Blocked.
I hadn’t even found Lower World. Chest taut, I paced the attic. Usually, when magic didn’t work, it just didn’t work. But something else had happened tonight. Pages, rustling paper… a book?
A Necronomicon?
Impossible.
The storm rose, howling.
So Harry had a photo of a supposed Necronomicon. It didn’t mean that had been the book found on his body.
“Urgh.” I stomped downstairs and booted up my computer in the kitchen.
My usual sources didn’t have anything on a faux-Necronomicon signed by Lovecraft.
But there was one colleague who might not laugh at me. I called him.
“Lenore,” he drawled in his sexy British accent. “I hear you’ve got a first edition of The Book of Were-Wolves. I may have a buyer.”
We haggled and reached a price that worked for us both.
He blew out a satisfied breath. “Deal.”
I filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove. “I’ve got a lead on a Necronomicon signed by Lovecraft.”
“A Necronomicon? Or the Necronomicon?”
My hand paused above the kettle. “The? Did a collector create one for Lovecraft to sign?”
His voice was warm caramel. “It’s a myth.”
“What?”
“You mean you really don’t—I forget you’re still new to this business. Honestly, Lenore, you’re lucky I’m not a less scrupulous dealer.”
“For which I’m grateful. And curious.”
“There’s an urban legend that Lovecraft created a personal Necronomicon based on his stories of the Old Ones.”
“Personal?” I asked. “As in it was never published?”
“Convenient, yes? Lovecraft wrote the spells in blood, naturally.” He laughed again. “I suppose that idiot Parker told you it was real.”
“In blood? It was handwritten?” The book in Harry’s picture had old-fashioned script.
“It’s a fable.”
“I mean, according to the story.”
“As I said, written in blood. The spells contain the secrets to controlling gates between the worlds. Ultimate power. Old Ones. Eldritch gods. Blah blah blah.”
My muscles tightened, breath speeding. “Gates?”
“What’s this about? If Parker’s been selling you a bill of goods… I told you not to buy from him.”
“What else can you tell me?” I asked, alarmed. It couldn’t be real. But if it was…
“What’s there to know?” he asked. “Bloody Parker.”
Coming in Episode 9: The sheriff doesn’t want Lenore’s help, but she may need it.
Photo (top) by Kowit Phothisan on Unsplash. Photo below by Daniil Kuzelev on Unsplash.
About the Author
Kirsten Weiss has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer re-runs and drinking red wine. The latter gives her heartburn, but she drinks it anyway.
Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes genre-blending cozy mystery, supernatural and steampunk suspense, mixing her experiences and imagination to create vivid worlds of fun and enchantment.
If you like funny cozy mysteries, check out her Pie Town, Paranormal Museum and Wits’ End books. If you’re looking for some magic with your mystery, give the Witches of Doyle, Riga Hayworth and Rocky Bridges books a try. And if you like steampunk, the Sensibility Grey series might be for you.
Kirsten sends out original short stories of mystery and magic to her mailing list. If you’d like to get them delivered straight to your inbox, make sure to sign up for her newsletter at kirstenweiss.com
Feel free to follow her on Twitter @KirstenWeiss, on Tumblr at kweiss01, on Pinterest at KirstenWeiss, or on Bookbub, get in touch on Facebook, post a picture of this book to Instagram and tag her @kirstenweissauthor, or send her an email. She’ll answer you personally…which may be a good or a bad thing, depending on your perspective.