The Analyst notes that this grimoire is among the most disturbing he has ever evaluated.

The Analyst further notes that, by his own assertion, Whitmore’s experiments were largely failures. However, he references the work of sorcerers for whom we have no records, whose details have now been logged in the MPD database.

 

Recommendation: Grimoire to be transferred to MPD Illicit Magic Storage.

I looked again at the Magia Illicita box. All its contents must be destined for internment in MagiPol’s strictly guarded storage facilities for dangerous or illegal magic and magical knowledge.

“This book smells of blood and death,” Zylas muttered.

Even I could smell it—a musty, moldy tang that coated my nose like oil. I wanted to wash my hands. I wanted to throw this grimoire into a fire and watch it burn.

Nose wrinkled, I rewrapped the book and set it in the box. Zylas watched me slide the box back onto its shelf.

“You are not taking it?”

“No.” I stood up and closed the cabinet. “We don’t need it, and it’s better that it be sent to the MPD for safekeeping.”

“Hnn.” He canted his head. “I hear footsteps.”

I jolted away from the cabinet and opened my mouth to order Zylas back into the infernus, but he was already dissolving into crimson light. I burst into the hallway as Amalia rushed to meet me. I swung the door shut, then we both dashed into the washroom at the end of the hall and locked ourselves in.

“The librarian was coming this way,” Amalia whispered. “Not sure if she’ll come over here, though.”

“Let’s hope not,” I muttered, leaning against the sink.

Amalia scanned me. “Weren’t you stealing a book?”

I described what I had found and how I’d decided I didn’t want to take it. “We don’t need to know the details of that guy’s messed-up experiments.”

“No …” Amalia agreed, her gaze distant.

I figured she was thinking the same thing as me. “Claude must’ve gotten the idea to feed demon blood to vampires from somewhere, right?”

“Yeah, from sickos like that Whitmore quack and his idols. Who knows what other ideas Claude has gotten from their experiments?”

Silence settled over us, broken by the slow drip of water from the faucet.

“There’s something really weird about Claude,” Amalia murmured, her words slow and thoughtful. “Something really …”

“Insidious?” I suggested.

“Yeah. He—”

The loud bing of my phone interrupted her. I dug my cell out of my pocket and tapped the screen. At the sight of the new message, my face went cold.

When I stared at my phone, saying nothing, Amalia huffed. “What is it?”

“It’s … it’s from Zora.”

Over a week had passed since Zora had discovered I was an illegal contractor. I’d tried to explain myself, but she’d only responded once to my messages. Her reply: Do the right thing and turn yourself in.

That had been six days ago, and I’d heard nothing since. With no other options, I’d avoided the guild at all costs and hoped against hope Zora would wash her hands of it—maybe even pretend she hadn’t seen anything and didn’t know my secret.

But now her number glowed on my screen with a new message: Meet me in the Arcana Atrium at the guild. Right now.

Losing patience, Amalia pulled my phone closer to read it. “Oh, shit.”

“She wants to see me,” I whispered. “Do you think she wants to talk?”

“Or she’s luring you in for the MagiPol agents.” Amalia tugged nervously at her sleeves. “I don’t know, Robin.”

Exhaling, I pushed my phone back into my pocket. “I guess we should go.”

“But—”

“If she hasn’t reported me, then not showing up might be the last straw for her. And if she has reported me—” I gulped back a surge of panic. “Then it’s already too late. I can’t survive as a wanted rogue, Amalia.”

She rubbed her forehead. “Yeah, you’re right. You wouldn’t last a day. It seems weird she’d wait so long to report you. She must’ve been waiting for something else. I guess we should find out what.”

I managed a smile at her “we,” glad I wasn’t going into this alone.

The downtown streets were dark and icy cold, the blustery wind blowing fitful rain in our faces. We bundled up tight and braved the trek on foot. The sidewalks were busy, Vancouver’s citizens too accustomed to the winter rain to let it hamper their Saturday night plans.

The Crow and Hammer’s windows glowed invitingly as we trudged the final block, our heads down and hands tucked in our coats. Zylas had warned me that his world’s temperatures dropped below anything he’d experienced here—every night—and I was extremely glad I didn’t live in his realm.

When Amalia shoved the guild door open, a notch of painful tension in my spine eased. The pub was busy, half the tables full and voices swelling with cheerful conversation. No MPD agents. No bounty hunter ambush.

Amalia and I shared nervous looks, then she headed for an empty table in the corner to wait. Delaying the moment I had to face Zora, I walked to the bar, passing three different discussions about New Year’s Eve plans on my way. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different from my inner apprehension.

Despite the hubbub, only one customer stood at the bar: a woman with silvery hair in a shoulder-length bob, her glare mean enough to melt steel beams.

“I did not short your whiskey, Sylvia,” a familiar voice growled, “and if you whine about it again, I’ll mix your next Manhattan with our shittiest beer. Now get lost!”

The silver-haired woman snatched up her drink and whirled away from the bar, almost mowing me down as she stormed back to her table. Behind the counter, the red-haired bartender smacked a washrag down on the bar top.

“What do you want?” Tori snapped at me.

I flinched, my eyes wide and mouth too dry to respond.

She straightened from her aggressive posture and blew out a long breath, several long curls fluttering around her face. Between her holiday trip and my avoidance of the guild, I hadn’t seen her since the monthly meeting.

“Sorry.” She slid a bottle of vermouth off the counter and returned it to her well. “Having a bad day.”

“Is … is everything all right?” I asked hesitantly, afraid to trigger her temper again. “How was your trip?”

Her hazel eyes clouded. “It was … okay. I’m just stressed out, that’s all. I’ll figure it out. I just … unless you could …”

“Unless I could what?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

She stared at me strangely, then gave her head a single sharp shake. “Never mind. Want anything to drink?”

“Um, actually, I was just wondering … do you know if Zora is upstairs?”

Tori glanced around. “I think I saw her, but I’m not sure where she is.”

“Oh. Okay. I—um—I’ll just …”

When I trailed off, she arched an eyebrow. “You’re paler than me, and that’s saying something. What’s wrong?”