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He reached the street where Hali’s shop was nestled, the sign creaking in the night breeze. Folio & Fancy: Purveyor of Books and Rare Tomes. The windows were dark, the shutters closed, and a pang of sorrow lanced through him. He had never meant to put her in harm’s way. But the Obsidian Circle would stop at nothing to achieve their goals, and he feared that the damage had already been done.
When he reached the door, however, he found it unlocked, the wards that Hali had set in place for him conspicuously absent. He pushed the door open, the familiar scent of old books and candle wax and something indefinably Hali filling his senses, and stepped inside.
The shop was in disarray, books and papers scattered everywhere, and he felt a surge of panic. “Hali?” he called, his voice echoing in the stillness. “Hali, where are you?”
He rounded the counter and found her in the stacks, her eyes wide with panic. “Osric,” she said, her voice a strangled whisper. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
She rose to her feet, brushing a lock of curly hair from her face, and he saw the tear tracks on her cheeks. His heart ached at the sight, at the knowledge that he was the cause of her pain. “What’s happened? Where are Sooty and the others?”
Hali’s glanced towards the counter, and he saw the ledger book there, open to the last page. “They . . . They’ve gone home for the night. I made them leave, but I couldn’t stay away. I had to come back, I had to . . .”
She let out a shuddering breath, and sank back down onto the floor. “I had to check.”
“Had to check for what?”
Hali’s eyes met his, and in their depths he saw a tumult of emotions, too many to name. “The grimoire,” she said. “It’s gone.”
Osric’s heart lurched. He should be feigning ignorance, trying to cover his tracks, but he found that he couldn’t. Not when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes, the raw pain on her face. He had caused her quite enough suffering already.
“The grimoire is gone?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “Are you certain?”
Hali nodded, her lower lip trembling. “I . . . I was hoping that it was all a mistake. A misfile, or one of the pages falling out. But it’s gone, Osric. The grimoire is gone.”
He rose to his feet, pulling Hali up with him. “Let me help you look. Maybe there’s something we’re missing.”
She nodded, and together, they began to search.
“It doesn’t matter,” Osric said at last, the words dry as ash in his mouth. “Even if they managed to decrypt a single message, it won’t be enough. They still need to locate the Hammer of Earthblood, and the grimoire is only a partial key. Without the right book cipher to match it to, they’re at a dead end.”
Hali paused in her frantic searching, and turned to him with one eyebrow arched. “And how do you know that, exactly?”
Osric’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I’ve done my research. The Obsidian Circle is a patient and cunning enemy, and they have been seeking the Hammer for centuries. They will not be able to harness its power without the proper key.”
Hali regarded him for a long moment, her expression shrewd. “That’s an awful lot of information for a secretive organization that’s been hunting for this artifact for centuries.”
“I . . .” Osric’s voice trailed off, and he cursed himself for his slip. He needed to do better than that, if he was going to convince her to stay away. “It’s well-known amongst the Emberforged. They’ve long sought the power our kind wield as our birthright. So it seems a reasonable enough guess.”
It was a lie, a flimsy one, but he hoped that it would be enough to assuage her fears. The truth—that he had no idea how much progress the Circle had made in their search, that he was amply aware of how dangerous they could be—was something that she did not need to know.
Osric felt his heart sink. She had every right to be suspicious of him, to be angry. He had promised to keep her safe, and yet here she was, her shop ransacked, the grimoire stolen. He had brought the danger that was now lurking right outside, and no amount of apologies would be enough to make it right.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words feeling painfully inadequate. “I . . . I’ll help you look, just in case . . . ?”
It was a fool’s errand, but it was better than facing her pained expression.
They searched in silence, the tension between them thick and cloying. Osric’s every movement felt weighed down by guilt, by the unspoken question that hung in the air. How could you let this happen?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they had searched every corner of the shop. There was no sign of the grimoire, no clue as to who had taken it. Hali let out a frustrated groan, and sank down onto a stool behind the counter.
“I need a drink,” she said, her voice raw. “You want one?”
Osric hesitated. He knew that he should go, that he was the last person she wanted to see right now. But he couldn’t leave her like this, her eyes red-rimmed with tears. He had brought this danger to her doorstep, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to see it through.
“Sure,” he said, and joined her behind the counter.
She passed him a glass and a bottle of dwarven firewhiskey, and he poured himself a generous measure. The alcohol burned on the way down, but he welcomed the pain, the searing heat that matched the turmoil in his heart.
“I don’t know what to do,” Hali said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t go to the city watch. They’ll never believe me, not about the Obsidian Circle, not about any of this. And I can’t just sit here and do nothing, not when I know the danger that’s out there.”
