Grimoires and Where to Find Them Raconteur, Honor (read along books TXT) 📖

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