Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee

These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves.
-- Gilbert Highet

^^^^^^

The First Conjuration

Seal I

October 1925

	With the storm clouds spitting overhead, Green Alley didn’t look very green.  Rather, it was a pitch dark maw surrounded by dirty buildings and paved with pitted cobblestones filling up with muddy rain.  Hesitation allowed a gust of wind to tug at my umbrella.  Firming my grip on the handle, I decided to move.
	The only indication that Parrish Books existed was a few wooden steps leading up to a door which had probably seen fresh green paint some time in the last century.  A small tarnished plaque was mounted to the right and faint light emanated from the small window panes on the top half of the door.  I tugged on the handle and pushed.  A small bell on the threshold tinkled at my entrance.
	I managed to shake my umbrella closed and stepped inside.  Dim electrical lighting hung like flat demented fireflies from the ceiling.  Dark wood shelves lined a small room—each crammed with books, leather-bound and paper-bound.  All old and well used.  The smell of musty tomes permeated the air.  I imagined that it was what I would have smelled like if I had not been walking on two legs.
	A counter sat in the left corner, laden with more books, a lamp with a hideous shade the color of molding olives, and a white-haired man bent over doing accounting.  He did not look up even as I squelched across the floor to pretend to examine the nearest shelf.  Beyond the counter was an archway to the rest of the shop—the back room, I guessed—that was either a kitchen or a storage room.  As I slowly sidled my way toward the proprietor, I noticed another customer in the opposite corner of the shop—a dark-haired man in a tweed jacket deeply absorbed in what looked like a heavy reference book.  An unkempt professor, I assumed, and turned my attention back to the old man.
	Finally at the counter, I cleared my throat.  “Mr. Parrish?”
	Pen continued scratching on paper.  “How may I help you, Miss?”
	“I am quite hopeful that you can.  I’ve been directed here by an acquaintance of mine.  He told me that you would know something about a particular book that I have been trying to find for my research.”
	“What book is this?”
	“The Liber Tutelarum.”
	The pen stopped and a trembling hand set it down on paper.  Curiously, I watched the old man raise his head and meet my eyes with a rheumy blue gaze.  “Who is your acquaintance?”  His voice hid a nervous energy.  Or Parrish was just annoyed because he needed to go to the water closet at the moment.  Even after all these years, I sometimes still found it hard to distinguish human emotion.  I took it as a good sign that the old man did not just tell me no.
	“Professor Wallace at the Institute.  I work as his research assistant.  He’s on a short sabbatical, currently, so I am working on a pet project of mine.  There was this small sect of monks in the thirteenth century who had dedicated themselves to copying some texts…”
	Parrish slashed a hand in the air to cut me off.  “Tell your professor that he is misinformed.  I know of no such book.  Parrish Books specializes in first editions of epic poetry—preferably from the eighteenth century.  If you’re looking for a book written by a monk, go to a church.”
	“Not all books copies by monks have remained in church libraries,” I argued.  “Even if you have never come across the book that I am looking for, perhaps you have some idea, some acquaintance of yours who I could ask.”
	“I know no one.”
	“Mr. Parrish.”  I straightened and looked down my nose at him.  I knew the expression combined with the short-brimmed cloche hat on my head had the effect of rendering the opposing person into a contrite mess.  “That is impossible.  All antiquarian booksellers have their sources.  Otherwise, how would they get any of their stock?”
	A faint chuckle had me reflexively whipping my head around to glare at the offending person.  The other customer was peering up from the book he was browsing with evil amusement.  “You’ll never get anything out of Parrish,” he told me ominously.
	I turned my attention back to the bookseller.  “Surely you have a colleague who knows something of thirteenth century literature,” I said, attempting to sweeten my tone.
	It didn’t work.
	“Do I have to repeat myself?  I. Know. No. One.  Now, Miss, either take a look at some of the fine copies love poetry on that shelf or go away.”
	“That’s a fine way to treat a potential customer.”  His hostile attitude intrigued me.  Obviously he had something to hide.  “Do I look like I’m looking for love poetry?”
	“Bah.  You’re probably one of those suffragettes,” the old man sniffed.
	With one more glance at the interior of the bookshop, I decided on a strategic retreat, for now.  Parrish would probably clam up further if I were to forcefully pursue my inquiries.  “Pardon me, then.  Good day.”
	The bookseller ignored me.
	I let out a breath and squelched back towards the entrance.  But before I could open the door, it slammed open, striking me on the shoulder.  Unbalanced, I stumbled back and tripped over a small footstool. 

^^^^^^

Seal II

	“Nicholas Parrish!  I’ve come for my order.”
	While rubbing my shin, I squinted up at the entrance.  A figure cloaked in a black greatcoat with silver buttons and a tricorn stood at the doorway, highlighted faintly by the falling rain behind him.  “That’s rude.  Don’t you watch where you’re going?”
	Again, I was ignored.
	“I want that book.”
	I contemplated tripping the man with my umbrella when he strolled across the small shop, boots thumping heavily.  The bit of indoor light hinted at blond hair and pale parchment skin under the tricorn.  When he stopped in front of the slack-jawed proprietor, the desk lamp illuminated a curving mouth that was at odds with a sharp, shaven chin.
	“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Although his voice quavered, Parrish remained stubborn.
	“I told you before that price was no object to me,” the figure continued, “when I ordered that book.  And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”
	The bookseller fisted his hands.  “I don’t have what you’re looking for.  And even if I did, I wouldn’t sell it to you.  I’ve made some inquiries about you…”
	A black gloved hand shot out and grasped the old man by the collar.  Parrish gargled.  “You did what?”
	“I have morals, you know.  Someone like you is no one to deal with.”
	Back on my feet, I wondered if I should intervene.  The old man was turning a bit blue in the face.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other customer make a shooing motion with his hand.  He was slowly moving closer to the duo.
	The sensible thing, of course, was to leave and call the constable.
	I stepped towards the threshold.  The new stranger raised a hand and the door slammed as if a strong wind had shut it.
	“You might have morals, Parrish, but I don’t.  I have no scruples.  Even if it means that after I get my book, I have to get rid of some witnesses.”
	Sorcerer.  I suppose at this point, I could have screamed like a little girl.  But that would have just brought more trouble.
	Just as the stranger started to bring up the hand he used to spell the door shut to start choking Parrish further, the other customer hurled himself at the sorcerer.  The sorcerer roared in annoyance and let go of Parrish to make some strange gestures.  The bookseller staggered back from the counter, breathing heavily, before slipping to the floor in a faint.
	The customer ignored the sorcerer’s hand waving and lunged again, getting the man into a head lock.  The tricorn tumbled to the floor.  I gripped my umbrella and looked for an opening.
	The two men seemed to be muttering at each other between wheezing breaths.  Did the two know each other?  Who cared?  I swung my umbrella and it connected with the back of the sorcerer’s neck.  But instead of rendering him unconscious, it seemed to enrage him, and with a burst of sudden strength, he flung the tweed-wearing customer in my direction.  I landed flat on my back with what seemed like an entire set of encyclopedias on top of me.

	“Don’t get in my way,” the blond sorcerer warned.
	“Does it matter?”  The lump on top of me retorted.  “You’re going to kill us anyway.”
	“That’s great of you to put that idea into his head,” I mumbled.  “Because maybe before he thought to spare us before.”  Before I could shove the oaf off to emphasize my point, he got up himself to face the other man.
	The sorcerer point a finger and the other customer shoved his right sleeve up to reveal his forearm.  Something quick and light erupted from the sorcerer’s finger and seemingly bounced off the other man’s arm when he raised it to eye level.  I scrambled up in disbelief.  Were there actual black characters appearing on that customer’s skin?
	“You’re one of the Keys!” the sorcerer hissed, his glittering eyes narrowing in anger. “No wonder.”
	The sorcerer sneered at us as if we were beneath his notice.  Or rather that the other book was beneath his notice.  What were the odds of encountering a book that was like me?  But I shoved the speculations aside.  There were more important things to be concerned about.  Like the apparently homicidal sorcerer in our midst.
	“I should have known one of your kind would have shown up sooner or later,” the sorcerer said, his mouth curving maliciously.  “Do you want to know what I did to another Key a few years ago when it got in my way?”
	“Not particularly,” the other customer, the “Key”, replied.
	The sorcerer raised his hands, fingers outstretched.  “Very well then.  None of you have ever had a sense of humor anyway.”  Sparks flew from his fingers, deceptively harmless like the sparklers children handled during holidays, but some great force followed, shoving the Key back.
	He stumbled backward, hitting me with a wayward arm on his way down.  For the second time within moments, I was sprawled on the floor.  Again.
	“Hey, are you a klutz or something?” I huffed.  Something was digging into my lower back.  A stray book probably.  I should have ran directly to Scotland Yard.  This was an ignoble position to be in.
	“Miss, would it hurt you to be quiet for just one moment?” the Key groaned.
	“No, but I don’t like to miss a moment to complain.”
	The sorcerer waved his arm and another invisible wind struck the Key, sending him sliding next to the shelf by the proprietor’s counter.
	“Mouthy,” he told me, even though he was eyeing the sorcerer who was in the middle of waving another attacking spell.
	I let out an exasperated breath.  Only an idiot would waste air trying to argue at me at this particular juncture.  I managed to crawl toward the Key, hopefully not in such a conspicuous manner as far as I could tell—since the sorcerer still had his gaze fixed on the Key.  Fortunately for the moment, I had not revealed anything, appearing still as a simple human, easily ignored.
	Just as the sorcerer reached back as if to grab an invisible object to be hurtled, I reached out and grabbed the Key by his argyle covered ankles.  I could feel him jerk under my fingers and his gaze switched from the sorcerer to me.  “What are you doing?  What are you?”
	The sorcerer let go of his invisible weapon and for a split second, I saw a sickly green-yellow sphere of energy hover above his fingers before dissipating toward our direction.
	“Take it,” I hissed.
	The Key narrowed his eyes, an odd almost colorless glimmer in the dim store light.  But I could feel my energy seeping into him.
	Something ricocheted past the Key’s magical shield, rendering part of it blue-black as if a flying rock had bruised a knee in some magical space-plane.  The invisible weapon briefly became visible again and I saw it fly towards the sorcerer as if it had been targeted like a returning spell.  The sorcerer quickly blocked it, but he also growled under his break—a curse, perhaps.
	“We’re evenly matched,” the Key said lowly.  “It’s a stalemate.  He will have to retreat first since…”
	Before I could utter a warning, the sorcerer grinned with some sort of internal realization and suddenly threw a spell about the room which rattled the furniture and whipped loose paper about like a frenzy.  Everyone else was thrown around like rag dolls.  The unnatural wind forced me against the wall near the door and made sure to pin me down with the Key’s body, whose ankle I was still gripping.
	And then there was a horrible screeching sound.  A nearby bookshelf of reference books tumbled over the top of us.  A particularly sharp edged dictionary struck my temple.  And I knew no more.

^^^^^^

Seal III

	For a book, purgatory would be the perpetual state of being shelved between two enormous indices for sports statistics and left moldering like some neglected antique at a country estate that no one has ever heard of.  A part of hell, I suppose, is being squashed by an entire bookshelf of such indices.
	When I first came to, I was immediately aware of the pressing weight as if I had unaccountable tangled myself up in blankets while asleep.  But then I slowly began to realize that no, I was not underneath a bunch of suffocating blankets.  I was still in the clothes that I had put on that morning.  Clothes that no longer fit me because I was no longer in the form of a person.
	Some books, you know, don’t particularly find much edification in being a book once they’ve found the advantages of being something else.
	And thirdly, I became aware of a voice in my head.  Not my own voice—my internal dialogue.  No, it was someone else entirely—a masculine tone, very angry and hurt considering the amount of cursing peppering his speech.
	Will you shut up?  I mentally shouted at the voice.
	Blessedly, he went silent for a moment.  And then he started up again.
	I can do whatever I like, he told me.  You, the subconscious, are merely along for the ride, even if you don’t sound like how I imagined you to be.
	I am no one’s subconscious.  You’re intruding on my own thoughts so go away.
	There is no possible way for me to go away.  I’m trapped under a mountain of almanacs.
	Indices, I corrected him.  Then dig your way out.
	I can’t.  The last spell the sorcerer used on me completely sapped my strength.  I’m going to have to remain a book for a while.  Not that that hasn’t happened to me before.
	I paused before I blurted out my next comment—something about being reckless which I was sure he would not appreciate.  Then I said, You’re the Key, aren’t you?
	One of them.
	One of them?  There were more than one?  The only Key in existence that I knew of was some old moldy volume literally kept under lock and key at the Institute least someone unscrupulous actually got their hands on it.  I had visited it once—the poor sod had absolutely no ability to walk about on its own.
	How many are you?
	That would be telling, wouldn’t it?
	You’re answering a question with a question.
	Does it matter?
	A loud clomping noise from outside the book pile disturbed my internal dialogue with my supposed unconscious.  I strained my senses and distinguished two sets of footsteps, one heavier than the other.
	“The report of the noise disturbance was quite adamant, sir.  The witnesses said that it sounded like someone was getting murdered in here.”
	“Lots of people get overwrought whenever they hear something, Lieutenant.  It was raining and there was wind.  Anything could happen.”
	“But the proprietor of this bookstore is dead, sir.”
	“He was old.  Maybe it was stress.  From the looks of it, I’d imagine he died from his heart finally giving out.”
	“Sir, why don’t we go through the Parrish’s belongings.  Perhaps we could find out a clue that may relate to his death.”
	“Don’t bother.  Old men who living alone die of medical complications, not of some romantic reason like getting involved with criminal conspiracies.”
	“No heirs as possible suspects?”
	“Unfortunately none as far as we know.  You know these kinds of fellows are reclusive and paranoid.”
	The Lieutenant gave a disappointed sigh.  He sounded like he wanted a mystery to solve.  “I suppose we’ll just have to wait for the coroner’s report.”
	“Exactly.  And I can tell you right now that the report will not contain anything of much interest.  Come on, there’s nothing here but a mess.  We’ll just leave the state and the creditors to clean this place up.”
	When the authorities finally left, I said, What exactly happened?  I how the sorcerer attacked you, but why am I affected?
	I would guess it was because of the fact that you were holding onto me.  You and I are connected.  His tone turned almost salacious.
	I was a book.  I wasn’t human.  I wasn’t supposed to care about whether or not I had turned back into a book.  But I did.  Ever since I was liberated from the backlash of a spell my last owner had inadvertently bungled, I had freedom.  And I treasured it.
	My irritation had me reaching out—had my covering and pages expand until torso filled suit and arms filled sleeves.  I gasped under the pile of bibliography and then sneezed from all of the disturbed dust.  I tried to worm my way out of a collapsed shelf that had fallen from its wall mooring during the fight between the sorcerer and the Key.
	Darling, are you going to leave me here moldering in all of this rubble?
	I ignored the endearment.  I had observed during my many years up in the human world that protestations would only drive the offender to use it more often to hound their target to distraction.
	“Maybe I should.  I’m not connected to you.  I’ve Turned.  I can walk away from you.”
	You didn’t take the brunt of the sorcerer’s attack.  That’s why you can feel free to walk on two legs.  Face it, you owe me.
	I ignored his further whining and looked around at the bookshop.
	There were papers scattered all around the room and a few other shelves had toppled over.  That made me wonder why the authorities weren’t even more suspicious—the entire place looked like it had been ransacked by extremely messy thieves.  Over the counter, where the bookseller had been stationed, I saw the account book that Parrish had been writing in, the last line smudged with ink.  The desk lamp had burned out, but the overhead lights were still on providing a little light.  My hat and my umbrella was nowhere to be found on top of the mess, which irritated me.  I was forced to dig back through the pile that I had crawled out of.
	I tossed a few shelves out of the way and lobbed some reference books aside.  That was when I saw the rumpled tweed coat and pants, the scuffed shoes.
	I’m in here.
	“How long, exactly, are you going to be in that form anyway?”
	About a day, usually.  I don’t really want to be here when the creditors arrive.
	“I guess not.  I wouldn’t want to be tossed into a half-pence bin.”
	That’s harsh.
	Carefully, I took up the clothes and wrapped them into an easily carried bundle I could fit under my arm.  But as I had pulled a shirt up to be included in the bundle, a volume tumbled out onto the pile below.
	Watch what you’re doing.
	“Sorry.”
	I picked up the volume.  The cover was bound in a light brown leather, soft and supple to the touch.  I frowned.  It wasn’t precisely leather—something else perhaps.  I turned the book over to look on its spine.  There was no title, but there was an uneven finger-thick line running down the spine, dark red-brown.  Dried blood.
	I tucked the book under my arm as well.  I would ponder the puzzle of the Key later when I finally got out of this place.  Under a few more books, was my umbrella and crumpled hat.  I tried to smooth my hat down as much as possible before I put it back on, but it probably still resembled a wadded piece of paper on top of my head.
	There was a small space between the counter and the wall and I managed to squeeze through to the other side.  There was no body, but then I remembered that the medics had probably taken Parrish away to be examined by the coroner.  The space connecting the back of the room to the front of the store was only large enough for one person.  It might have been easier to haul a body over the counter rather than carrying it past that space.
	Aside from the lamp and the accounting book on top of the counter, there were a pile of histories shoved to the side and a receipt from the previous week.  Under the counter were more histories and a scratched wooden stool.  I looked past the arching threshold to the back room that I had assumed was either a kitchen or storage room.
	The exit is the other way, you know.
	“I know that.  I just want to take a look around.”
	You’re looking for the Liber Tutelarum, aren’t you?  I’d hate to tell you this, but Blackthorne probably filtched it after he incapacitated us.
	“Blackthorne?”  I stepped into the gloom.  There was a small window at the very back set into a door.  The bit of light that managed to filter in illuminated a small porcelain sink with a shelf over it that held two bottles, a mug, and a shaving razor.  Opposite of that was a desk with a high-backed chair.  Papers and books were stacked haphazardly.
	The sorcerer, the Key clarified.  Reginald Blackthorne.  Or at least that was the alias he was using when I first met him.  I had information that he had business with this bookseller.  I didn’t know exactly what book he was going to obtain, but I was sure he was going to obtain a powerful book.
	“How do you know that the Liber Tutelarum isn’t really just a translated volume of Greek poetry I was looking for?”  The papers on top of the desk were all receipts from recent transactions.  Hm.
	You’re a grimoire of some sort.  Like me.  An animate encyclopedia would have never had the ability to feed me energy to help deflect Blackthorne’s spells.  And what are the chances of a grimoire looking for an ordinary book of poetry?
	“Have you met any animate encyclopedias?  How do you know that they don’t know how to weave spells?  And what’s wrong with poetry?  Maybe I just like to collect books.”
	No, I haven’t met any animate encyclopedias, but who on earth would want to animate one anyway?
	“I have no idea.  But I suppose they’d be boring company anyway.  They would probably think that they know it all.”  I flipped one of the receipts over and found something that was dated for the previous day.  “Aha!”
	What is it now?
	“Information.”  But before I could read it out loud to him, I heard some commotion at the front of the store.  Voices were drifting in past the front door.
	“He said there was a book he was looking for,” came a muffled voice.  “He said he accidentally ‘forgot’ it the last time he was here.”
	“In his haste to get away, you mean?”  There was a bit of laughter.  “Blackthorne is a coward.”
	“Don’t say that to his face.  They say he has terrible temper tantrums.”
	“I can imagine.”  There was a pregnant pause that made me inadvertently shiver.  “They say those who had witnessed his tantrums personally mysteriously disappear.  I wonder what has him so frightened to come back here?”
	“I don’t think he’s frightened.  More likely, he’s just lazy.  It’s easier to send us grunts to do the work, you know?”
	The front door clanged open.
	You know, now would be a good time to get out of here.
	I tucked the receipt in my coat pocket and tested the handle to the back door.  It twisted under my fingers and creaked open.  I froze.
	I suppose Parrish never bothered to oil his doors, huh?
	Do you always state the obvious? I thought to him testily.
	“What was that?” whispered one of the henchmen.  There was a slap and then an, “Ow!”
	“There’s no one here, you idiot.  We’ve been watching the place the entire morning.  The only people in here were the police and some medics.  We saw all of them come out of here.  You probably stepped on some creaky floorboard.”
	Loud rummaging was heard in the front room as Blackthorne’s thugs tossed aside books.  Mentally, I cringed at the rough manhandling.  I would definitely not want to be flung across the room if I weren’t a volume that someone was looking for.  While all the racket was going on, though, I slowly slipped past the door and entered a damp back alleyway.  Dark clouds still crowded above, but I had the feeling that most of the rain had already been dumped onto the city for the past day.  I wore modest shoes, but the heels still made clacking sounds on the pavement—a bit too loud for my peace of mind.
	The alleyway soon wound back to the main street.  Few people or vehicles were about—but that did not mean a thing.  It could be in the middle of the day as far as I knew.  Purposefully, I took an even pace north.  I’d imagine it would look rather suspicious if I had taken a faster pace.  And I wanted no one to take a closer look at me, or the unusual bundle under my arm.
	I hope we’re not going to the city refuse center, the Key drawled in my mind.  I don’t fancy recovering amidst a pile of rubbish.
	I found the edge of my mouth quirking upward.  “Well, what if I am?”

^^^^^^

Seal IV

	The buildings on Castor Street had seen better days—now they all sat in a gray row, slowly decaying in their complacent gentility.  My flat was in one of those buildings.  The third floor to be exact.  I did not relish climbing up the stairs.  Although I had not been as severely affected as the Key, I was not particularly in an energetic mood either.  At my building, I let myself in and glanced around the first landing.  I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean that no one was watching from their peepholes—especially the landlady.
	Heels clattered on the stairs above me.  A woman appeared in black heels and silver sequined dress.  Her short brown hair was a waved bob accented with a matching sequined headband and black feathers.
	“Why Ana, you look terrible!”
	Trust Darla to tell it as it is.
	“I know,” I replied.  I’ve known from experience not to contradict my neighbor.  “I had an accident with a shelf of books.”
	Darla made a tsking sound at the back of her throat.  “You work too hard.  I thought you were on vacation since that professor you were working for was on sabbatical.”
	“I am.  I was just working on one of my own projects.”  I shifted the Key and his clothes more securely under my arm.  The Key wasn’t saying anything now, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t trying to get away.  “You look all dressed up to the nines, Darla.  Isn’t it a bit early to go out?”
	She gave me an odd look.  “Early?  It’s about six in the evening.”
	“Really?  I suppose time got away from me.”
	The honk of an automobile outside almost startled me from losing my grip on the Key.
	“Oh, there’s Gerald.  He’s taking me to the Gardens for dinner,” my neighbor gushed, her rouged lips curving in pleasure.  “It’s the most elite restaurant in Colchester.  I have no idea how he managed to obtain a reservation.  And afterwards, we’ll be seeing Hamlet at the theater.”
	“That sounds marvelous,” I said, pretending enthusiasm.  “Well, you’d better go.  You don’t want Gerald to wait too long for you.”
	Darla tittered in laughter as she waggled her fingers and then disappeared through the front door.
	The Gardens may be elite, but the food is terrible, the Key announced as I began trudging up the stairs.  She’s going to get indigestion and then will have to suffer sitting through a depressing play.
	“You say this from personal experience?”
	The woman I took to the Gardens latter accused me of poisoning her, he sulked.  One of my few failures, I’m afraid.
	“It sounds like you’re quite successful at wooing the ladies.”  I unlocked the door to my flat and stepped inside before turning on one of the living room lamps.  A floral couch and floor to ceiling bookshelves greeted me.
	I am.  He said it as a fact, with no arrogance.  After my many years of observation, I find human females to be terribly easy to understand.
	“Well, don’t tell that to the next woman you meet.  She would be quite offended.”  I put my hat and umbrella on a rack next to the door.  And then tossed the Key and his belongings on the couch.
	Hey!
	I wandered off to the kitchen to fill a kettle with water while the Key continued his grumbling about having his hide bruised.  I put the full kettle on top of the stove and turned the gas on.  Then I started going through my cupboards, trying to find tea.  Ah, I still had the tin of oolong I had gotten a few months ago.  Ambling back into the living room, I took out the receipt I had tucked into a pocket.
	“L.T.  Greenglass Auction House.”
	Excuse me?
	“It looks like the Liber Tutelarum went to Greenglass.”  I tapped the receipt against my chin, thinking.  “Parrish probably sent the book to the auction house in the hopes that it would get a better price than simply selling it from his store outright.”
	Then we’ll have to get to Greenglass.
	“We?”  I stood over the couch and frowned at the Key.  The book, of course, had no expression in response to my disapproval.  “You’re not looking for the Liber Tutelarum.”
	But I am looking for Blackthorne.  He’ll figure out where that book is sooner or later.  I just have to get there before he does.
	I still wasn’t quite sure why a Key would want to seek out an obviously dangerous sorcerer like Blackthorne.  “What do you have against him?  Granted, he is crazy, but…”
	Just trust me that I have my own reasons for going after him.  So what’s the Liber Tutelarum to you?  Grimoires are usually loners.
	I sighed and turned to face my shelves of books.  Yes, it’s nice to be surrounded by other books if you yourself are a book, but it’s still very lonely if none of them have the ability to talk back to you.  “The Liber Tutelarum, seventh edition,” I clarified.  “I’ve been trying to find all the editions, but this so far has been the only solid lead.  The seventh edition is one of my siblings.”
	Does this mean that you’re also the Liber Tutelarum?  The Key sounded suspiciously excited.
	“Yes.”
	What edition?
	“Tenth.  As far as I know, I’m the last.”
	I had heard rumors about the tenth edition—it had passed through the hands of many sorcerers with many strange and unique spells added to it with each owner.  And then some time in the sixteenth century, it mysteriously disappeared after the murder of the famous occultist, Edward Talbot.
	“So you already seem to know much about me,” The kettle whistled when the water started boiling.  “Who are you?  I can’t keep calling you ‘The Key’.”  I took the kettle off the stove and poured the water into a teapot to seep.  Then I made myself a cup of tea and went back to the living room.  I sat down on the couch, feeling suddenly tired.  I put the cup down on a small table nearby and leaned back and closed my eyes, briefly I promised myself.
	Rhys.  The Key finally answered.  I go by Rhys Lattimore.

^^^^^^

Seal V

	The sun streaming through the living room woke me.  Not to mention the atrocious singing coming from my kitchen.  Rubbing my eyes and sitting up, I discovered only a cold cup of tea and a tweed jacket beside me. 
	Feeling a bit out of sorts, I stood up and headed to the kitchen.  The grimoire I had lugged up to my flat the previous day was standing at my stove making scrambled eggs.
	“Don’t tell me.  You’re the Key to Cooking.”
	The singing stopped.  He slightly turned his head.  His longish dark hair was slick and curling from a recent shower, but stubble still shadowed his jaw.  And there was a mean glint to his gray—almost colorless—eyes.  “Do I look like Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management?”
	“No.  You look more like an overwrought tract of Byronic poetry.  But if you burn those eggs, you’ll give Mrs. Beeton a run for her money.”
	There was a particularly insulted clang of crockery as I stepped back out of the kitchen and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower.  About ten minutes afterwards, finally in some clean clothes, I went back into the kitchen to see him setting the table.
	“Eat,” he said as I sat down.  He was frowning as he sat across from me and took a cup of coffee.  “Because we’re going to be leaving soon.”
	I paused with the fork halfway to my mouth.  “Leaving?  Soon?  What exactly have you decided to do without my knowledge?”
	“Bossy.”  His mouth twitched.  Was the Key amused?  “I haven’t really decided on anything.  But I assume we’re leaving soon.  Greenglass, is it?”
	“The train,” I said.  “The Midland Express leaves Colchester for Greenglass every day at two in the afternoon.  Since it is about nine now, that will give us a little time to pack and get to the station.  Assuming, of course, your residence isn’t all the way across town.”
	“It isn’t far.  I can call a cab.”
	“Fine.  You can go and I suppose we could meet up at the station.”
	He set down his coffee.  “Oh no, I’m not falling for that trick.”
	“What trick?”
	“I bet there’s an earlier train.  You strike me as the type of person who’d leave without me.”
	“What you’re really trying to say is that I’m the type of person who would break my word.”  I squinted at him for a moment.  “You know, I could lie and say that I would never break my word, but it isn’t true.  I’d break my word, if it suits me.”
	“Ah, you’re a sneaky woman after my own heart.”
	“You don’t have a heart.  You just look like you do.  And I’m not precisely a woman.”
	“Well, you certainly look like one to me.”
	“It’s just the clothes.  You know as well as I do that books don’t have gender.”
	“Now where’s the fun in that?”  He picked up his coffee again and took a sip while he watched me eat.  “If we follow your logic, books aren’t supposed to be having breakfast either.  But here you are, slurping down my cooking that you must admit is not burned.”
	I glared at him as I swallowed.  “Exactly what kind of Key are you anyway?  The Key of Annoyance?”
	Something dark green flickered across his eyes and then was gone.  I almost thought I had imagined it.  “I’m one of the Clavis Umbrium.  Key of Shadows.  There are four of us, the editions named after the elements.  The last I’ve heard, Air was in Germany and Water was heading to the Americas.  Earth has chosen to remain in book form, in a very private collection.”
	“You’re Fire then.”  I drank some tea before saying, “Keys mostly contain spells that summon things.  Is there a significance to why the editions are named after elements?  You summon the element fire, don’t you?”
	“Actually, it’s much worse than that, but that’s neither here nor there.”
	“Neither here nor there?” I said in disbelief.  “You summon demons, don’t you?”
	He put a hand to his chest.  “I didn’t say I was a good book.”
	“Objectively, there is no such thing as a good book,” I pointed out.  “Just books that people think are right.”
	“Did you put half your library in this suitcase?”
	I snapped on my gloves before I opened the door to let him and my luggage out of my flat.  “Stop whining.  I just put in some necessities.”
	“Oh right.  Necessities.”
	I ignored the sarcasm and locked the door behind me.  The cab I had called would be here any minute.  Besides, he had volunteered to carry my things.  I wasn’t going to get in the way of a masochist.  “One can never be too prepared.  Take for instance, the clothes iron.”
	“Clothes iron?  What the bloody hell is a clothes iron doing in your baggage?”
	“It just won’t do to go about with a wardrobe full of wrinkles,” I replied.  “Besides, if a particularly amorous fool decides to invade your private room, you can always whack him on the head with it.”
	With a free hand, he rubbed his head at the thought.  “You’re not precisely a docile girl, are you?”
	Before starting down the stairs, the door to the flat across the hall opened, revealing my neighbor Darla.  This time, she was wearing a jaunty skirt under a navy blouse.  It was her tennis outfit, I remembered.  She smiled at me, but the stretch of her mouth became wider at the sight of Rhys.
	“Why Ana, what a surprise.  Are you going out?  Why haven’t I met your beau before?  Please introduce us.”
	I couldn’t help but make a face.  “He’s not my beau.  He’s just helping me carry my things down.  Darla, this is Rhys Lattimore.  Rhys, this is Darla St. Claire.”
	“How very nice to meet you, Mr. Lattimore.”
	“The pleasure is all mine,” he purred.  “Please call me Rhys.”
	I fought a snicker.  And managed to win.  “I won’t be back for a little while, Darla,” I said before she could say something to him.  “I decided to take this vacation thing a little more seriously.  I will be heading out to Greenglass for a bit of sight seeing.”
	“Oh, good for you, Ana.  But isn’t it getting a bit cold for sight seeing at this time of year?”
	“I heard there were some museums there,” I lied.
	“I see.  Well, as you can see, I’m not particularly dressed for the weather either.”
	I cocked my head, pretending to consider her outfit.  “Tennis?  In October?”
	“Well, the evening with Gerald at the Gardens didn’t go exactly as planned,” Darla confessed.  “So he decided to make it up to me by taking me to a squash match at the Piccadilly Conservatory this afternoon.  I have heard that it is a greenhouse in there, so I want to be prepared.”
	“That does sound exciting,” I said.
	“I very much hope so.”  Darla waved and said her good-byes before heading back into her own apartment.
	We headed down the stairs, thankfully not running into any more of the neighbors, before reaching outside.  A black cab was already waiting at the curb, the driver—a whipcord lean man in a black uniform studded with brass buttons—standing beside the front passenger side smoking a cigarette.  Once he spotted us, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it with a heel.  He opened the trunk without a word.  When we were seated inside the cab and Rhys had given the directions to his own residence, the driver easily maneuvered the cab onto the street in silent efficiency.
	“There are some museums in Greenglass,” said Rhys, startling me from my contemplation with the passing scenery.  “There’s one on Roman antiquities beside the Greenglass Auction House.”
	“You’ve been to Greenglass before?”
	“A few times, on business.  I work for Hauntley’s which has some dealings with the Greenglass Auction House.”
	“Hauntley’s is the antiquities dealer in Colchester, isn’t it?”  I had heard my employer mention the name occasionally since they did sometimes deal with manuscripts.  “Are you on vacation too?”
	“Not exactly.  I’m a bit of an appraiser and a consultant for Hauntley’s so I often make my own hours.  Going to Greenglass won’t be such a hardship—it can be put under the heading of business.”
	The cab soon reached Rhys’ address, a pale sky-blue townhouse in a well-tended neighborhood.  Apparently, being an antiquities appraiser paid very well.  I got out of the cab while Rhys paid the driver and carried my luggage again.  He set it down just inside the front door of his residence as he headed to his rooms to pack his own things.  He told me to “make myself comfortable” as I waited.
	Whatever that meant, I wandered about in the front rooms which seemed fairly typical of a bachelor who spent little time in his own house—sparse.  Past the front parlor was a sitting room that had been converted into a study.  I examined the shelves to see if there were any titles I could recognize.  There didn’t seem to be any order to how the books were shelved.  Latin histories and engineering manuals sat side-by-side with poetry and novels and…what was this?
	I pulled out a slim volume that was more like a pamphlet.  The cover was made of some sort of white hide which was streaked with a wine-colored stain.  Dux Bestia.  The Guide to Animals or Familiars.  But before I could open the cover, the book grew quite warm in my hands.  In fact, it just grew.
	Startled, I dropped it.  At my feet, the pamphlet morphed into something black and furry.  Cool gray eyes with a hint of green blinked up at me.
	Meow?
	Good grief.  What have I done now?

^^^^^^

Seal VI

	The cat that was not a cat rubbed against my left leg and purred.  Images poured into my head.  I covered my eyes.  The small beast was hungry.
	I stalked out of the study in search of a kitchen.  It was down a short hall.  After a bit of searching, I found a milk bottle in an ice chest and a saucer from one of the cupboards.  Once I had poured the milk and set it on the floor, the cat briefly sniffed at it before contentedly lapping the liquid up with a small pink tongue.
	“Why do you have to complicate things?” I asked the cat.  “Couldn’t you have just remained what you were?”
	“Remained what, who?”
	I looked up to see Rhys standing in the kitchen doorway, changed into a casual dark gray traveling suit.  He had even shaved.  But whether he looked like a rumpled professor or a civilized gentleman, it was all a façade.
	“What?” he demanded.  “Did I misbutton my shirt or something?”
	“Uh, no.  Your shirt is fine.  I just want to say that this is not my fault that one of your books Turned.”
	His gaze flickered towards the cat, which amazingly ignored his presence.  “You mean Thor?  He comes and goes as he pleases.  Sometimes he’s a book.  Sometimes he’s not.  I have no control over him.”
	I looked from him, to the cat, and then him again.  “His name is Thor?  After the Norse god?”
	“Don’t knock the name.  It’s actually more accurate than you can imagine.”
	“All right,” I replied, not hiding my skepticism.  “So you’re just going to leave him here while you go gallivanting to Greenglass?”
	“Thor can take care of himself.”  When Thor was finished with his milk, he raced off to who knows where.  Rhys bent down to take the saucer and rinsed it before putting it back on a rack.  “You seem particularly worried about his welfare.  Are you partial to animals?”
	“I’m not a pet kind of person.”  I never kept pets because their lives were so short.  “The cat just surprised me, that’s all.  I did not know that books could turn into animals.”
	“They could.  It all depends on the sacrifice.”  His eyes had turned into a dark green.
	I averted my gaze, thinking about the blood I saw on his spine.  “An animal sacrifice, then.”
	He didn’t confirm or deny.  He simply said, “The sacrifice may be a very long time ago, but you never forget, do you?  Just a mirror is a reminder.”
	“We should get to the train station,” I said, not caring if the subject change was too obvious.  I didn’t want to think about his remarks.  They dredged up very bad memories.  Not my memories, but over the years they have somewhat become mine.  I didn’t want to think about that either.
	“So there is an earlier train.”  His voice took on a light, teasing tone.  “It’s not even noon yet.”
	“No there isn’t.  I want to get there with enough time to spare so that we’d be able to get tickets.  I’m not sure how crowded the trains are at this time of year, but I know that in the summer, one has to practically call ahead for reservations since everyone is on a summer vacation.”

* * *

	Grand Central in Colchester was a mix of ancient classical and art deco.  Inside the station, pale marble floors gleamed, punctuated periodically by ridged columns.  Wide glass windows let in the noon sunlight, washing everything with a golden glow.  Travelers bustled purposefully from one platform to another just as the twelve-fifteen to Birmingham pulled out with a rumble and a whistle of steam.
	“What do you mean there’s only one berth left on the Midland to Greenglass?”  I repeated, pitching my voice above the crowd and the departing train.
	The cashier at the window wiggled his pencil-thin mustache at me.  Ugh.  What was with fashion these days?  The man looked like a weasel.  “Sorry, Miss.  Only one berth.  Otherwise, the two o’clock is completely booked.  Of course, the berth does hold up to four people.”
	“If you want to be squashed like sardines.”
	“Come on, Ana, how hard can it be?”  I turned to glare at Rhys.  “It’s just an overnight.  Think of it as being on a bookshelf.”
	“A very crowded bookshelf.”  I turned back to the cashier who gave me an oily smile.  “All right, we’ll share a berth.  But if anything happens, I hold you responsible.”
	“Oh nice,” Rhys remarked as I came away from the cashier window with two tickets.  “I’m sure your threats have me shaking in my shoes.”
	“Empty threats.”  I sighed and turned toward the platform.  “We have about two hours until departure.  I thought I saw a small café over near the south entrance.  Sandwiches and coffee, I think.”
	“You’re hungry again?”
	“Would you want me to pretend I’m not?”  I said as we slowly made our way past the crowd.  “I think this current fashion for being waif thin is ridiculous.  But at least there is one upside to the whole thing.”
	“What’s that?”
	“No corset.”
	“What’s wrong with a corset?”  I saw a few older people give us strange glances.  Maybe talking about undergarments was probably not the thing to do.
	But did I care?  Stupid social conventions.  “Have you ever worn a corset?”
	“Er…”
	“It’s like being in a vise.  You can’t breathe.”
	“Well, books don’t have to breathe.”
	I caught sight of the café, which looked like a small dark stand among a sea of people, all with the same idea for getting lunch.  “Sure, books don’t have to breathe.  But neither can they walk.  It’s a trade off—be a book and you don’t have to breathe, but you sacrifice movement.  You’re susceptible to the same things regular paper are.  If you’re a person, you must breathe, eat, and sleep, but you can move.  You can talk and interact with other people.”
	“Since you put it that way, I suppose there are pleasures as a person that I would be very hesitant to give up on.”
	The end of the line to the café food stand curved around a few wrought iron tables, all filled with travelers.  Nearby, a toddler decided to throw a tantrum.  “Mass transportation,” I muttered, mostly to myself.  “If only the mass of it weren’t so massive.”
	“It does seem a bit unusual, doesn’t it?” Rhys remarked, loud enough to be heard over the toddler’s screams.  “One would think that this time of year wouldn’t be so crowded.  Is everyone going on a holiday?”
	“Of course it is a holiday.”  A thick looking woman in a fur-lined coat turned to eye me skeptically, but she smiled at Rhys.  “You haven’t paid any attention to the calendar, have you?  Samhain and All Hallow’s Eve are coming up.  Everyone is trying to get to Cairnpapple.  Of course, there is no train there, so everyone takes the East-West to Birmingham or the Midland to Greenglass and then drive there.”
	“Cairnpapple?”  I frowned.  “What is exactly in Cairnpapple?  Standing stones?  I don’t really see why that would be of any importance.”
	“She’s not very bright, is she?” the woman said to Rhys.
	“Just a bit slow,” he replied.
	I clenched a gloved fist.  “All right.  Since you know so much about it, tell me about the importance of Cairnpapple.”
	“It’s an ancient burial site, supposedly the resting place of an ancient Celtic god-king,” said Rhys, sounding very much like the professor I had originally pegged him as.  “Pagans and spiritualists claim that it is the center of a powerful crossroads of ley lines.  It’s supposedly most powerful during Samhain.”
	“Not supposedly,” the woman interrupted.  “It is so.  I’ve been to Cairnpapple many times and I have literally felt the power there—but then again, I’m a medium, so I am especially sensitive to it.”
	“Oh.  Well, I guess we will have to bow to your expertise, ma’am,” I said.
	She glanced at me, narrow-eyed.  “You’re an unbeliever.”
	“I’m not saying I disbelieve anything,” I replied.  “I just think that everything will be explained in a reasonably scientific manner.  Eventually.  Even if it’s many centuries in the future.”
	“You’re one of those Rationalists!”  The woman huffed and turned her back on me.
	“Being rational is wrong?”
	Rhys chuckled.  “Really, Ana.  You of all people should know not to bring science into these kinds of conversations.  Some people are entrenched into one way of thinking and will hold on to it tenaciously, even when evidence of the contrary is staring them in the face.”
	“That’s so…”  I let out a breath.  “I give up.  I’m never going to understand people.”

^^^^^^

Seal VII

	“Ma’am.  Sir.  Number eight.”
	I peeked into the berth as one of the train line’s orderlies in a fastidiously pressed navy uniform hefted my suitcase, and then Rhys’, into an overhead compartment.  Two long seats, upholstered in discrete brown and yellow geometric patterns, faced each other in the berth that was probably about three and a half paces wide and maybe twice again as long.  The door to the berth was a dark varnished wood, the same as the corridor in the train car.  There was a window in the berth as well.  At the moment, the curtains were drawn aside, revealing the bustling Colchester station.
	“Thank you,” I said as I showed the orderly our train tickets and Rhys discretely dropped a tip into the man’s hand.  I entered the berth and took the left seat, feeling suddenly drowsy.  My employer, the professor back at the Institute, claimed that large meals made people sleepy—that was why he made it habit to miss lunch.
	He dropped into the seat across from mine.  “So, what’s your plan?”
	“Plan?  You mean once we get to Greenglass?  I’ll go to the auction house first and see if they have the Liber Tutelarum.”
	“And if they do?”
	“Buy it.”
	“You have the funds?”
	“I’ve had centuries to accumulate funds.  Of course I have funds.”
	“I apologize.  You just don’t seem…”
	“Affluent?”  I took my hat off—a cloche hat similar to the one that had been badly wrinkled in the incident at Parrish Books, except it was a dark green which matched my coat.  “I don’t like living the lifestyle.  It makes one too obvious.  If you blend in with everyone else, no one will notice that you never age.”
	“It’s also possible to buy a manor somewhere out in the country and be an eccentric who no one sees.”
	“That’s boring.  I might as well hole myself up in someone’s private collection.”
	He appeared to take an interest in the activity outside.  “I know it’s not a polite question for a lady, but then again you’re not precisely a lady—in the person sense, of course.  Exactly how old are you?”
	“I was first penned in 1252.”  I leaned back and closed my eyes.  “I became aware about three hundred and fifty years later.  What about you?”
	“You’re a baby.”
	“I’m an ancient compared to your girlfriends.”
	“Fair enough.  I was written in 934.  But became aware in 1066.”
	I opened my eyes and regarded him warily.  “1066. That isn’t a coincidence, is it?”
	“No.” 
	I wanted to ask him about what had happened, if he had anything to do with William the Conqueror, if he had any role at all in the invasion of England.  But even if his expression appeared serene now, I knew the act of becoming aware was not a pleasant thing.  And if he told me what had happened to him, I would be obligated to share my own past.  And there were some things which I had never shared with anyone.
	“You said before that you knew of the other editions of yourself,” I said finally.  “How did you find out about their whereabouts?  Are they aware as well?”
	“Yes, they are aware.  We had been kept as a set up until that time.  And we awoke together.  We have kept in touch off and on, but we mostly go our own ways.  Our natures, I suppose.”  He shrugged.  “And we’ve always had different goals.  I wasn’t the one who always had the conscience.”
	“What is that supposed to mean?”
	“Sometimes I sold my services—as a grimoire—to the highest bidder.  My employers were not nice people.”
	“People who want to get their hands on grimoires are generally not nice people.”  There was a whistle and the train car jerked into motion.  “But that is the curious thing.  Now you are after a sorcerer, the kind who could have employed you before.”
	 “Yes.  It’s a little complicated.”
	“Revenge?”
	“I’m a book.  I don’t feel revenge.”  But his eyes were curiously flat.  “I just don’t like leaving loose ends about.”

* * *

	Something jolted me awake.  A bad dream?  As far as I knew, I didn’t dream.  Or at least I never remembered them.  That was something to ask Rhys—if he ever had dreams.
	The rest of the berth was empty.  I assumed my traveling companion had probably gone out to walk about the train.  He didn’t strike me as the kind who would bother staying cooped up in a berth if there was something else to do.  Perhaps he was out taking advantage of the pleasures being a person afforded—like flirting with the female passengers.  The curtain was pulled down so that the berth was mostly dim.  I brushed the curtain aside and peered out.  In the waning afternoon light, I saw grassy plain and mountains or hills in the distance.  I remembered maps that had shown that Greenglass was located in a small valley among a mountainous region peppered with plateaus and strange formations.  During the summers, people went to Greenglass to see these strange formations which the locals called fairy chimneys.
	I let the curtain drop and raised my arms for a stretch.  Perhaps I should also get an informal tour of the train.
	When I exited berth number eight, the corridor was empty.  Vaguely, I recalled one of the porters pointing to the right to the dining car.  As I walked, I felt the almost imperceptible sway of the coach.  The clacking of the rails was a muffled staccato keeping time like a metronome.
	One of the berth doors slammed open revealing an older woman, perhaps in her sixties framing the doorway.  She was wearing one of those evening wear gowns, a blue satin dress with a sash of a slightly darker hue riding low on her waist.  She also had on a wrap made of gauzy lace and a necklace that dangled down into a knot of pearls.  Her hair was dyed an unnatural yellow.
	Her eyes were a cold, clear blue and she was staring at me.
	“Young lady,” she said in an imperious voice used to command, “That would not do for dinner.”
	I probably was her elder by several centuries, but I looked down at myself anyway.  My skirt was slightly wrinkled from napping in it.  I didn’t think anyone would notice.  And I said so.
	The older woman made a disapproving sound at the back of her throat.  “You people these days!”  She nearly yelled in my face.  “They have no sense of propriety.”
	I suppose it would be out of the question to tell her that as an “unmarried woman” I was also sharing a berth with a man.  She wouldn’t understand that it was all right because we were both books.
	There was some banging from a berth nearby and another passenger’s voice called out, “Will you be quiet, old lady?  Some of us are trying to sleep.”
	“See?” she said furiously, even though she did lower her voice.  “People have absolutely no respect these days.  It’s those stupid girls trying to fight for ‘equality’ which is the start of all this trouble.”
	“Actually, I think it is a good thing if everyone was considered equal.”
	“Not you too,” the woman huffed.  “No matter.  You don’t seem like some of the other imbeciles I’ve met on this train.  I’m Lenora Battington.  I’m the second cousin to th Earl of Waverly.”
	I wasn’t particularly impressed—especially since I’ve never heard of someone named the Earl of Waverly.  “I’m Ana Talbot.  And I don’t have any second cousins.”
	“A terrible thing that,” Lenora said, hooking her arm with mine without a by your leave.  “Second cousins can come in useful sometimes.”
	“I’ll keep that in mind.”
	At any time, I could have walked off and ignored the old woman, but I was bored and curious so I just let her drag me through the corridor and through the connecting doors to the next car—which was not the dining car as I had originally guessed, but a sort of observation car with a few tables but mostly couches set up.  Did I inadvertently blunder into a first class compartment?  Well, as long as no one checked my ticket, no one would know.
	“This is Oswald Henry,” Lenora announced as she pulled me abreast to a table where two portly men in black suits were playing cards.  “And this is Robert Pendington.  They’re of Pendington and Henry, the well known solicitor’s office at Cambridge.”
	I blinked at her blankly.
	“They’re single and rich as Croesus,” she whispered loudly in my ear.
	Was she trying to set me up with these corpulent specimens?  But just to be polite, I said, “Nice to meet you, gentlemen.”
	Robert Pendington just grunted as he slapped down a six of spades, but Oswald Henry managed to look up and nod rather civily.  “Good evening ladies.  Who is your lovely companion, Mrs. Battington?”
	“Ana Talbot of…where did you say you were from, dear?”
	“Of nowhere,” I replied.  “But my father was an Italian monk,” I added helpfully.
	Pendington was in the middle of his drink which he almost chocked on.  Lenora gave an outraged gasp.  Henry merely seemed puzzled.
	“Aren’t monks supposed to be celibate?” he asked.
	Lenora faked a laugh.  “Oh, don’t pay attention to her words, Mr. Henry.  You know how young ladies are these days.  They will say anything to get a shock out of everybody.”
	“Even if it is true?” I said slyly.
	The old woman gave me a scathing look.  “Just like that.  But otherwise, she is charming.”
	“Now that’s the first I’ve heard of it.”  I crossed my arms and took a look at the cards on the table.  And since I was standing, also a peek at the hands.  So far, they weren’t playing very intelligently, but then again, I had no inclination in helping them.  It wasn’t my game.
	“You’re being rather hard headed about this, my dear,” Lenora said when she pulled me aside.  “Just say some sweet words and you’ll have them eating out of your hand.”
	“Thanks, but no thanks, Mrs. Battington.  I’m not looking for a rich husband.  Which, of course, begs the question, exactly why are you trying to play matchmaker?  What’s in this for you?”
	“Why nothing’s in it for me!  I’m just a natural born matchmaker…”
	“You know what I think?  These gentlemen are paying for you to find them some young nbile thing for an evening’s entertainment.”
	She gasped.  “You would never imply such a thing!  I am not some…some madam for a brothel.”
	“You said it, not me.”
	“Ah, Ana.  I’ve been looking all over for you.”  Rhys had reached my side, but he was smiling at Lenora who had a ferocious frown on her face.  “I didn’t see you at the berth.”
	“I decided to stretch my legs,” I replied.  “Rhys, let me introduce you to Mrs. Battington.  I bumped into her on my way to the dining car.”
	“Good evening, Mrs…”
	“You didn’t tell me you had a husband,” she interrupted him in an annoyed gush.  “Now I’ve made a fool of myself.”
	Rhys furrowed his brow.  “What?”
	I patted his elbow.  “Just humor her.”
	“You know, I’m beginning to think that you’re trying to humor me,” he said.  “I think you’re willfully omitting things.”
	“I’m not that kind of person.”  I uncrossed my arms and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket.  “Besides, I was heading to the dining car.”
	“Would you care to join us for dinner?” Rhys asked Lenore with a winning smile.
	“The old lady still looked unconvinced.  “Thank you, but no.  I’m already promised to some dinner companions.”
	I nodded and moved towards the end of the observation car.  I was aware of Rhys shadowing me as Lenore made her way back to the gambling lawyer partners.
	“I just leave you for one moment and you disappear on me.”
	I didn’t turn around as I pulled open the connecting door.  “I’m not some chained book.  I’m not a child.”
	“But you were sleeping.”
	“I awoke.”
	The dining car was already half full when I stepped into it.  I chose one of the tables further away from the other passengers.  Outside, the sun had set and the countryside passed by like dark blue shadows in a wrinkled piece of velvet.
	A waiter soon passed by our table, rambling off the night’s menu choices.  I ordered some chicken and rice.  Rhys chose the steak.  A moment after conveying our orders to the chef, he came back with a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.
	“If we’re fortunate, the auction house will still be in possession of the book,” I said as I idly swirled the wine in my glass.  “I can’t really imagine anyone wanting to buy it immediately, aside from Blackthorne.  But he doesn’t have the receipt so I would assume that we have a head start.”
	“I wouldn’t be so optimistic,” he replied.  “There are some bidders who are like gamblers; they are addicted to the act of buying no matter the object.  And you would be surprised by the number of book collectors in the country who actually make the trip to Greenglass.”
	“Then we’ll track down the buyer.”
	“You won’t give up will you?”
	“Not at this point, no.”  I switched my hand to the glass of water.  “You don’t know how long I’ve been trying to find my siblings.  You’re lucky you know where your siblings are.”
	“Have you ever considered that maybe your siblings don’t want to be found?”
	I swallowed some water and said simply, “I’m going to find them because I want to know if they still exist.  If they don’t want me in their lives, then I won’t bother them.”
	“Persistent.  Although I must admit that it would be nice to have a sibling who cared enough to find out if I was around.”
	“Really?”
	“Yes.  Because then I could probably have someone I could depend on to do favors for me.”
	I rolled my eyes.  “You sound like a leech.”
	“Did I ever say that I was a nice person?”
	“Quite the contrary as I recall.  I doubt that you would be even here traveling with me if it weren’t for your—whatever it is you have against the sorcerer.”
	“True.  Although I must admit that traveling with you isn’t at all boring.”
	“Ah, what you mean is that I’m annoying.”
	“Well, I wouldn’t say exactly that.  You’re not exactly what I would have expected.  I’ve never really met a woman or a book like you.”
	I found myself chuckling.  “I think what you said was a bad thing.”
	Soon the waiter arrived with dinner and the rest of the evening was spent talking about Greenglass and its auction house.

^^^^^^

Seal VIII

	“Is that silk?”
	I wrapped the red kimono closer to my body as I shut the compartment door.  I had just come back from changing in the bathroom located at the end of the car.  Both of the fold out beds in the berth were pulled down and someone had helpfully turned down the sheets.
	Rhys wore light blue pajamas, although I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a concession to the prevailing fashion or in deference to what he perceived was my sensibilities.  He was leaning back casually against his pillow with some sort of journal in his hands and with his overhead light on.  He looked over me with what could only be described as an interested gaze.
	“No,” I replied, “It’s actually wildebeest hide.”
	“I take it that it is silk.  You know, you didn’t strike me as a silk kind of girl.”
	“I guess I’m full of surprises then.”
	He closed the journal and tucked it in a shelf above.  He then slid under his covers, closing his eyes.  “I’m not looking.”
	I just shook my head and finally took off my kimono and raised a knee to get into bed.  Something that made the hairs at the back of my neck rise had me turning around.
	His eyes were open.  He grinned at my glare.  “I lied.”
	“Pervert.”  I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head.

* * *

	A scratch and a scream jolted me awake.  At first, I thought I had finally remembered a dream.  But another scream punctuated the air.
	“You’re trying to make my night miserable, aren’t you?” came a low groggy voice in the darkness.  “You’re making me pay for just a look.”
	“It’s not me, you idiot.”  I scrambled out of bed and struggled to tug on my kimono.  “Someone’s outside.”
	Before I could turn the handle to the compartment door, an arm wrapped itself around my waist and pulled me back.  “And you shouldn’t be an idiot and barge out there without seeing what’s out there.”