AQUARIUS

22

WHEN HETTY STRUCK the punching bag and it moved, it meant one of two things. Either she’d used magic to strike it, or she’d hit it hard enough to hurt herself.

In this case it was the latter​—​a broken hand that had her curled up on the kitchen floor, bottles and canisters scattered around her. The throbbing pain in her fingers moved to her head when Benjy crouched next to her. “Do you need help?”

“Go away,” Hetty growled.

“You don’t want that.” Benjy picked up a potion jar from the floor.

Hetty glared at him. “I do.”

Instead of leaving her alone to wallow in her mistakes and poor judgments, Benjy scooped her into his arms, so quickly she didn’t even get a chance to react. He carried her out of the kitchen, cheerfully ignoring Hetty’s continued grumblings. Instead of taking her to the study like she expected, he took her into the backyard.

The sun was out, but it was early enough in the morning that the heat was not as strong as it would be a few hours hence. Benjy’s sketchbook was on the bench, a pencil holding down a page with a rough design for a new funeral home sign. After setting her on the bench, Benjy sat on the other end, uncapped the potion jar, and took her injured right hand into his.

Gingerly he spread the creamy blue poultice across the broken ridge of her hand, smoothing both the cream and her hand out as he worked. The poultice was cold at first, but warmed up as it knitted together the fragile bones in her hand.

“If you want to hit something, sparring with me is the better idea,” Benjy said, massaging the poultice in small circles. “You won’t get hurt.”

“Just my pride,” Hetty groaned. “I still can’t knock you down without resorting to magic.”

“You should resort to magic first​—​that’s your best talent. Although, you aren’t completely terrible. You took down that fellow very easily with a bat.”

“That boy,” Hetty scoffed, even as she glowed with the compliment, “could have been taken down by Penelope just as easily. What I did was nothing special.”

“Your opinion, not mine.” The bit of a teasing smile he had faded as he asked: “Feel any better?”

Hetty pulled away from Benjy’s grasp, pretending to be focused on flexing her newly healed hand. She had said very little to him about her argument with Cora. Although he knew she was upset, he wasn’t going to press. Mainly because talking about Cora meant also talking about him and Jay. While the arguments were different, the root cause was eerily similar.

“I do. I feel much better. I’m starting to understand why you became interested in boxing.” She looked around the yard, remembering that the reason she had gone into the cellar in the first place was to do something about her restless energy. “Do you think Sy will show up soon? Penelope said she’d send him over with a wagon.”

Benjy grunted as he picked up his sketch pad. “I’m thinking I should have walked over this morning and got him myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I had a few distractions. Mostly trying to figure out when Mrs. Evans started the Magnolia Muses. I figure a year and three months ago.”

“Try further back than that. It might have even bloomed out of whatever work she was doing before with the Vigilance Society.” Hetty sat back on the bench, absently tapping her foot against the grass. “I can’t believe she never told me. I can understand Penelope not saying anything at first. She thought they were a singing group. But Cora. She knows all about my interest in magic.”

“But not magic rights.”

“I care very much about that!”

“On a personal level,” Benjy said, without a hint of judgment. “There have been other groups you could have taken part in that are less secretive than the Magnolias.”

Hetty squinted. “Did Darlene or Penelope say something to you about holding the E. W. Harper meeting here?”

“I’m not surprised, given the space here, that they’re interested in having you host. Plus, you’re their friend and likely to make good conversation.” Each word was carefully said so it could still be true even if it wasn’t all the truth. It was as impressive as it was annoying.

“Well, maybe I will reconsider it,” Hetty said loftily. “But not until after this case is settled.”

“And there’s much to settle. Do you agree that Adelaide Duval is our top suspect at the moment?”

Hetty nodded. A number of things had helped Adelaide rise to the top of that short list. All the events that happened at Fool’s Moon the previous night. The dead man’s testimony of a strange woman lurking around. Even how Adelaide disappeared into her artist’s studio the same day her brother was found dead. All these facts were circumstantial, but compared to the only other real suspect​—​her cousin Horace​—​she was the more likely candidate. Horace Duval’s main crime was being odious enough to bring a medium into the family home hours after his cousin’s body was discovered just to ask questions of inheritance. Adelaide had a closer relationship to Raimond and Valentine, possible knowledge of tunnels, and ample opportunity to kill her brother slowly through poison.

It all made sense.

But it had made just as much sense that Beatty Hose was the cause of Raimond Duval’s death.

“It doesn’t quite feel right to me,” Hetty said. “It’s a bit too perfect.”

Their crows had fluttered down to the ground before them, forming a semicircle, looking up at Hetty rather impatiently. They weren’t alone, either​—​they were joined by other crows that were either friends or extended members of the family. Hetty made to get up, but Benjy pulled out a small bag of seeds. He held it so Hetty could reach inside. She sprinkled some seeds onto the ground, and almost immediately the birds began to feast.

“She is a bit too perfect,” Benjy agreed. “If Raimond Duval was poisoned instead of stabbed, I would be convinced. Poison is a woman’s weapon.”

Hetty knocked him in the arm. “That’s just leaping to conclusions! He’s an old man, and if he wasn’t expecting it, Adelaide could have easily stabbed him.”

“If our theory that the wrong Duval was killed first is true, then why such an impersonal death for Valentine? And what of Roberts? I thought at first he might be dead because he was an eyewitness. But you remember how the librarian at Still-Bowers asked me to inquire about an overdue book?”

“Yes, but surely that can wait​—​ No, it can’t be.” Hetty gasped.

“Yes,” Benjy said rather grimly. “She gave me the address for Johnathon Roberts.”

“So whoever killed him was looking for the spellbook?”

“Or something else. Mrs. Evans is convinced the spellbook is irrelevant to the case. While I disagree with much she said last night, on this I must begrudgingly agree. The spellbook doesn’t matter with the Duvals. It’s a detail, but only a small one.”

They sat in silence as the crows ate.

Drawing the links between Valentine’s and Raimond’s deaths was never going to be easy, but Hetty had thought there would be fewer complications than this.

“I think I’ll pay Olmstead a visit this morning,” Hetty said. “Both Duvals taught there. It’s one of their connections that we haven’t given much attention to. It’s not a terrible idea,” she added after spotting Benjy’s frown.

“I spoke to his students when we first looked at Raimond’s death. Nothing they said back then stood out.”

“George’s been teaching there these past few weeks. He might have stumbled across something.”

“Chances are not high either way,” Benjy muttered. “It’s not a good use of time.”

Hetty’s gaze fell to the shack, their sign lying abandoned against it. The wooden sign looked even worse than before, and not just because it had a long scrape through the painted words.

“Better use than usual,” Hetty said. “I have to meet Adelaide Duval at Elmhurst to talk about her brother’s funeral. Unless you don’t think I should go, given she’s now under suspicion.”

“No, keep the appointment. She’ll know something is wrong if you don’t. Just be careful.”

“I’ll try to be,” Hetty said.

“Before you meet with her, can you go to the bookshop and check in with Sy? If he’s there, tell him I’m headed to Fool’s Moon.”

Although it was a little strange to not start her day with funeral home business, Hetty had to admit it was a relief to have a morning without having to worry about clients​—​or the lack thereof.

Hetty rode her bicycle over to the bookshop. Along the way, she hoped to cross paths with Sy on his way to Juniper Street, but she arrived at the shop without seeing him.

Leaving her bicycle outside, she headed into the shop, and found Sy in the middle of arguing with Rosie over a stack of books.

The siblings were shouting at each other at such a volume that neither noticed Hetty until she cleared her throat.

“I see you’re busy,” she said.

“Hardly.” Sy glared at his little sister. “This one is making a mess of my shop!”

“It was already a mess, with all the new books you ordered coming in on top of all the old books we still have to sort,” Rosie declared. “I was trying to make things better.”

“All you’re doing is creating chaos!”

“What’s with all this?” Hetty pointed at one of the open boxes. As expected, inside was a jumble of books, but they had weathered covers and split spines.

“Books we can’t sell. They’re from a private collection,” Sy said, fixing his sister with another glare. “I only took them on because I got them sight unseen. I can’t return them, either​—​I got them from Mr. Duval.”

Hetty stopped reaching for the closest book. “Duval? Which one?”

“Valentine,” Sy said, with little concern. “When Rosie graduated, we got to talking after the commencement. I told him I was looking for work and he told me he needed someone to run this shop.”

So that was how Sy got the job at this shop.

“I forgot you were at Olmstead,” Hetty said to Rosie. “You knew Valentine Duval? What about his father?”

Rosie nodded. “A bit. Mr. Raimond taught alchemistry, which I didn’t need to graduate, so I never had a class with him. But Mr. Valentine taught the mathematics course, which was my favorite class. He was always very good at allowing me to make up the exams I missed when I was sick. I paid him a visit recently. I’d been helping him try to solve the Clarke Cipher.”

“Isn’t it the other way around?” Sy grumbled.

“How recent was your visit?” Hetty asked. Because there was no easy way to say it, Hetty added rather bluntly, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Valentine Duval is dead.”

Rosie didn’t sway, but it was a near thing as the shock settled on her. Her brother came over, swinging an arm around her shoulder, squeezing slightly.

“Dead?” Rosie asked. “How? When? We just saw him!”

“He came around to talk business and brought his father’s books over,” Sy added.

“He was so very sad about it,” Rosie said.

“—​a great deal of books, but he looked well​—”

“—​so very sad, we were going to meet later​—”

“—​we talked about​—”

Quickly the siblings were talking over each other. At first Hetty could follow, but soon enough their voices ran into each other’s and not a word could be pulled out of the tangle.

Eventually Hetty clapped her hands. “Quiet!”

The siblings stopped talking.

“You visited Valentine Duval about the cipher?” Hetty asked Rosie.

“He hadn’t solved it. But he was working very hard. He was happy to have help, said it was more difficult than he had thought at first.”

Hetty turned to Sy. “All these books belonged to Raimond Duval?”

“Yes, but we don’t have the space to keep them,” Rosie added. “Do you want them?”

“I’ll have to take a look.” Then, remembering why she had come here in the first place, she added, “You should ask Benjy what he thinks when you meet him at Fool’s Moon.”

Embarrassment flooded Sy’s face. “I forgot all about meeting him. I’ll head out right away!”

“Don’t forget to bring that box back to Clarabelle! She won’t let you get the wagon again if you don’t,” Rosie called as her brother ran out.

Sy spun on his heel, smoothly turning without losing his stride.

He disappeared into the tiny apartment, leaving Hetty and Rosie alone in the shop.

“I think my brother agrees to things before realizing how much work it might involve,” Rosie grumbled. “It’s mostly why I’m helping him. He needs me.”

Hetty pointed to the box before her. “Are these all the books Valentine brought?”

“That’s just a few of them. I stuck the rest on a bookshelf in the back.”

“There’s that many? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”

If the main shop was a mess, the back room was even more so, where instead of empty shelves, crates of books were everywhere, like great stacked piles of coins. The arrangement made it something like a hedge maze, though Hetty needed no ball of yarn to make her way through. It was a straight path to a far wall with a bookcase crammed between towers of boxes. Even more boxes were under the table next to it. On the table was a small printing press, rust spotting its frame, that looked to be just the right size to print small books or pamphlets.

Hetty ran her fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf. They had a well-loved quality to them with their cracked spines and peeling titles. As she stood before them, there was a peculiar smell, something perfumy that was familiar, but the name wouldn’t come to her lips.

More importantly, no magic stirred no matter what book she touched. Not even when she pulled a book off the shelf.

How disappointing.

Hearing that Valentine had brought these books here with such haste, she’d thought it might have been for safekeeping. That someone wanted his father’s books and he’d needed to hide them. But if no magic was present in them, perhaps she was wrong. Maybe Valentine simply brought the books here to get rid of them.

While most of the books had their titles printed on the spine, Hetty noticed one did not. She pulled it down off the shelf and opened it. Inside she was pleasantly surprised to see the handwritten lines:

 

Some Thoughts on Celestial Magics and Its Uses
by Raimond C. Duval

 

That was enough to encourage her to start reading. She knew no one who studied Celestial magic. Not like this. It was clear, even from the first few pages, that Raimond approached the history, the rise, and the practice in a way Hetty had never seen before. When Hetty thought of studying magic, she pictured trying out spells with Benjy. Dazzling her friends with the different sigils she used for spells, and carefully weaving star sigils into her stitches. She never thought too hard about what she was doing.

The last few pages talked about the applications of magic, and how music and magic in harmony became what he termed “the unknowable knowns of Celestial magic.”

She smiled, thinking of last night at the Fool’s Moon. Maybe it wasn’t too unknowable after all.

A door creaked open.

Hetty looked up, expecting to see Rosie, who would be perhaps wondering if Hetty had gotten lost in the maze of books. But the door opening was the door that led outside.

And the person stepping into the back room was a stranger.

Hetty tapped the band at her neck, drawing on an invisibility spell, just as the woman shut the door behind her.

Her face was too angular to be called pretty, and it was a tad stern. Her russet-brown dress was too plain to tell Hetty who made it, but it was good quality, with a very practical tailored cut that allowed an ease of movement.

The stranger looked around the room, and walked toward the bookshelf, not seeming to notice Hetty at all.

Still gripping the book on magical theory, Hetty watched as the woman pulled and pushed aside books along the shelf. Thieves were always interesting people, Hetty found, because what they targeted spoke about their priorities.

In this case it was how the woman searched the bookshelf, desperately and frantically. She searched from top to bottom, moving and shifting books around. She even bent down to the bottom shelf and touched the tightly packed books there.

“Where is it?” the woman whispered. “Is it up there, down here . . . or in your hands?”

She stood up then, pointing a pistol at Hetty.

The woman stood in a relaxed stance, her finger resting on the trigger, and her eyes locked on Hetty.

The woman wouldn’t shoot. Not yet.

This was a warning.

The only warning Hetty was likely to get.

Hetty eyed the weapon and its owner.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Hetty advised.

“Foolish?” The woman’s hand shifted on the pistol, but her eyes never moved from Hetty. “Like what, shoot you?”

“Attempt to.”

Hetty snapped her fingers.

Like a tree with roosting crows stirred awake, the books on the shelf launched themselves at the imprudent woman.

The gun fired.

It missed Hetty by a wide margin, striking the ceiling.

Hetty didn’t waste a moment more. She elbowed the woman and knocked her into the wall.

The pistol fell to the ground. Hetty kicked it out of the way.

The stranger hissed and drew Canis Minor along the nearest crate. The simple spell exploded in Hetty’s face, more of an idea than a tightly woven spell, but it did the trick.

Hetty jumped out of the way and the stranger slipped past her.

“Hetty!” Rosie’s voice sailed over the crates. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hetty called as she drew the Leo star sigil in the air next to her. “There’s a thief in here!”

Hetty launched the star-speckled lion at the stranger, but the woman lunged out of the way just in time. The spell charged through the towering crates. They swayed, but didn’t fall.

Using that moment of distraction, the woman darted toward Hetty, wildly grabbing for the book in her hand.

Without time for magic, Hetty switched tactics. She yanked one of her hairpins out and jammed it into the woman’s arm.

The stranger didn’t howl or yell. She grunted and swung out her leg, hooking her foot around Hetty’s. A sharp tug knocked Hetty off-balance, but she didn’t fall. Landing on her other foot, Hetty spun around and kicked the stranger in the chest. The kick wasn’t a powerful blow, but it knocked the woman back far enough.

“You’re a very bad thief, you know?” Hetty said, bracing for another attack.

The woman smirked. “Only because I didn’t expect the Sparrow to be here.”

Before Hetty could react, a potion bottle flew over the crates. It crashed onto the floor between them. Recognizing the potion in question, Hetty twirled her fingers around, drawing up a simple wind spell to send the resulting fumes flowing at the woman instead.

But Hetty underestimated the stranger.

The crates rattled suddenly as the woman, impossibly, jumped up on top of them. With a handkerchief placed over her face, she ran along the top, sending books flying as she headed for the back door. Once she got close, the stranger jumped off, kicking the door off its hinges on her way out.

Hetty followed, but came to a sliding halt as a lash of magic sparked in the air to her side. Hetty jumped, half spinning to get out of the way.

“Watch it!” Hetty yelled. “You almost hit me!”

Sy stopped in the narrow corridor, and Rosie bumped into his back.

“Sorry!” Sy sputtered as his sister peered around him.

“It’s okay.” Hetty sprang for the door.

The thief was long gone now, with only a scattering of trash showing the aftermath of her departure. “I should have stopped her when I had the chance. But I wanted to see what she was here to steal.” Hetty turned to Sy. “The thief went directly to the bookshelf. Have you made a list of the books?”

Sy shook his head. “No, not yet.”

“Make it. Or better yet, bring them all to Juniper Street. This thief came here for a reason, and it must be in one of these books!”