That afternoon, Jacky took me into town to see the bookstore. Considering the fact he’d told me I would find it interesting, I was a little disappointed by the exterior.

The building was a one-story box made of dull red bricks. The sign over the window was charcoal black with off-white lettering that read Antiques and Books. When the sign was new, it might have looked bold and elegant, but time and weather had taken a toll.

“Does the store have a name?” I asked.

“It doesn’t need a name,” Jacky said. “People who know it refer to it as Both’s.”

“Both’s?”

“As in, ‘I’m going down to Both’s place.’”

“Ah.”

When Jacky opened the door, the brass bell on the lintel chimed.

I had only taken two steps inside before my stride faltered. It’s hard to walk straight when you’re trying to look everywhere.

The place was smaller than I would have guessed from looking at the outside. The walls were a creamy white, but you could barely see any of them because they were covered in art. There were rows of ornately carved, ancient bookshelves that were so dark they were nearly black. To offset the gloom from all the dark shelves, modern chandeliers hung from the ceiling—modern, as in, clean lines, stark shapes, all silver and white. The books were another riot of contradiction. There were brand new ones sitting side by side with copies so old, you could almost imagine the cast iron presses creaking over the pages. The art was classical. The statues on top of the bookshelves were modern. The armchairs were old, but the music playing in the background had a quiet techno beat that marked it as new. I wasn’t sure if the mash-up worked, but I got the feeling that the person who had created the place didn’t care.

“You were right, Jacky,” I said. “This is pretty cool.”

“Hmm? Oh. This isn’t what I was talking about.”

A voice said, “Well, well! Big Jacky.”

The store was enough of a hint, I wasn’t all that surprised when I turned around.

The woman’s hair was mostly white with a few steel gray streaks, but the cut was stylish. She didn’t try to hide any of her wrinkles, but her clothes wouldn’t have looked out of place on someone my age—if that someone had a lot of money and read Vogue. She was age, wrapped up in a modern look, and she stood with one hand on her hip and smiled at death.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“As good as ever,” Jacky said. “How are you doing, Ms. Both?”

“Better than ever. My shop was featured. For a while, I wondered if I’d have to buy a stick to chase people out when it got too crowded.”

“Is there anyone here now?”

“One or two browsers. No one important. Do we need to talk privately?”

“It might avoid awkward questions.”

“As if I ever tried to avoid awkward questions.”

“But if you need to look after your customers—”

“Customers! What a bother. Let them browse. Let them leave if they have a mind to.”

Both motioned for us to follow her. We wound through the shelves until we arrived at a door marked “employees only.” She opened it wide and gestured for us to go through.

When I passed the threshold, I stopped to stare.

Behind the door was a whole different store! No wonder the front had looked so small. But this wasn’t the neat shelves and tasteful decorations we had left behind.

The dark shelves were still there, but there were hardly any books. They appeared around everything else, like dandelions popping up in sidewalk cracks. The rest of the space was taken up by knickknacks and undefinable objects of every possible size. There was one that was no bigger that a thimble, one was the size of a door, and no two items were the same. Some of them whirred or ticked with tiny movements that made the room feel alive.

The air in my lungs felt so light, I had to laugh. I skipped into the room and bounced from shelf to shelf to inspect the collection.

On one shelf was a gnarled stick, about a foot long, resting on a stand. Above it was a large silver cross that had been mangled until you could see the still ticking clockwork hidden in its center. I couldn’t begin to guess what the clockwork was powering.

After a few minutes of marveling, I stopped in front of a copper and ivory gyroscope. It was gently spinning, all on its own.

As my hand drifted toward it, Ms. Both said, “You might not want to do that.”

Her voice had been so mellow, I couldn’t tell if it was a suggestion or a warning.

“Um, why?” I asked.

“I haven’t figured out how it works yet, and it’s turned three people to stone.”

I jammed my hand in my pocket.

She smiled. “I’m Natalie Both.”

I extracted my hand long enough to shake. “Emerra Cole.”

“Emerra Cole, I like your hairstyle.”

Usually, I made some kind of quip whenever someone mentioned my lack of hair, but this time, I blushed. When a woman that chic gives her seal of approval, all you can do is accept it.

“Thank you,” I said. “This store—this place is awesome!”

“Isn’t it? But, tell me”—she jerked her head toward Jacky, who’d been quietly standing off to the side—“do you know who this man is?”

That was no simple question. She knew it, and I knew it.

“I do.”

“And there you go.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “It helps to know where people stand in this world.” She stood up straight and said to Jacky, “Are you here for yourself or Iset?”

“I’m here on behalf of the Torr.”

“The Torr? I have a hard time picturing you as a messenger boy.”

“Thorburn insisted I should see you.”

Both smiled again. “This sounds like a story. Should I get some cocoa for us, or just sit cross-legged on the carpet, gazing up at you while you speak?”

“I believe a chair might be more comfortable for a woman your age.”

Both pointed at him with a manicured nail. “For that, you get no cocoa.” She turned to me. “What about you, Emerra? Would you like a drink? I have coffee as well as cocoa, but I’m afraid my tea selection is rather sad at the moment.”

I used to say that I’d be dead before I failed to jump at an offer for free sugar, but it turned out that death didn’t change my priorities much.

“Cocoa, please!”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I’ll be a minute. Jacky, go find a nice comfortable chair. I can’t have a man your age standing around for too long.”

She was already walking away, so Jacky’s “But…” didn’t reach her.

I took his arm and put my hand on his back. It didn’t feel like I was grabbing onto a skeleton. It felt like a solid body.

Whatever.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s sit down.”

“I don’t get old,” he insisted.

“Oh, yes, you do.”

I guided him over to a set of chairs and had him sit. I sat down in the chair next to him. A minute later, Both returned with a cocoa for me and a coffee for herself.

As Natalie settled herself into one of the chairs, she said, “I think we’re about ready for story time. So what’s this about?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a story for you.”

“Oh?”

“I’m here to ask you some questions.”

She sipped her coffee. “Go on.”

“Do you remember meeting a man by the name of Trevon Wayde.”

“Wayde? Yes, I remember him.”

“When did you meet him?”

“About two, maybe three months ago.” She paused, then said, “I saw a headline a few days ago. Was he the professor that was murdered?”

“He was.”

She shook her head. “That’s sad.”

“He came to you?”

“He did.” Natalie crossed her legs. “He brought in a papyrus scroll. He wanted my opinion on it.”

“He was an anthropologist. Did he need your opinion?”

“Egyptian culture wasn’t his specialty.”

“Why didn’t he go to one of his colleagues?”

Both ran a finger around the outside rim of her mug. “You understand, I can’t say for certain, but I got the idea that he wasn’t supposed to have it.”

Jacky tilted his head.

Both explained, “Anthropologists are bound by a code of ethics when it comes to handling artifacts. You’re supposed to have the proper paperwork if you acquire a real artifact, and you aren’t supposed to buy or sell any fake ones.”

“Why?” Jacky asked.

“They don’t want to encourage people to steal or forge artifacts. If Wayde suspected there might be a problem with the scroll, he’d probably be more comfortable bringing it to me than to someone he works with.”

“You aren’t bound by the same ethics?”

“I wasn’t buying or selling anything. I was only appraising it.”

“What about Wayde? Did he seem unethical?”

“Well, no,” she said. “He seemed nice.”

“Nice?”

“There’s no other word for it. He was kind, cheerful, and friendly. He seemed open as well—except when I asked him about where he’d gotten the scroll—but he was very polite when he dodged my question.”

“Did you like him?” I asked.

Natalie’s eyes snapped to me, as if she’d forgotten I was there. Then they softened. “I did. He was a likable man.”

Jacky said, “What can you tell me about the scroll?”

“The first thing I can tell you is that it was fake—”

“Fake?”

“Yes. Mind you, it was an excellent forgery—right down to the scratches of the reed—but there was no way it could be real.” She leaned back in her chair. “It was written in Late Egyptian hieratic script, which would have come from sometime around 1000 to 750 BCE, but the papyrus was in far too good of a condition to be that old.”

“If it was fake,” I said, “why did you call it into the Torr?”

“It had the mage-priest’s title line.”

I glanced at Jacky, but all he did was tap the armrest with his finger bone. Since it didn’t look like he was going to ask any questions, I had to do it.

“I’m sorry, but what’s a title line?”

“In ancient Egypt there was a special class of priests who were also magicians. Because of their religious affiliation and their special status, a lot of what they did was considered sacred and, therefore, not to be generally known. Whenever they wrote a scroll, they put a line at the beginning, warning the reader that the scroll contained sacred knowledge, and if they weren’t meant to be reading it, it wouldn’t go well for them. I don’t know how well it worked as a deterrent, but it gave us an easy way to identify any scrolls created by them.”

“The scroll was fake, but the information was real?”

“I don’t read Egyptian script, so I can’t speak for all of it, but I’ve trained myself to recognize that line, and it was accurate.”

“How can there be real writing on a fake scroll?”

“The best forgers tend to work from real objects. It makes their work more convincing. It wouldn’t be unheard of for someone to copy the writing from a real scroll onto a fake one.”

My head buzzed with the idea. I couldn’t imagine a world where you had to be on the lookout for tricks like that. Clearly, I did not have the soul of a forger.

“Was the scroll magical?” Jacky asked.

“Even the scrolls that are real aren’t normally magical—but a fake one?” Both shook her head.

“What did you tell Wayde about the scroll?”

“What could I tell him? I said it was fake and gave it back to him.”

“How did he respond?”

“He took it in stride. He said something like, ‘Oh well, that’ll be another one for my collection.’ I asked him if he made a habit of collecting fake scrolls, and he said that he collected all kinds of things.”

I thought about the myriad of artifacts all over his study. “All kinds of things” was accurate, but it felt like an understatement.

Big Jacky leaned back in his chair and tapped on the armrest some more. I used the break to drink my cocoa.

Jacky said, “What happened after that?”

“Nothing. He left, and I called Father Thorburn.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that there was a new religious article in his territory without a suitable handler.”

“Did he sound concerned?”

“I hope not. It wasn’t all that concerning. I only called him because I was supposed to. Rules don’t always pay attention to the reality of risk.”

“How do you mean?”

“I agreed to inform the Torr about any potential magical artifact that came my way. I’ve had to call in nearly dead charms that wouldn’t protect the wearer from a paper cut and an alchemical machine whose great contribution to the world was to fall apart when it gathered too much magic. Honestly, it’s a wonder the Torr still take my calls.”

“You didn’t think the scroll was dangerous?” I asked.

“No,” Natalie said, “and I told Thorburn that.”

“But if the information it had was real, would it matter if it was a copy?”

Natalie Both gazed at me for a long time before saying, “Emerra, how much do you know about religious magic?”

I really needed a shirt with COMPLETELY IGNORANT printed across the chest in neon green. Then maybe people would stop making me say it.

“Nothing.”

“Religious magic is difficult, even if the magician has additional talents. It always requires special training, and it often requires powerful faith or a specific relic. The Egyptian priests, especially, relied on props, many of which were handed down from priest to priest. Even if that scroll described a ritual, step by step, there probably isn’t a magician alive that could do anything with it. Nevermind that Wayde was a mundane.”

“Do you know he was a mundane?” Jacky asked.

“Is there any reason to think he wasn’t?”

“Not at the moment.”

Both set her mug on the small table beside her. “Jacky, what is this really about? You don’t think the scroll had anything to do with his murder, do you?”

“His soul is missing.”

For a second, Natalie only sat there, motionless.

“Missing?” she breathed. “You mean it’s gone?”

Jacky nodded.

Both scowled at the floor, then raised her head. “No. That’s not possible. I stand by what I said. That scroll should have been harmless. No one should have been able to use it!”

“Reality doesn’t always pay attention to the probability of risk.”

Natalie cast an annoyed look in Jacky’s direction. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Noctis asked.

“No. I wish I could, but I’m afraid that’s where my role ended. If you need to know anything more, you’ll have to talk to Thorburn.”

Jacky pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you for your time.”

I chugged the rest of my cocoa, put down the mug, and stood up.

It was a wrench to leave behind all those crazy baubles, but I followed Jacky to the front of the shop. Both was right behind us.

As we walked toward the door, Jacky said over his shoulder, “Ms. Both, did you take any pictures of the scroll?”

“No, but I can email you an exact description of it if that would be helpful.”

“It would. Will you call me if you hear anything? Or if anything else comes to mind?”

“I’ll call you,” she assured him. “I’ll call every torrman. I’ll write a banner and pin it to the sky.”

“The banner shouldn’t be necessary, but I appreciate the thought.”

When Noctis reached for the door handle, Both let out a loud “oh!” and shook a finger over her head.

“One moment,” she said. “You were here for Iset, and you didn’t know it.”

“I was?”

“I have a book for her. I was going to ship it, but why waste the time?”

She left us standing there and headed over to the front desk. A minute later she returned, book in hand. It was old, and the cover was cracked along the entire spine.

She held it out to Jacky, but he didn’t take it. He had other things on his mind.

“Ms. Both, how much would the scroll be worth?”

Natalie pulled her arm back until she could rest the book on her chest. “To Wayde, it’d be worthless. No, it’d be worse than worthless. He’s not supposed to have it, and if he ever tried to sell it, he could get into a lot of trouble.”

“Worse than worthless,” Jacky murmured. He nodded to her. “Thank you again.”

He opened the door and left. He left the shop. He left me. And he left Natalie Both standing there, holding out the book.

I sighed. “Sorry about that. If you want, I can take it.”

“You know Iset?”

“I’m kind of staying at the mansion. For now.”

She handed me the book. “I think I’d rather trust it to you. Jacky might get distracted and leave it somewhere.”

“I don’t think Jacky’s distracted. I think he’s a little too focused.”

“You’re right. Jacky’s always been devoted to his job. I can understand why something like this would upset him.”

“He’s upset?”

“Oh, yes. You’ll be able to tell better once you get to know him.” Both shook her head. “What a mess. I’m glad Jacky’s stepping in.”

As a teenager, I had worked hard to create the perfect smart-aleck tone. I hauled it out and dusted it off. “Any idea what he’s stepping into?”

When she glanced up and saw my smirk, she smiled.

“Oh, I think we both know it’s going to be brown and smelly.”

I saluted her with the book. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Both. You have a wonderful shop.”

“Come back any time. And call me Natalie!”

I waved, then ran out of the store to catch up to Jacky.

He was halfway down the street and still hadn’t noticed I wasn’t there. Thank god we’d parked a few blocks away. I needed to catch him before he got back to the car, or I might have to walk all the way back to the mansion.

Which would be tricky since the drive was an hour and a half long.

And I didn’t know the address.

“Jacky!”

Noctis stopped and turned. “Emerra?”

When I caught up, we walked on together.

“So what happens now?” I asked.

“Now we go home. We have to see what we can do about obtaining that scroll.”

“You want a scroll that’s worse than worthless?”

“I’m not sure it is worthless. There’s a possibility that Wayde paid dearly for having it.”