Free Capitol Magic by Mindy Klasky

raise suspicion. Nothing to make a sphinx or a witch or a familiar blink.
    Even when Jane viewed the surroundings through her lens of rock crystal. Before she used her magic, Jane brushed the clear stone against her tiger’s eye bracelet, obviously transferring some of the protective aura she had created back at her cottage. The precaution, though, proved unnecessary.
    â€œI don’t see any books,” she said, after a thorough survey of the space. She even rested a hand on Neko’s shoulder, apparently drawing strength from him to augment her own powers. “I can’t find anything hidden here at all.”
    After we returned to the mansion’s second floor, I closed the door to the attic firmly. In fact, I checked it twice. I’d seen enough horror films to know that evil lurks in attics. Evil, and insane wives, ready to burn a house down. Given everything I knew about Maurice Richardson, I wouldn’t put any terror past him.
    Huddling close and walking like a single six-legged beast, the three of us checked the master bedroom. The pair of luxurious guest suites, both with four-poster canopy beds. Every bathroom, fitted out with chrome and marble and lion-clawed bathtubs. A linen closet half the size of my basement apartment.
    We descended to the ground floor and continued our inspection, through the kitchen, the dining room, the formal living room. I shuddered there, remembering the last time I had stood before its tall windows. Then, I had been worried about James. I had been confused about my powers, exhausted by my battle with Richardson. Now, I was merely frustrated, exasperated that Jane’s magic was revealing no sign of the books I firmly believed were on the premises.
    We all perked up as we entered the last room on the ground floor. It was an old-fashioned home library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A huge desk filled one side of the room, and a pair of leather couches occupied the rest. The carpet underfoot was rich with swirls of red and black.
    The library was the opposite of the attic. Every book on every shelf was in perfect order. There were no haphazard stacks, no casual debris. Nothing triggered my sphinx compulsions. Nevertheless, I shuddered as I stepped onto that crimson rug.
    Neko’s nose twitched as we entered the room. “What?” Jane asked him. “Do you smell leather? Parchment?”
    He shook his head. “Just that,” he said, pointing toward a mahogany sideboard. A crystal decanter was centered on the wooden surface, surrounded by a quartet of goblets. “Cinnamon.”
    I could picture Richardson offering a cordial to any human who invaded his lair—unsuspecting police officers, curious neighbors, Mormon missionaries who had left their bikes toppled haphazardly on the driveway.
    I took a deep breath. “Well, there’s a lot to go through. I’ll start over there. Jane, why don’t you take that wall? Neko, you can work there.” They moved to their places without protest.
    Steeling myself for a long search, I stretched for the tallest shelf. I edged my index finger onto the spine of a hefty book, a leather-clad monster with some title stamped in burnished gold, too dark for me to make out. I tugged.
    And nothing happened.
    I stretched onto my tiptoes and nudged my fingertips around the spine. Or, rather, I tried to dig into the leather binding, to pull the book free. I couldn’t, though. The book was attached to the volumes on either side.
    Exasperated, I dragged over the ornate wooden step stool that crouched behind one of the couches. I clambered up its two steps and did my best to wrest the book from its shelf. Impossible. The volume was glued to its fellows. I tested the next book and the next and the next.
    Every single one was bound shut. The entire shelf was nothing but a decorator’s display, an attempt to make the library’s owner look erudite.
    Disgusted, I turned to Jane and Neko. They had