Business as usual

As much as she liked money, being nice to people will wear her out in a hurry.

Madison Mortiere stuffed the three paperbacks into a paper bag with a practiced recklessness, fast enough to get the customer out the door but careful enough not to damage the goods. "Thanks for coming to Dog-Eared, I hope to see you again sometime!" Madison flashed a plastic smile.

The elven-looking waif smiled back a bit more earnestly before turning on her heels and making her way towards the door to presumably lose herself in a world of dumb post-apocalyptic self-insert Chosen One vampire sex thing the kids were into these days. There were some books that Madison dared not peer into the souls of. YA Fiction was reeeeally high on that list.

(As long as they were reading. That's what was important. Everyone has their share of shameful stories on their completed list, right?)

Madison watched the young woman get to the door before a pair of men who looked like they'd rather be reading military history and true crime novels filled the doorway. The one with the shorter buzz cut snatched the poor wretch with the pointy ears by her collar and forcibly helped her the rest of the way onto the street.

She could already see the hit to her weekly numbers inking itself in her ledger. One by one, the fruits in suits escorted her remaining confused, upset, but ultimately too sissy to do anything about it customers out the door. Madison quickly checked her memory for any appointments that might've been made for Epilogue clientele, but came up blank.

The necromancer cracked her knuckles underneath the counter and began weaving a pair of hexes when a even more of these copy/paste assholes entered the store, briefcases in hand. Madison immediately diffused the magic flowing through her fingertips. She immediately recognized this as a business visit from someone important.

Right on cue, a woman in a pinstripe power suit waltzed into Dog-Eared Books, just as tall as Madison but still managing to look down upon her as she drew closer. Eyes like steel, boring a hole through her forehead and into her soul. Her cheekbones were about as prominent as her rack, with white hair pulled back high and tight into a ponytail.

This Ruiner of Days walked right up to Maddy, said something in a language that must've been Scandinavian in origin, and had the briefcases gingerly set on the counter in front of her. Fade Top, Lazy Eye, and Buzz Cut simultaneously fingered the locks on the cases and revealed their contents. White Hair muttered something to the last of her bodyguards, who stepped forward to translate. Apparently the five of them were interested in getting the three ancient-looking tomes appraised for an upcoming auction.

That she was apparently from the Louve Family necessitated the secrecy. Madison was still a bit miffed about the rude manner in which the meeting was set up, but she understood. Louve was a name she'd heard once or twice since moving to Manta Carlos City. There wasn't much of a real criminal presence on the island, so any names that popped up tended to be recognizable.

"Then let's get right to it," the necromancer muttered as she produced a pair of cotton gloves from her back pocket. As she slid her spidery fingers into them, she glanced at the translator and his boss. "I'm assuming you came to see me because of the rare books I deal in. So, I'll give you fair warning--my method of appraising a book is far different from most sellers."

Madison's attention fell upon the third book, a simple hardcover book wrapped in cloth, the faded title clearly written in Atlantean script even if she couldn't translate it. "Like this one here," she said, carefully turning it over in her hands. "There's clear water damage along the edges of the pages, the corners of the cover are nicked all to hell, the ink is faded, and..." she gingerly set the book on the counter and opened it. The binding creaked in protest, but ultimately relented.

"...I'm surprised it didn't fall apart just now." Maddy shrugged. "But I'm sure a woman of discerning tastes such as yourself knows that the true value of a book is not in the physical shape it's in, but what's between the covers."

With a deft wave of her gloved hands, Madison began weaving her spell. Her fingers twitched as they latched onto the telltale azure strands of energy that her particular brand of soul magic allowed her to see. A spin of her finger, a flick of her wrist, a tug or two, and she finished casting her spell.

"And rather than try and find a translator for fish-speak, let's just ask the book directly."

Cool blue light coalesced around the book, spreading out from the crease between pages until it enveloped the thing entirely. From the light, a man emerged, the curved lines of scales growing across his shoulders and upper chest like a set of pauldrons. A long kilt with some fabric to spare covered his lower bits, from his waist down to his webbed feet. A flowing mane of hair cascaded back, reaching down past his shoulders. His jaw could've been considered chiseled and handsome, had it not been hidden behind a decently-impressive beard.

Madison glanced at Mingan. "Any burning questions you want to get out of the way?"

@DaniMalice

While Mingan cracked her little jokes, Madison kept a straight face and a watchful eye on the others. They laughed, sure; but she knew the signs all too well. The men didn't find the jokes particularly funny--they were laughing because it was in their best interest to. Between that and the collective step back they took when Madison worked her magic, it was painfully obvious that these mugs were... well, frightened wasn't the best word, but she was a bit too busy being trapped behind the counter to grab the dictionary to find a suitable replacement.

"I'm afraid not," the necromancer said with a shake of her head. "When a book is written, the author leaves an imprint of their soul behind, a sort of metaphysical account of their work. It's not like most soul-binding magic, where you can accidentally destroy the phylactery and have a crazy, vengeful, destructive spirit on your hands. If you separated the spirit of the work from the actual work, you'd have something of little value. You also run the risk of shredding the book in the process, so you'd really be shit outta' luck."

Madison eyed the Lady Who Looked Like The Antithesis Of Louve as she snapped something in her native tongue to her translator. As much as she wanted to shout and smack her upside her head, box her right in the ear and demand to be spoken to directly, she kept a neutral face and a practiced air of professionalism about her. Last thing she needed was to have her shop destroyed at the snap of a finger by a handful of guys twice her size, no matter how much hex magic she could sling around.

"The spirit," she said a little more forcefully than she probably should've, "will only know if that's what the book is about." Madison turned her attention to the Atlantean hovering around the book, avoiding Louve's icy gaze the entire time. "So, friend, what do you have written down on those pages?"

Having paid full attention to the conversation since being yanked from his place within the book, the spirit was apprehensive about spilling his guts in front of Louve and her associates. But having been bound by Madison's magic, he was compelled to answer.

"This book is about the Sun Mother and the Moon Father," he finally spoke, his accent thick and heavy on the vowels. "It is mostly personal interpretation and reflection upon the myths that have influenced my people's culture and development, but..." The spirit paused for a moment, looking the white-haired woman up and down, his distaste in her character readily apparent. "There are several chapters written about religious icons and artifacts that were kept in our vaults, even after the ocean overwhelmed us and carried our city into the depths."

Madison glanced over at Mingan, hoping that this answer sated her curiosity and loosened up her purse strings just a bit.

"This will not help me," said the dumb bitch who interrupted her day, closed down her store, threw three old-ass, moldy-ass, dusty-ass books on her counter, and said "Please to be doing an appraise, yes? I must be make big money solding things I do not have the brain-thinks to use; I have breast embiggenment and lip injecting appointments on Tuesday, yes?"

The store may as well stay closed after these pillocks finally leave. It was going to be an early night of drinking for ol' Maddy Mortiere.

If Mingan wanted quick and dirty appraisals, then that's what she was going to get.

"Not many people taking an interest in a submerged people's religion, so this one isn't going to be much more than a curio on some old fart's bookshelf." Madison shoved the Atlantean's spirit back into the book and gently closed it before placing it back in the suitcase. "I wouldn't value it at more than $500--mostly because it's in remarkably good condition, considering what it's probably been through. But if you could find someone with the time and money to embark on an underwater expedition for the artifacts written about in it, it may be worth a hell of a lot more. It all really depends on whose hands they end up in."

Madison moved onto the next book. With practiced and delicate movements she inspected the book from front to back, immediately noticing the name scribbled on the inside of the warped cover. "Interesting," she muttered. It was a shame that this Louve woman was the impatient sort; the necromancer would've loved a chance to speak with an old king. "If it's indeed something Charlemagne penned, it could be worth tens of thousands of dollars to the right customer. Even if it's just a journal, this thing's got serious historic value."

But ah jeez, it was a shame that she couldn't verify its authenticity right then and there! If only somebody was a bit more patient, and didn't mind waiting to make sure that the expert they came to confirmed that it was written by the man and Holy Roman Emperor, and not a prank played by a fan of tha god and rapper! Iiiiiif oooonlyyyyy!!

Madison immediately turned her attention to the final volume before her. Lifting it from the gray foam padding within the briefcase, she set it down on the counter and gave it a once-over. "As for this one, it too looks to be centuries old. Ink's a bit faded, pages aren't terribly brittle, and--"

And her words failed her, spilling out of her mouth in a jumble onto the floor. Page by page, she began to make her way through the book, eyes scanning every line, soaking in every sentence. The fingers of her right hand twitched, unconsciously grabbing for the lingering shred of the author's soul.

She tilted her head up, looking at Mingan square in the eye, all color drained from her face. "I'll give you five thousand for this tome right now."

Ah, the necromancer thought, bitter and cold as a winter breeze. I do believe that this woman is trying to scam me.

All the signs were painfully obvious. An astronomical price thrown out casually, and the declarations that she could've gotten three-fold Madison's original offer in whatever shadowy auction she referred to. But while Madison was certain that the book did hold value and could fetch a hefty sum of money in certain circles, Louve's problem was how to muscle her way into them in the first place.

Madison made it known as such, holding Louve's gaze the entire time as she spoke. "I'm not sure how much you actually know about de Rais, but compared to Charlemagne he's just a footnote in the history books. He's only known for three things--riding on the coattails of Joan of Arc, killing a bunch of kids, and trying his hand at demon summoning. The last one, the only thing that would make this of any worth at an auction, he failed at spectacularly."

She searched the silver-haired woman's face for any sign that she was processing... anything, really. Something must be cutting through all that fat and air. "As it stands, it's probably just some ruminations by a guy who was a mere supporting player in someone else's story. I'd value it at anywhere between five hundred and fifteen hundred, depending on the text's actual contents. It could have valuable information about demon summoning in it, and he's just a colossal idiot and fucked everything up during the ritual; or it could just be a snuff journal detailing the stalking and murder of a bunch of kids."

There was a shred of mirth that lit up her face. "Not the best thing to try and sell to the highest bidder, I can assure you."

The necromancer flipped through a couple more pages with gloved hands, quickly scanning their contents. She managed to catch a couple of glimpses of ritual circles and runes scribbled, crossed out, and drawn again in haste. Summoning wasn't her forte, but what she was banking on that the rumors she once read about when studying her dark craft were true: That Gilles de Rais had also turned to raising the dead in an attempt to regain his former glory by pulling Joan of Arc's soul back into the mortal realm and stuffing it into a new host, specially-crafted from bits and pieces of the best candidates. Madison remembered the goal being that John of Not Arc or whatever could've lead more successful campaigns against the British, returning his skeevy ass to a place of wealth and glory, with the benefits of this one being more difficult to justify burning at the stake due to the fact that she now lacked boobs.

Last she heard, the deluded fuck was this close to succeeding before the Church came knockin' on his door. Surely, his experiments and observations had to have been documented in this thick journal.

Madison gently closed the book and rested her hand on the worn leather cover. The temptation to pull out the author's soul and question it about its contents ran through her mind like wildfire, a burning curiosity that would only be quenched if she can just have the goddamn book. She managed to keep a cool air and even tone as she continued, "Free appraisals is fine. Takes me minutes per book, that's no problem. I'm not budging on the five thousand, though. You're not likely to find someone willing to spend much more than that who won't get immediately arrested by Interpol for trying to practice anything de Rais wrote down in here."

But what could sweeten the deal? Madison had to think fast, or risk losing out on the acquisition to Mingan's hubris. "If it's a book you need for your auction, though, I can certainly help you here." She stretched out her arm and motioned to the stacks and stacks of books on shelves, on tables, and on the floor all around them. "See these? It's not from this collection. I have several other books stashed away of a similar nature to these bad boys here." Madison gave the Gilles de Rais journal a friendly pat.

"I recently acquired a treatise by Grigori Rasputin," she recalled. "It goes over how he acquired his so-called 'miraculous' healing abilities, and how he used them to not only heal Tsar Nicholas the 2nd's son Alexei, but stave off several assassination attempts on his life. Fully verified original work--" as evidenced by the drinking contest that the ghost of Rasputin handily won the night Madison got the book-- "and of worth to far more people than the Gilles de Rais book. Healers, mystics, Russian history scholars... You'd probably fetch as much at the auction with it. Perhaps more."

Madison paused for a second, trying to get a read on how Louve was mulling over this new offer. She found it incredibly hard to do so--the stick up this bitch's ass prevented her from doing anything but scowl.

"Five thousand, the Rasputin book, and the free appraisals," she repeated. "So long as you don't be a dick to my customers again."