“Oh, sorry,” said the woman, a brunette in a blouse and skirt, round glasses perched on her long nose. “I didn’t see you there.” Her attention to Naomi ceased exactly then, and she rapped again on the door. “Wilma! It’s Miriam!”

The women in the crowd began to whisper furiously. “Ask her what happened,” said one, but her friend replied, “No, you!” and they went on back and forth while the new center of attention ignored them. Naomi glanced back and forth, uncertain what to think. When the door unlocked with a soft click, however, she was reminded of her purpose and stepped close to Miriam.

The door opened a crack, revealing the weary, tear-red face of Mrs. Quigley. “Miss Vance,” she said, and she looked ready to begin crying again. Though Naomi was still helplessly confused about what had transpired, she ached sympathetically. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. I know how you were looking forward to this.”

“It’s not your fault, Wilma,” Miriam reassured her, though her manners were not as warm as they could have been given the situation. “Don’t worry about that for now. Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Quigley, and she stepped back to open the door further.

Naomi’s heart skipped as she watched Miriam enter. The invitation didn’t seem to include her, but after a beat of hesitation she took advantage and hurried inside after her. Mrs. Quigley didn’t protest and Miriam didn’t seem to notice at all. Just as the rest of the remaining ladies crowded up the stairs, Mrs. Quigley locked the door behind them.

“I’m so sorry, ladies,” Mrs. Quigley said as she moved deeper into the shop. A path had been opened through the center aisle of books, leading to a table that had doubtlessly been left out for Darby and his wares. “They’ve taken all the books—”

“It’s all right,” said Miriam, staying close at her arm. “And don’t worry about Mr. Fairchild—they’ve already released him. He’ll stand before a judge tomorrow, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I hope so.” Mrs. Quigley sank into the chair meant for Darby with a long sigh. “The poor man.”

Naomi hung back from the pair, scanning the nearby shelves. She wasn’t able to find a familiar spine among them, nor near the display set up for the signing, nor by the cash register. She swallowed. Should I ask? I’m certain he wouldn’t have told her about me, but…

“There was another book he mentioned that was set aside,” said Miriam, and Naomi held her breath. “Mr. Fairchild said he chose me to get that book.”

Naomi stared openly. Her interest in Miriam, which had only moments before been almost non-existent, bubbled up into a torrent. There was such intensity in her eyes, such determined poise in her bearing. There was no reason to suppose she even knew what was in the book, and yet she radiated fascination and even hunger for the thing. It made Naomi’s heart pound.

She must be the one, Naomi thought, forgetting all at once just how many times she had thought that, and how many times she’d been wrong. Darby would have picked her for a good reason. If she’s one of his fans, she must have an interest in magic. Her cheeks burned as her imagination began to get carried away. And more than that. She may even—

“Oh, Miriam,” said Mrs. Quigley, and her wide brown eyes began to fill with fresh tears. “I’m so sorry, but it’s not here, either.”

“What?” Naomi and Miriam both said at once.

Miriam glanced to her, brow knit in confusion as if realizing for the first time that Naomi had followed her inside. Her concern for the book prevented her from dwelling on that intrusion for long; she turned back to Mrs. Quigley. “Why not? Mr. Fairchild said he had set it aside.”

Mrs. Quigly drew a handkerchief out of her pocket and pushed her glasses back so she could dab her eyes. “He did, he did. He told me it was a special gift he planned to give away as part of a lottery.”

Naomi frowned indignantly, her spirits deflating once more. A lottery? If he was going to leave it to chance, I could have done that myself! She glanced again to Miriam. But if he didn’t get the chance and chose this woman… “Mrs. Quigley, where is it now?”

“I gave it away, just after Ms. Usher left,” Mrs. Quigley admitted tearfully. “You heard how emphatic she was—selling an occult book at a time like this! What if the police came back? Why,if my husband found out I’d put the shop at risk for something like that…”

Just gave it away! Naomi covered her mouth with both hands, swaying on her feet, though she was surprised nearly out of her concern when Miriam put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Total strangers, and yet this woman understood immediately what pain it caused her, to have something so precious carted off to unknown fate. It filled her with reassuring warmth.

“Then it is a book of magic?” Miriam pressed, the majority of her attention fixed on Mrs. Quigley. “If you’re that worried about Usher you must know what was in it.”

“It was a book of summoning, I think,” answered Mrs. Quigley, and Miriam’s hand clenched tightly against Naomi’s shoulder. It was such an encouraging reaction that Naomi didn’t register the pain. “Oh I don’t know how he convinced me to allow it in the shop in the first place. Some magic is harmless, but not a book like that. I don’t quite remember the title, it was something like Safe? Sief…”

“Sefer Poyel,” Naomi corrected her without thinking.

“The Book of Poiel?” Miriam echoed. “A Hebrew text, then? But Poiel is such a low-ranking angel, why would…” In a flash she turned on Naomi, grabbing her other shoulder as well. Her face lit up with fiery interest. “You know the book she’s talking about?”

“Well, I…” Naomi stuttered helplessly, still so surprised by Miriam’s uncanny knowledge of theology that she couldn’t form an answer at first. She gulped and felt captured by the intensity of Miriam’s hard stare. “I’m a friend of Mr. Fairchild’s,” she said. “He told me about the book and I...I was just curious who he picked to end up with it.”

“He picked me,” Miriam said emphatically, and Naomi’s heart continued to thud even after Miriam let her go to face Mrs. Quigley. “Who did you give it to?” She scoffed. “Not one of the women out front.”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Quigley looked ready to start crying all over again. “I’m sorry, but it was Mr. Tripepi,” she said, and Miriam’s shoulders drooped in disappointed recognition. “He’s almost as good of a customer as you are, and he arrived just after the scene ended...I couldn’t turn him away empty-handed.” Her lip trembled. “I’m sorry, Miriam.”

Miriam looked intensely thoughtful for a long, silent moment. When she adjusted her glasses, her eyes seemed to flare behind them, and she took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Wilma. Please don’t be upset. It’ll all work out.”

Mrs. Quigley nodded and wiped her eyes. Without anything further, Miriam spun and made her way back to the door. Naomi, bewildered, nodded a quick acknowledgement to Mrs. Quigley and then followed Miriam out.

“E-Excuse me!” She followed Miriam down the steps, past the handful of customers still perched on the steps, hoping for some crumb of news. “Excuse me, Miriam? Who is Mr. Tripepi?”

“What, you don’t know?” Miriam stopped so Naomi could catch up. “Joey Tripepi—he runs the Slate Street Gang now. Don’t you read the paper?”

“Not...really.” A criminal? No! No, that won’t do. I have to get it back. Naomi glanced back toward the car where Elijah was still waiting. No, he thinks this is all silly. He won’t help me. “What are you going to do?”

Miriam glared at the southern skyline with such determination that Naomi wouldn’t have been surprised if she launched herself into flight. “Serfer Poyel,” she murmured. “A book of summoning.” She squinted at Naomi. “Do you know what’s in it? Does Mr. Fairchild have another?”

“Oh, no—it’s one of a kind!” Naomi picked at her fingernails, remembering the weight of every page in her hands, the hours she had toiled to get every diagram and passage just right. “It’s a holy book that was, um...recently unearthed.” She was such a terrible liar she was convinced Miriam would laugh in her face, but her attention didn’t waver. “Supposedly written by an angel’s familiar. Mr. Fairchild said it has instructions in it for how to summon and gain magic from an angel.”

Miriam’s eyes grew so wide they very well could have rolled out of her head, and her lips twisted in a broad grin. “Chariot,” she said, so reverently that Naomi got goose bumps even though she had no idea what it meant. “What was your name again?”

“Naomi,” she introduced herself breathlessly. “Naomi Yosef.”

“Naomi,” said Miriam, once again gripping her shoulders. “I’m Miriam Vance.” Her smile grew sharper, almost wicked. “Meet me at Mr. Fairchild’s hearing tomorrow. We’re going to get that book.”

And without another word or even waiting for a reply, Miriam let her go and marched off again. Naomi had never seen someone walk with such light-hearted yet ferocious purpose, and it left her head spinning as she remained on the sidewalk, gawked at by Darby’s remaining, empty-handed admirers. It wasn’t until Elijah’s broad palm settled on her shoulder that she remembered him or their mission at all, and by then Miriam was disappearing into the distance.

“Well?” Elijah asked impatiently, towering over her. “Did you pick?”

“Yes,” said Naomi, clasping her hands together. She breathed in and out, relishing the thrill of excitement. “I’m giving my magic to Miriam Vance.”