Ink and Shadows(Secret, Book, & Scone Society #4)(57)

“I’ll keep them hydrated,” said Vicky. “I’m going to read to them while they work. That’s not me helping you. That’s just me, hanging out with my friends.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Sid and Steph listened to Vicky read from Holly Black’s latest novel while they made magic out of cardboard, paint, and glitter.

Nora saw herself as more of a purveyor of magic. To her, the greatest magicians of all were writers—those individuals possessing the ability to breathe life into a group of words. Nora felt that spark of magic whenever she put a book into a reader’s hands. It was a magic she believed in with her whole heart. The kind of magic worth fighting for.

*

In the end, there was no protest the next morning. The storm that drenched Tennessee all day Wednesday headed east over the Appalachians but didn’t turn north as predicted. Instead, it crawled toward Miracle Springs. Warnings were broadcast via radio, TV, and cell phone, alerting those in the storm’s path to expect flash flooding.

While the absence of protestors made Nora happy, the lack of customers didn’t. A fraction of the usual lodge guests braved the storm, and those setting out for the Highland Games would likely delay their journey until tomorrow. No one would go out of their way to visit Miracle Springs today. Not with the storm perched overhead, expelling waves of fog and rain from a mass of dark gray clouds.

Since there were hardly any customers and she’d given Sheldon the day off, Nora cleaned, caught up on paperwork, and tried to reach Jed. She called and texted multiple times, but he didn’t respond.

Finally, Nora decided to stop leaving messages. Once Jed was back in Miracle Springs, she’d show up at his house and bang on his front door until he let her in. At that point, she’d do her best to breach the divide between them. But for now, all she could do was wait.

Nora also called Bobbie. She didn’t answer her phone either, so Nora left a message and went back to her book. It was one of several she’d gathered based on their inclusion of terms like spells, grimoires, herbals, symbolism, arcane magic, witch, and ancient medicine. Though the research was fascinating, it gave her no fresh insight about the mysterious book page.

It was four in the afternoon and still raining when Nora finally heard from Bobbie.

“I meant to call you hours ago, but I had to get second and third opinions on our Potion Page,” she said. “I had to give it a name. Librarians. We’re compelled to categorize things.”

Nora walked over to the front door and looked out. “Please, Bobbie. It’s rained all day, I’m expecting people to protest my shop tomorrow, and Jed refuses to speak to me. Skip the dramatic reveal and tell me what you learned.”

“Okay, but what I’m about to say will make things clear as mud.” When Nora groaned, Bobbie said, “Chin up, buttercup. We’ll get there. Anyway, here’s what we know. The paper is old. Circa 1700s. It’s laid paper, which—”

“Laid paper?” Nora interrupted. “It’s been a few years since grad school. Can you refresh my memory?”

Bobbie said, “Laid paper was used in the 1500s and 1600s until about 1750. It was made on a mesh with wires. When you hold a piece up to the light, you can see a grid pattern. The Potion Page has that pattern. My friend is an expert in paper forensics, and he says the paper is legit. But the ink isn’t.”

“Why not?”

“The chemical composition is off. It’s a carbon ink with a charcoal base, which is kosher, as is its dark-brown color. But the charcoal should be suspended in glue, gum, or varnish. My friend thinks that part of the mix is off, so he sent the page to his friend, who has access to Columbia’s radiocarbon dating machine. The results confirmed that the paper is legit, but the ink isn’t.”

“Whoa.”

There was a pause before Bobbie said, “We’re talking forgery here. Someone made a near-perfect eighteenth-century grimoire page. The paper looks and feels right. The ink is close. The forger did their homework. Without an expert’s examination or access to scientific dating, plenty of people would think it was the real deal.”

Nora didn’t need to ask who these people were because she already knew. Collectors. Of rare books. Of rare occult materials.

“Do you think the writing was copied from a real book of spells? Or is it pure nonsense?”

“I don’t know. We’ve seen robed figures in other books from the same time period. The clothes and the drawing style are similar to recipes found in herbals. But the symbols? They could be an invented language meant to seduce collectors into believing in a newly discovered form of magic. A code waiting to be broken. Whoever breaks the code becomes powerful. Has all their wishes granted. It sounds ridiculous until you see what people have paid for other indecipherable spell books.”

After mulling this over, Nora said, “The forger can’t send the page to Sotheby’s. It has to be sold on the black market. There must be an online forum or marketplace where something like this can be offered for sale.”

“I asked one of our professors the same thing, and she sent me a link to a forum called Solomon’s Alley. It’s named after a medieval grimoire. I’ve already created a fake account and posted a photo and some tantalizing details about the Potion Page. If someone contacts me about the page, we might get a lead on our forger’s identity.”