Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Third Conjuration
Seal XXIV
From the observation car, the moors passed by in an undulating gray-green blur as if the Hinterland Express was riding on the back of a gigantic snake. Occasionally a tree or a copse of trees would appear in the distance, only to disappear in the next moment when the train crested another hill.
I flipped over another card in the deck I was going through. The three of diamonds. I put it face down. The concierge, seeing me alone, had offered several games to ease the boredom of travel. The cards had seemed like a safe choice although I had no inclination to play solitaire.
After discovering the Necronomicon's disappearance, Rhys and I had gone straight to the hotel management to complain about the loss. They claimed that they could do nothing about it since we did not put the old grimoire into the hotel safe, but at least they offered to move us into new rooms in case the thief struck again. The local authorities were also called and I had given a description of the old grimoire to the detective, without mentioning its true identity.
Rhys had called Otto Severin to notify him as well, in case the thief tried to sell his stolen goods to the auction house. He had also inquired about the whereabouts of Mr. Mayhew, but Severin could not say for sure about anything except that his assistant had gone home for the evening.
The rest of the night, we had prowled around the hotel using Rhys' finding spell, but found nothing. Whoever took the old grimoire did not stick around. In the morning, I had found myself in a quandary. We had tickets to Haven where we could go find the other edition of the Liber Tutelarum. Or we could stay in Greenglass searching for the Necronomicon. And Thor, come to think of it. But if we stayed in Greenglass, the next train to Haven would be a week later.
"Al can take care of itself," Rhys had told me. "If it is still in existence even after its former owner called up some strange god, there is a good chance that it is fine."
"But I can't help but worry."
"The old grimoire never asked to be taken care of in the first place so in some ways, it might be for the best."
"What if it ends up in the wrong hands?"
"What if any of us ends up in the wrong hands?" he had countered. "Even if a lock picker stole it, I doubt ordinary lock picking skills could stand up to a grimoire's lock. And you still have the key."
I thought about that key which was still in my pocket. It had alterations. I didn't mean that it would still work. And even with the key, that didn't preclude the use of a blow torch to destroy a lock by brute force.
The clacking of the rails was a soporific drum, easily lulling one into sleep. I blinked to clear my head. It was true that I had little sleep the night before since I had been looking for Al, but I wasn't that tired.
"Miss, would you care for some coffee?"
I looked up from the most recent card I had played, a king of spades. The concierge was a rather young man dressed in a black uniform. He seemed hairless, aside from his pencil-thin mustache. Even Rhys--a book!--had to shave every morning. I idly wondered how long it had taken him to grow it out. Maybe it was possibly a fake.
"Yes please. Cream but no sugar."
He nodded. "I will have it for you shortly."
I gazed back down at the cards before me. Like the ordering, shuffling, and reordering of cards, the current journey didn't feel like I was making any progress. I had yet to even contact Archibald Chesterfield and even after all my pains, someone had stolen the magic pamphlet on familiars and the old grimoire.
"Are you winning?" I could sense Rhys taking the seat across from mine, but I did not look up.
"Nobody wins at solitaire. It just isn't the same playing with yourself."
After those words came out of my mouth, there was a distinctly charged pause. Slowly, I looked up from my cards to find him watching me like a very hungry wolf after a plump rabbit.
His mouth turned into a wicked grin. "Why don't you play with me?"
I wanted to kick him underneath the table--in the shin if I was unlucky in my aim--but I managed to restrain myself. Calmly, I gathered up the cards and began shuffling them. "Poker."
He put his hands on the table. Large unadorned hands with long blunted fingers. The movement of sinew and muscle under the skin made them seem almost sensitive. "What kind?"
I turned my attention back to the game. "Five card stud."
"An American variant." His eyes narrowed, but his grin did not disappear. "Stakes?"
There was a discrete cough and then a porcelain cup on a matching saucer appeared at my elbow. A small pitcher of cream and a silver spoon soon followed. "Your coffee, miss."
"Thank you. Oh, and would you be so kind as to bring a bowl of nuts as well?"
The concierge nodded. "As you wish, miss. We have walnuts, peanuts, and cashews."
"Cashews will be fine."
"And you, sir? Do you wish for any refreshment?"
"It is a little too early for alcohol," Rhys remarked. I shook my head in exasperation which made his eyes glitter in amusement. "So I suppose I will have the coffee. Black, no sugar or cream please."
"Certainly, sir."
When the concierge left, I said, "The stakes will be cashews." I put down the deck to stir some cream into my coffee. "Winner takes all."
"Aw, nuts." He sighed. "I was hoping for something more exciting."
"Too bad."
"Oh come on. Anyone can play for nuts. I propose new stakes. If I win, I get a kiss."
I rolled my eyes. "Why am I not surprised? That isn't exciting. It's as predictable as a Sunday sermon on the tortures awaiting sinners in hell."
"You think kissing me will be torture?"
"Quite possibly," I said, infusing my tone with serious doubt. "I have a counter offer. If you win, I'll give you one of my spells."
His normally gray eyes flashed green in anticipation. "One of your spells? Which one?"
"I'll choose."
"Oh great. It will probably be the one where I can turn water into wine." His fingers tapped against the table as I slowly sipped my coffee. The concierge came back with Rhys' coffee and a bowl of cashews. "So what will you get if you win? A spell from me?"
"That is an appropriate exchange. Or, you would owe me a favor if you prefer keeping your spells to yourself."
"Most of my spells aren't nice spells."
"Did I ask you for a nice spell?"
"No." But then his grin came back. "But I have the perfect spell I could give away."
Distrusting his gleeful expression, I wondered if it was even a good idea to even try to win.
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