to keep on the premises. That meant that sometimes we were stuck having to go elsewhere for our supernatural information needs. Thus, Connor and I found a visit to Tome, Sweet Tome on the Upper West Side in order. It was Tamara’s neighborhood, and I dreaded running into her accidentally, but we had to hit Tome. Almost anything you could ever want on the subject on the dark arts, the gray arts, and even the off-white arts could be found somewhere on the dusty shelves of the nefarious bookstore. The two of us rode silently uptown in a cab. I thought about asking more questions about this missing brother of Connor’s to break the silence, but he was busy getting into character for our visit.
Tome, Sweet Tome was famous in the heavy-duty, no-holds-barred world of serious arcane research, but surprisingly its collection of knowledge did not make the store itself a dangerous place. Its owner, Cyrus Mandalay, had never been robbed, mugged, harassed, or otherwise mistreated in all the years that the D.E.A. had dealt with the bookstore. At nearly six feet four inches and sporting a tribal tattoo down the entire left side of his face, Cyrus was an imposing-looking fellow. His pale skin was drawn tight over his angular features and he sported long black hair done up in dreads. Cyrus was definitely not the type of shopkeeper the average criminal would think of messing with, and he definitely didn’t fit the bookish stereotype one would normally be buying literature from, either.
Connor and I pushed through the front door. A red-lettered sign hung just inside it that read:
* Please check all extra dimensional objects at the counter.
* All undead are subject to a $10.00 cleaning fee following use of the Reference Room.
* Shoplifters will be dispelled.
Cyrus was busy ringing up a pretty young Goth and her grandmother, who were purchasing a deck of Tarot cards. He looked over at us from behind the counter, recognized Connor, and gave us a toothy smile than ran from ear to ear. Even a grin from Cyrus was enough to make me feel uncomfortable and I looked away. Connor, veteran that he was, looked at him unfazed.
“Gentlemen!” Cyrus said with a pleasant ring. He looked around nervously before thanking the two customers. As he sent the girl, her new Tarot deck, and her grandmother on their way, he reached behind him and pulled a loop that hung from the ceiling. The door swung open for the two exiting customers, and the elderly woman gave a startled looked back at him. She hurried the young girl out the door.
“Crone,” Cyrus said, the smile falling from his face.
Everyone knew that Cyrus ran a bizarre shop, but something that garnered him favor in the Department was that, surprisingly, he was a great supporter of literacy. While his appearance tended to frighten off many timid book buyers, he worked hard to make the store accessible. He’d even added a “newbie” section for young people who might be interested in all types of arcane matter. An inviting little area just to the right of the entrance had been set aside for it—a room filled with happy pictures of cartoon witches generating rainbows. Zoo animal warlocks were painted there as well, producing flowers and bunnies from top hats. There was even a little wizard-robed turtle sporting a Daliesque mustache melting a watch with his magic wand.
Cyrus flashed his toothy grin again—which simply made him look like he was guilty ofsomething. God only knew what it was.“Que pasa?” he said. He placed his enormous hands on the counter and leaned forward, towering over us not only because of his natural height, but from the built-in rise behind the cash wrap. He laughed when he saw the white stripe in Connor’s hair. “Got skunked, eh?”
Connor ignored the question and stepped forward, his confidence not wavering in the face of Cyrus’s imposing figure. “How’s it goin’, Cyrus?”
I could hear a hint ofI know something you
Tome, Sweet Tome was famous in the heavy-duty, no-holds-barred world of serious arcane research, but surprisingly its collection of knowledge did not make the store itself a dangerous place. Its owner, Cyrus Mandalay, had never been robbed, mugged, harassed, or otherwise mistreated in all the years that the D.E.A. had dealt with the bookstore. At nearly six feet four inches and sporting a tribal tattoo down the entire left side of his face, Cyrus was an imposing-looking fellow. His pale skin was drawn tight over his angular features and he sported long black hair done up in dreads. Cyrus was definitely not the type of shopkeeper the average criminal would think of messing with, and he definitely didn’t fit the bookish stereotype one would normally be buying literature from, either.
Connor and I pushed through the front door. A red-lettered sign hung just inside it that read:
* Please check all extra dimensional objects at the counter.
* All undead are subject to a $10.00 cleaning fee following use of the Reference Room.
* Shoplifters will be dispelled.
Cyrus was busy ringing up a pretty young Goth and her grandmother, who were purchasing a deck of Tarot cards. He looked over at us from behind the counter, recognized Connor, and gave us a toothy smile than ran from ear to ear. Even a grin from Cyrus was enough to make me feel uncomfortable and I looked away. Connor, veteran that he was, looked at him unfazed.
“Gentlemen!” Cyrus said with a pleasant ring. He looked around nervously before thanking the two customers. As he sent the girl, her new Tarot deck, and her grandmother on their way, he reached behind him and pulled a loop that hung from the ceiling. The door swung open for the two exiting customers, and the elderly woman gave a startled looked back at him. She hurried the young girl out the door.
“Crone,” Cyrus said, the smile falling from his face.
Everyone knew that Cyrus ran a bizarre shop, but something that garnered him favor in the Department was that, surprisingly, he was a great supporter of literacy. While his appearance tended to frighten off many timid book buyers, he worked hard to make the store accessible. He’d even added a “newbie” section for young people who might be interested in all types of arcane matter. An inviting little area just to the right of the entrance had been set aside for it—a room filled with happy pictures of cartoon witches generating rainbows. Zoo animal warlocks were painted there as well, producing flowers and bunnies from top hats. There was even a little wizard-robed turtle sporting a Daliesque mustache melting a watch with his magic wand.
Cyrus flashed his toothy grin again—which simply made him look like he was guilty ofsomething. God only knew what it was.“Que pasa?” he said. He placed his enormous hands on the counter and leaned forward, towering over us not only because of his natural height, but from the built-in rise behind the cash wrap. He laughed when he saw the white stripe in Connor’s hair. “Got skunked, eh?”
Connor ignored the question and stepped forward, his confidence not wavering in the face of Cyrus’s imposing figure. “How’s it goin’, Cyrus?”
I could hear a hint ofI know something you
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