In Plain Sight

Alex turned right, into the library. An enormous hearth occupied the far wall, with marble columns and a massive cherry-wood mantle. To either side, bookshelves reached up to the fifteen-foot ceiling. The bookcases had been ordered by Kingsley, before his death, and they matched the molding and trim. Now the cases were stuffed with books of all shapes and descriptions. Most were works on medicine and rune lore, but Bell had an entire section dedicated to classical literature, and even a chest where he kept select pulp fiction books that tickled his fancy. The only furniture in the room were two overstuffed arm chairs that faced the fire, each with an ottoman in front of it. A small, round occasional table stood between them, supporting a mahogany cigar box, two ash trays, and a stained glass lamp to provide light for reading after dark.

A modest coal fire had been laid in the iron grate of the hearth, filling the room with invigorating warmth, and pungent cigar smoke swirled around the furthest chair.

“Here you are at last, dear boy,” Doctor Ignatius Bell said, shutting the flimsy paperback book he’d been reading. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search party.”

Alex laughed and sat down in the chair next to Bell, setting his hat on the ottoman.

“Not to worry, Iggy,” Alex said with a grin. “I had to make a stop at the Mission.” Alex had dubbed Bell “Iggy” during their first year together and the name just stuck. Bell didn’t particularly like it, but he seemed to take it as a sign of affection from Alex, so he tolerated it.

“Yes, your secretary informed me thus when I called.”

There was a note of irritation in Iggy’s voice and Alex flinched.

“I should have called,” he admitted, taking out another of Burt’s cigarettes and lighting it. “Did I ruin dinner?”

Ever since Iggy let Alex run his own cases, Alex had been paying rent to bunk at the brownstone. Iggy hadn’t insisted, but Alex needed to pay his way. He did, however, let Iggy cook for the both of them. Iggy had learned to cook in the navy and it had become a serious hobby for him ever since.

“I made a quiche,” Iggy said, puffing on his cigar. “It was delicate, light as air, and delicious.”

“What’s a quiche?”

Iggy sighed and put his hand to his forehead as if it suddenly hurt.

“I think your fellow uncultured Americans would call it a bacon pie.”

Alex perked up at that. He hadn’t eaten anything since the poached eggs Mary cooked him.

“I left you some on the table under a cover,” Iggy said.

Alex put his hands on the chair’s arms but before he could rise, Iggy spoke again.

“How did it go today?” he said, opening his book again. “It must have gone well if you can afford cigarettes again.”

Alex stifled a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Apparently Iggy wanted his pound of flesh for Alex’s lack of judgment. The Brits really loved their social rules.

“Funny story about the cigarettes,” he said, then launched into a detailed description of his day. For the most part, Iggy just listened quietly, commenting when he wanted clarification on any certain point.

“So,” he said when Alex finished. “Father Harry wants to see you in private on Saturday.” He puffed his cigar for a moment before adding, “Ominous.”

Alex laughed. Father Harry was many things, but mysterious wasn’t one of them. The man was an open book.

“He probably just wants me to do some rune work for him and doesn’t want to talk about it in front of the sisters. You know what a gossip Sister Gwen is.”

Iggy nodded, staring into the fire.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “In any case, I’ll wager you’re hungry.”

Alex stood and picked up his hat.

“Oh, Father Harry even paid me for my work.” Alex fished the five-dollar bill out of his pocket and held it up.

“You should probably put that in the safe,” Iggy said before returning to his book.

Turning toward the hearth, Alex approached the bookcase on the left. About six feet off the floor, just high enough that Alex had to reach up to get it, stood a thick book bound in green leather. Unlike the other books on the shelf, this one tried very hard not to be noticed. The rune that shielded it was so powerful that it bled over onto the books on either side, a volume of Shakespeare’s poetry on the right and a large, thin book bound in red leather on the left.

Alex took down the green book and opened it. The center of each page had been painstakingly cut out with a razor blade, then painted with varnish to make them all one solid piece. From the outside, the book appeared perfectly normal, but once opened, it had a hollow well inside, large enough to hide three of Iggy’s pulp novels. Alex withdrew a small stack of cash held together by a paper clip. He added the fiver to it, then retuned the clip and re-shelved the book. This was Alex’s emergency stash, money that not even Leslie knew about. Any time he had off-the-books cash, it went into the safe. Iggy said it was an important habit to develop.