Grimoires and Where to Find Them by Raconteur, Honor (best affordable ebook reader .TXT) 📗

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