Page 107 of Fresh Old Bounties

“You’re in her…dark book.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

The apparent confusion in his voice was making me second guess myself again. Had Bagley given me his name knowing full well he wasn’t involved to get me into trouble?

Ian and I had agreed on the possibility, but Bagley wouldn’t simply drop random people’s names. She knew as well as I did that if the wrong person learned about the shop’s dark magic side, the Council would sweep in and destroy the building, and then she’d really be screwed with no place to haunt, no chance to regain a body.

No, I was right to press Crane. He was involved in the dark side of Olmeda somehow.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” I said. “I have the proof, and I will use the information unless you let us in for a talk.”

Silence fell again, stretching. Had he gone for the shotgun?

I knocked on the door again. “Mr. Crane? Don’t make me start counting down.”

No response. I eyed the handle of the door, wondering if he was still using his air magic to keep the door closed and if I should use the hem of my jacket before touching it, so I didn’t leave fingerprints. Before I could decide, a loud yelp and a series of muffled noises came from the back of the house.

Trotting, I made my way around the corner and to the back to find Crane stuck halfway across a window into the back deck with Ian blocking his way, arms crossed and his best blank, stony expression on his face.

“Ah,” I said, approaching, “you do know about Bagley’s dark book.”

“I’m escaping you two lunatics! What are you doing?” he suddenly demanded, focusing on me.

I took a photo of the scene with my phone. “For the record.”

He made a grab for my phone, which was ridiculous because I was nowhere near him, but then I remembered his air magic and I gripped the device firmly.

“Delete that right now!” he demanded.

“We can do this two ways, Mr. Crane—go back inside like civilized paranormals, or talk while you hang out of your window like a chicken trying to flee the coop.”

His face reddened. With a last glare, he went back inside the house with considerable grace, considering he’d looked like stuck poultry.

Air magic could do wonders. It made me a little envious.

“Well?” he snapped. “Get in or get off my property.”

I pointed at the back door. “What about…”

But Ian was already slipping through the window. Maybe the door was alarmed in more ways than one. I followed and slipped inside a sunny kitchen. There was even a small step resting right under the sill, which told me this was Crane’s usual way of reaching his deck.

Bizarre.

Crane rounded on us, still flushed and emanating waves of anger.

“What do you want to know?”

“Did you call me earlier about selling the spellbook?”

His stance changed in the blink of an eye. The outraged, angry man disappeared, and a familiar cunning, sharp-gazed man with dollar signs in his eyes took his place.

Bingo.

“No,” he said. “But I know who might have.”

“You’re lying. It was you.”

He dragged a chair from the small kitchen table on the side and sat on it, crossing his arms and perfectly at ease with leaving us the higher ground. As a man on the shorter side, he must be used to being towered over and didn’t let it affect his superior attitude.

---