Chapter Thirty-Eight
Monday morning was business as usual, as usual as it could be without Gray. A new buyer sat across the desk from me, young—probably new money—and not smart enough to be wary of me yet.
“It’s a freaking book, and the corner is singed,” he scoffed, tapping a finger on the cover of the book that lay between us. “Ten grand is way too much.”
I leaned forward and steepled my fingers.
“Let me explain to you how this works. I set the price, you pay the price, you walk away, or I find someone else who wants it. There are seven copies of that book in existence, and I suspect one of them is at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. You have the next minute to decide before I have you escorted from the building.”
“This isn’t worth it,” he muttered, rising from his chair.
I raised a hand and used magic to put him back in his seat.
“Listen, you disrespectful little maggot. My time is always worth it. You are the one wasting it. The offer is off the table. Get the fuck out of my building.” I held him in his seat a moment longer, just to give him a proper dose of panic before I released him and he fled the room.
Losing the sale was inconvenient, but not devastating.
He would tell anyone he met what a threatening dick I was, and the next person would be more aware of the preciousness of my time and attention.
I sat back and sighed, opening my phone and checking it for messages from Rook again.
We were meeting at the warehouse later to read up on Death, but this fucking day dragged me through it second by second like it was trying to make me regret waking up this morning.
A hollowness caved in my chest, and the cold filtered into the gap. I should feel more than a frozen emptiness. My work would recover from the fire and my agenda for the upcoming weeks included an exciting attempt on my life by a serial killer. Things had nearly gone back to normal.
Except Gray no longer barged in the door and threw lunch at me like he was afraid I’d pass out if he didn’t. He didn’t nudge me with well-meaning, intrusive advice. I was friendless.
I’d lost what might have been my one chance to capture Death and make that bitch pay for what she took from me, and for all the bizarre issues she left behind.
I might have had a normal life without voices and visions and the ice in my veins if I’d succeeded at stabbing my knife into her heart.
All those months fishing for what I knew online—she played me.
And the only thing worse than being friendless and driven mad was the fact that Rook wouldn’t love me. Keep me. Protect me. Worry for me. Hell, even possessively claim me. But not love me. That was too complicated.
I folded my arms on the desk and laid my forehead on them with a groan. When I’d said my life was dull and meaningless, I hadn’t meant to replace the feeling with the chaos I’d created since.
Can we meet sooner? I’m bored as fuck.
Rook: I just rolled out of bed. It’s not even noon yet.
I like the way you look when you wake up.
Rook: Flattery will get you nowhere before I have a cup of coffee.
I breathed an easy sigh of relief. This was what I needed—flirtation, light and harmless. Rook’s silly text messages would keep me from sinking for another few hours until I could see his face.
***
“Oh, thank God!” I set down the engraved sandstone sculpture in my hand. “I thought you were never going to show up.”
Rook grinned and dropped into the chair next to me. “I needed more coffee. And tea for the sexy Brit.” He extended a steaming paper cup to me and waited for me to take a sip.
It scorched my tongue, but then the sharp tang of Earl Grey seeped in and I exhaled. “That’s actually fucking fantastic.”
“As soon as I heard the cafe owner’s accent, I figured she knew what the hell she was doing.”
“Tip her extra next time,” I said, sipping slower now that I knew how good it tasted. I slid a napkin leftover from my lunch under his coffee cup as he went to set it down.
“So what are we working on today?” His tardiness and full night of sleep awarded him a cheerfulness I didn’t share.
“I’m going through it, crate by crate, studying each piece and each book, making notes, and cross-referencing.”
“Okay, how many crates are left?” His eyes followed when I gestured to the stacks from floor to ceiling.
“None of those have been opened.”
“Fuuuuuck.”
“I said you didn’t have to help.”
“No, I’m helping.” He gestured for me to hand him a pen and paper.
“Give me something old and weird to look at. I’ve got this.
Oh, wait! Before I do that…” He reached into his pocket and tossed a badly wrinkled and folded slip of paper in front of me.
“That law you were looking for. Did you know magicians have libraries too? They are also full of boring shit.”
THM1745-A1884
Treaty Between Humans and Magicians 1745 - Humans shall cease all anti-magic activity, including personal vendettas, anti-magic legislation, “witch hunts,” and the payment of professional witchfinders.
Likewise, magicians will cause no harm to humans and restrict the use of magic to private spaces, while keeping their identities as users of magic concealed.
Amendment - 1884
As part of the formation of the Ashbruck Council, humans will be allowed equal representation through an elected member of their community.
“Apparently there were some witch hunts in this area until the mid-1700s,” he said. “It seems like they settled it though.”
I stared at the paper, tracing my finger along the words. “Why would the killer send this as a message? He killed the magician’s representative, the human representative, and went after both potential replacements for Blackwell. Why?”
“My guess is someone broke the treaty, and this guy’s trying to get even.”
“Broke it how? A magician killed a human? A human killed a magician? He should have gone to the Council for an issue like that.”
“Maybe he did, and the Council ignored him, or maybe he’s fucking unhinged and decided to run around in an owl mask, chopping off body parts, and dealing with it himself.”
I sighed, folded the paper, and pushed it away.
That all made sense, but that left me and Pope.
We weren’t on the Council, weren’t friends with any of the leaders, and I had never even heard of this treaty until five minutes ago.
Pope and I didn’t even run in the same social circles.
I belonged at the top of the social food chain and Pope was a dishonest lowlife with a gambling addiction.
“You sold Pope that spell,” he said, as if he could read the questions in the furrows of my brow. “He killed a human with it. The killer blamed everyone on the Council for not preventing it. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Pope’s a dead end,” I said. “I don’t have time to sift through the messes he left behind when I’m the next target. It doesn’t matter who he killed, just that the killer is coming for me next.”
“There’s still time to leave town.” I thought for a second that it was hope in his eyes, a little flash of belief that I might listen to him.
“I don’t run.”
“Then what do you want to do?” He slumped in his chair, deflated by my refusal.
“If it’s revenge for Pope breaking the treaty, then the masked man is human, thus not a threat. When I encounter him, I’ll kill him, and it wastes a great deal less time and energy if I let him come to me.”
“He’s killed three magicians with heroin—doused their magic. You can’t kill him if you can’t fight him.”
“No, but unlike the others, I’m expecting him. He won’t sneak up on me. Now can we stop talking about this so I can find a way to deal with my other problem?”
He studied me too long, until I nearly wiggled in my chair from his gaze, but nodded. Grasping a second statue—a grotesque, half-rotted skeleton—in one hand, he picked up a pen with the other and began to inspect it.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” I asked.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “I was a nerd before I was a thug, Austin. Why do you think I got bullied so much at school? Now shut up and let me relive my AP history days.”
I laughed under my breath and picked up the statue again, but deeper beneath my skin was a growing sense of dread that I wouldn’t admit to him out loud.