CENTAUR

18

DESPITE THEIR GREAT HOPES, their search turned up very little. The tunnels that Darlene had marked were there​—​it’s just that they weren’t useful. Two were collapsed and closed off. One was around a very busy corner. And the last one they tried presented a number of issues that neither felt like dealing with.

“I feared this might happen,” Benjy said as they turned away from the Italian bakery, where the baker glared at them as she put out the day-old bread for sale. The map marked the tunnel as being inside the building, and it was clear they weren’t going to get inside. “It’s been several years. It’s no wonder a few things are wrong.”

“Are you saying Darlene’s memory is bad?” Hetty asked.

Benjy sighed. “This is the problem with biases. It makes you overlook more important factors.”

“Such as?”

“I mean,” Benjy said, backing away as if he realized the carelessness of his words, “that the Vigilance Society worked like a puzzle. What we knew, what Darlene knew, and even what Thomas knew at times were all different, but when we came together we got the full picture. The tunnels are no different.”

“So we are no better than where we started?” Hetty asked.

“No, we’re better. We have a list now to check odd things against.”

“I suppose that is a relief.”

“Shall we try for one tunnel while we’re in this part of town?”

Hetty studied the map, but instead of a tunnel she noticed something else they were close to.

“What do you think of heading over to Race Street instead?”

Though it was only a few blocks away, the moment they crossed over to Race Street, it was like arriving in a different city entirely. The street brimmed with an energy that was missing in the nearby neighborhoods: warm conversation drifting from buildings, laughter at street corners from people leaving work, and wafting spices that spoke of the world beyond Philadelphia. Yet there were many familiar sights. People haggled with shopkeepers as they made their purchases for dinner. Children ran around in the midst of some game. Abandoned newspapers in a variety of languages were posted on a wall for all to read. And on the fringes an unscrupulous vendor hawked wares of dubious quality.

This vendor in question was a German man who stacked on his cart a vast array of items, although if they were magical Hetty and Benjy weren’t about to find out.

“He looks ready to spit on us,” Hetty said to Benjy as they walked right past the vendor.

“Spit out a hex, you mean,” Benjy said. He grinned right at the man.

The vendor sneered and jerked his cart in the opposite direction.

“I don’t think that’s the person Miss Wong mentioned. The man had illegal goods, but nothing of particular magical quality.”

“Or nothing he would sell to us.”

“Don’t be so sure. Green is one color no one has trouble with.”

The restaurant that Evie’s brother owned was mostly empty at this hour. There were a few diners, quietly eating at their tables, and in a corner was a trio of men arguing over cards. The same three men were always there whenever Hetty and Benjy visited. As usual, the trio didn’t notice them, as they were too busy insulting each other in Cantonese.

Evie, sitting in a corner doodling on a napkin, noticed them right away, and rose to greet them.

“I was just thinking I should call on you again,” Evie said. “I couldn’t get copies of the spellbook, but there is something else I wanted to talk about.”

“Then we shall talk,” Hetty said.

Evie led them to a table tucked into the back corner. With a flick of her hand, she lit the candle in the center. “The usual? Or today’s special?”

Hetty glanced at Benjy. He shrugged.

“You choose,” Hetty said. “But make sure it’s enough for three.”

Evie disappeared into the kitchen, and in no time at all returned with a teapot and a collection of steaming baskets stuffed with an assortment of dumplings and steamed buns.

Benjy asked for the proper names of everything, and Evie repeated them in Cantonese as she pointed out each one, describing the either sweet or savory flavors tucked inside. Some were things Hetty had had on previous visits, but the dim sum, as Evie called it, contained many things Hetty had never tasted before.

As they ate, Evie mentioned a few more tidbits of news she thought worthy of their attention. “There’s been a number of thefts going around,” she said. “Uncle Bobby’s apartment was the last. Nearly every magical item he owned, except his pendulum and bells, was stolen. After what happened to his shop in Sacramento, any theft has him spooked. The old store had seen many smaller break-ins before it was utterly destroyed. He’s convinced history will repeat itself.”

“I don’t think this is the case.” Using her chopsticks, Hetty pulled the basket with the last sweet bun toward her before Benjy could grab it. “If a thief took only the magical items and nothing else, that’s all they were looking for.”

Hetty waved the bun at Benjy before popping it into her mouth. Benjy made a face and turned to one of the side dishes.

“Is your uncle the only person dabbling with Sorcery around here?” Benjy asked.

“That I know of,” Evie said. “But if they were after magic, why not take his pendulum?” As she spoke, Evie pulled out her own. An antique silver chain, it was weighed down by a sapphire the size of an acorn cut specifically to amplify and focus her magic. There were symbols engraved on the band holding the gemstone. Used for what Evie called the Five Pathways, this brand of magic manipulated the elements of the world. A novice could light candles and make windows rattle. But an expert could blend the elements together to craft illusions of both sight and sound. This magic had been a great help during the laundry case, but despite Hetty’s curiosity, Evie had carefully avoided explaining exactly how it worked.

“The thief clearly doesn’t care about your magical traditions,” Benjy said.

“Or,” Hetty pointed out, “whatever your uncle had, he wasn’t supposed to have it in the first place.”

“The spellbook!” Evie cried.

Hetty nodded. “That would be my guess.”

Benjy placed his chopsticks down next to his empty bowl. “Which magical items were taken?”

Evie listed a few magical herbs, but most of what she mentioned were tools​—​candles, flasks, even a small hand mirror.

“That wasn’t even enchanted. But these thefts are pushing my brother to return to Guangdong, despite protests from me and my sister.” She looked down at her teacup, her fingers tapping along the delicate porcelain. “It’s mostly why I’m telling you about this. I’m just getting to like Philadelphia. I don’t want to move again.”

“When we find the root of the thefts, that’ll put the end to that worry. Have thefts only been here?” Hetty asked.

The younger woman shook her head. “A Greek bakery. A stationery shop. A tavern on the docks. A glassmaker’s shop.”

“Where exactly?” Benjy pressed.

Evie named streets and locations that all fell along places with notable immigrant populations: Greeks, Germans, Italians, Russians, and even the Irish.

“These are all places where a report of theft will pass unnoticed,” Hetty said. “What’s the latest one you heard about?”

“A wand shop,” Evie supplied. “The owner is Jewish. He comes here regularly with his son. I heard them talking about the theft, and concerns about telling the police. Apparently there are fines when wands go missing.”

Despite her distaste for Sorcery, Hetty found her interest piqued at hearing about stolen wands. If there was a premium magical item to be sold in the back alleys it would be wands. For the skill in making them, as well as the law forbidding someone like her from buying them in a proper shop, made wands a desirable good.

“Which shop?”

“I’ll give you the address.”

The wand shop was on Washington Avenue, which wasn’t far. But from the clipped words Benjy gave as they said goodbye to Evie, she knew he wasn’t keen on going.

“I don’t plan to go in,” Hetty said as they headed south. “I just want to pass by.”

“It’s enough to know about the thefts. There are other places we should look at.”

Hetty paused, recognizing that he was trying to sway her mind, and trying very hard at that.

“What sort of place?” Hetty asked.

“Still-Bowers.”

The Still-Bowers Library Company was one of the many places Benjy frequently sniffed around for books. Founded way back in 1833, it started as a private collection with a membership fee required for access. A fee that was well worth it, since the collection housed the few rare magical artifacts in the city, a rather robust seed library of magical herbs, and oral histories from Len­ape elders who wanted to preserve their tribe’s history of magical practices.

“I wanted to check if they knew anything about the false spellbook,” Benjy continued.

“You just want to go to the library,” Hetty accused. But she couldn’t blame him. This thing with the spellbook was becoming more and more interesting as new information arose. And more pressing, too. While Valentine’s death was sudden and alarming, it didn’t have the sweeping reach this spellbook might.

“The librarian there might know enough to help us, and we can lay one question to bed while we focus on the Duval case,” Benjy said, with enough confidence that Hetty decided this slight detour wouldn’t be so terrible.

Housed in a building in great need of repair, Still-Bowers didn’t look remarkable. Once the home of a generous donor and patron, after her passing the library’s collections moved here from its original quarters. It still felt too small to Hetty as she followed her husband. Chairs and tables were squashed together in the main room, shoved between heavy bookcases.

A handful of people were settled in plush armchairs or seated at a table. Nearly all looked in Hetty and Benjy’s direction, as if they were a curiosity of sorts. But the onlookers turned back to a person who was leading a discussion on something to do with gemstones.

Benjy of course didn’t notice. Drawn as he always was by the siren call of new books, Benjy left Hetty on her lonesome to scour a shelf under the hand-painted sign labeling new acquisitions.

Not wanting to wait, Hetty wandered through the nearest shelf, idly letting her eyes slide along the dusty books in front of her. She never had much luck with books, but maybe there was something here that could be useful.

“Can I help you?”

The whisper near Hetty’s ear was like a shout in the quiet room. It took an effort not to jump, and an even greater one to not whirl around at the speaker. Hetty managed a slow turn in the end and came face-to-face with a dainty woman with gray-streaked hair and brown skin the color of parchment.

“I’m here with my husband.” Hetty looked around for Benjy, who of course was out of sight. “He’s looking for a book.”

The librarian peered at Hetty over her small wire-framed glasses, sternly frowning. “I’m not asking about him. I’m curious about you. What interests you?”

Taken aback at the expectantly polite words, Hetty blurted out: “Astronomy.”

The librarian nodded. “We have quite a good assortment of titles on that subject. Are you more interested in star charts or the journals of astronomers?”

Before she knew it, Hetty was steered up a short set of stairs that led into a room that, while still quiet, did not seem to begrudge a small amount of noise.

“There are a few writings from travelers. Some very old and out of date. Our collection is mostly donations, but generous patrons provided funding so we can make our own purchases. I’ll need to check the records. We limit the number of books households can have out on loan.” She looked on expectantly at Hetty.

“Rhodes,” Hetty said. “I’m​—”

“Henrietta.” A true smile filled the librarian’s face. “I should have known the moment you mentioned astronomy! Benjamin always makes an excuse to talk about his wife and her interest with the mysteries of the stars. And quite a few other stories, too. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long while. How do you like the telescope? He found it in the archives and kept complaining about it collecting dust when it could be put to better use, until I gave it to him to shut him up.”

The telescope currently perched on their rooftop had been a gift. It appeared with little fanfare last month, hidden in her wardrobe with a bow tied around it. Hetty could tell it was old, with owls and the phases of the moon engraved along the gold tube. Although it looked very expensive, Hetty had been too delighted to ask for any more details. To hear the full story now only increased her fondness for the thoughtful gift.

“I like it very much,” Hetty said. “It came from this library?”

“From the donations we got a long time ago.” The librarian went to a shelf and started to pull out a series of books. “You should find these interesting.”

“These are very nice,” Hetty said, glancing at the covers. “But there is one thing I’m particularly interested in: magic. I wasn’t sure if you had anything related, Celestial or otherwise.”

For a moment Hetty thought she’d miscalculated. Silence stretched for several long moments without seeming to come near an end.

But then the librarian reached into her pocket and drew out a small brass key.

“I think you’ll be interested in this particular collection.”

The key unlocked a small circular room. Bookshelves lined every wall, even the one with the door​—​a shorter shelf just started above the door frame. A ladder was hooked onto the bookshelves with wheels to allow it to move as needed. A thick rug covered the entire floor, and there was a small round table in the center surrounded by a few comfortable armchairs. The only flaw Hetty could see in the room was that there were no windows​—​the only light source came from a large glass orb flickering with magic overhead.

“We are the only Negro library on the East Coast with books about magic. And the rarest of materials are contained here,” the librarian declared happily.

“Even spellbooks about Sorcery?”

The librarian pointed to a shelf at eye level. “Are you looking for the origins with the Greeks, what came out of the Crusades, or how Darwin’s theories about the human capacity for magic made a lot of white folk angry? There are of course some spellbooks,” she continued, “mostly school primers and elementary lessons. Though there are some battered copies that were liberated when freedom came. People train from them, but they’re hardly successful.”

“They tell you that?”

“I watch them. The spellbooks can’t leave the grounds​—​there is a stamp on the inside of the cover to ensure that. There’s a room on this floor where we allow the interested to practice. If they are going to learn, it needs to be in a safe and controlled environment.”

“Why would anyone want to learn Sorcery?”

“I don’t ask,” the librarian said. “I’m here to provide knowledge and answer questions best I can.”

“Do you also acquire the books?”

“Not by myself.” The librarian’s open curiosity seemed to intensify as she studied Hetty. “What book are you really looking for?”

“A spellbook about Celestial magic.”

Whatever the librarian had been expecting, it was not that. “Where would you have heard of such a thing?”

Hetty let her fingers trail along a bookshelf. “A friend who I trust has seen it. It’s fake, and it’s meant to be propaganda. The spells inside show Celestial magic in the worst light.”

“Why do you think we would have such a copy here?”

“Because you know where all the books are, Mrs. Saunders.” Benjy stepped into the room. Surprisingly, he did not carry any books with him, although his eyes did wander to the shelves behind Hetty.

“You are attempting to flatter me,” the librarian protested, but didn’t hide her smile. “I might not know where that book is, but I have an idea of who might. I know someone else who has a collection to rival this.” She waved a hand at the shelves behind them. “But it’s in an odd sort of place.”

“We’ve been to a great many odd places,” Hetty assured her. “This will not be a problem.”

“Then you will be fine going to Fool’s Moon?” the librarian asked.

Recognizing that name, Hetty could only stare at the librarian, unable to imagine the prim old woman seated at a table in the smoky and magic-filled saloon below Eighth Street.

“We’ll be more than fine,” Benjy said. “Who do we talk to there?”

“I only have the name, Lou Notts. The leader of the Magnolia Muses.”

“That name is plenty,” Benjy said, far too enthusiastically. Enough that Hetty was left pondering if she should have recognized the name as well. “Thank you, we’ll be heading out.”

“No books today?” the librarian teased.

“Not today. I was looking for books on ciphers, but they all have been lent out.”

“Of course they have!” the librarian said gleefully. “Out for weeks! That little pamphlet about the Clarke Cipher has been quite good for us here! Although, there are a few books that should have been returned by now. I’m going to have to place another one of my stamps in them. I’ve tried reaching out to the person who has them. But maybe you’ll have better luck. Let me get you their address, and the next three books you borrow, I won’t ask for their speedy return.”

She bustled out of the room before Benjy could even agree. But she probably didn’t need to wait for that. The smile on Benjy’s face was all the answer required.

“You’ve helped her before?” Hetty asked, unsurprised that Benjy would make himself quite useful to any place with books around.

“Knocked on a few doors, threatened a few people,” he admitted. “It’s becoming less often since the people are better at returning books.”

Instead of waiting for the librarian to return, they went back downstairs to a large desk on the main floor. With great relish, the librarian handed Benjy a card.

“You don’t have to take care of it right away, but any help you can provide will be appreciated.”

Benjy tucked the card away, and he and Hetty departed, leaving behind the library and all the secrets yet to be found.

“Shall we go to this saloon?” Hetty asked.

“It’s not open at this hour.”

“When has that stopped us before? Unless you’d rather go shake down a poor man for books.”

“He lives a fair distance away. But it’s not urgent. The books are just on linguistics.”

“You should go take care of it. I think the tip we got about the spellbook is the best we’ve had so far. Which is impressive, given the hundred tiny things we’ve been focused on.”

“It likely has nothing to do with either Duval.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hetty said. “This spellbook is trouble.”

“Which makes me wonder what sort of people might have the book.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Hetty shrugged. “As long as we get our hands on it, we can figure out where it came from.”

“We already know where. It fits a pattern of previous behavior.” He stopped. “Beatty Hose.”

“You think they’re behind it?” Hetty asked. “I know they’ve done nasty things, but making a false spellbook is a bit​—”

Benjy shushed her.

At the far end of the street was a white man wearing a bowler hat. His beard was neatly trimmed and his nose was squashed as if an elbow had rammed into it in the past. Although dressed shabbily, he wore his clothes rather proudly, and people moved away as he walked, as if he were visiting royalty.

“That’s the alderman. Ed Anderson,” Benjy whispered. “The man who tried to kick me out of line in last year’s election.”

Tried was scarcely an apt word.

Anderson’s attempt ended with him lying on the ground with a bruise starting to blossom on his face. With a small riot going in the Fourth Ward around that time, the police weren’t on hand to do much of anything. But Anderson had laughed it off, even offering to shake Benjy’s hand, saying it was an honor to meet the “bravest Negro in the city.” The words were outwardly polite, but that man’s eyes had held a chill in them that promised nothing but future trouble. Which was especially true, since the alderman practically ran Beatty Hose, and when he wasn’t messing about with fires, he was doing his part in suppressing the vote.

“What’s he doing here?” Hetty said.

“Wrong question,” Benjy replied softly.

Hetty didn’t even have a chance to ask a better one, because stepping into view at that very moment was Nathan Payne.