The store had some kind of incense going that made Blake sneeze as soon as he walked in. Someone said, “Bless you,” and Blake rumbled a thanks. Lined with books, full of incense and goth kids, this wasn’t a place for a guy in a suit to be in. Maybe he had the wrong type of place.
The store was tiny for his big frame. On one side was a glass case full of jewelry. On the other side was books, and in the middle were more books and candles, bells, candles in shapes of naked men and women, black knobbed candles that made Blake think of dildos.
I’m in the wrong place, he said to himself, as the goth kids looked him over. Maybe he could ask for the right kind of place.
The woman behind the counter had bleached blond hair, bleached eyebrows, brown eyes. She wore too much makeup and was the center of the incense.
Without any preamble, he walked up to her and said, “I’m looking for vellum.”
“I don’t know him,” she said, looking Blake up and down. “You a cop?”
“No. You know where I can find some?”
“Try Ren Cen?”
Dope. He should have tried that first. “Thanks.”
He started to walk out, and stopped to look at the knobbed candle. He chuckled and walked out. He started to walk back to the Beemer, and saw another magic store. This one was old, dusty, again lined with books. This time, an older man smoking a cigar. Blake inhaled – he hadn’t had a stogie since seeing Scott.
“Hey,” the man said with a nod of his head.
“Hey,” said Blake, walking in. Everything smelled of cigar. “I’m looking for vellum.”
“Scroll or book?”
“Which is better?”
“Depends. What kind of spell?”
“I have no idea. It’s not for me. How about both?”
“Used or new.”
“New.”
“Good choice.” He got up, went to the back. He came back, one item rolled up in cloth, another folded in cloth. “How’s this?” He unfolded the cloth, and there was a beautiful book, with different colored leathers, a leaf on its front.
“Can I open it?”
“Of course,” said the man. Blake opened the book, it creaked open on brass hinges. The paper wasn’t really paper, but it was thick, slightly bumpy, but smooth enough to write on.
“This is too pretty to write in.”
“Wizards don’t care about pretty,” laughed the old man, and took the book back, folding the cloth around it. Then he unfolded the cloth around the scroll, which was three feet long by a foot wide. The two pieces of wood that held the scroll were polished cherry wood, looking like rolling pins with a thick middle and thin ends.
“Do you gift wrap?”
The old man gave him a look.
“Okay, I’ll have my secretary do it. Will you take a check?”
“Prefer not, mister.”
“How much?”
He quoted him a price that was the rent of his office and his apartment. He didn’t care. For Scott, it was worth it.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, heading out the door and down the street, to the bank.