My office is a mess.

I don’t come in here often, except to check the more detailed records of the business. Therefore, my time is spent elsewhere, and I unfortunately forget to clean it until it’s too much to bear for myself or Luna. Muffled downstairs, I hear her calling the authorities to report an encounter with a necromantic spell.

Meanwhile, I rifle through piles of paper, folders, letters, and so on. It takes me a brief moment to find the records, and I start flipping through to the S section of the book. If Luna put Alex Smith in here, then it’s likely they’ve given more information that could be used when the investigators arrive.

The unfortunate thing is that I find nothing of value. The mage identification seems valid, but enforcement of licensure has been lenient since the last war. It’s one of many things that haven’t fully recovered since the war ended, something about standing mage armies in case of another one. But politics were never my prerogative, and therefore, I only pay attention if it’s fully relevant to my ambitions.

Perhaps I should have paid closer attention.

Alex Smith isn’t a particularly poignant name either. It makes me wonder if it’s a real name at all…

The police will run their own search, of course, but I tend to be impatient when it comes to the authorities. My lips press into a thin, thoughtful line.

Luna hangs up the phone. “They’ll be on their way in thirty, Hay!”

“Thank you,” I respond, already clambering down the stairs. I make my way to the phone.

“Who’re you calling now?” she protests.

“The Mage Council,” I answer, already dialing. I hold up a finger as the phone connects to the other end, and I hear it ring over the line. Her further protests are cut short.

“Mage Council, this is Selena, how can I help you today?”

“Hi Selena,” I respond, “This is Hayden Faulkner, the proprietor here at Spellbinder’s Book Shop. I was wondering if you could run a name for me?”

Luna watches me, her arms crossed.

“To what reason do I need to pull these records, Mister Faulkner?” Selena asks. I mentally curse. Records tend to be private, meaning they’re only pulled up with either a release of information or a serious situation. And if I say the true reason, she’ll just redirect me to the authorities.

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I have to think fast. Luna’s trying to mouth something to me, but reading lips is something I’m still not entirely used to. I need to get better at it, if she’s going to be trying to help me like this.

“An unfortunate accident,” I say, and I fear Luna may slap me with the daggers she’s glaring, “They’re next of kin.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and my heart pounds so harshly I can feel it in my throat.

“What’s the name?” she asks, and I wonder if it’s truly worked or not.

“Alex Smith.”

“Alright, give me one moment… oh.”

“Oh?”

“Alex Smith doesn’t seem to be in our records.”

It was a fear that’s suddenly been realized. Whoever Alex Smith was had used a pseudonym. I hang up with a stammered admittance of a mistake and a thanks for her time, giving her no room to question me further on why I was asking about this person. As I look to Luna after the fact I find that she’s red-faced, likely with secondhand embarrassment of my antics.

“You,” she says, jabbing a finger into my sternum, “Are such a bad liar, Hayden Faulkner. You stumbled through that like a bat in the sun! What were you thinking, anyway?”

“I was thinking that maybe we could get a jump on this,” I say, trying not to grin and failing immensely. She puffs out her cheeks at me.

“Get a jump on what? It’s not our job to find rogue necromancers.”

“I don’t know,” I respond, “It might be a good side-gig?”

“A side-gig?!”

“I don’t want to just use my abilities binding books all the time,” I explain, “And besides, the police are probably not going to be timely about this. Our Mx. Smith already has a spell that could raise an entire graveyard, who knows what they might do with enough time?”

“They don’t even have a spellbook yet,” she retorts, “You’re supposed to make it for them.”

I shrink a little under her stern gaze. She has a point, the necromancer in question doesn’t have a spellbook. Or, at least, doesn’t have one that’s effective anymore. Casting spells of that potency require some sort of tool, at least…

An idea strikes me.

“So what if we made one for them?”

“Have you truly lost your mind--?”

“Think about it, Luna,” I say, “We could draw them back in. Say the order’s ready, have them come to us to pick it up? We could draw them to us.”

“And they’d have a spellbook, which could be use against us, Hay.”

“Well, we’re not actually going to make it,” I respond, my cheeks heating up, “It’s just a lure.”

“And you’re a terrible liar.”

“But you’re not.”

“You expect me to be bait? You don’t pay me enough for that!”

“Luna, please,” I beg, clasping my hands together in a desperate attempt to at least brighten her mood, “I couldn’t do half of the things I do in this shop without you. And I don’t think I could find another assistant even close to as well-organized and charismatic as you are.”

Her arms are crossed again, lips pursed to one side. I dare to look her in the eye.

“Fine,” Luna sighs, “I’ll do it. But only because you’re good at flattery. And we’re not doing it right away.”

I grin at her. “How long do we have?”

“How long does it take you to make a book?”

“The spellbook they’re asking for is gonna take three days.”

“Then we have three days,” she says with a grin. A knock on the door interrupts our plotting, as stern as the people we know it belongs to.

The police are here, and they’re ready to investigate.