Snapping to attention, Oliver unlocked one of the unused mortuary cabinets and carefully carried the wrapped book to the counter as if it were a bomb. He tugged the knot free and neatly arranged the fabric around it without getting too close to the cover. While the two books were roughly the same size, it was obvious the one from the bowels of the library had been touched by many hands. The edges of its brown leather cover had darkened and gone glossy while the Livingston’s copy remained gilded and gleaming where it hadn’t been befouled. Oliver swallowed hard, looking between the head librarian and the books nervously.
“The covers are different. Are you sure it’s the same book?”
“I won’t know until I examine it, but covers were often made to suit the buyer or were replaced if they were damaged. It’s the contents that matter.”
“Would you like gloves?” Oliver asked, his voice tight. “I have rubber and cotton.”
“No, my boy, I should be fine as is.”
Oliver wrung his hands but didn’t step away. “Miss Jones did tell you this copy might have a book curse in it that killed a man?”
“She did, and while your concern is admirable, I cannot examine the book if you won’t let me get close to it.”
As Oliver sheepishly stepped out of the way, Mr. Turpin gave him a look somewhere between bemusement and annoyance. He picked up the book with his bare hands, pulling a sharp breath from Oliver and a grimace from Felipe, but nothing happened.Pointedly ignoring them, Turpin gave his full attention to inspecting the cover before turning to the yellow blob Gwen had pointed out with his quizzing glass. His fingers swept over it before trailing to the blank cover page and turning to the next one. He moved page by page, flipping through the library and cursed copies in tandem. Every page of the library copy was printed with long, dense columns of text in black ink or woodblock prints of geometric diagrams peppered with symbols and ruins that made no sense to Felipe’s untrained eye. Felipe tried to read the lines of dense, archaic script, but between the antiquated cadence of the writing and the thick yet sharp font, he could barely get through any of it before Turpin turned the page.
Watching Turpin work, Felipe couldn’t imagine what the old man could glean from the cursed book’s blank pages. He was about to ask if he was merely matching the shapes of the stains in the parchment when his skin prickled and Oliver sneezed. Only from the corner of his eye could Felipe catch a trace of the magic Turpin wove around the book. It trailed down the length of each page, glowing faintly black where the words had been before spooling around his hand. Felipe leaned over to whisper what he saw into Oliver’s ear when the other man turned away to sneeze twice more.
“You all right?” Felipe asked, shoving his handkerchief into Oliver’s hand.
Oliver opened his mouth to speak only to bite back another sneeze.
“It’s only going to get worse, Dr. Barlow,” Turpin replied without stopping.
“Go get some air. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
With a nod and a wet sniff, Oliver made a beeline for the backdoor. As Oliver loudly blew his nose in the alley, Felipe stepped closer until he stood at Turpin’s shoulder. The olderman’s powers prickled his skin like static and sweat gathered on his brow as he rapidly traced the magic on each page, picking up speed the further he got into the book. When he hit a maze-like diagram that might have been a complex sigil or a star chart, he slowed his pace. Felipe tried again to read the page of text beside it, but the uniform, pike-like script jumbled together.
“What isThe Corpus Arcanumabout?” Felipe asked when the press of magic against his skin ebbed slightly.
“It was purported to be a compendium of all knowledge known to magical folk. The author fell very short of that promise.”
“Was it the overselling that got it put in the special collections or the horrible typeface?”
Leaving one hand hovering over the purge-spattered page, Turpin turned to level a hard look at Felipe over his half-moon spectacles. “No, it was removed from the stacks because its author created a cult based around his hateful, perverted view of the world and how magic moves within it. Any book that claims to have all the answers attracts fraudsters and novices, especially ones without proper guidance. They will latch onto any authority that strokes their ego and makes them feel superior, especially if they have become disillusioned or discontented, and while the author has been dead for centuries, like clockwork, every few decades some huckster manages to find this book again, starts another cult, and wreaks havoc. If I keep it in the special collections, I can mitigate that problem to some extent. Would you prefer I leave it in the stacks and let you deal with the mess, inspector?”
“I was just asking,” Felipe grumbled, folding his arms.
“You were being flippant. I do not make these choices lightly.”
“I know,” he conceded when Turpin returned to his work. The head librarian could be wound a bit too tightly about a lotof things, but Felipe could imagine the kind of men that sort of philosophy would attract and how much trouble they could cause. Magical cults were nearly as bad as murder towns and often went hand-in-hand with them. “I’m surprised you don’t just get rid of it if it causes so much trouble.”
“I don’t believe in destroying or removing magical books I disagree with. I know some would take issue with that, but if we removed every suspect book, it would mean having no books on demons or necromancy,” Turpin said, giving him a pointed look over his shoulder, “and that knowledge can still be of use. No, I prefer keeping the books somewhere safe and allowing people to read them once they understand what they’re getting into. Context is important.”
Felipe nodded, letting the conversation lapse into silence as he watched Turpin continue to follow the magic through the book. His grandfather would have declared that a book of “dark magic” must be burnt without hesitation. Felipe knew his family would have killed any necromancers or demon summoners they came across and confiscated their books, but they never would have ended up in the pyre; they were too useful. They would have been locked away where only the Patrón or one of his uncles could use them for their own nefarious purposes. He had seen them many times in his grandfather’s study. The Galvan way had always been based in hypocrisy. Dangerous magic for them but no one else. Felipe’s first instinct was still to hide things away where people with bad intentions couldn’t get to them, but after years at the society, he had come to find no power was wholly bad and there were far too many people like Oliver just looking to understand themselves. Arsenic could be used to poison, but it was also used in paint. He had to trust that more people wanted to paint than poison.
As Turpin reached the last signature of the book, Oliver slipped back inside with a shiver. His cheeks and nose were redwith the cold, but his eyes were clear and his nose had stopped running. He walked along the perimeter of the room, giving Mr. Turpin’s magic a wide berth, and waited near the coffee pot for him to finish.
Catching Felipe’s eye, Oliver mouthed,Everything all right?At his nod, Oliver asked, “Was it a book curse, Mr. Turpin?”
“Yes, did I not say that? I nearly have it untangled. Give me another moment, and I should be able to remove it,” the librarian replied without looking up. Turning to the final page, Turpin twisted the magic around his hand and ripped it out as if pulling out a stubborn weed. The book flashed silver as did the magic wrapped around Turpin’s palm before it blackened and crumbled away like a dead vine. When the book appeared as inert as the copy from the library, Oliver stepped closer, his grey eyes wide.
“Is it gone?”
“Mostly.” Mopping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, Turpin added, “I removed what was attached to the book. If there’s any magic left on the curse recipient, it should fall apart as they decompose.”
Oliver and Felipe exchanged a disconcerted look behind Turpin’s back. Whatever was left on their dead man’s corpse couldn’t fall apart fast enough for Felipe’s liking.
“Can you tell how recently the curse was created?” Oliver asked softly.
