We were pretty sure before coming here that Nye Abbott doesn’t even exist.”

I wanted to insert some sarcasm here so badly. I mean, the family who lived here were werefoxes, our suspect is human—pretty obvious these guys weren’t related. If they were acquaintances, that sure didn’t show, either. I didn’t see a single book in this house. I handed the ID card back to her.

“Thank you so much. Here’s my card. If someone comes here looking for any of the names I mentioned, could you call me? I’d like to know.”

“You think someone will?”

“Well, this guy is using this address as an emergency contact, so odds are, someone might.”

“Oh. Oh, dear.”

“Not dangerous, I promise,” I soothed her. “Just be quick to call so I can handle it.”

She held the card firmly in her hand, expression determined. “I will.”

“Thanks for your time.” I turned and left, and only when we were out of the door did I growl. “Figures. I wonder why this address, though? Did he live here, does he know someone here? The apartment he rented was much cheaper than the houses in this neighborhood. He had to use this address for a reason.”

“Because it’s respectable.” Foster waved a hand around us. “If you’ve lived in the city for a while, then you’ll know this part of town as being respectable. People with office jobs live here. I mean, look at the woman we just left. She’s obviously a housewife, with her husband making the living. How many people can afford to do that?”

True enough. Middle class, that was the bare threshold. I was glad to see he was thinking like a detective. Maybe my training methods were working, despite how crazy this investigation was.

“So, to make it look better on an application form, he uses an address that’s respectable. It means he’d planned that part out ahead of time. Nice guy. I think your reasoning is sound because I can’t see a thief living here. Neighbors are too nosey in places like this, they’re bound to ask questions. And this pretty much confirms that Abbott is an alias.”

“True, it does, but what do we do now?”

“Hmm. Walcott said he heard Massimo likes to hang around Blue Rose Street, specifically the bookshops there. I sent the other two over there already, but that’s a lot of ground to cover. Why don’t we go see if we can stir anything up? I think we’d just be in the way if we tried to help out at the apartment building.”

“I can’t even go into the apartment building,” Foster said with a shrug. “No magic in me to help, and I’d be sick pretty quick if I tried.”

“Yeah.” And I wasn’t about to send him off investigating on his own. That was not a good idea. “You know where Blue Rose Street is?”

“I do. It’ll take about thirty minutes to drive there.”

“Then let’s do it.”

It was a crazy, crazy day, an emotional rollercoaster that none of us wanted. I did not consent to these problems, okay? Really, could have done without the whole shebang.

I wasn’t much help with the cleanup of the apartment, and despite me and my trainees rushing madly about interviewing people, we came away with more questions than answers. I tried checking on Henri several times, but it was always Phil who answered. Henri was fast asleep—and snoring, from the sound of it.

Moments like these I felt really blessed having the Felixes. They were the perfect guardians when people were down and needed someone to watch over them. I would have been far more worried about Henri if not for Phil acting as a little guardian angel.

Phil informed me on the last phone call that he remembered what I said, about how purring made people feel better. So, he was purring to Henri while he slept.

My heart. So many feels. Not sure if I could take it.

I felt that Henri definitely deserved a reward after today’s madness. And I wanted to treat myself, too, as it really had been a whirlwind. So, I might have stopped by a certain spot in a certain magical conservatory on my way home.

Master Gardner Pam Pousson, upon hearing that I had imported seeds and seedlings from another planet, had immediately volunteered to grow them for me. There had been a light in her eye of pure challenge and excitement. Considering the possible pitfalls of planting something from Earth here? I was perfectly willing to let her try. Besides, I had a black thumb for plants. Odds were better with her doing the growing.

And, y’know, strawberries were sort of an invasive species. My mother had informed me of this even as she handed everything over. Be careful, strawberry plants like to take over any garden.

I personally didn’t see the problem, but I thought we should probably start with a contained environment, right? Just in case. Hence, magical greenhouse.

I knew the place semi-well, after having worked a case here and coming in and out to check on my beloved plants. I came in through the glass side door, breathing in deeply with a happy smile. The fun part about having an extra-sensitive sniffer was moments like these. Everything smelled rich and amazing in here. It was like giving my nose self-care just by stepping through the door.

Stepping to the right side, I went directly for the glass-enclosed corner that held my strawberries. Pam had created it for the plants, and for a temporary structure, it looked pretty solid to me. Opening the slender door, I stepped through, then paused, eyes growing wide with delight.

“Oh!” I turned, taking it all in. The last time I’d seen them, there had been fruit on four of the seedling plants, and I’d taste-tested and approved them. Pam had taken that approval and run with it, using more magic to speed the process along, including both growth and propagation spells. I knew she had, and I’d been trying very hard to wait patiently for more berries.

Very, very patiently.

Like today, for instance. I’d hoped for one or two ripe ones I could take home with me.

Instead, every plant had multiple berries on offer.

Oh, yeah, baby. Now we’re talking.

Someone approached me from behind; I could hear the footsteps against the stone pavers. I turned to see who it was.

Pam gave me a smile and a wave. She was in her usual wide-brimmed hat that covered her boy-cut short hair, blue shirt sleeves down to the elbow, and work pants smeared with dirt. She never looked any different. The bright grin on her face was in sharp contrast to her tan skin.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

I couldn’t stop my happy bounce. “They’re certainly a sight for sore eyes, I’ll tell you that. And they smell delightful. Have you tried one yet? Is the magic you’re using working okay?”

“Only this morning. It was a sweet, juicy berry. It tasted precisely like the first batch.” She regarded the berries in question with a slight frown, shoving her straw hat back, revealing her closely cropped red hair. “Feel free to eat one and double-check me. I’ve only had the two berries, after all.”

“No need to twist my arm.” I promptly reached for one, snapped it off the plant, and bit into it with relish. Then I groaned in pleasure as my taste buds reported nothing but good tidings of great joy.

“I can tell from the look on your face,” Pam informed me dryly. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

“I could write odes to the strawberry,” I assured her, already reaching for another one. “Man, these are amazing. How many berries do we have altogether?”

“I didn’t count, but I estimate each plant has about five ready to be picked.”

We had twenty-four plants. So that was a lot. Quick math said, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred and twenty berries.

Can I eat a hundred and twenty strawberries? You betcha.

Should I? Probably not. Adults are supposed to share. Or, so I’ve heard.

It was hard, really hard, but I had promised to let people try the berries when I first convinced them to help me get seeds over here and plant them. I should probably make good on that promise at least once. Still, it pained me right down to my stomach.

“I’ve got people that are due berries,” I told Pam reluctantly. “If I portion them out, give you addresses, can you send a runner out to deliver them?”

“I certainly can. I have a runner on hand.” Pam gave me a knowing smile as if she could read the reluctance right off my face. She probably could. I wasn’t doing a stellar job of hiding it. “I do have some good news to bolster your spirits.”

“Yeah?” I tore my eyes from the berries to look at her.

“First, while I have verified they are an invasive species, they’re no more a danger to native plants than any other weed would be. I think it’s safe to grow these outside the greenhouse.”

I had no idea how she’d tested that but trusted the woman to know her business. “Excellent! That means we can plant them in all the places.”

“You can, and I suggest you do, as this flavor will be wildly popular with the public once it’s out.” Pam held up a finger. “And in that vein, I want to form a partnership with you. I’ve drawn up the paperwork to have you patent this seed.”

I blinked at her. What, now?

“And if you will sign that, we can form a business. I’ll grow and handle distribution. I have the right contacts for it. You take charge of advertising and information, as you know better than I what all can be done with the plants.”

Blink. Blinkblinkblink. Uhhhh. “Pam, I didn’t anticipate forming any kind of business. I just wanted strawberries for me, myself, and maybe my friends.”

Her response was patient.

“I know you did. But I’ve already eaten the two this morning, that after I told myself to only eat one, and I’ve had to ward the place to keep my workers from sneaking berries. All of that alone tells me we’re sitting on a potential goldmine. I’d be very lax if I didn’t offer this idea to you. You don’t need to answer me immediately, but at least sign the patent paperwork before someone tries to lay claim to this.”

That…was a good point. Okay. “I’ll sign. Let me sleep on this, but I’m really interested in partnering up with you. I think it’ll be great if strawberries become a common food here.”

She practically beamed at me. “I thought you’d be agreeable. You’re very much the entrepreneur type, after all.”

“Mostly by necessity.” I shook my head, amused at this impression she had of me. “I want the shiny things, too. Might as well share the love. How many baskets do you have that I can use for gifts?”

Pam fetched small baskets and I started in on the berry picking, being very firm with myself about the numbers.

Queen Regina got ten. Sherard got ten. Jules got ten. Gibson got ten. Colette got ten. Ellie got ten. Henri’s parents got ten. And the rest were mine to share with Henri.

Okay, no, twenty of them went back to being seeds. But the REST of them were mine.

Pam saw the division I had, then frowned at me. “Why aren’t you taking those in your basket?”

“Don’t I need to leave some for you to seed?”

“Those I can pick from the ones that will ripen over the next few days. Take these. You’re too busy to swing by every day.”

That was unfortunately true, but yay! That means today-me gets to have all the berries. No argument from me and no need to tell me twice.

I might have cackled. Aloud. Hard to keep that sucker in.

It probably took far longer than it should have as I had to keep smacking my own hand to keep from eating all the berries instead of putting them into the baskets. But eventually, everything was all wrapped up and addressed.

With my own basket hanging onto my arm, I paused at the door and said to this amazing, trustworthy woman, “Thank you. Really. I wasn’t sure who to turn to for this, and you’ve done such an amazing job.”

She smiled at me, pleased by the gratitude. “You’re very welcome. Thank you for the challenge. I’ve enjoyed it.”

“And I’m seriously interested in partnering up with you on this. Can you work up a schedule for like…growing and planting and all that? With so few seeds to work with, I imagine it will take time to get this up to a real distribution number.”

“You’re not wrong, but I don’t think it will take as long as you fear. And I’ll always keep this patch here in the greenhouse safely protected, just in case a blight of some sort hits it. I don’t imagine much trouble on that front, but better safe than sorry.”

“Amen to that. I’m mid-case right now, but I’ll try and swing by sometime this weekend to properly talk it all over with you.”

“Do that, please.”

I gave her a nod, meaning the promise. Even if I had to fake my own death for an hour to get that meeting squeezed in.

Then I bounced out, singing the strawberry song and maybe skipping my way through the door.

YOU try living a deprived life of no strawberries and see how YOU react when you finally get some.

Also, three of the berries were on the verge of expiration so I had to eat those on the way home. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

I did stop long enough to pick up some chocolate—the type you could melt—because I had every intention of blowing Henri’s mind. And chocolate-covered strawberries were a good way to do that.

With all the madness of today, I went to my apartment first and took a quick shower, changing into something more casual. Then, I melted some chocolate and whipped up several coated strawberries. When they were set out and cooling, only then did I go back down to his apartment and knock on the door.

There was a light thump, then the door creaked open by degrees. I poked my head around and inside, finding that Phil had opened the door for me.

“Hey, Phil. He’s still asleep?”

“Yes,” Phil answered, whiskers bristling with worry. “Should we wake him?”

“Yeah, he’s not going to sleep tonight at this rate. Don’t worry, I’ve got a treat ready to entice him out of bed.”

I know Henri has this whole thing about being in a lady’s bedroom, but I had no issue walking straight into his.

Henri’s room was very much a reflection of the man himself. It was mostly plain, no patterns, dark wood furniture with blue curtains and a comforter to match. His nightstands on either side were stacked high with books. The man himself was flat on his back, snoring, truly dead to the world. Clint was curled up at his side, watching with alert eyes.

Man, he really must have been pushing himself this morning. I’ve rarely seen him this exhausted. Only other time that came to mind was during that charms pandemic.

I sat on the edge of the bed and gave Clint a pet hello, which got a purr from him, then patted Henri’s chest with a gentle tap. “Henri. Henri?”

He grunted, stopped snoring, then his head turned towards me. Neither eye opened, though.

“Henri. Come on, baby, I’ve got a treat waiting for you. You need to wakey wakey.”

One eye pried itself up to half-mast. He looked very bleary and out of focus. “Treat?”

“The strawberries are finally ripe,” I informed him, the happiness obvious in my voice. “And they are absolutely perfect. I’ve got both plain and chocolate-covered ones, all waiting upstairs for you.”

That got the second eye open. “Upstairs? In your flat?”

“Yup. How about you come up? We can eat them, and I’ll order delivery from Christopher’s. I can tell you about the interesting offer I got from Pam Pousson.”

“Ooh. Mmm. Yes, I can get up.”

See? Food bribes totally worked on Henri. I got off the bed, giving him a hand and pulling him upright. He sat there for a second, obviously orienting himself.

“Usual order for you?” I checked.

“Huh? Oh, yes, splendid.”

“I’ll give you twenty minutes to come up, and then I will come back down here to drag you,” I warned him.

He nodded, still not entirely with it. Well, I trusted Phil or Clint to report to me if there was a problem.

I went back up to my apartment, called Christopher’s—one of the few restaurants I knew that had a phone—and placed an order for delivery. Then I cleaned off the island so we’d have a place to eat. As I cleaned, I got to singing The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields Forever” because, hey, most appropriate soundtrack I could think of. My berries were all washed and ready for my culinary delight. Shame the cats couldn’t try them, but they weren’t made for food.

Come to think of it, I was short on furballs. I had to wonder where Tasha was. Chasing rats, maybe?

Henri’s tread sounded heavy with fatigue as he came up the stairs, followed by the lighter patter of Phil’s paws on the wood floor. He came in looking only slightly more awake than he had twenty minutes ago. It’s not often that I see him in only trousers and a shirt, sleeves rolled up. He even had slippers on, no socks. Downright scandalous, for Henri.

I wasn’t sure if it was a statement of how comfortable he’d gotten with me or more a point of how exhausted he was. I had the feeling Henri didn’t have a lot of spoons to work with right at the moment.

He didn’t even glance my direction, just zeroed in on the red yumminess on display, artfully arranged on two different plates. “Strawberry.”

“Your detective skills are improving,” I deadpanned. “Try one, go on.”

He picked up one of the smaller berries, about the size of his thumb, and gingerly bit into it. Ever seen someone’s brain actually log in and power on? I swear, berry power did that to Henri. He went from zombie-shuffle to more like the man I knew.

“Oh,” he intoned with true pleasure. “Oh, that’s delightful. I now understand why you missed it so keenly. My mouth can’t equate it to any flavor it’s tried before.”

He bit into the rest of the berry, a smile lingering on his mouth.

“It’s not sure what to do with the experience, but likes it.”

“That’s a pretty good summary of my entire first year exploring this planet,” I commented. “Sit, Henri. Now, try the chocolate-covered ones.”

He readily did so, plopping onto the stool and reaching for (I couldn’t help but notice) a large berry. He bit into it with gusto and then purred in pleasure. I swear there was a purr.

Phil was very curious about what we were doing, lightly hopping onto a stool and leaning over to get a good whiff. His tail flicked behind him, nose going a mile an hour. “Smells good.”

“Get used to this smell. We’ll have it often.” I eyed Henri, judging how awake he truly was. He looked happy, certainly, but there was a lack of intelligence in those big brown eyes. I’d hoped to talk to him about Pam Pousson’s offer, get his take on it, but clearly that wasn’t a good idea tonight. He wouldn’t retain a single thing I said. I’d only end up repeating it tomorrow.

He’d had a hard day. It was alright to let him eat, and enjoy, and not think too deeply about anything.

I fell to teasing instead. “Are you going to spoil your dinner?”

He stopped mid-reach toward a berry and gave me a worried look. “I can’t?”

“You absolutely can. As long as you leave half for me.” He was so magically depressed, he probably needed every calorie I could cram into him. I wasn’t actually worried about him eating too much. As long as I had enough strawberries for myself.

Since Henri was happily focused on strawberries and nothing else, I asked the other sentient intelligence in the room, “Phil, where’s Tasha?”

“Colette’s,” he answered. “She watch over her.”

“That’s great.” I was relieved. “I’m sure she needs it. You know what? I’ll order dinner in for her too. I don’t think she’s in any better shape than Henri.”

I went to my telephone table to put in the call. I’d call her landlady next, make sure the food got to her and someone checked in on my friend.

And the next time we found an apartment full of grimoires, I was so calling in backup before we dove in. Clearly, we’d underestimated how much personnel it would take to clean up that mess. I was all for learning from my mistakes.

As yesterday had been exhausting in the extreme, I did not make it into the station on time. Jamie assured me, repeatedly, that everyone expected me to have a late morning and that they were more or less doing the same.

Detectives had more leeway in their schedule because they worked all hours on a case. It was hard for me to adjust to this attitude, as I’d been on a strict schedule my entire time at the station. Since joining the police, I’d arrived at a certain time, and (hopefully) left at a certain time. This idea that I could come and go freely, well. I’d grow accustomed to it eventually.

It was with coffee in hand that I came in through the back door of the annex building, and truly, I did not feel entirely myself. I hadn’t realized how draining being in that flat had been. I’d been so focused on getting the task done as quickly as possible, before the walls collapsed in on us, that I hadn’t monitored my own magic or health as closely as I should have. An embarrassing lapse, especially at my age. I should know better.

I headed for my lab first, partially out of habit, to see if there was any work stacked up for me. There was nothing in my inbox, I was glad to see. It meant people were following the new rule of handing things over to Colette first. She divvied up the work, passing some on to me when I was available.

Once, we’d had evidence sitting for four days before I realized it was in my inbox. The evidence had compromised itself in the meantime, which resulted in an all-hands meeting with the station to set a new policy. Training people took time to drop out of old habits, but the change seemed to have stuck, finally.

With nothing there awaiting me, I went hunting for my partner in the main building. She was not in the bullpen, but I could hear her speaking from one of the nearby conference rooms. I followed my ears until I found her.

Jamie was at the head of the table, also clutching at a cup of coffee as if it could somehow fuel both energy and inspiration. Around the table sat Gerring, Niamh, Foster, Gibson, and Seaton, all looking just as hopeful for a good idea to strike.

Oh, dear. This didn’t look at all promising.

Jamie paused mid-sentence as I entered. “Oh, Henri, good. Come join us. We’re just talking about the fact that we have no leads.”

I regarded her drolly. “I don’t think I actually want to participate in this conversation.”

“None of us do,” Seaton assured me even as he nudged the chair near him out in invitation.

I took it, against my better judgement. As I settled, I demanded, “We truly have no leads?”

“This man is like a ghost,” Niamh answered, pulling a face, as if the words were bitter in her mouth. “He’s so bland in appearance that he’s unremarkable. Even when people try to describe him, they can’t come up with any distinguishing characteristic. And he changes names as he likes.”

“It’s like a bad spy novel,” Jamie sighed in frustration. “He’s always a different man. The only way we’re really able to link him from one crime to another is that he leaves a hint of himself behind.”

This didn’t sound right to me, and I spluttered, “But if he was in and out of that flat on a regular basis, he had to be suffering from the effects worse than anyone else!”

“Oh, he was,” Jamie assured me, and it wasn’t a positive statement. “He went to the local hospital for it, got treated, used a different name. We barely figured out it was him, to be honest. And then he left without checking himself out or paying the bill. We have no idea where he went from there. The name he used as an emergency contact at the apartment was actually another alias. I checked the address, did a background check on the family that lives there, and it’s clear he used their address on a whim. They’re not connected to him.”

I could feel the frustration building in the room. Shared in it, in fact. “Wait, confirm for me—the Reaper’s grimoires? Were they in the flat or not?”

“Not,” Seaton stated, the word bitten off. “Which means our thief has them stashed somewhere else.”

I liked this answer even less. While I didn’t want the grimoires in that volatile magical abyss, I didn’t like them free and possibly creating another one just like it. My worries intensified.

“Was there any sign that he lived there? I saw no bed in that flat. And where has he stashed the Reaper’s Set if not there?”

“The one we raided was a catch-all, apparently.” Gerring ticked things off on his fingers as he spoke. “We think we found his apartment on Blue Rose Street. No one has seen him there in at least two weeks. It wasn’t as great of a find as we hoped, unfortunately. No one there has seen him, and he used the same emergency contact there as he did with the first one. No indication of where else he’d put things.”

“I would bet the books you found in the first flat aren’t actually part of his collection.” Gibson stared upwards at the ceiling as he thought. “The Reaper’s grimoires are ones he’s personally collecting. That’s what Walcott said, and he should know, as he spoke with the man. So, if they weren’t at the flat, then odds are, he keeps his personal collection elsewhere.”

The reasoning was sound; I couldn’t refute it. “We know he’s been stealing and selling books, right?”

“Right,” Jamie agreed. “Walcott told us he’d initially come across this man because they were both dealing in books.”

Gibson gave a grunt. “That’s where his income is coming from, then. The flat that melted is full of inventory.”

It did make sense. Massimo didn’t have a storefront—he wasn’t running a legitimate business. So, where did he put all of his inventory? It had to go somewhere until he could fence it. A separate flat to hold it all, of course. And he must have a third flat somewhere for his own private collection.

Although, the idea that he had two flats filled to the brim with books made me shudder internally. My book lover’s heart twinged. This man truly had no real sense of how to care for the things he professed to like.

“This means he’s storing his personal collection in yet another location. He must be quite a good thief if he’s able to afford multiple flats.”

Foster groaned. “I’ll say. Rent in even the cheaper parts of Kingston isn’t exactly cheap. And renting three places? He must be quite a good thief, indeed.”

The truly worrisome aspect of this was that he obviously didn’t know how to handle grimoires. And he had a third location where he’d stashed the Reaper’s Set. Was he stacking them like he had in that poor flat? Or was he trying to take care of them, treat them like the priceless vintage books they were? Did it even matter? He’d stolen three without their protective boxes. The mental picture of what that would eventually do sent shivers up and down my spine.

“I’ve got someone watching the other apartment he’s keeping, just in case, but so far he’s a no-show.”

That did not sound good. “And the potential buyers of the Reaper’s Set? The ones Walcott thought he could sell it to? Surely they are people of interest.”

“I totally agree with you, but it’s not as clear cut as you’d think. There were only three people on Walcott’s list.” Jamie’s expression was pained. “The first man isn’t even in the country—he’s over in Saari. I have a name and phone number, but no address. I tried calling, only to get a butler who informed me his master was in very poor health and at a retreat. He wouldn’t say where, and I can’t press it.”

Because he was not in the country, we had no way of demanding an interview. I grimaced. “It’s too thin to demand a warrant.”

“Right. The second person is in the country but died two days ago. His heirs are busy liquidating his estate. I don’t think they’re interested in buying. Walcott didn’t give the third person’s name, just initials—no number. I have no idea who this is, and Walcott won’t say. I’m not sure if they’re really a lead, anyway. Walcott made it clear that Massimo was obsessed with Radman’s works. I don’t think he was stealing them for Walcott. The potential buyers might have been more wishful thinking than anything.”

Niamh snorted. “Walcott did strike me as a poor businessman.”

I had to agree there. The man jumped into things too quickly and without proper caution. Buying and setting up that lavish office alone was a poor business decision, since he didn’t have the clientele to support it.

“So, to sum it up,” Jamie said on a sigh, “we have no idea where Massimo is. We have no idea who his friends or family are because we haven’t been able to find a single person who knows him personally. Just professionally. And we have no idea what he’s going to do next.”

“Well, we kind of know what he’ll do next.” Seaton’s expression was pure sarcasm. “We know he’ll continue trying to collect the Reaper’s Set.”

“We’ve gone several rounds on this all morning.” Jamie held up a hand. “I vote early lunch, we fuel our brains, come back to it. All in favor?”

Several hands went up.

“Motion carried. Let’s come back in about an hour and a half, say? And someone come up with something brilliant in the meantime, please and thank you.”

Everyone immediately got up, the three juniors exiting quickly, no doubt glad for the break and not willing to linger long enough to be roped into something else.

It was, technically, only a half hour away from lunch time. I hadn’t realized it would take me that long to get into the station. Getting out of bed this morning had been so difficult, and had taken multiple tries before my legs agreed to leave the comfort of my quilt.

Jamie turned to me and asked, “Did you have breakfast?”

“I had a muffin on the way in.” Which had, sadly, already worn off. Walking into work had definitely not been the best choice.

“How about lunch at Yorkshire House?” she asked. “Gibson, Sherard, you guys too. I want to run something past you.”

Fish and chips was always an agreeable choice, and especially when my energy levels were low like this, it was the perfect food to replenish me. I nodded, amenable. Also, very curious as to what she wanted to tell us. Something was clearly on her mind.

“Sure,” Gibson agreed easily.

Seaton held up a finger. “Is this a problem for me to solve?”

“Not a problem at all. An opportunity I was handed. I’d like your take on it.”

“Ah. Then I’ll be pleased to join you.” He cast a glance at me. “Is this far?”

“Not at all. It’s across the street and two blocks down.”

“Perfect. Let’s walk, then.”

I truly regretted walking into work this morning. I sighed, as there was no help for it. It wasn’t like there was parking near the restaurant, anyway. It made more sense to walk.

We headed out the door and rearranged ourselves as a group on the sidewalk so we could fit on the narrow confines of the pavement. The traffic was, as usual, brisk, and we passed many a pedestrian on the street.

The pollution in the city was becoming a problem. I know Jamie had spoken with several people about this, introducing the idea of both solar and wind power to offset the issue. The idea had taken hold, as anyone with eyes and a nose could see the air quality in the city was getting worse by the day. I had hopes a decision would be reached soon about what to implement first. My guess would be wind power, as the wind coming in off the sea was a constant and surely the most feasible to quickly implement.

Jamie’s arm found mine and looped through it. I gave her a smile, pleased at the easy affection she showed. She smiled back, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners.

It was only then I belatedly realized neither of us were juggling a Felix. “Where is the trio?”

“Sleeping at my apartment. They were up all night watching over you and Colette, so I let them snooze today.”

I only vaguely remembered Phil being at my side, a purring ball of fur tucked in next to my chin. “He purred at me, I think.”

“He did. Most of the time you were dead to the world. I’m curious, do you have any intention of ever making him your familiar?”

I blinked at this question, as it came out of nowhere, as far as I could tell. I’d never really thought about having a familiar. Not all magicians did, and it was more about status, in some ways. Familiars were companions more than helpers. Although, in a field like mine, Phil had proven to be very helpful.

“But he’s not mine.”

“Henri.” She used that tone, the one that said I was being deliberately obtuse. “He spends far more time with you than me. It’s clear you’re his choice. If you asked him, he’d be over the moon.”

I hadn’t meant to overstep a boundary. Jules Felix had given Jamie the kittens, not me. But she did bring up a very valid point. Phil had made his preference clear. And she obviously did not mind, since she was encouraging me to do something rather than leave the situation in this strange limbo.

“Well. If you’re quite sure about this, I’ll ask him.”

“Good. I think he’ll be ecstatic.”

I did, as well.

We arrived at the restaurant, and everyone placed their orders. Seaton surprised us by paying for lunch, and when Gibson tried to protest, he simply held up a hand.

“After the ordeal I dragged you all into yesterday, I think I at least owe you a meal.”

And, well. What did one say to that?

I accepted it with good grace, as it was true. Yesterday had been a nightmare, and I was happy to be treated for my services. We chose a back table near the window, away from the other patrons, settling in around the plain table. Once we were all seated, Jamie angled herself so she could speak to all three of us comfortably.

“Alright. So, you all tried the strawberries yesterday.”

Gibson and Seaton nodded, and I could tell from their expressions they’d already discussed this with her. Likely, first thing.

“And everyone who’s tried them loved them, no surprise.” Jamie rubbed both palms together in a slow motion, picking her words. “When I went to collect them yesterday, Pam Pousson made me an offer. She had me sign paperwork to patent the seed. She wants to partner with me to market them.”

I startled in my chair. What? We’d had no plans on making this a wholesale product.

“Can you do that?” Sherard asked in surprise.

“This world’s conditions closely match Earth’s,” she explained. “Pam and I went through all of this when we were first figuring out what to do with the seeds. Water composition, air quality, soil nutrients, it’s all really, really close. It’s part of why I can function so well on this planet. The strawberries, apparently, see no real difference either, as they grew very well and taste just as delicious. She planted five outside, in pots, and they were happy little plants. They are a little invasive, so you’ll have to keep an eye on them. Pam’s firmly of the opinion that she can create a good schedule to grow and distribute on a larger scale.”

I was floored by the implications. After tasting them myself, I knew very well how delicious they were. They’d become immensely popular with the population, once tried.

Gibson let out a low whistle. “I certainly liked them. I told you I’d eaten my way through them before realizing what I’d done. How big of a scale are we speaking of?”

“I don’t know at this point. She’s drafting up a business plan, and I’m meeting with her this weekend to talk it over. She said she’d leave the product placement and advertising to me, but…I’m not really the guru for that. I can certainly tell people what all strawberries can be used for. But marketing?”

I saw her point and agreed. My Jamie has good common sense and isn’t the type to dive in without thinking the implications through.

“No, you’re not the right person to manage this. I strongly suggest you sit down with my parents. My family’s been running one business or another for decades now. They would know how to go about this.”

Jamie snapped her fingers. “Yes. Yes, that’s precisely who I need to run this by. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Likely because you were as stressed as we were yesterday.” Seaton regarded her with a thoughtful tap to his chin. “I do agree, the Davenforths would definitely be the right people to consult. I would even suggest having them run the business, unless you want to change career paths.”

Jamie made a face. “Uh, no. I realize it doesn’t look like it from your point of view, but I’m not an entrepreneur.”

I could make a very compelling argument against that statement. But I did realize that most of what she’d invented here was actually a reinvention of something she missed from Earth. Jamie was a woman who knew her strengths. She knew herself very well and was highly cognizant of where her true talents lay. And running a business wasn’t it.

“But, I mean, can I dump this on them? That hardly seems fair, either.”

Her objection was a sound one. “At the very least, discuss this with them. My father’s technically retired, I’m aware, but he’s also…restless.”

“Bored out of his freaking mind is how I would have put it.” Jamie rolled her eyes expressively. “I think he’s still going into the office regularly and driving people up the wall. You think this will be a good project for him, don’t you?”

“I do. And even if he’s not willing to take it on, he’d know who might. You can always hire a manager and an advertising firm to do this for you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s all a really good point.” She sighed, the exhalation one of relief. “I kept trying to figure out how to cram this into my schedule. I finally realized it’s too much for me to do on top of everything else.”

I sometimes barely saw her, day-to-day, that’s how busy she was. I understood why and didn’t fuss. I was relieved to see she wasn’t going to put yet another thing on her shoulders.

“Perhaps dinner with them this week? To talk it over? I can arrange it, if you wish.”

“Sure, poke your mom.”

I drew out my pad to do so, and our food arrived at that moment. As the server set our orders down in front of us, my stomach gave a happy rumble. The scent alone made my mouth water. I truly did love this restaurant.

Seaton fell to teasing. “Well, Jamie, I must say, if I had to pick the thing that would make you filthy rich, foreign fruit wouldn’t have been on my list.”

Jamie snorted. “Yeah, I didn’t anticipate a strawberry emporium, either. And who knows, maybe people here won’t be as strawberry obsessed as my people.”

We all shook our heads.

“I’m buying stock as soon as you’ve got a business set up,” Gibson informed her, and he looked quite serious about it.

I perked up a little. “Oh, stock. That’s an excellent suggestion. Yes, let me be an investor, as well.”

Seaton lifted a hand. “Me three.”

Jamie looked at the three of us with a quirked brow, torn between amusement and surprise. “I didn’t expect this to be a business meeting. I feel like a con artist with a get-rich-quick scheme.”

It did rather look that way on the surface, didn’t it? It amused me, too. But I had faith in this particular scheme. “Don’t leave us out of this, my dear. We’re all very invested in making sure this works.”

Gibson and Seaton lifted a glass in salute, and I clinked mine against theirs. We were solid in our agreement on this. “To strawberries!”

Jamie laughed, shaking her head. “You’re all weird. And thank God for it.”

We reconvened at the conference table, and I looked around expectantly, hoping someone had had a breakthrough during lunch. I’d been so busy talking strawberries with the guys that I honestly hadn’t thought about the case.

From the look on Niamh’s and Foster’s faces, they hadn’t thought of anything, either. But Gerring had a scheming expression, and he kept twiddling with his fingers as if entertaining an idea he wasn’t sure he should share.

Frankly, I’d take even a bad idea at this point. Anything to get the ball rolling. So, as I resumed my seat at the head of the table, I poked him. “Gerring. Out with it.”

He almost objected. His mouth opened to do it but then he closed it again, chewing on his bottom lip for a second before shrugging. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea…”

I waved him on, a little impatiently.

“But I kept thinking, if we can’t figure out how to find him, maybe we should encourage him to come to us?” Gerring looked around the table as he spoke, judging how his idea was being taken. “We know he’s after the Reaper’s Set. I don’t think that will change even after the disaster of what happened yesterday. Obsessed people don’t let go of things easily. And especially with his collection of books—both grimoires and vintage books—under our control, he’s not got a lot to work with.”

A good point.

“So, what if we can entice him to come and steal one of the Reaper’s grimoires? And we just lie in wait for him until he comes?” Gerring winced. “That’s as far as my thought went before the logistics of the idea hit me and I realized it would be kind of difficult to pull off. We went through a lot of trouble to warn the other owners and help them put the grimoires in a safe place. That might be difficult to undo.”

“No.” I said the word slowly, because the idea was taking hold. Bait and trap. I’d read about many an operation like this. “No, not if we handle this right.”

Henri asked uncertainly, “You think this is viable?”

“The thing is, I’ve done something similar before. If you have an idea of your perp’s motivation, or their target, you can more or less figure out where they’ll be. And if you can set it up right, and get enough people on site, then you have a very good chance of not only catching them, but catching them red-handed. Works great when it does work. Otherwise, kinda embarrassing to spend that much money and time on something that fizzled.”

“We know the locations of every Reaper’s grimoire.” Sherard was getting on board with this idea, too, I could tell. He had that light of mischief in his eyes. “What would be better, a large or small house?”

“Large. Gives us more places to hide people.”

I could tell everyone was only half-sold on this. I figured I’d better explain why I thought Gerring’s idea was sound.

“So, take this one time my partner and I did a sting. We knew this guy was dealing drugs, that he had some high merchandise he was trying to sell and sell quickly. We suspected we knew who he was selling to. It was impossible to track the dealer, but his customers? Easy. So, we staked out one of his customers, figured out the routine, and got an idea of when and where those two liked to meet. Turned out it was a busy farmer’s market on the outskirts of the city. We slipped a lot of plain-clothes detectives into the market and hung out until both dealer and client arrived. Then it was easy—we closed in on them and arrested them both on the spot.”

Ah, and the light dawns. I could see it on everyone’s faces.

Truly, police didn’t normally operate like this in Kingston. Sting operations weren’t a thing, for various reasons. We didn’t really have the personnel for it, so something major had to justify the time and expense. This made it doubly impressive that Gerring had thought of it. Look at him, thinking outside of the box and being so smart. He was definitely thinking like the detective he was. It might be time to turn him loose. Penny was waiting for him, after all.

“But why somewhere busy?” Foster asked, brow furrowed. “I would think somewhere quiet and deserted would have been better.”

“And bad guys go for that locale as well. But busy is also good. Think about it, how much do you see when you’re in a crowd? With so many people and distractions around you, how much can you really observe? It’s easy to slip something to someone and have it go completely unnoticed.” I gave Gerring an approving nod. “Trapping Massimo might be the best option. And I vote for busy.”

“Say, a musical soirée?” Sherard offered, his grin turning wicked.

Soirées were a little outside my experience, so I had to ask. “Is that noisy?”

“Live concert, many guests, it’s a party in full swing,” he answered, looking downright gleeful now. “We can invite many, many detectives and policemen, all posing as guests, and not tip our hand.”

That did sound good. “Okay, but who’s hosting? It has to be someone who already has a grimoire, otherwise it looks fishy. And someone we can trust to go along with this and not get cold feet and back out.”

“Lady Radman,” Henri said decisively. “She’d be more than up for the challenge.”

Granted, I’d met the woman. She might be old, but she was not doddering, and she was mad enough to go along with this scheme even though it had some risks.

“So…I’m not opposing this, but she doesn’t have a grimoire.”

Sherard’s words picked up a little in speed as his enthusiasm for the idea took over. “Say we concoct a story. Lady Radman’s heard that someone wants to sell one of the grimoires, and rather than have it go live for auction, she’s going to buy the grimoire directly. The party she throws is to celebrate the return of the grimoire into the Radman family.”

“Hence why it’s at her house. Oh. Yeah, I like that. That sounds plausible.”

“If we plan this a week in advance and make enough noise, surely the thief will hear about it through the rumor mill.” Henri was now on board and thinking hard. “Her house is insulated enough that her neighbors won’t give us trouble, but open enough to give the thief multiple points of entry. Perhaps too many.”

Yeah…I gave him that. There were a lot of windows and doors to guard. Without making it obvious we were guarding them, natch. The plan was not without its pitfalls.

Foster cleared his throat. “Um. This might be odd to suggest, but what about calling in the Queen’s thief?”

I perked up. “Eddy?”

“Yes, him. I’ve seen him test the palace defenses many a time. And I know you called him in to figure out how the grimoire was taken from the palace library. Wouldn’t he be the expert we need here? He could tell us the most likely paths the thief would take inside. He might very well be the best one to guard the grimoire.”

“Use a thief to catch a thief,” I breathed, delighted at the idea. Oh yeah, baby, now we’re talking. “Foster, I love that. Eddy’s a great choice—he’s literally the best consultant for this job we could get. He’s already semi-read into the situation, too, which makes it even better.”

Foster seemed relieved I saw his point.

Henri and Sherard weren’t as enthused, but they had very mixed feelings where Eddy was concerned, so I let that one ride without comment.

“All of this sounds…well, mostly feasible,” Niamh allowed, brows twisted up in an uncertain expression. “But, do you think your captain will agree? Gibson, what about you?”

Gibs had been very quiet during all of this, not uttering a peep. He lifted a finger, a cautionary gesture. “Possibly. Can you tag the grimoire so that even if he escapes, you can track it?”

Oooh, good idea. See? Lunch had been an excellent suggestion. People had come back with their brains in working order.

Sherard pursed his lips in thought. “No, I don’t think that’s wise. I’d rather not have an actual grimoire on premises. There’s nothing foolproof about this plan.”

“That, there is not.” Gibson unbent enough to admit, “But I do like it. What are you thinking, Seaton? A fake?”

“It would do the job just as well, and it’ll be easy to attach a tracking spell to it.”

Gibson nodded in agreement, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It gives us a chance to catch this man sooner rather than later, too, which I’m very keen to do. Having Massimo out at large scares me down to my undies. I really want this man safely behind bars before he can do something else catastrophically stupid.”

I wished he was sitting closer so I could high-five him. “Amen to that. Alright, are we all in agreement this idea is our best bet? Cool. In that case, I’m going to go run this by Gregson.”

Everyone smiled, silently wishing me good luck.

I glared back at them. “Seriously? Not one of you is going to come with me to pitch this?”

Just smiles. No one stood up.

“Traitors, the lot of you.” See if I gave them any more of my precious strawberries.

My ever-patient captain looked at me over the top of his hands like a man waiting patiently for the punch line of a very long joke. When I finally wound down, he kept staring at me, waiting.

“No, that’s it, that’s our idea,” I finally said.

“You want to ask a frail, elderly aristocrat if you can turn her house into a trap, then have her host a party this department will have to fund, pull your fellow officers into it to act as both guards and guests—not to mention the Queen’s thief—all to bait a thief into possibly coming to steal a magically dangerous grimoire?”

You know, when he said it like that, it did kind of sound like a tall order, didn’t it?

I didn’t know what else to say except, “Uh, yes? We’ll use a fake grimoire if that makes you feel better.”

Gregson sighed, head sinking into his hands for a moment. “How bad is the situation that everyone thought this was a good idea?”

“Well, on a scale of one to ten, one being minor ouches, ten being the city exploding, we’re hovering somewhere around an eight? I mean, the apartment that melted wasn’t even housing the grimoires we’re looking for. He’s got them stashed somewhere else, and who knows how many unprotected grimoires he’s got there….”

I did feel some sympathy for him. Gregson was so good at rolling with things, and it’s part of why I liked working with him. I threw a lot of weird crap at the man on a pretty regular basis, and it normally didn’t faze him much.

I think I might have hit his weird tolerance limit, though.

He lifted his head, expression pained. “Is it really that bad?”

“Volatile, is how Henri puts it. See, the thing is, this thief has no idea how to handle a magical grimoire. Literally none. He keeps stealing them without their protective boxes, which…look, the first time that happened, I thought Henri was going to have a heart attack right on the spot. That’s how unnerved he was. So, Massimo leaves the protective boxes off, and then he has a habit of stacking the grimoires together. Between those two things, it was literally melting a brick apartment building. Melting. Brick. And it caused everyone in the building and some of the neighboring buildings to be sick, hallucinate, the works.”

Gregson winced, looking as if that mental picture gave him nightmares. “No wonder you’re trying to catch him quickly. This isn’t a situation you can give much time to.”

“Nope,” I agreed, popping the p.

He sighed again, aging five years before my eyes. “I really can’t think of a better solution, either.”

“None of us can. And I’ve got two registered geniuses working this case, so that should tell you something.”

“Truly. Alright. I’ll agree to this with two caveats. One, Lady Radman must agree to this without being coerced into it.”

“Done.” I didn’t think I’d get much of an argument from her. She was pretty mad. And you don’t want to mess with an angry woman.

“Two, if Eddy Jameson steals something he’s not supposed to, you have to deal with it.”

“Okay.” Again, I didn’t foresee an issue. Eddy’d actually turned a new leaf in the past year or so. And he wasn’t really stealing things to begin with, he just wanted to read the books.

“Tell me the precise plan when you have it, and try to keep this as low budget as possible.” Gregson pointed to the door. “And leave. I need a drink.”

Fair enough. I popped up, but promised him, “I’ll call in to Christopher’s, pay for your dinner.”

“Are you bribing me, Detective?”

“No, sir. Preserving your sanity.”

“I have none of that left after dealing with you lot.” He paused. “And I want a steak dinner with all the trimmings.”

“Done.”

See? Best boss ever.

I went with Jamie to Lady Radman’s to present the plan to her. In part because I felt it only right to accompany Jamie, as it would be a difficult conversation. And in part because I absolutely did not want to miss it. This promised to be highly entertaining.

Why? Well, I supposed that going to a noblewoman’s house and informing her we want her to host a possible stage for a caper would be entertaining enough. But that’s only partially why I held the opinion.

Edward Jameson. That was my main reason. He accompanied us on this trip.

I kept eyeing him sideways, not at all sure if I could trust him to behave. He looked respectable, at least. With the dark grey day suit on, his sandy-brown hair combed back, he looked like any other middle-class teenager. Not ugly or handsome, rather plain but nice looking. The type to blend in perfectly with a crowd.

Jamie swore him to be on his best behavior. Clint promised to keep an eye on him at all times. I still felt this was a bad idea. But, having been overruled, I steeled myself to curse him if necessary.

So, we knocked on the door to Lady Radman’s, three humans and three Felixes, all while I held onto hope that this would work out. And, at the very least, prepared to have an interesting story to tell later.

The same maid as before opened the door and let us in. She guided us into the same morning room, with Lady Radman in her chair, as if we were repeating the day we met her all over again. A very strange, surreal feeling, I assure you.

She greeted us with a smile that spoke of mischief.

“Come in, come in. Welcome. Your call promised something interesting, Detective, and I do hope you’ll deliver. You’ll discover that when you get to be my age, life becomes much too staid. Do tell me you’re here to give me something interesting to do. And who is this young man with you?”

Jameson needed no one to introduce him. He swept her a courtly bow, a roguish grin on his face. “Edward Jameson, at your service. I’m the Queen’s Thief.”

“Marvella Radman,” she replied, her smile just as impish and dropping ten years from her appearance. “Oh, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I do hope that after we get through business, you’ll stay and chat with an old lady. I’m sure you have many a good story to tell.”

“Do I ever,” he said, delighted by the invitation.

Did I trust him to sit and talk to her? And eat cookies, drink tea, and not take anything out of this house on a lark?

Sometimes, even when I intend a question to be rhetorical, it doesn’t come out that way. Putting an unapologetic thief and a bored noblewoman together couldn’t produce a good result.

“Business first, please,” Jamie inserted dryly. She sat comfortably in a wing-backed settee and drew Jameson to sit next to her. I approved of the firm grip she had on him.

I chose the chair on the opposite side, perfectly angled to intercede if necessary. Although he did seem to be making good on his promise. At the moment.

“Tea, please,” Lady Radman requested of her maid. Then she promptly turned back to Jamie. “Alright. You only hinted at what you wanted done. Do tell me the full plan now. I’ve been unable to focus for hours since you called.”

“It’s going to sound unorthodox at first,” Jamie warned her. “But hear me out. What we want to do is bait the thief into coming here so we can trap him. I want to noise it about that one of the people who owns a grimoire is interested in selling, and that you’re buying it back from him. You’re celebrating the return of the grimoire to the Radman family, so you’re throwing a party on the night it returns here. We’ll put many a plain-clothes detective into your house as party guests, and Eddy will serve as our expert, as I think it will take a thief to catch a thief.”

Far from being alarmed by this plan, Lady Radman was excited. She clasped her hands together, eyes wide with delight. “Oh. Oh, how splendid. My house will be the center of the action. And I do think it’s a sound plan. Although I’m not sure why you think a party will entice the thief to come.”

Jameson piped up. “Best time to nick something, m’lady. When it’s noisy and confusing, people coming in and out, easiest thing in the world to slip in with the guests. Pose as a caterer, staff, or even a chauffer, no one thinks anything of you being there. You walk right in and out like you own the place.”

She listened intently, wispy white brows furrowing. “I see. Is that how you operate?”

“No, m’lady, not really my style. I prefer it dead of night and quiet. That said, I’ve taken advantage of a crowd a time or two. It’s not a matter of one tactic being better than the other, it’s more about opportunity and what you’re more comfortable with. Me, I like it quiet.”

“Fascinating. We really must chat after this.” Lips pursed, Lady Radman considered. “I’m quite keen on at least trying it. I don’t at all like this situation, and if the thief is that elusive, baiting him might be the only option we have. That said, I do think Andrea Tilton is the person to draw into this. She owns volume two. She’s got nerves of steel, that one, and the poker face to pull this off.”

That had been one of our questions, who could pretend to give a grimoire over. I was glad Lady Radman had a ready answer for us.

Jamie pulled out her notebook from a breast pocket and made a note. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to her with you present so we can all discuss this.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll invite her over for tea tomorrow. We can sit and talk then.” Her thin lips pressed together. “Will you use the real grimoire for bait?”

I shook my head immediately.

“No, my lady, far too dangerous to do so. We’ll need to put a tracking spell on the book just in case we do lose sight of it. A backup plan so we can still follow the thief out, you understand. There’s no way to do that to a Reaper’s grimoire. It’s designed so no one can tamper with the pages, make additions to it, etc. I have Jere Mortimer working even now on a fake copy for us to use. If there’s anyone who can craft a lookalike, it’s him.”

Her worry eased, shoulders relaxing. “Oh, good. I did worry about that. Plans do go awry, after all. Now, what all would you need me to do?”

“Throw the party,” Jamie answered readily. “I have no idea what all would go into that. But I need you to throw the party itself, to organize it as if it’s the real deal. If you can think of people to invite who also have good poker faces, maybe five or six, to lend more credence to this, that would be good, too.”

“We want to salt the audience with enough recognizable people that the thief doesn’t catch wind of our true intention,” I explained. “But we’ll need to be selective about who to invite. My parents might be a good addition.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a splendid idea. I called your mother the other day. We had lunch together, and it was delightful to catch up. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help.” Lips pursed in thought, she added, “I can think of a few others as well. One of my nephews is military, no one will think it odd if he’s here. I’ll make up a list of possible people for you, shall I? You can pick whoever you think will be best, and how many.”

“Sounds great, thank you. Will the rest of your family try to join in?”

“Don’t worry about them.” She got a glint in her eye that promised pain. “I’ve got them handled in situations like this.”

So, shady cousins wouldn’t try to give us grief. Got it.

The tea arrived, the maid pouring and handing out cups to all of us.

As Lady Radman accepted hers, she asked Jameson, “And I assume you’re here to tell me how a thief might get in?”

“Yes, and to look the place over, figure out the best place to put the fake. It’s a delicate balance. Gotta have enough vantage points that we can keep an eye on it but make it look deserted enough that a thief feels comfortable going after it.”

Jamie inclined her head towards him. “Something that’s not natural for me to consider, hence why I brought him along. I’d only be guessing. He can tell me precisely where to put it. We want to catch the thief sooner rather than later, as things have gotten…dicey recently. It’s become very clear he doesn’t know how to handle a grimoire properly, and it’s leaving destruction in his wake. That said, can we put this together in a week?”

Knowing very well what these parties involve, a week was an absolutely absurd timeline. At least a month generally went into the planning and preparation. Not to mention, inviting people took time, as it meant checking with everyone’s schedule. I fully expected a refusal.

A light of challenge sparked in Lady Radman’s eyes. “I’ll make it happen.”

Jamie grinned back at her like a co-conspirator. “I knew you were the right woman to ask. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“Don’t help too much,” Lady Radman cautioned. “We don’t want to give the game away. Give me your instructions for what needs to happen, then keep your distance. I’ve got this handled.”

I didn’t doubt her. She probably could organize this all in a week’s time and do it swimmingly, to boot. And it was just as well, in that sense. We had other things demanding our time and attention.

Jamie clapped her hands together before rising. “On that note, let’s get started.”

After spending two hours planning it all out, we finally left. Jamie drove (I’m not quite sure how that happened), and we headed back to the station at a good clip. I was of half a mind to allow myself to be carted back to the station, but there was something else I felt needed my attention.

As we neared a street corner, I turned to her and inquired, “Do you mind if I take off?”

“No? But where are you going?”

“I feel terrible about dumping the project on Jere, and I feel like trying to come up with a good fake in a week’s time is a bit of a tall order. I want to go help him this afternoon.”

“Fair.” She flipped a hand before returning it to the steering wheel. “I mean, we’ve dumped a lot on Jere, and I know he’s getting paid for it, but it’s still a lot. I don’t know if you can really help me all that much this afternoon, anyway. I’ll just be running around, talking to everyone, trying to get people in motion.”

Yes, let me avoid that, please. It sounded distinctly unpleasant. And peopley.

“Then drop me off at the corner. I’ll take a taxi up to his workshop.”

Jamie obligingly did so, then leaned across the middle seat to give me a quick kiss. “Have fun storming the castle!”

Having now seen The Princess Bride, I knew the reference and snorted. “Thank you, my dear. Phil, would you accompany me?”

Phil hopped out of the basket in the back seat and was into my lap in a blink, tail already twitching happily. I gathered him up to ride in the crook of my elbow as I exited the vehicle.

It was a thriving afternoon, coming closer to evening, and I knew Jere and I wouldn’t have a great deal of time to work on matters today. But the work always went faster with two hands, and I might be able to squeeze out some time tomorrow to assist him again. We’d often paired up on projects in school, and I knew we made a good team.

Jamie pulled away with a wave, as did Jameson. I let them go, then hailed a taxi at the first opportunity. I gave the address to the driver before hopping inside, closing the door behind me.

Once we were on our way, it occurred to me that for once, I had a quiet spell available to me. It was rare to have one-on-one time with Phil without possibility of interruption. I’d thought often about Jamie’s question and admitted to myself that she was likely right. I was a touch nervous about it. Phil liked me, but to that degree? I found myself unsure at moments.

But if I didn’t ask, then I’d never have an answer. And I didn’t want to make the situation more awkward by leaving it in limbo.

I sucked in a breath, gathered my courage, and hoped I could phrase this right. “Phil?”

Phil turned his head to look up at me, golden eyes blinking once.

“I have a somewhat delicate question to ask you. We’ve spent much time together, and I’ve been blessed with your assistance more than once. I feel it only right to ask. Would you like to be my familiar?”

He startled, his entire body shivering once with it. Then his eyes went wide, ears perking, tail lashing behind him like a whip. “Yes!”

With that single word, he dissolved all of my doubts. I took my first true breath in several minutes and gave him a good stroke from head to tail. “I’m very glad. I wasn’t sure how you felt about it. It does mean you’ll be living more with me than with Jamie.”

“It’s fine,” he assured me, purring now with joy. “I see them all the time.”

“That’s true, we’re practically together all the time, anyway.”

He reached up on hind legs, nuzzling against my chin, tail still swishing happily. “My Henri, now.”

“I suppose I am, at that.” I nuzzled back, happy. I’d never imagined a familiar for myself. They were difficult to obtain unless you were a very highly ranked magician, and I’d never had the magical demand necessary to invoke the right to insist upon one. Although, I suppose, with the workload I now shouldered, it made more sense for me to have one.

People would likely think that was why I asked Phil. The ones dearest to me would understand practicality had nothing to do with it.

We arrived at Jere’s without fanfare. I paid the driver and got out, still carrying Phil. I didn’t have to carry him far. I got the workshop door open and one foot inside, intending to announce our presence and willingness to help, when Phil leapt lightly from my arms and ran inside.

“Jere! We’re here, and I’m Henri’s familiar!” the Felix announced as he barreled through the stacks of supplies.

Well. That was one way to alert him.

Jere’s startled voice came from the back corner. “What? Wait, Phil, is that you? When did that happen?!”

Familiars really are nice. He saved me from tedious explanations.

Henri was a nervous wreck before the party started. And then after the party started. He kept checking and double-checking things, and I finally had to latch onto him to prevent him from giving the game away. My man did not have nerves of steel, needless to say.

I had to give it to Marvella Radman. She knew how to throw a party. I’d tried to limit her because we only had so much budget for this. Police stations are universally underfunded. She looked me dead in the eye and said not to worry about it. Gregson was happy to hear I didn’t need the money.

It’s funny, ’cause people kept telling me the Radmans weren’t rich. But if this was their definition of poor, chain me to the wall. She had not one, but two caterers in for the occasion, a full waitstaff, a live orchestra playing some really pretty music in the conservatory, and a full dessert course all laid out, looking delicious. I’ve been to weddings less decorated than this.

Playing the part of guests, no one was in uniform. Foster wore an all-black suit tonight that brought out the red highlights in his grey fur. More than a few women took notice of him. Niamh was drop dead gorgeous, wearing a flowing light green gown, her hair done up and a waterfall of blonde curls cascading down her back. Her choice of dress was smart, too—it had a full skirt that gave her room to run. I had no idea where she’d stashed her bow, though. Most of us had weapons all around the house, as there wasn’t a good way to carry them in formal wear.

We weren’t seated for dinner yet. People were still arriving, and I was keeping a careful eye on everyone to make sure they didn’t get distracted and actually got to the right places. We’d not been able to rehearse this, only done a dry run at the station, which wasn’t quite the same.

When Gerring arrived, he took everything in with wide eyes, lips pursed in a soundless whistle. “It looks amazing in here.”

I led him casually away from the door and the staff to make sure no one could overhear us. “She really pulled out all the stops. It’s so authentic, I’m afraid people will forget they’re working.”

Gerring snorted. “I can see why.”

“Gerring, I keep trying to find a good moment to talk to you about this, but after this case wraps up, I think I’m going to turn you loose, okay?”

He blinked at me as if I’d sprouted horns. “Wait, I thought you wanted me to get more experience.”

“You’ve got plenty, in my opinion. You’ve more than pulled your weight on this case, and it’s going to get good media coverage once the reporters figure out what’s going on. You’ll be in the spotlight. I say, capitalize on it. Fly, be free.”

His smile was delighted. “Thank you. I’m really looking forward to it, although I’ll miss working with you and Dr. Davenforth. I know McSparrin’s really keen on me joining her. She keeps messaging me about it—oh.”

Oh? He looked as if someone had just smacked him upside the head. And was he even breathing? I followed his gaze and saw Niamh pass by, his eyes automatically drawn to her.

Ah. That oh. “Gerring, man up already. There’s music playing in the other room, go ask her to dance.”

He swallowed hard, eyes still glued to her. “Am I even on her level?”

“You won’t be if you don’t man up,” I responded in exasperation. “Look, you’re a full-fledged detective. Just as good as being a kingsman. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Yes,” he answered absently. “No. I don’t know. She’s just so amazing.”

Where’s a clue bat when I need one? “Faint heart never wooed fair lady.”

He blinked at me in confusion. “What?”

“Just go, already.” I gave him a shove between his shoulder blades.

Gerring went, looking a little dazed still, but determined. I saw him approach Niamh, gesture toward the room with the music, and she gracefully took the hand he extended. See? Not hard, Gerring. Most women will accept an offer to dance.

Sherard slipped in to stand at my side, and he regarded the two with amusement. “Did he finally make a move?”

“Finally, yeah. Good timing, too, I think our grimoire is due in about five minutes.” We’d scheduled this to make it look like a natural party, with people arriving a little early, or on time, or fifteen minutes late. That, and we wanted a good bulk of people here before the grimoire arrived, just in case.

Andrea Tilton was not quite what I envisioned when I thought of a semi-retired magician. She was tall enough to give me a run for my money, with ice-pink hair and a boisterous personality. Within the first five minutes of meeting me, she told me she had been a showgirl in her teens and had paid her way through school with the money she’d made. Then she promptly showed me a picture.

It was with that showman style that she entered the house, wearing a flattering black evening gown, pink hair pulled up in a mad collection of curls high up on her head.

She called out in a strong voice, “Marvella! I’m here!”

Marvella rushed (I used that word very loosely, as she was too old to actually run anywhere) for the door, her hands already reaching out. “I’m so glad you’re finally here! I’ve been waiting on pins and needles all week. How are you, Andrea?”

“I’m fine, dear, and goodness, what a party! You are excited to have this back.”

“I truly am. Come over here, put it on the table. I’ve got a spot of honor for it in the study.”

Andrea followed directions and came into the smaller study, where a round table had been put in the center of the room for tonight. Eddy had said the study would be perfect for two reasons. One, it was the expected place for the grimoire to go. Massimo wouldn’t think it strange. Two, it was off the beaten path of the rest of the house and removed enough from the party to encourage sneaking in.

Of course, that also meant it was harder for us to keep an eye on it without being super obvious.

It’s fine. I had cats.

A few of us trooped into the room with her, ostensibly to look the book over and ooh and ahh.

Marvella drew the grimoire out of the box with careful hands, handling it with a smile, her fingers lightly stroking the plain, dark-brown leather. “You’ve taken good care of it.”

“I did have to oil the leather a bit recently, you know how it goes. But it’s the box Jere made for it that’s done the best job preserving it.”

“Yes, he’s a darling man. I’m so glad I was introduced to him. He did marvelous work with the whole series. Here, everyone, take a look at it, but please don’t try to take it from my hands.”

We all did. Some light chitchat and congratulations followed, but it was a small crowd. And after looking the fake over, several people melted back out of the room, giving the rest of us space to maneuver.

Marvella stroked the book a little more, then carefully placed it back into the protective wooden box before sealing the top firmly into place. “I’m so glad you brought it back to me. I’ve a check ready for you, take it with you before you leave, alright?”

“I will.” Andrea linked arms with her, a sassy grin on her face.

I walked back out, spied Henri trying to unobtrusively hover near the dessert table, and beelined for him. His mother must have had the same idea, as she and I ended up there at practically the same moment.

“Really, Henri,” Ophelia chastised, poking at her only son in the shoulder. “You are far too stiff. Relax.”

“I don’t like social gatherings to begin with,” he reminded her, expression pained. “Although you both look splendid.”

I was wearing one of his favorites, a red velvet evening gown that always got both thumbs up from him. It was also one of the easier dresses to run in, if I had to make a dash for it.

I may have tested this theory.

He was in a black-tie affair himself, hair combed back, although his recently trimmed curls hadn’t stayed tamed. Phil sat on his shoulder much like a furry parrot, his eyes sharp on our surroundings. He acted as Henri’s eyes, a more unobtrusive watcher than the magician himself. My own Felixes were casually arrayed around the house in much the same way, being our eyes wherever a person would be suspicious.

Ophelia reached up and gave Phil a good head rub. “I’m so delighted you’re now part of the family, Phil. Do say you’ll come over more often.”

Phil rubbed his head into her hand, purring. “Will.”

“Have you told RM Felix about this development yet?” she asked, eyes flicking between the two of us.

I waffled a hand back and forth. “Sort of. It’s been so busy this week that I haven’t had much of a chance to catch him up on anything. I did dash off a quick message to him saying Phil and Henri did the deed, and he was surprised, demanding all the details, but I told him he’d have to catch up with me sometime after tonight. I’ve had no time for a two-hour conversation.”

“Which is not an exaggeration, not with him.” Henri snorted. “He’s very fanatic about the details.”

I couldn’t deny that.

“It won’t give you trouble, will it?” Ophelia seemed quite worried about this.

I shook my head, reassuring her. “The reason why Jules gave me three Felixes is because he can’t predict how they’ll turn out. His own Felixes seem content to be pampered house cats. Mine want to work and get into everything. He’s trying to figure out what I’m doing differently. On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be that much of a difference in rearing, but we ended up with radically different cats. The fact that Phil chose to have Henri instead of me will just be another interesting set of data he didn’t predict. I do know this, though. If he doesn’t give a Felix to Queen Regina soon, his head is going to roll.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes expressively, a fan coming up to idly freshen her face. “That seems quite obvious to everyone except the man himself. And that he gave you three without giving her a single one has been quite some cause of ire, I understand.”

“Oh, she has a rant. And a soap box to deliver it on. You do not want to get her started on that, trust me.”

Eddy sidled in to stand at my elbow and then leaned in to say in a low tone, “He’s on the move. Got the book and everything.”

My eyes snapped around, head moving as I panned the room, but I saw no sign of what Eddy was telling me, much less anyone holding a book. “Who?”

“The man your eyes just slid past. Blue server’s coat, gold buttons, brown hair thinning in front. Just walked through to the kitchen.”

Bless Eddy’s eyes. I still had only a vague idea of who he meant. The place was crowded, but not that crowded. Even as I tried to focus, I found it hard to notice this man. He just had no presence to speak of.

I was on the move automatically, Henri and Eddy moving with me. I caught Foster’s eye, then Sherard’s, both of them in line of sight of the kitchen door, and I gestured urgently towards it.

Clint, I noticed, was on the trail of the man as well, as he darted through the swinging kitchen door like a purple bullet. I did my best to catch up with the cat without running anyone over in the process. It was something of a challenge. A lot of people were coming in and out of the door, and it was no wonder Massimo chose that as his exit point. Too much traffic for anyone to really notice him.

I got into the kitchen, frantically scanning for him, only to find Clint holding open the door of the kitchen, the one that led behind the house. He gave an impatient meow for me to come on, a move it, and I ran for him.

“Back car,” Clint said as I reached him, then he bounded away from the door and started sprinting down the driveway.

I put on a burst of speed, outstripping the cat in three bounds, holding my skirt up in one hand even as I pulled a gun out from the purse hanging at my side. “POLICE! STOP WHERE YOU ARE WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

He threw a panicked look back, as if surprised anyone was pursuing him. Then he bolted for the car, throwing the door open before frantically diving inside. Or, trying to. He wasn’t moving quite right, as if his body was locked up a little on the right side.

Running wouldn’t save him. I put on another burst of speed and caught myself on the frame, ignoring the fact that he had the motor running. I got a grip on the door handle and opened it, and when he tried to close it, the gesture frantic and determined, I kept my hand gripping the frame—all he succeeded in doing was putting a nice hand-shaped dent in the metal. It didn’t hurt my hand any.

I wrenched the door completely off, throwing it casually aside, and enjoying the gob-smacked expression on his face. Yeah, sucker. I’d paid dearly for this strength, but in moments like this, it sure did feel good to use it. With a single fist, I caught him by the collar and dragged him physically out.

Massimo floundered like a starfish out of water, but he came. I didn’t give him much of a choice.

“Wait, I haven’t done anything—” he tried protesting.

“Searle Massimo, you’re under arrest for the theft of multiple books including grimoires from the Reaper’s Set. And a few hundred others.”

“That’s not my name!”

I looked him dead in the eye even as I kept a gun trained on him. “Do you prefer Samuel Laughlin?”

It was sunset out here, not the best lighting, but it was still easy to see how he paled a little. Yeah, sucker, I got your number. I know at least some of your aliases.

Henri and Sherard came puffing up, and Henri (bless him) immediately slapped handcuffs around Massimo’s wrists. “Maybe he prefers the name Nye Abbott.”

“That’s a good point,” I agreed with false civility. “Any other name you prefer?”

Massimo’s eyes closed in a fatalistic manner. “Fine. Fine, you obviously know who I am. Searle Massimo III. That’s my legal name.”

“Then, Mr. Massimo, we’ll start with the most urgent question.” Henri had an obvious tic near his eye as he demanded, “The grimoires you’ve stolen. Where are they?”

“They’re safe,” Massimo assured him.

“No,” Sherard said vehemently, puffing a little from the mad dash. “No, in your hands, they certainly aren’t. You realize the reason your apartment with the grimoires turned into that magical nightmare was because of how you handled them?”

Massimo protested, his voice going up an octave. “That wasn’t my doing! I had them all carefully stacked on shelves, you can’t think—”

“You utter moron,” both magicians said in perfect unison.

Bewildered, Massimo looked between them, no comprehension on his face. “What?”

“The protective boxes aren’t decorative, you idiot,” Sherard snapped at him. “They keep the magic of the grimoire safely within its pages and preserve the magical ink. Without it, the grimoires will slowly deteriorate with age and leak magic in all directions. If you stack multiple grimoires together, you get the disaster your flat turned into! Good heavens above, why do you think your flat melted in the first place?!”

The light dawned. It didn’t dawn quickly, but when it did, horror was mixed in. Massimo really had no clue he was the cause of all that.

“I just…I just liked them,” he said, voice falling to a whisper as he stared at the ground. “They were so uniquely crafted. Each one was a piece of art in and of itself, and no two were alike. I thought, with them in my house, no one would doubt that I’m an educated man. I loved just holding them. Just having them.”

Yes, well, just having them meant endangering hundreds of people. I shook my head, as I had no pity to spare for this idjut. “Lead us to where you have the others.”

His head came up sharply, and a visible protest was on his lips.

Henri got right into his face. “Do you want to destroy the very thing you love to collect? You have multiple grimoires stashed without their protective boxes. Just what kind of havoc do you think they’re wreaking in this very moment? How much damage has already occurred in the days you’ve had them? The Reaper’s Set is particularly volatile—it has no sealing hex on the signature page. And you’ve had them for months at this point. I shudder to think of what they’re doing!”

Massimo’s face fell again. The words pained him, but he choked them out. “I’ll lead you to them. I’ve got a farm outside the city, one I inherited. That’s where I’ve been putting them.”

I sent up a grateful prayer. “Henri, you get him stashed in the car. I’ll go in, tell everyone we got him, say they can go home. Or keep partying. We do have cause for celebration, now that we’ve caught him.”

“Don’t send everyone home,” Sherard cautioned before holding up a staying hand. “Massimo. How many books are at the farmhouse?”

Massimo seemed to hunch in on himself. He glared, defensive, his eyes hot with anger even as he admitted in a small voice, “Three thousand, four hundred and twenty-six.”

Oh, lord.

Sighing, I put my gun back into the purse. “Right. Any magicians, I’ll ask them to come with us. And I’ll call Colette, have her bring supplies. Looks like we’ll need a lot of manpower here.”

Henri’s grip on Massimo became punishing as he agreed in a tight voice, “We’re in for a very long night.”

I felt those words to be a gross understatement. Massimo’s farmhouse had been built in a style quite common to the area—and the era it was built in. At a glance, I took it to be one of those houses ordered by catalogue, the pieces of it all assembled on site. A common enough tactic for someone on a limited budget needing a house. This one had not been well cared for. The paint peeled along the trim, the door had faded into some indiscernible color, and the entire yard exuded an air of neglect.

And then there was the obvious aura of magic leaking out of the house, like a monster breathing out liquid ooze. I stopped dead at the edge of the walkway and stared at the two-story house with complete dread.

Did I really have to go in there?

A hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing supportively. I looked over to meet Jamie’s eyes, and the expression on her face was sympathetic but determined.

“We’ve got this,” she promised me. “And more help is coming. We can knock this out in a few hours, I think. I’ll play gopher, run things back and forth for all of you.”

I appreciated the concern, but… “In that dress?”

“I packed something to change into, just in case. I’ll duck inside and change real quick. And don’t worry, even this magic soup doesn’t have any effect on me.”

“You tested this, didn’t you?” I eyed her suspiciously.

“I may have,” she admitted. “Nothing happened. I doubt this will be any different.”

I would not have wanted her to attempt it, not after her core’s reaction with the charm shop explosion, but that was my protective side speaking. It was a moot point now, as she had already established it was safe. I couldn’t argue.

Belladonna’s work was iffy at times, but in this respect—with a bit of Sherard tinkering—it worked to Jamie’s benefit. She was probably the only non-magical person who could help us in this case. And considering I’d almost run my legs off at the previous place, I was grateful to have a runner.

“Thank you, my dear. Your help will be invaluable.”

Seaton strode ahead, his magic already flaring around him. “Let’s get a ward up, contain this as much as we can. Everyone, set up!”

Colette had come with every bag she could lay hands on. Kingsmen under Gibson’s direction had done the same. Multiple vans sat outside, filled with supplies, and we’d even set up a few tables as a staging area. And of course everyone received a magical hex drawn on their necks to help protect them before we went in.

Massimo informed us that not everything in here was magical. He had initially started collecting vintage books, which took up the bulk of the house. This place was not his residence, but his showroom. His private collection. The grimoires were in pride of place in the parlor and study—those would be our priority tonight. Everything else, we could collect and somehow find owners for later.

What we had here might be enough help to deal with this quickly, as Jamie said. I certainly hoped so. At any rate, we were ready to begin within moments.

Jamie changed with lightning speed into tan trousers and a black shirt, her running shoes on. Seaton had the ward up and functioning. Kingsmen and policemen alike lined up at the door, bags in hand, grim determination on their faces.

We all seemed to take in a collective breath, for courage. Or perhaps to enjoy fresh air for a moment before entering the abyss waiting on us. And then we soldiered inside.

I will say this. It wasn’t as bad in here as it had been at the flat. We had that in our favor, at least. Possibly because there weren’t as many grimoires, or possibly because there was more space in the house. The parlor was to the left of the front door, the study in the back right of the house, so we divided and conquered.

I, of course, had every intention of finding the Reaper’s grimoires first, as they were the most valuable and volatile. Not to mention I had their protective boxes on hand, so they’d be an easy thing to sort. But that determination went up in so much smoke the moment I stepped into the study.

I could not believe my eyes.

He’d done the same thing here as he had in the flat. The grimoires were stacked in the same way, crammed onto bookshelves, every wall with floor-to-ceiling shelves. And then he’d added more bookshelves in the middle of the room to create aisles. There was barely room for one person to walk between the bookcases without slamming into either side. Magic swirled in colorful eddies, rising like smoke to hover thickly at the ceiling, essentially making the place so confining that I couldn’t take a proper breath in here.

Colette stopped at my side, her tone disgusted. “Didn’t Massimo say something like he wanted the books to make him look educated? How does this make a good impression? It’s like a hoarder’s house in here!”

“I have no answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me, either. He seems to have no real understanding of quality, so he went for quantity instead.”

I shook my head, as trying to grasp the man’s logic did no good. And this was enough of a headache; I didn’t need to add to it.

A grimoire sparking magical embers on a shelf caught my eye. I put on a protective glove, grabbed a bag, and went for it before it really did explode and take most of the wall with it. That’s how it started—me reaching for the most volatile thing that caught my eye and bagging it, sealing it properly before putting it on the table next to the door for Jamie to collect.

There was a great deal of conversation between all of us as we worked, mostly because the confines of the rooms were so narrow that we were constantly moving around each other and asking for space. Still, even over the hum of words, I heard snatches of song.

“It’s been a hard day’s night,” Jamie sang as she jogged to the table, scooped up an armful of books, then turned and jogged back towards the door. “And I’ve been working like a dog~”

It was comforting, to hear her sing even though I didn’t recognize the melody or lyrics. It put a smile on my face.

Jere turned from the stack he was working on, a bewildered expression on his face. “She’s singing?”

I could just see him around the bookcase and bent backwards enough to see him more clearly as I explained, “Jamie likes to sing as she works. Or when she’s happy. Or when she’s up to mischief. She’s something of a songbird.”

“Ah. I don’t recognize the song.”

“You normally don’t,” I agreed, and then went back to work, a half-smile lingering on my face. Something about Jamie’s singing made it feel like we’d get through this fine. She wasn’t stressed to the point that music disappeared. I knew when she stopped singing, things had turned for the worse.

This wasn’t one of those times.

The tune she sang was catchy, the chorus was repetitive, and I found myself humming along with it. I shouldn’t stress. The Reaper’s grimoires were in here somewhere. We’d find them. Jere was on hand to help put them safely back into their boxes. This would be fine.

“Found one!” Jere called, voice going high with excitement. “It’s—oh, gods above. Henri!”

I immediately put down the book in my hand and raced as quickly as I could in the narrow space to reach his side. He had his back to me, nothing in his hands, and I saw why once I was close enough to look over his shoulder.

The Reaper’s grimoire not only was leaking magic, but smears of magic from neighboring grimoires had turned the edges of the leather cover dark and brittle. It looked rather like someone had taken three magical potions, all with disagreeable content, and dumped them together on top of the book. The backlash was already threatening the integrity of the wall, and the shelves around it resembled a lit candle, dripping and melting. The ceiling was already glooping in puddles of plaster on the floor. I didn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole, much less stand this close to it.

“Henri.” Jere’s tone was flat with anger. “There’s something sticking out of the top of the book, do you see it?”

I had to take a closer look to see what he meant. There was a slender piece of paper, somewhat flattened at the top, but it looked like a bookmark. Or something being used as a bookmark. But there was a hint of a design there, a curve of black lines and such, and I almost dismissed what my eyes reported. Because surely no one could be that stupid.

“Is that…is that a charm?”

“I think it is. It’s something with magical properties, at any rate. It’s causing complete havoc inside that grimoire. I’m going to very carefully lever this thing out of the stack. When I do, I need you to get that paper and seal it. It’s just as dangerous as one of the books right now.”

“Yes, I can see that. A moment.” I ducked back to where I’d been working, grabbed a bag, and then hurried back to his side. I snapped the bag open, a gloved hand free and at the ready. “This is best done quickly. On the count of three. One, two, three!”

He jerked open the grimoire, I snatched the paper out of it, and the single glance I caught as I stuffed it into the bag was enough to confirm that it was a charm.

A cleaning charm. One designed to mend rips and remove stains.

Because of course that’s the proper thing to put into a decades-old grimoire with ink stains.

I sealed the bag promptly. Jere put the grimoire back into its protective box, closed and latched the lid with the buckles firmly in place, and only then did we both dare to take a breath.

“Was that…” he asked, words tinged with horror.

“Mending charm,” I confirmed, sharing the horror. “How much damage did it do to the book, do you think?”

“I’m terrified to find out.” His eyes were wide as he looked at me. “I know we didn’t want to pull Massimo in here. But…we need to. We’ve got to pull every grimoire with a bookmark in it now. Those charms might destroy us and the books before we can clear the room!”

I agreed, which was why I didn’t argue with him. I darted out of the room, taking both the Reaper’s grimoire and the charm with me, as the sooner I could do that, the better. I put both into different compartments in the back of Jere’s vehicle for extra protection. The night air felt cool against my sweaty skin, but I had no time to relish it. I turned, frantically looking for Massimo. He’d led us here, and we had someone on the way to take him to jail. Both Gerring and Foster were sitting on him to make sure he didn’t try and run for it before he could be properly processed.

I found him, sitting in the back of the car, with Foster and Gerring standing guard over him. Without thinking, I went straight for the door, yanking it open and displacing Foster in the process. “Massimo. How many charms did you use as bookmarks?”

He looked up at me in bewilderment. “Uh…I can’t say offhand.”

Taking him by the arm, I pulled him sharply out of the vehicle. “You best remember. And do so quickly. Your stupidity is about to get us all killed. I can’t believe you put a mending charm inside a Reaper’s grimoire! Good gods, man, don’t you understand what that could do?!”

Massimo stumbled as I yanked him towards the house, protesting as he went, “But it’s just a design on a paper until you activate it, right? And it was so pretty—the design, I mean.”

Heavens preserve me. “It’ll automatically activate if it comes into direct contact with active magic—which a grimoire is made of! Now, how many charms did you use? Which books? Where’s the Reaper’s Set? We’ve only found one volume so far.”

He went, timidly pointing to the back study. “They’re all in there. I…really, charms will do that?”

The blank non-comprehension on his face was infuriating. Why would anyone collect grimoires when they didn’t understand even the basic tenements of magic? His entire thought process defied logic at every turn. He collected something he didn’t understand, didn’t read, all to make himself look more intelligent. And to who? He couldn’t even openly display the books because they were all stolen goods!

The man needed a doctor. There was something very wrong with his mind.

Jere saw our approach and pointed an outraged finger at Massimo. “If you’ve undone all my hard work, I’m going to lynch you before the police ever get a chance to prosecute you! Where are the other Reaper’s grimoires?”

Massimo looked both hurt and defensive, shoulders hunched in, but there was a mulish set to his mouth that suggested he was ready to offer a defense. He didn’t see anything wrong with what he’d done, apparently. Which was laughable, because he’d been so enraged with Walcott for destroying books, but in the end he’d done just as much damage as the book broker had. Hypocritical in the extreme.

If he offered one word in defense of his actions, I’d shove my wand down his throat.

Something about my expression must have said that as he didn’t try to excuse himself. He meekly went into the room and started pointing to books. He almost pulled a few from the shelves.

With his bare hands.

I had to physically stop him from doing it, but he only reached for another.

The reaction was intense and visceral. He clutched the book in a death grip, eyes going wide and weirdly green, as if he were hypnotized by something. His head turned, nose wrinkling up in his face.

“What is that? That foul creature up there. That’s what’s causing this, isn’t it?!”

What was he hallucinating?

“Give me the grimoire.”

“No, no this will protect me.” He stepped away, eyes fixated on some point on the ceiling. “This will protect me from that. I think it has a spell in it—”

Jere, without compunction, grabbed the nearest book to him and hit Massimo squarely on the back of the head.

It startled the thief enough that he staggered, his grip loosening. I snatched the grimoire from him immediately, then pulled away before he could snatch it back.

Massimo reached for it automatically, then blinked. “Where did it go?”

“You were hallucinating,” I growled, beyond fed up with this idiocy.

“No, I wasn’t. There was something—” He broke off, still staring around him in confusion. “I guess maybe it was my imagination.”

Is that what he’d done this entire time? Blamed it on a trick of the light, or his mind playing tricks on him? How delusional must he be to convince himself over and over that everything was fine? Just so he could keep his precious books. Books he couldn’t even understand, for the most part. How could this man have escaped the law for so long? It was all so senseless.

Massimo reached for another one, and this time I was quick to stop him, smacking his wrist sharply. “For the love of all magic, do not!”

He looked at me, his mouth screwed up bitterly. “What, I can’t even touch them anymore?”

“You complete imbecile,” I bit out. “No, wait, I suppose you can’t see it. This entire room is so magically volatile that if you touched that with your bare hands, it would either burn your skin with third-degree lesions, or you’d be violently ill for weeks, even with proper treatment. Do you not see how I have protective gloves on?”

His eyes dropped down to the thick work gloves on my hands with new understanding. “But I’ve been in here often.”

“But never more than ten minutes at a time, I bet,” Jere threw in with a derisive look. “Just enough to squeeze something else in, right? You were getting small doses, something you could process and come away with. Always felt like you were sick, or not like yourself, after you came out here, didn’t it?”

Massimo slowly blanched.

And he’d never put it together that something was wrong? I sighed, shaking my head. Great magic, the stupidity boggled my mind.

“Alright, Massimo, where else? As we pull these books and deal with them, I’m going to explain to you precisely what you did, and the effect it has now. And potentially what it would have done if left for even a week longer. Point us to the next one.”

He did, to a corner shelf, and wisely didn’t try to touch it. Jere pounced on it, and I quickly dealt with the charm inside the pages—this one was a charm for healing wounds, for mercy’s sake. All the while, I dictated what that absurd mix of magic had done. Jere spelled out precisely what it had done to the grimoire itself, what he’d have to do later to put the book back to rights so it could be safely handled again, and neither of us sugarcoated our words.

Massimo turned quieter and quieter, his eyes growing wide and a cough developing. He was stooping, too, his body becoming twisted from the magic going unfettered through his frame. It had already twisted up the joints on his right side, something a doctor would have to undo. But being in here was definitely making the situation worse. I belatedly realized I hadn’t put any protective measures on him, but I had no magic or sympathy to spare. I’d march him back out in a moment, after he helped us find the most volatile problems.

But before that happened, I’d make sure he was thoroughly educated on the disaster his ignorance had created here.

Rupert came into the kitchen with a wide smile on his face and a rumbly in his tumbly. “Oh, good, you did make it!”

“I did. Wait, was that supposed to be a pun?” Considering I was in the process of making multiple sweets, the question was a valid one.

He laughed, eyes crinkling up. “Not what I intended. You weren’t sure, what with the case load you have, if you’d be able to come today.”

“Yeah, it was a near thing. Managed to button it up last night, although paperwork is waiting on me.” I shrugged, as there was always paperwork. I hadn’t had a day off in five weeks because of various shenanigans, and darn it, I wanted to do something fun. And spend time with people, not be chained to my desk again. Two crazy cases back-to-back, with another case following the Reaper’s Case, was just no. I ain’t playing anymore. I need a vacation.

Besides, this was productive too. Rupert had been enthusiastic about taking charge of my strawberry endeavor, and he was already in the process of getting a business set up. But his main question was—product? Hard to plan production, distribution, and advertising if you don’t even understand your own products.

I took his point as a fair one and offered to show him, as I didn’t know how to explain this. Describing food is like dancing about architecture. It doesn’t really get the message across very well.

But for this, I would need all the counter space. So, I borrowed Rupert and Ophelia’s kitchen for the demonstration, as they had a kitchen large enough for a restaurant. Food was an important business in the Davenforth family. They also had all of my latest gadgets, including a refrigerator, so it was the best place to work—aside from my own kitchen.

And it was nice to have the time to cook and socialize. Our last case had been something of a doozy, in more ways than one. Although at this point, all I had to do was play witness at the trial. Which was set for next month. We had so much evidence on Massimo, there was no way he’d avoid jail time. Henri was concerned about whether he’d truly be punished, but I wasn’t. I had a royal mage playing witness, and he’d hammer home just how dangerous Massimo’s actions had been, how many people he’d endangered with his stupidity and greed.

At this point, all of the grimoires were safely back home. Jere was working on the ones that had been damaged so he could give them back in a proper state, and I couldn’t ask for more than that. It was a good ending to a bad situation.

Rupert pulled up a chair and sat himself near the island, watching me whip cream. “It does smell amazing in here. I have some paperwork for you to look over when you have a moment. Mostly about stocks and such. I’ve got it divided up as we discussed, with you acting as a silent partner.”

“Good.” I didn’t have time to run anything, but I was invested in making sure this worked out. My future with strawberries depended on it. “Did you find farms?”

“I did. I took Pam Pousson with me whenever we looked at a field.” Rupert’s face softened. “You know, the farming industry took a hit in the past five years, due to various problems. With a new product and funding, we can get the industry going again in several towns that are economically depressed. You keep saying you’re doing this for selfish reasons, but it will do a lot of good, too.”

I knew that. And it did make me happy to be able to help pull people out of a bad financial situation. My own money from my various inventions with Ellie were funding a lot of this, as it wasn’t fair to make Rupert pay for everything when it was my idea. He threw some of his money in too. And, of course, I had other investors who had thrown their hat in. It was a good seed to start with.

“How many farms are we contracted with right now?”

“Sixteen.”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “We don’t have enough seeds for sixteen farms!”

“Not yet. But as soon as we have any seeds at all, we divide them between the farms. Pam Pousson has them on a self-propagation program so they automatically seed as soon as they can. It’s quite brilliant, really. And by starting out small, if something goes wrong, it’s not too much of a loss. We can recover from it. She’s rotating her time between the farms and making sure they understand how to grow things properly.”

“She would.” I shook my head in amazement. “Well. No wonder you kept poking me about products. We might be in business sooner rather than later. Uh…let’s see, I’ve got strawberry shortcake ready. Try that first.”

He accepted the small dessert plate I handed him, cutting off a slice that included cake, strawberry, and whipped cream. Then he popped it into his mouth, eyes going wide with pleasure.

“Yeah, it’s good,” I agreed with a grin of my own.

“Why did you give me such a small piece?” he asked plaintively.

“Because you have other things to try. Ice cream is still chilling, but how about a strawberry tart?”

He bit into the tart, curiosity quickly transforming into happiness. And so it continued, me giving him the twelve recipes I knew well enough to make without a reference card—and with this world’s ingredients. A lot of them were baked goods, but I could do jam, too. And the ice cream, of course. I did dip a few in chocolate, like I had done for Henri, as Rupert hadn’t tried them that way.

He was four desserts in, looking a lot like a kid who had managed to sneak into the cookie jar when no adults were watching. The sugar rush would not be a joke later. I felt sorry for Ophelia.

Of course, Henri came in while his dad was stuffing his face, saw the smorgasbord of goodies laid out, and lit right up. “Oh, you’re done! I can have some, I hope.”

“Dude, you think I want to eat the rest of this? Sit, eat, do not get sick. In that order.”

Ophelia was on his heels; I could hear her approach. “Oh, is she done already? Oh, no, I meant to help.”

I waved her to a stool next to the island. “It’s fine, I’ve got this. Sit, taste things, let me know what you think.”

Henri was already a bite into a strawberry tart and humming his approval. “Delicious. Father, what do you think?”

“I think we’re going to make a bloody fortune, is what I think.” Rupert’s hand was going for a chocolate-covered strawberry as he spoke. “No wonder she missed these so much. Sweet, delicious berries like these? I’d have missed them too.”

It wasn’t the only thing from home I missed. The thought brought a soft pang to the heart. But, you know, I was in a better situation now than I had been even a year ago. I could see my family every few months and talk to them. I had some more things from home, things I couldn’t replicate here. And I had all of that, in large part, due to the amazing man sitting across from me, happily munching on his strawberry tart.

When I’d first landed on this planet, chained to a wall by a madwoman, I’d dreamed of home. I never dreamed of this moment, of sitting in a friend’s kitchen, feeding people snacks. I’d never thought I’d live in this world, only wished desperately for my own.

When I’d learned I couldn’t return home, I’d been devastated, and desperate to make myself a place here. I was set in survival mode, I suppose. Even then, I didn’t dream of being comfortable here. Of feeling like I’d belonged here.

But in this moment, I felt it. I felt natural in this space, as if I were precisely where I was meant to be. It was a heady, warm, elated feeling that brought a smile to my face and half a tear to my eye.

I’d been insanely lucky, being introduced to Sherard and Gibson. I’d thought I used up all my luck with them because they’d been so incredibly supportive and generous with me from day one. Apparently, I’d had a little luck left over. Because the universe decided to give me Henri Davenforth, a gift I’d not expected or seen coming. And with him, his parents, his family, all the beautiful people who welcomed me with open arms.

Sitting here in the kitchen, enjoying yummy desserts, laughing and talking with people I loved, it felt like I was home. For the first time since landing on this planet, I honestly felt it. I’m home.

I’m home.

- Ellie has created the first wind turbine and it’s now powering her workshop. She is SMUG. With all the wind coming off the coast, it’s just as reliable as coal and far cheaper. Regina came by for a looksee and promptly ordered a hundred made for the palace. I think green energy is now on the rise.

- With Pam Pousson’s magical tweaks, strawberries can now grow, mature, and produce berries in like a third of the time. It is INSANE. And currently feeding my addiction MUWAHAHAHAHA

- Rupert is BESIDE HIMSELF, seriously, he’s having so much fun building a Strawberry Empire from scratch. There’s absolutely no living with him right now. I may have created a monster?

Speaking of Ellie, I have got to re-work my inventions list. Again. The arrival of the kindles full of manuals has set her whole guild off like a tree full of monkeys high on acid. No joke. Bless Dad, he put the best choice of manuals on there, too. A lot of stuff that we can make with current technology.

We now have prototypes for:

-Duct tape

-zippers (Ever seen a room full of adults just zipping and unzipping things while chortling like drunk elves? It was a sight, let me tell you.)

-radio

-typewriter

-Hollerith punch cards and code

- Adjustable Ratchets Handcuffs

- Anesthesia for Dentistry and Surgery

I pitched Ellie the idea of a projector, so I can do movie nights. She’s someone squeezing that project in with all the rest. Hopefully we can get something feasible and working, although how we’ll connect computer to project is a question I have no answer for.

Note to self: Sit on Jules until he gives Regina a Felix. Otherwise heads might roll. Specifically, his.

Days of the Week

Earth – Draiocht

Sunday – Gods Day

Monday – Gather Day

Tuesday – Brew Day

Wednesday – Bind Day

Thursday – Hex Day

Friday – Scribe Day

Saturday – Rest Day

Months

Earth – Draiocht

January – Old Moon

July – Hay Moon

February – Snow Moon

August – Corn Moon

March – Crow Moon

September – Harvest Moon

April – Seed Moon

October – Hunter’s Moon

May – Hare Moon

November – Frost Moon

June – Rose Moon

December – Blue Moon

Werespecies: werehorses, wereowls, weremules, werefoxes, weredogs, werebadger, weremouse, werewolf, werebeavers, wereelephants

Thanks for reading the latest Case Files! Interested in more Honor?

The conclusion to the Tomes of Kaleria will be out this summer (which you can pre-order now!). If you haven’t started, there’s time to catch up! Shape shifting dragons and mages and time travel await!

Start reading Tomes Apprentice HERE.

Pre-order Master of Tomes HERE!

In the mood for a complete series? Have you read any of The Human Familiar series? It hits all the spots: unique magic, end-of-the-world baddies, and banter galore. Out of all my series, this is the most similar to Case Files! Check out The Human Familiar HERE.

Want a long series you can sink your teeth into? The Advent Mage Cycle is perfect for that. Follow along with Garth, the first mage in a hundred years, as he fights for an entire country’s freedom and learns along the way what being a mage really means. Start with Jaunten HERE.

Other books by Honor Raconteur

Published by Raconteur House

♫ Available in Audiobook! ♫

THE ADVENT MAGE CYCLE

Jaunten ♫
Magus ♫
Advent ♫
Balancer ♫

ADVENT MAGE NOVELS
Advent Mage Compendium
The Dragon’s Mage ♫
The Lost Mage♫

WARLORDS (ADVENT MAGE)

Warlords Rising
Warlords Ascending
Warlords Reigning

THE ARTIFACTOR SERIES

The Child Prince ♫
The Dreamer’s Curse ♫
The Scofflaw Magician♫
The Canard Case♫

The Fae Artifactor ♫

THE CASE FILES OF HENRI DAVENFORTH

Magic and the Shinigami Detective♫
Charms and Death and Explosions (oh my) ♫

Magic Outside the Box

Breaking and Entering 101
Three Charms for Murder

Grimoires and Where to Find Them

DEEPWOODS SAGA

Deepwoods♫
Blackstone
Fallen Ward

Origins

FAMILIAR AND THE MAGE

The Human Familiar
The Void Mage
Remnants
Echoes

GÆLDORCRÆFT FORCES

Call to Quarters

IMAGINEERS

Imagineer

Excantation

KINGMAKERS

Arrows of Change ♫
Arrows of Promise
Arrows of Revolution

KINGSLAYER

Kingslayer ♫
Sovran at War ♫

SINGLE TITLES

Special Forces 01
Midnight Quest

THE TOMES OF KALERIA

Tomes Apprentice
First of Tomes
Master of Tomes*

Dear Reader,

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Thank you for all your support! See you in the next world.

~Honor

Honor Raconteur is a sucker for a good fantasy. Despite reading it for decades now, she’s never grown tired of the magical world. She likely never will. In between writing books, she trains and plays with her dogs, eats far too much chocolate, and attempts insane things like aerial dance.

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