Library Cat Magical Mysteries Box Set (Books 1-3), page 58
“She did what?” Rend said. He was wide awake now, that little piece of information giving him a big adrenaline shot.
“Mrs. LaRue gave us Konrad’s laptop,” I said. “She asked me to catalogue all the books in his collection for her.”
“But that’s evidence,” Rend said.
“Is it?” Whitney said. “She gave it to us a few days after the murder. It seems like you had plenty of time to gather up all the evidence you wanted.”
“Good grief,” Rend said. “How’d you crack the password?”
“I didn’t do it,” Whitney said. “I know someone who’s an absolute computer whiz.”
“Who was it?” I asked.
“Oh, just someone,” she said.
“Your boyfriend?” I asked. “Do you even have a boyfriend?”
“No and no,” she said.
“It would help us to know who cracked the password,” Rend said. “If there’s evidence on there that we can use, we’ll need to authenticate it for trial. That means verifying every person who had access to the laptop, including your mystery hacker.”
“Fine,” Whitney said. “If you must know, it was LaVelda.”
Rend’s jaw actually dropped. Just for a second, though. He realized it and snapped it shut again. “Your mother?” he asked.
“I gotta agree,” I said. “She doesn’t seem like the genius computer whiz type.”
“Who said anything about a genius?” Whitney said. “But she’s a computer ace. Her dad was a computer technician. Taught her all sorts of stuff. You got any computer problems? Bring them to my mom.”
This case was getting weirder and weirder.
“Enough waiting,” Rend said. “Crack that baby open and let’s have a look.”
After a brief power struggle over who was going to control the mouse and keyboard, Rend relented and let Whitney navigate. “Go to the browser history,” Rend said.
Whitney opened it up and we paged through the list of websites that Konrad was visiting. They were benign; mostly the newspaper website, the weather, a couple social media sites and a few book collectors’ forums.
“Email next,” I said. She opened up his email and it was likewise boring. Coupons and the electric bill and junk mail promising cures for baldness.
“Hold on,” Rend said. “Up in the corner. The icon to switch accounts. Maybe he had more than one email address.”
Whitney clicked on it and sure enough, we had the option to switch accounts. “Pay dirt,” Rend said. This one was his business account. Messages to and from clients, other book dealers, auction houses and sellers.
The conversation at the top with unread messages was from Marvin Cook, Konrad’s mentor and owner of Cook’s Books. “Read it,” I said, pointing at the screen.
“Seventy-three messages?” Rend said. It was a long chain of messages back and forth, going back several months.
We started at the beginning and ended up with the last email, sent the day after Konrad’s death, asking if they could meet to discuss business matters.
They could never meet, of course, not now.
“I don’t get it,” Whitney said.
The emails started out with Konrad telling Marvin he’d found a book that was a forgery. He had emailed his former mentor to ask for advice. Cook had asked to see the book. Then more had books surfaced, now that Konrad was looking for them.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Does it mean he wasn’t making the forgeries, but trying to track down who was?”
“Maybe,” Rend said.
“I bet that’s why he didn’t sell Gunter Voight the mushroom book,” I said. “When Konrad found it, he realized it was fake. He couldn’t sell a fake in good conscience.”
“What about the pawn shop?” Rend said. “He sold Maldiva a fake.”
“That was a few months ago,” I said. “When he started acting weird. I’d bet that was the very first fake book he came across and he panicked, wanted to get rid of it immediately. So he sold it to her because—”
“He figured since she sold stolen goods, she deserved to be swindled,” Rend filled in for me. “It makes a certain type of sense. But don’t get ahead of yourself, Francie. It’s a long way from concrete proof.”
“We’ve got to talk to this Marvin Cook guy,” Whitney said. “Where does he live?”
“He should be easy enough to track down,” Rend said. “Give me half an hour and I’ll find him.”
My phone beeped, and I snatched it out of my pocket. A text from Dotty LaRue. I’d forgotten that I’d asked her about Konrad’s art supplies. There’s about a million paintings of bowls of fruit in the garage. You want to have an art exhibition at the Archives, be my guest.
I showed the text to Rend and explained about my theory with the art supplies. “He bought a bunch of art supplies, but he was just painting fruit bowls?” Rend asked. “Not using them for forgeries?”
“It seems so,” I said.
“Hold on, Francie,” Rend said. “I know you’re eager to clear his name and prove he wasn’t the one making the counterfeits. But he could have sent these emails as a false flag. Same with the fruit bowls. Covering his tracks in case someone wondered why he was ordering pigments and parchment.”
“I know,” I said, but in my heart I didn’t think Konrad had been doing the forgeries. It’d never felt right to me. I was pretty sure now that he hadn’t been killed because he’d made the forgeries.
Konrad had been killed because he’d figured out who the forger was—he’d died because he’d known too much. Someone had decided to silence him forever.
Chapter 29
I assured Whitney that I could lock up after I was done with some research. Rend had to get back to headquarters, but made me promise that I’d call him when I was ready to leave the Archives and he would escort me home. Honestly, I couldn’t get the two of them out fast enough. Because even though my mind was reeling from the revelation that Konrad actually hadn’t been producing the forgeries, I had a bigger fish to fry.
Scratch that. A bigger fish to toss into the void, erasing its existence from the face of the universe.
I locked the doors and placed a ward on them, one that would spawn a rain cloud to follow the intruder and soak them to the bone. In my office, I retrieved The Life and Times of Archmagus Antonius Antonello. The moment my fingers touched the book, the amulet around my neck yanked on the chain like it was a large-mouth bass on the end of my hook. It was heavy with power, heavy with the desire to be used. Soon enough, I thought.
In the lobby, I found my cat idle as ever. “Kong,” I said. “On your feet. I need help.” He was dozing in the chair, the newspaper long since fallen to the ground.
“I’m not sure I’m in the mood for tampering with the fabric of spacetime,” he said. He yawned and then closed his eyes again.
“I wasn’t in the mood to meet T-Bone,” I said. “And I might not be in the mood to keep the identity of the Clawed Crusader a secret.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. But he stood up, arched his back, and then jumped to the ground, his paws landing with a soft thump.
“It should be fast,” I said. “I think I’ve gotten the hang of it.”
“Will you be able to control the power?” he asked. “Your amulet is a bit of a powder keg, is it not?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I just need to release some of its energy before it blows. It’s like lancing a boil.”
Something clanged upstairs, the muffled tumble of books from the shelves. “My word,” Kong said.
“What was—”
“Did someone request a lance?” Don Quixote appeared in the stairway, his lance in hand, ready to give succor to widows and orphans.
“Sure,” I said. Might as well give him a job to do. “You want an adventure, right? Want to see all this world has to offer?”
“My selfish desires to broaden my horizons are but second to my one true purpose in life. Helping those in need. Defending the weak. To—”
“I remember,” I said. “And this fair maiden needs your help.”
“Anything, milady. The humble Don Quixote is at your service.”
“Good,” I said. “Now Don, I need you to send me your energy. You too, Kong. Remember? You’re a battery. I can use your energy to fuel my magic.”
“Energy?” Don Quixote said. He was from the fifteen hundreds, I remembered.
“Your life force,” I said. “Close your eyes and think about your essence flowing into me.”
“Yes, lady, but who do you want me to stab with my lance?”
“Just hold my hand,” I said.
“Milady, that is awfully forward of you. To suggest that I might hold your hand, feel your delicate skin—and without a chaperon to ensure your virtue!”
“I’m forty-five,” I said. “My virtue’s long gone. But the cat can act as chaperon, agreed?”
“If you command it,” he said. He held out his hand and to my surprise, I could grasp it—as long as I didn’t squeeze too hard. His spirit had a shape, like the mist that covers the forest floor, or, if you prefer, a less poetic comparison, like the foam that crowns your mug of beer.
Kong held up his paw, and it glowed with his vim. “I am not your battery,” he grumbled.
“Quiet, or I’ll stick you in the charger.”
I closed my eyes and felt their energy flow into me, intensifying my power. I recalled Hortensia’s instructions—namely that there were no instructions. No spell, no potion, no incantation. Just the amulet, my wand and the sheer force of my will.
Slowly, I focused on the power of the void hanging around my neck. It was ice cold against my skin. The numbness spread from my chest to my arms and down to the tips of my toes. I could feel the tip of my wand, where the vast amount of vim had gathered.
I pointed my wand at the floor and, to my great relief, the amulet felt lighter almost instantly. I opened my eyes and one of the wooden tiles had been replaced with absolute nothingness.
I took the book and held it over the portal, ready to drop it inside.
But I had to step back. The portal was growing. It now took up two floor tiles. Before I could figure out what was going on, it sucked up two more. Then eight.
“By this rate, it will suck up the whole town in five minutes flat,” Kong said. “You have to stop it.”
He was right. The amulet was too full. And now that the power was draining out, it couldn’t stop. It was like a rushing flood, but instead of water spreading over the ground, it was eternal blackness. A world devoid of anything—light, heat, love. An inhuman realm with colors that didn’t exist in our world. Sounds that created sound waves unable to be received by the human ear. Angles and shapes that did not conform to our laws of physics.
And, according to Hortensia, there were creatures down there too.
I flung the book into the void and focused my energy. The portal grew again—sixteen tiles. A chair fell inside, ceasing to exist.
I summoned all my strength. The force of my will. I had to stop it. I imagined everyone in the town—my family, my friends, the animals, the shops on Canal Street, the towering spires at the Academy, the cactuses that dotted the side of the roads.
“You will not claim my town,” I shouted. “I am your master. You obey me.”
The amulet jerked on the chain again, but it began to grow even colder. I could feel the voidenergy reeling back inside, like when you press the button on a tape measure and the long metal tape spools back inside. The sensation of speed, of power, of force grew as the portal in the floor shrank back to eight tiles, then four, then two.
When the last of the portal winked out, I flew back. I staggered on my feet, reaching out for anything to break my fall.
Don Quixote caught me, holding me in his arms like I was a baby.
Then his weak spiritual shape collapsed, and I landed on the floor.
“My lady,” he said. “Ever quick on my feet, ready to keep a maiden from harm.”
“Thanks,” I said, getting up off the floor.
“I am your master!” Kong said, mocking me.
“It worked, didn’t it?” I said.
“You obey me!” he said, not trying to hide his amusement.
“Knock it off,” I said.
I could control the power of the void itself—but I couldn’t control my own cat?
Outside, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. My ward! “Give me a break,” someone said. The night air sparkled as a twisted metal arm batted the rain cloud away. “Francie, open up!”
What was Hortensia doing here?
“Careful,” Kong said. “It could be the killer taking her form.”
“How do I know it’s you?” I asked.
“Because I’ll clout you on the back of the head if you keep me waiting outside for one more minute,” she said.
“What was the jigsaw puzzle that we were doing the other day?” I asked.
“A complete waste of time,” she said.
Okay, that was probably her.
I let her inside, and she shook water from her hair. “Cute trick with the ward,” she said. “But what’s going on in here? I felt the pull of the void. Is something here? Did you find the book?”
Now it was my turn to smile. “Not only did I find The Life and Times of Archmagus Antonius Antonello,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “But I opened up a portal to the void and properly disposed of the thing.”
“You did what?” Hortensia said. Disbelief shone in her eyes… but there was something more. Something seldom seen in the old woman’s face. It took me a second to place it.
Fear.
“I destroyed the book?” I said, much less confident this time. “Hooray for me?”
“You halfwit,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to destroy that book.”
“I wasn’t?” I asked.
“Lady, shall I dispense with this old crone?” Don Quixote asked.
“No,” I said. “She’s friendly.”
“I am not friendly and you know it,” Hortensia said. “But if you go after me with that lance, ghost boy, I’m going to stick it in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“In a cabinet?” he asked. “Why, that would be inconvenient to be sure, but I don’t see how that makes a fearsome threat.”
“He’s from the fifteen hundreds,” I reminded her. “But can you please stop threatening him and explain about the book? You’ve been bugging me all this time to find it.”
“Find it,” Hortensia said. “Yes. Destroy it? No. This is the one book you don’t destroy.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Don’t you remember the rhyme? One will kill. Two will thrill. Free number three. You hear that or did one of those Burmese Brain-Burrowing cockroaches get stuck in your ear?”
“Are there really Burmese Brain-Burrowing cockroaches?” I asked. If so, I was going to sleep with earplugs for the rest of my life.
“Free number three,” she repeated. “Free!”
“I’m not quite following you,” I said. I looked at Kong for moral support.
“I admit, Hortensia,” Kong said, “you are being rather willfully opaque.”
“Archmagus Antonius Antonello is trapped in that book. He was one of the greatest wizards of all time. He knew what the Baron was up to. He was the only one who tried to stop him. The Baron wasn’t strong enough to beat Antonello, but he managed to contain the wizard’s spirit in that book,” Hortensia said.
“The book I just threw into the void,” I said.
“There’s nothing for it,” Hortensia said. “We have to go there and get it back.”
Chapter 30
Don Quixote wanted adventure; now he was going to get it. I grabbed his bony old ghost arm in one hand and Hortensia’s metallic hand with the other, while Kong snaked his tail between my ankles. It was time to join hands and there wasn’t a proper hand in the lot of them.
I opened the portal easier this time, with part of my mind flexing to throttle the amount of voidenergy that came out of the amulet. I stared at it, the inky dark hole in the floor.
“If we go, can we come back?” I asked Hortensia. My voice was scratchy and weak, sounding like I was a mile away.
“Of course,” she said. “We all need to leave something here. A piece of ourselves. Something special.”
Hortensia shrugged off her bathrobe and hung it on the back of a chair. Her threadbare slip left nothing to the imagination. Don Quixote dug a locket from underneath his shirt and pulled it over his head. “A picture and lock of hair from my lady love, Dulcinea del Toboso,” he said. He kissed it and set it on the table by Hortensia’s bathrobe. Kong left his Rolex.
I felt around in my pockets. My keys. I looked at the SkyLand keychain that Sophie had won at one of the midway games for me. That was a perfect day. Me, Sophie, Rend and Kong—how much fun we’d had, how special it was because the four of us shared the experience together. I set my keys on the table.
“Ready,” I said. “How do we get there?”
“Same way the book got there,” Hortensia said. Her knobby, metallic hand dug into my back. “We jump.”
She pushed me and I fell headfirst into the void. In my desperate flailing, I’d grabbed Kong’s tail.
As the icy stillness of the void crept over our bodies—our souls—I realized that down here, no emotions existed at all. There was no fiery rage, no buoyant elation, no gray sadness. Even my gnawing, twisting panic was gone, replaced by calm. Still. Nothing.
I landed—or rather, simply stopped falling. I had a death grip on Kong’s tail, but he didn’t try to wriggle away or nip at my hand. I felt like I should pull him closer, cuddle him to my chest for comfort.
Comfort?
Love?
I knew of these things, somewhere distant in the back of my head. But I couldn’t feel them. The void had wicked away all ability to feel. Words like comfort and love, my knowledge of them was dim, as if the concepts were only squiggled lines on a piece of paper.
“This place is very much different from our own realm,” Kong said. His voice was bereft of the haughty lilt that usually inflected his speech.
