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“Are you trying to hide that?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Just seems to me it’s better that people don’t know when you have one of these books.”
She nodded. “Lots of people arriving. The auction’s gonna start at midnight.”
He nodded.
“What are you doing with the book?” she asked.
“Trying to learn how to use it,” he admitted. “Can’t seem to get it, though.”
“I think Cassie used the Book of Doors almost immediately,” Izzy said. “Like, without even trying.”
“Huh,” Lund said, sounding disappointed.
“Why do you want to do illusions?”
Lund thought about the question for a moment, then answered, “Why wouldn’t I?”
Izzy thought that was a good answer. “Can I try?”
Lund shrugged. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
As he wandered away Izzy lifted the book gently, feeling the texture of the leather, the smoothness of the thin veins of gold. It felt slightlywarm to her, like it had been sitting on a radiator before she’d picked it up. The book was a beautiful thing, black and gold and luxurious. It looked like it had been produced by Fabergé, or some other high-end jeweler famous for intricate detail with precious metals. Izzy opened the book and saw sketches in black ink, pages of scribbles. The book felt odd in her hand, heavier than she expected it to be. She closed the book and turned it over, inspecting the cover as if she might find something to explain the weight. As she was doing that Lund returned from the bathroom, and almost simultaneously the door to the hall opened suddenly.
Izzy slipped the Book of Illusion into her hip pocket, out of sight, as one of the Bookseller’s security team, bulky and solid in his black clothes, peered in at them both with a serious face.
“The Bookseller has requested that you join her,” he said. “Do you have the item?”
Lund pulled the Book of Pain from his pocket. Izzy avoided looking at it.
“Good,” the security man said. “Let’s go. The auction is about to start.”
The Ballroom at the Macintosh Hotel
The ballroom at the Macintosh Hotel was one of Lottie’s favorite places. It was a grand square space with a giant art deco chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling, like someone had captured the sun in a glass wedding cake. Tall rectangular mirrors were lined along the wall, interspersed with doors leading to the toilets or the kitchens or back offices, and wall-mounted lamps. The carpet around the edges of the room looked like a wiring diagram, with black and white lines and geometric patterns, and in the center of the room was a large square dance floor, the wood now scuffed and warped after years of neglect. It was still an impressive space—Lottie had loved it from the moment she’d bought the hotel—and she could easily imagine it as it had been a hundred years in the past, with rich white people in stiff suits and elegant dresses, swirling around the dance floor in a haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol, a jazz band in the corner, double bass notes punching the air rhythmically.
The ballroom was faded now, with cracked plaster and water damage to the ceiling in one corner, but it still had atmosphere; it still conveyed grandeur and elegance, even in its disheveled state.
As Lottie walked through the large double doors from the hotel lobby, her customers, groups of people and individuals scattered around the space, turned to watch. For a moment she felt like the bride arriving for the first dance, but she pushed the childish fantasy away and focusedon acknowledging everyone she thought mattered, throwing a glance or a nod at those who were dangerous or rich or both. Normally she was more confident at the auctions. Normally she had the Book of Safety. This time she would have to brazen it out, at least until Cassie arrived.
Ifshe arrived, Lottie told herself.
Lottie didn’t think Cassie would leave her friend, but she hadn’t gotten to where she was in life by always thinking the best of people.
At the far end of the ballroom, on a raised platform where the wedding party would sit, or the band might play during dances, a lectern had been placed. Lottie stepped up and stood behind it, gazing down on the crowd of people. She saw impatience, calculation, outright hostility, and she ignored it all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Welcome to this auction.”
“Enough of this circus,” Okoro shouted from the left side of the room. “You have taken my book from me, and you have poked and prodded me. How much of this indignity must I stand?”
Lottie stared at the man without expression. She said nothing. She was scared of Okoro, but she firmly believed that dealing with people like him was just like training a dog. You had to make sure it knew who was in charge, even if it could bite your head off.
“I didn’t force you to come, Mr. Okoro,” she said evenly. “You are free to leave.” She raised a hand and gestured toward the door at the back of the room. “We will wait until you have departed.”
It was a risky strategy, trying to embarrass him into submission, but Lottie knew two things. First, she knew that Okoro really wanted the Book of Pain. She recognized the hunger in his expression. And second, she knew that when she had bought the Macintosh Hotel she had made some modifications to the structure of the building. The mirror on the wall immediately behind Lottie was a door to a panic room which in turn led to a secret corridor and an exit on the rear of the building. If anything happened that the pair of security men who were in the ballroom with her couldn’t handle, Lottie only had to retreat three steps through the mirror, and she would be safe. She would have preferred to have been carrying the Book of Safety, but even without it she felt she was in control. Even Okoro couldn’t reach her before she could flee.
“No?” she asked Okoro. The man crossed his arms and glared at her. “I would very much like you to stay with us, Mr. Okoro,” she said, throwing him a bone of respect. “The more the merrier, right?”
