free fantasy web serial

I did not immediately open my eyes.

Partly because I was experiencing a dislocated feeling of unreality, and I needed to get a grip.

Partly because I was suffering from a strong desire to unburden myself of the breakfast I’d eaten a couple of hours ago (or what was left of it).

There was no way I was going to greet Britain’s most famous magician by throwing up all over her shoes.

‘Hi,’ I finally croaked, and cautiously opened one eye.

Merlin was not bending anxiously — or curiously — over the woman who’d materialised in her living room, as I might have expected. She was on the other side of the room, engaged in something I couldn’t see, because her back was turned to me.

When she made no response to my greeting, I took a moment to take stock of where I had ended up.

It wasn’t a living room.

Picture to yourself the classic wizard’s house. You know the type. The shelves full of bottled liquids? The scuffed wooden floor, the floating candle-lights, the cat?

The massive spell-book open upon a tall oak table?

That’s literally where I was. No word of a lie. I felt like I had strayed into some kind of fairy tale theme park, except that the space had none of the polished-and-pristine, freshly-built perfection of a visitor attraction. This was a place in which somebody lived and worked. The shabbiness of the rugs covering the floors proclaimed it, their woad and indigo-blue shades streaked with dirt here and there, and covered in white cat hair. I knew it from the smells that filled the air: herbs fresh and dried, candle wax, new-baked bread, and other things unknown to me.

I knew it from the presence of Merlin herself, who was no actress playing a role. Magick radiated from her in about the same way that light radiates from the sun.

‘So,’ I said thickly, once I’d achieved a kneeling position without keeling over. ‘This is where the grimoire’s got to.’

Her head came up. ‘What’s that?’ she said to the wall, then swiftly turned around. She stared; not at me, but at the spell-book lying open upon the table nearby. And what a spell-book! A proper grimoire, bound in hide, with pages stacked a foot thick.

‘Is that still there?’ she said, and came over, wiping her hands upon the rough canvas apron she wore.

I managed to beat her to it, but not by much. I had time to observe a two-page spread, closely written in script I could not, at a glance, read, and an astonishing quantity of dust, some of which flew into the air in a thick cloud when the grimoire disappeared.

Which it did instantly, accompanied by a neat little pop of magick.

‘I had forgotten it,’ said Merlin, frowning. But the frown cleared when she looked at me.

I preferred the frown, I quickly decided. She was looking at me the way she had done at our exhibition, only this time it was worse. My insides turned over, and I retched.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘Could we hold off on that for a bit? I am still feeling discombobulated.’

‘Ah,’ she said.

‘Something about being hauled a millennium back in time. It appears it doesn’t agree with me.’

She smiled faintly, and went back to her corner workstation. Some of the candles followed her, their flames helpfully brightening as they drifted nearer to her table. ‘We have not gone back in time. We have only taken a small step outside of it.’

‘Out of time,’ I repeated, fuzzily attempting to focus on the concept. ‘You mean, between the echoes?’

She looked at me again, over her shoulder. ‘Where did you hear of that?’

‘They do it at Farringale.’ I wanted to go over and see what she was doing, but I felt uncharacteristically diffident. Surely it would be rude to go nosing into the doings of Merlin? The Merlin. Giddy gods. ‘But it’s nowhere near as advanced as this,’ I offered, like she would care for my praise.

It was true, though. Baroness Tremayne’s hideaway had felt distanced from reality; hazy, echoing, shadowy. In there, you really felt her isolation from the real world, her distance from anything that might pass for living. She was a single thread from a vanished past, slowly unravelling.

Merlin’s wizardly wonder could not have been further removed from that. It was vibrantly real, every inch of it, and Merlin herself as alive as you or I.

‘Hmm. Perhaps they need help,’ she murmured, mostly to herself. She returned to me, but this time she carried a little tincture bottle of smoky glass, inside which bubbled a freshly-poured potion. An actual potion.

We don’t really do potions anymore. I mean, we do, but the delivery system’s changed. Orlando’s lab produces them in handy spherical capsules, the jelly coated ones. You swallow them like a pill (or you burst them in an assailant’s face, as per those sleep-bubbles I like so much).

They aren’t half so potent as Merlin’s. Not even Orlando’s can quite match hers. As I downed a real, honest-to-gods potion, for the first time in my life, I experienced a rush of energy so powerful I shrieked a little bit.

‘Sorry,’ I said, clapping a hand over my mouth.

‘Too much?’ she said, the frown reappearing.

‘I think I’m okay,’ I said, drawing in a shaky breath. And I was. More okay than I’d been at any time in my life. More okay than I, probably, ever would be again.

I could get used to it.

‘I don’t suppose I could get the recipe?’ I ventured.

Her smile was brief and sort of… dusty, but it was a smile. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

She went back to her work station.

What did that mean? I hadn’t quite the gumption to ask. Yes, foolish as hell, but answer me this: would you want to look like an idiot in front of the Merlin?

So I dithered. My thoughts returned to Jay and Mum, who patently weren’t coming in here after me. Then to the grimoire, which had taken my vacated place in the outside world, perhaps forever. Mr. Elvyng would be happy to have it back, to be sure. Would Mum or Jay mind very much that I was gone?

‘I hate to bother you,’ I said into the silence. ‘I, um, didn’t quite mean to end up here. We were just looking for the grimoire.’

‘I had cause to consult it,’ she said, without turning around. Then, vaguely, ‘I cannot now remember why.’

And she’d forgotten to return it. It had sat on her table, gathering dust, for who-knew-how-long in her echo of a world. About four years, in our time.

‘But why return it?’ I said. ‘If it’s yours? Why not just keep it?’

‘It is not mine, precisely, and I rarely have need of it.’

….okay.

‘Was that the question you wanted to ask me?’ she said.

I thought frantically, trying to remember what had mattered to me a day or two ago. ‘Sort of. We were charged with recovering the grimoire, and when I met you the other day I thought you might have it. And you did.’

No response.

‘But now I have a million more questions.’

Silence, which I hoped was an invitation to ask some of them.

‘Starting with…’ I paused, and groped for the gumption I knew I still possessed. Somewhere, deep down. ‘Are you… Merlin?’

Her posture changed. Some tension in the shoulders, a rigidity in her stance. I sensed that she was… thinking. Weighing up what to say.

‘My name is Ophelia,’ she said.

‘Ah… oh.’ I felt my cheeks turn the colour of a telephone box.

Yep, we were idiots.

‘But in the sense that you mean it, yes,’ she went on. ‘I am Merlin.’

‘Ah… okay?’ I swallowed. ‘Um, how does that work?’

‘Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?’

Question number two of twelve million, and already she was dodging.

‘Uh?’ I said, at my most intelligent.

‘Ten years,’ she repeated, the words emerging thinly over the clatter of metal against ceramic. She was mixing something. Another potion?

I croaked something vague and idiotic. Ten years? How did I know? I’d be over forty. Probably still single, probably still working for the Society. Doing the same job.

Still happy, I hoped.

But how could Ophelia-Merlin be interested in any of that?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Probably exactly where I am now.’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘You have changed, Cordelia Vesper. You know that you have, though you may not realise how much.’

‘You know my name,’ I whispered.

‘I learned of it. After we met, at your… “exhibition”.’

The air-quotes around the word exhibition couldn’t have been clearer. I blushed again. ‘We were trying to find out who had stolen — er, taken the grimoire,’ I said. ‘It was important. I’m sorry for the deception. If we’d had any idea…’ that you were a real person and might actually show up, we’d never have been so damned crazy.

Probably.

‘Well, it succeeded,’ she said, flashing me a small, surprising smile. A grin, even.

We, the bumbling Society, had amused the great and powerful Merlin.

Go, team.

‘And much good may come of it,’ she went on… sarcastically? Not?

Being Ves, I babbled. ‘We… well, we found the grimoire, sure. Its current owner — or caretaker? — will be delighted to have it back. And we’ll get the argent we need, for Torvaston’s regulator. Orlando’s working on it already, he’s got the best in the industry helping him and finally we’ve held up our end. They can go ahead and build it. And if it works the way we’re hoping it will, it could change everything. We’re… we’re bringing magick back.’ Overwhelmed with sudden emotion, I could have cried. With relief, mostly, because I hadn’t wanted to admit to myself how much fear I’d had. Fear that we would fail Orlando, the Society, magick — everything.

But I was babbling for another reason, too. A new, different flavour of fear.

You have changed, Cordelia Vesper. You know that you have, though you may not realise how much.

I had. She was right.

Let’s not talk about that, my heart said. Let’s just talk about the mission. Nice, achievable goals, even if they were challenging. Measurable successes. Clear ways forward. Nobody needs to change in profound, irreversible ways, or become anything they aren’t ready to be. I can just stay… Ves.

But we don’t get to choose who we become. Do we? We bumble from day to day, doing what we do, trying not to screw up; and inexorably we’re swept along in whatever happens next. And then, and then, and then… you’re someone you never thought you could be.

Maybe someone you never wanted to be.

‘Is that the aim? Restoring magick?’ said Merlin, setting down her pestle. Or mortar? Is the pestle the bowl bit, or the grinding tool?

Focus, Ves.

‘It may sound crazy…’ I began, and then couldn’t think how to continue.

‘Oh, no,’ said Ophelia-Merlin. ‘I should think it’s achievable, with the right tools.’

Suddenly I didn’t want to know what the right tools were. I couldn’t have said why; I only felt a deep-seated feeling of panic. If I turned that corner, I knew I wouldn’t be coming back.

‘Do… you want to hear the story?’ I croaked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything.’

So I sat with Merlin the Master Magician and told her the whole story. And I mean, the whole story. More than I’d told the queen of Aylligranir. More than I’d told to anybody except Milady. Every. Single. Detail.

Which was basically me buckling under the pressure and prattling like an idiot again, but maybe I was usefully prattling. If anybody could help us push this insane project through, surely it was Merlin. 

She asked a question or two here and there, but mostly she just let me talk. And when I’d finished explaining just why we were chasing down her grimoire, and the sequence of events that had led up to my presence in her fantastic Wizard’s Lab; when at long last, I stopped burbling and fell silent; she sat staring at me with a tiny frown creasing her brow, and said nothing.

Folks, this is why I talk too much when I’m nervous. There is nothing — nothing — scarier than dead silence.

I cleared my throat. ‘Anyway, I ought to be getting back to it. Mum and Jay will be wondering where I am, and we need to wrap things up with the Elvyngs. Get that argent back to Orlando. Go on with the mission.’

She said nothing.

‘And I’ve taken up way too much of your time. I’m sure you’re very busy.’

Making potions, apparently. What else did a living magickal legend get up to all day? I didn’t bother asking. Chances of her giving me an answer seemed about nil.

I’d sunk onto a cushioned stool halfway through my narrative, when my still-wobbly legs began to give out on me. I now rose from it, with an air I hoped might pass for brisk, breezy and confident, and flashed her a professional smile. ‘Thank you so much for your time, and of course for returning the grimoire. We really appreciate it.’

Turning to go, I realised I had no idea how to get out. I hadn’t arrived here through anything so conventional as a door, so there was no point expecting to exit out of one. ‘Would you be so kind…?’ I said, waving my hands in a vanish-me-please gesture.

Her frown deepened, and creases appeared around her narrowed eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said.

But seconds passed and I wasn’t vanished. Whatever she was saying yes to, it wasn’t in response to my request.

I waited in stomach-churning discomfort.

‘Yes, I think perhaps—’ said Merlin (or Ophelia). Her eyes refocused on my face, and something blazed therein. Something magickal, about which I badly did not wish to think too hard. ‘The signs are there,’ she murmured.

I glanced around the room, but there was no one else in there. Just the two of us.

I cleared my throat again. ‘Ma’am?’ I said. ‘Please let me go?’

She blinked. ‘Ah,’ she said, and waved a dismissive hand. ‘I must consider the—’

Whatever it was she planned to consider must remain forever a mystery. With that careless wave of her hand, she cast me out of her wizardly grotto and back into what we mere ordinary mortals think of as reality.

When we pulled up in William Elvyng’s driveway at two o’clock the following afternoon, we found my respected parent already present. She sat in the driving-seat of a beaten-up red Peugeot that looked about five hundred years old, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel and generally radiating impatience.

‘Mum,’ I said, when we had clambered out of our respective cars. ‘I thought you’d have a driver.’

Her missing hand was looking way better than it had the last time I’d seen her. It had healed pretty well, and was now a neat, rather than a bloodied, stump. Being Delia, she was totally unselfconscious about it, which was good. But ignoring it to the point of driving herself around one-handed might, I thought, be carrying insouciance a bit far.

‘Why would I want a driver?’ she said, apparently deciding not to hug me.

I gestured awkwardly in the direction of her missing hand, a hint she either missed entirely or chose to ignore.

When the awkward silence stretched, I changed the subject, Delia-style, by finding something else to criticise. ‘Or if there’s no gilded carriage for the queen of Ygranyllon, maybe a new car?’

‘What’s wrong with Bert?’ She patted the bonnet of her disreputable banger with marked affection. ‘Solid car. Been with me for years.’

‘I can see that,’ I said.

Jay smoothly intervened. ‘Hello, Mrs. Vesper. Nice to see you again.’

‘Not married,’ she said shortly. ‘But yes, lovely.’

Jay looked rather at a loss.

‘Just call her Delia,’ I said. ‘Everyone does.’

Poor Jay’s face said, but she’s the queen.

‘Right, Mum?’ I prompted.

She smiled in a silky way. ‘Queen Delia.’

I snorted. ‘She’s waiving her right to your majesty, just for you.’

‘Hey,’ said mother. ‘I’ve never been queen of anything before. Let me have this.’

‘How you’ve suffered,’ said I.

‘Coming from the future queen of Mandridore, that’s rich.’

‘Mum, there is a future queen of Mandridore and it isn’t me. Can we move on?’

‘Right.’ Marching to William Elvyng’s door, Delia rang the bell in what Oscar Wilde would describe as a Wagnerian manner.

The butler/housekeeper, whose name I confess to having forgotten, opened it almost immediately.

And then, to my supreme irritation, he bowed low to my mother and said, ‘Your Majesty of Ygranyllon. What an honour,’ and stood back to hold the door wide for her.

To Jay and I he was merely polite. ‘Miss Vesper, Mr. Patel. Welcome back.’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I whispered, as my mother swept past the butler with head held high. ‘I want to be queen of my own faerie kingdom.’

‘You had the option,’ said Jay. ‘You declined, remember?’

‘I know! What was I thinking!’

‘You were thinking sane and sensible things like, Cordelia Vesper isn’t really queen material.’

‘Ouch. Are you saying I’d be a bad queen?’

‘I think I’m saying you have more important things to do.’

‘Than ruling a kingdom?’

‘We’re trying to bring back magick for all the kingdoms.’

I stood a bit taller. ‘You’re right. Excellent pep talk, Mr. Patel.’

‘Too kind, your honourary majesty.’

We were conducted into the same, lovely room as before, and found our host ensconced in the same armchair by the fire. He greeted my mother with a bit less reverence than had his butler, to my relief and (perhaps) my mother’s chagrin.

Just as well, really, for the moment she found herself in august company she apparently lost the power of speech, and became her brusque, largely silent self. She was almost snappish with poor Mr. Elvyng, and took the seat he offered her with an expression bordering upon a scowl.

I thought about issuing the Elvyngs with a Delia Vesper Manual, but it was a bit late by then.

‘So good of you to see us again,’ I said to the Elvyng patriarch, trying not to make up for my mother’s manner with a flood of gushing.

He inclined his head, quite gracious. ‘I understand you have some new ideas to pursue?’

‘Yes. It occurred to us — well, to Jay, in fact — that we had previously been so set upon a certain interpretation of events as to ignore other possibilities. We’ve brought Ms. Vesper—’ (No way was I referring to her as Queen Delia) ‘—because she has a pronounced sensitivity to past magicks, and may be able to tell us if anything unusual, and of a magickal nature, might have happened regarding the grimoire.’

‘You have some precise theory, or…?’

‘Nothing concrete,’ I said, unwilling to expound upon our mad-sounding ideas until we had some kind of supporting evidence. ‘We’d just like to experiment with a few possibilities.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Please feel free. Mr. Baker will conduct you to whichever parts of the house you will need to review.’ He turned his attention to my mother, and said: ‘It is gracious of your majesty to grant us some of your time, and the use of your skills.’

I held my breath, hoping Mum would find something socially acceptable to say.

This one time, she didn’t disappoint. ‘It is my very great pleasure,’ she declared, and if the sentiment was expressed with a fraction too much gracious condescension, I’d take it. It was better than a brusque nod and a grunt of assent, which would be very characteristic.

Off we trailed, then, to the Grimoire Room — after a closing round of smiling pleasantries, of course, some of which might even have been sincere. The obliging Mr. Baker (I remembered!) let us in, and hovered again by the door.

‘Right,’ I said, all business. ‘Mum, do your thing!’

‘My thing,’ she said, glowering. ‘More specifically?’

‘Not your gracious queenly thing but your archaeology thing.’ Helpfully, I wiggled my fingers in illustration of my meaning.

She rolled her eyes at me, and turned away. ‘I can’t believe I’m in the Elvyng abode,’ she said, somewhat but not entirely sotto voce. ‘To think, Claud Elvyng probably stood on this very spot.’

‘Dignity, Mum. You’re a queen, remember?’

Her shoulders straightened. ‘Right. Quiet then, while I do my thing.’

Obedient daughter that I always am, I hushed. So did Jay. We busied ourselves conducting a silent and utterly pointless survey of the room, in quest of those very clues which (according to Jay’s very reasonable argument) were most unlikely to exist. And we found sod all, how about that? Shocker. I did want to talk to Mr. Baker; it wouldn’t hurt to verify just how unlikely it was that the grimoire could still be in the house after all this time. But that could wait until after Mum was done, since she apparently required complete silence.

I’d gone from uselessly employed to thoroughly bored by the time she was finished. It wasn’t even interesting to watch her work, since the process consisted of wandering around laying her hands on things and closing her eyes, or sitting cross-legged on the floor in apparently deep meditation.

I tried not to sigh too loudly.

At length, she opened her eyes, looked straight at me, and said: ‘There’s a lot of old magick here.’

‘Old as in?’

‘Old. Ancient. When was this room built?’ That last was directed to Mr. Baker, I judged, since her attention snapped to him.

‘It was built to house the grimoire, your majesty,’ said he. ‘It is therefore in the region of thirty years old, so I understand.’

‘You weren’t here then?’

He looked faintly offended, as well he might. He must have been a child back then, or at best a teenager. ‘I have only been employed by Mr. Elvyng for a short time.’

‘What I’m driving at,’ she said, ‘is the age of this spot. If this room, and the grimoire, weren’t always here, was there something else? Anything that might account for all this residue?’

‘I believe not, your majesty,’ said poor Mr. Baker, somewhat disconcerted by this barrage of brisk questions. ‘If I have understood Mr. Elvyng’s occasional comments correctly, nothing of any import occupied this space until the creation of this room.’

‘Then we can cautiously conclude that this magick relates to the grimoire,’ she said, rising from her semi-recumbent position upon the floor. ‘And that, Cordelia, means that the grimoire is probably authentic.’

‘You’re certain?’

‘Reasonably. This isn’t modern magick, by any stretch of the imagination. At a guess, I’d say it dates back a thousand years, give or take a century or so.’

I swallowed. ‘That’s… intense.’

‘If it isn’t authentic in the sense that it actually belonged to Merlin, it is at least an incredibly compelling copy dating from an approximately contemporary period to Merlin. I’ll add that there is a depth to it which no modern magician could mimic.’

It took me a second to parse all those convoluted sentences — Mum had forgotten shyness and queenliness both, and got her academic back on — but once I had I was suitably enthused. ‘That fits!’ I proclaimed.

‘What about more recently?’ said Jay.

‘I’m getting to that,’ Mum snapped.

‘Right. Sorry.’

‘More recent activity is difficult to determine with any certainty. Obviously there are traces of what were probably security-related enchantments, plus some rather confusing dribs and drabs of various and apparently random magicks. I would surmise that Mr. Elvyng, or perhaps his daughter, has stood here at one time or another and played about with the contents of the grimoire.’

How cool, to be an Elvyng, and get to muck about with Merlin’s actual spells. I wonder which ones they chose? I wonder if they worked?

Jay was obviously big with questions, but didn’t dare interrupt my irascible mother again.

So I did it. ‘If I know you, Mum, you’re working your way around to a semi-spectacular conclusion.’

‘Semi-spectacular?’

‘You aren’t quite puffed up enough for a full-on spectacular reveal, hence the semi. Whatever you’ve got is good, but not great.’

‘Is that a not-so-subtle way of asking me to get on with it?’

‘Yep.’

She sighed. ‘My daughter has no sense of theatre,’ she informed Jay.

‘I’d… politely disagree,’ said he, with as much of a smirk as he thought he could get away with in the presence of two Vespers (a tiny one).

‘Right, fine,’ said Mum. ‘Long story short, yada yada, what was probably the last thing of a magickal nature to occur in this room does seem pretty odd.’

‘I love odd,’ said I.

Mum nodded enthusiastically. ‘Partly because of the possible nature of the charm, partly because of the timing.’

‘Mum,’ I groaned. ‘Please. Just tell us.’

‘The timing,’ she said, with a glare at me, ‘is strange because whatever it was can’t have happened only four years ago, which I gather was the date of the disappearance. If my conclusions are correct, whatever it was occurred rather longer ago than that. Several years at least.’

‘Wha?’

‘And the charm itself, well… you’ll realise this is an imprecise art, and I can never be certain as to the exact nature of any magickal residue.’

‘Disclaimer accepted,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘But my best guess is: it was some kind of gateway.’

I gave myself several seconds to think that over, but no. It still didn’t make the least sense. ‘Gateway?’ I echoed.

Mum merely nodded.

‘As in… someone opened a new gateway?’

‘Possibly. As I said, imprecise.’

‘What kind of gateway? Like the one we found under Sheep Island?’

‘Cordelia, as I just said, I have no idea. This is the best I can do for you.’

‘Sorry, sorry. This is great, really.’

‘Except there is maybe one more thing.’

I refrained from loudly sighing, and merely raised an eyebrow.

‘There’s a flavour to this gateway that’s reminiscent of all that ancient magick I mentioned.’

‘The ancient Merlin magick?’

‘Reminiscent of, but not necessarily the same.’

‘But — that’s a millennium old.’

She looked down her nose at me.

‘So you mean to say—’

‘Suggest,’ interrupted Mum. ‘Imply. Hint. Not say, with certainty.’

‘You mean to suggestimplyhint that something or someone, similar to but not the same as this wielder of ancient and profound magicks, came in here rather more than four years ago, and opened a fresh, new gateway. Which no one does anymore because it’s beyond the power of modern magick.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Which suggests, implies and hints that this wielder of gate-opening magicks might themselves be a millennium old.’

‘Maybe.’

I thought of our maybe-lady-Merlin, and internally sighed. Everywhere we turned, we encountered more wild improbabilities.

‘Maybe it’s time to forget about what seems possible or impossible,’ I muttered. ‘Those words are beginning to lose all meaning here.’

‘I’m the queen of Ygranyllon,’ said Mum, apropos of nothing, but she had a point. A world in which Delia Vesper reigned over a faerie kingdom was already somewhat out of whack.

‘If I may raise a problem with this theory?’ said Jay.

‘Just the one problem?’ I said faintly.

‘Delia. If you’re right, and someone opened a gateway, presumably they used it to swipe the grimoire. And maybe it was this Merlin-person we’ve already met. But if they did this more than four years ago, how is it that the grimoire didn’t go missing immediately?’

‘Maybe it did,’ I said.

‘If it went missing much more than four years ago, they’d have noticed. Surely.’

‘Maybe it came back.’

‘What?’

‘She’s right,’ said Mum. ‘Gateways work both ways.’

‘But—’

‘Jay, you said yourself that theft might be too simple an explanation.’

‘Why though?’ said Jay. ‘You only need to get away with the loot once. Who steals the same thing twice?’

‘I don’t know, but if we’re dealing with someone who may be a millennium old then I don’t think we should assume she thinks the way we would.’

Jay inclined his head. Fair enough.

‘And it’s at least as likely as that the grimoire took itself off. Mum, can you tell if the gateway’s still functional?’

‘Nope.’

‘Because if it is—’

‘I know, and I realise this would be useful information, but I can’t tell. If it is still functional, we can conclude it hasn’t been used for at least four years.’

I went over to the grimoire’s long-empty case, and tried the lid. It wasn’t locked anymore. There wouldn’t be much point.

I don’t know why I thought it would be useful to stare soulfully into the depths of the grimoire’s cradle; there was nothing there to see. No glimmers of ancient magick, visible to the naked eye. No ghostly fingerprints, tantalising traces of the presence of one of the world’s greatest magickal legends. Just a book-sized nook lined in velvet.

Jay came up beside me. ‘There’s one way to test if a gateway still works,’ he said. He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and placed them carefully in the centre of the vacated book-nook.

The three of us waited, breath held, for something spectacular to happen.

Nothing did.

‘It was a nice try,’ I sighed, and picked up Jay’s keys.

My fingers fizzed.

‘Ouch,’ I yelped, for the keys were burning in my hands. I dropped them; they fell to the floor with a distant clatter.

Blood roared in my ears, and a white mist floated across my vision. I vaguely heard Jay’s voice shouting something, and his hands supporting me — was I swooning? But my hand had strayed back into the depths of the grimoire’s case, my fingers were splayed over the velvet, and the strange, intense sensation of distilled magick coursing through my system had spread over my whole body.

‘Ves!’ I heard Jay say. ‘Let go of the case!’

But I couldn’t. There was no time. A thundering in my ears drowned all sound; dizziness swamped me; nausea rose.

And then, I achieved a spectacular nineteenth-century swoon, straight into the waiting arms of Jay.

Or so I thought.

‘Ah,’ said a woman’s voice, one that I distantly recognised. ‘It is you.’

‘I’ve certainly learned that lately,’ I muttered, thinking back over all the bizarre things I’d witnessed in the past year. Jay’s Waymastery whizzery, and that thing he did with the voids. Perambulating buildings and a small army of chatty, haunted houses. Alternate Britains drenched in magick. Paintings of long-dead (sort of) people, who talked like they were still alive (which they sort of were). Griffins and Farringale. Turning into a unicorn.

That lyre.

‘Can you give us some kind of lead?’ I pleaded. ‘We just need a direction to go in.’

‘It may be that you will not be able to restore this grimoire into the Elvyngs’ possession,’ said Milady.

‘Uh. Then… then what do we do? We need that argent.’

‘I can send a negotiator to Ms. Elvyng. Perhaps she can be persuaded to sell the argent, if she is offered a suitable price. If not money, then there may be something else she will find desirable.’

‘That could work,’ I said, if doubtfully. Crystobel seemed very set on the grimoire. ‘What would you like us to do in the meantime?’

‘You won’t find this Merlin by looking,’ said Milady. ‘If she wishes to find you… she will do so. And I think perhaps she might, Ves.’

‘So… we’re waiting.’

‘Of course, if you have other leads to investigate unrelated to the woman from your exhibition, by all means pursue them.’

We didn’t. ‘Can I have a chocolate party while I wait?’

I heard the smile in her next words. ‘I believe you capable of mustering your own supplies of chocolate by this time, Ves.’

‘Yours are better,’ I said. Not only did they trounce every other conceivable hot chocolate in consistency and flavour, they also had a way of making you feel better. Plus, they were a display of Milady’s approval, like a gold star from your primary-school teacher (or a unicorn sticker, on one memorable occasion in my personal history). What’s not to love?

‘Very well,’ said Milady. ‘You’ll find a pot by your chair in the first-floor common room. Jay is waiting for you.’

Down I went, feeling rather predictable, but honestly not minding very much.

It wasn’t quite true that Jay was waiting for me. He was there, to be sure, slouched in his Jay-chair, but since he evinced zero interest in my appearance I couldn’t imagine him to be missing me very much. When my cheery greeting went unanswered I sat quietly down, and sipped chocolate in silence.

He didn’t move, not for ten minutes. Then suddenly he stirred, as though waking from a weird open-eyed slumber, and looked at me. Startled, like I’d just popped up out of thin air. ‘Ves,’ he said.

‘Hi!’ I said. ‘I’ve been here a while?’

‘Sorry, I was… thinking.’ He sat up a bit, snagged the rest of the chocolate (to my mild regret) and downed half the cup in one gulp.

‘About?’

‘The grimoire, mostly.’

‘To any great effect?’

‘If you mean have I solved the mystery, then no.’

‘Damnit.’

‘But I did have some new thoughts.’

‘I like New Thoughts!’

He grinned at me. ‘You might not like these.’

‘Hit me with them. I’m a big girl, I can take it.’

‘Well.’ Jay tugged gently on the end of his own nose, a weird/adorable habit I’ve noticed in him before when he’s thinking. I wonder if it helps? ‘There was a question I was asking myself,’ he said, and then stopped talking again.

‘Okay! Ask me this question too.’

‘You’ll probably think it’s stupid.’

‘You’re talking to crazy-idea Ves, remember? Something’s being merely stupid is no bar whatsoever to its also being brilliant.’

‘Good point.’

‘Jay,’ I said wearily, when he still didn’t speak. ‘Spit it out. It can’t be that bad.’

‘How do we know the grimoire was even stolen?’ he said.

‘Uh… because its owners told us as much?’

‘How do they know it was stolen?’

‘…because it isn’t where it’s meant to be anymore, and neither of them removed it?’

‘So we know that it’s missing from its case,’ Jay said. ‘That’s all. We don’t know that it was taken out of the case and the building by a thief, because there is no evidence for that. And whatever we may have concluded after meeting that scarily powerful lady at the exhibition, that doesn’t necessarily mean that somebody with godlike magickal potency breezed in and extracted it. There could be another explanation.’

I wanted to say, like what, with all due scorn, for theft was both the most obvious and the most likely explanation when you’re talking about a grimoire that changes hands for unthinkably large sums of money.

But I didn’t, because once I thought about it I realised Jay was right. There were other possible explanations, even if they were unlikely. But our current theory was spectacularly unlikely, too, so what did that matter?

‘If you want to suggest that the Elvyngs have just mislaid the thing, I’d want to veto that idea,’ I said. ‘Surely that’s impossible.’

‘Not impossible,’ corrected Jay. ‘So improbable as to be nearly impossible, but it could happen.’

‘All right. I’m putting that one at the bottom of the list.’

Jay nodded. ‘It could, by some means or another, still be at the Elvyng residence, most likely without their knowledge.’

‘Meaning someone moved it, for motives unknown.’

‘Or it moved itself.’

I raised an eyebrow at him.

‘We are talking about the personal grimoire of Merlin himself.’

‘Or herself,’ I said.

‘Right.’

‘I’m putting that second from the bottom.’

‘You think the idea of the grimoire’s moving itself around is less unlikely than that the Elvyngs clumsily lost it?’

‘You’ve met Crystobel, right?’

He thought that over for a second. ‘Good point again.’

I slouched a little deeper in my chair, brain whirring. ‘Okay. So it might have moved, or been moved. But why haven’t the Elvyngs found it again, in four years?’

‘Could be that they simply didn’t think to look for it somewhere else in the building. Valuable items kept in glass cases  don’t tend to just be set down in the wrong place one time, like a bunch of keys.’

‘Right, but they have a very capable and knowledgeable butler/housekeeper. Someone would’ve wondered what this fragile antiquity of a book was doing in the boot-room, halfway down a mountain of mud-crusted wellies.’

Jay winced at that vision of disaster. ‘Fair,’ he allowed.

‘Assuming it was visible to the human eye,’ I added.

Jay’s turn to blink at me. ‘What?’

‘Maybe it turned invisible. Merlin’s grimoire, remember?’

‘I suppose that could be it.’

‘It’s like Sherlock Holmes said. Once the impossible is eliminated, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or something like that.’

‘Neat theory, but we seem to be developing a whole slew of improbable-but-not-quite-impossible ideas.’

‘Holmes didn’t have to deal with magick,’ I agreed. ‘In that he had a definite advantage.’

‘So an invisible grimoire.’

I nodded. ‘It could happen.’

‘Why would it be invisible?’

‘No idea. Why would it wander out of its protective cabinet?’

‘Touché.’

I took a breath. ‘And now for the worst idea I’ve got.’

Jay grimaced. ‘On a scale of one to gods-help-me, how bad is it?’

‘Bad as in, if I’m right then Crystobel might be taking our eyeballs out with a dessert spoon.’

‘Oh god.’

‘Okay, so… maybe it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s gone because it’s gone.’

‘So it literally… what, disintegrated?’

‘Could have.’

‘I want to ask why.’

‘But you won’t, because you know I have nothing to tell you.’

‘Right.’

‘Maybe it lost the will to live,’ I mused. ‘Separated from its owner and creator, splendidly alone in its isolated kiosk of a library, scarcely ever touched anymore—’

‘Ves,’ Jay interrupted. ‘You’re making me feel sorry for a book. Please stop it.’

‘Sorry.’ I shot out of my chair. ‘If we’re done theorising about near-impossibilities then we need to go back to William Elvyng’s house.’

Jay gazed up at me, and didn’t move. ‘To do what?’

‘To investigate!’

‘We’ve already done that.’

‘Yes, but last time we were so certain we were investigating a theft, that’s all we looked for. Signs of forced entry or exit, clues as to the person who undoubtedly made off with the grimoire. This time’s different.’

‘I realise, but how are we going to investigate a possible vanishment or disintegration? What clues do you suppose those would leave behind?’

I wilted a bit, deflated. ‘You’re right, but… then what? How do you propose to determine whether these ideas are correct, if we can’t investigate?’

Jay groaned. ‘I don’t know. We’re the worst detectives ever.’

I stood where I was, furiously racking my brains. ‘What would Sherlock have done?’

‘He would have noticed some small, but profoundly important clue, known immediately what it portended, and have had the mystery solved by tea-time,’ said Jay glumly.

‘You know, I’m not sure I’m liking this new, defeatist Jay.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay. I’m not loving him either.’

‘Em Rogan,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Clues,’ I said intelligently.

I saw light dawn in Jay’s eyes. ‘Right! If anything magickal happened to the grimoire—’

‘Then someone with the right kind of sensitivities might be able to tell us what it was. Or if not that, at least she could tell us if something of a magickal nature happened. And since it’s hopeless to ask my mother for help, maybe we could borrow Em again.’

‘Is it hopeless?’ I didn’t like the searching look that went with the question.

‘She’s always far too busy.’

‘So you won’t even ask?’

‘She’ll say no.’

‘Ves.’

‘Mm?’

‘Are you afraid to ask?’

I scoffed. ‘Afraid? Of my own mother? Ridiculous.’

‘Forgive me,’ Jay said. He sat shifting in his seat, and well he might, raising such uncomfortable topics. ‘But I realise you’re used to your mother’s saying no to you a lot. I can understand that it hurts.’

‘It doesn’t hurt,’ I muttered, stung. ‘She’s just a busy person, that’s all. I’m fine with it.’

Jay’s smile was gentle and understanding and I felt a brief, but intense, desire to punch him. ‘Then there can be no harm in asking, can there? You never know, she might say yes.’

‘We don’t need her to say yes. We can call Em.’

‘Emellana Rogan is an important member of the Court at Mandridore. She’s also a busy person, and we’ve far less right to call on her than we have to call on your mother.’

I sought in vain for another reasonable objection to raise. I realised, dimly, that I had a far greater desire to see Em again than to see my mother Delia, and my mind shied away from examining why that might be. I only suffered a vague sense of guilt.

But what was I worried about? Calling my mother could have only one outcome. She’d say no, waspishly and definitively, and that would be that.

Then we could call Em anyway.

‘All right,’ I said, and with saintly smile and angelic demeanour — I deserved serious points for tractability, didn’t I? — I took out my mobile and dialled my mother’s number.

Any hopes I had that she might not even answer died away on the second ring. ‘Hello?’ she said, sounding, for once, fairly chirpy.

‘Mum,’ I said. ‘It’s me. You busy?’

‘Always.’

Promising. ‘Jay and I could use your help.’

A sigh. ‘With what?’

‘We’re trying to trace a lost grimoire for the Elvyngs and we think something—’

‘The Elvyngs?’ she all but shrieked in my ear. ‘You’re working for the Elvyngs?’

‘Temporarily…’

‘Giddy gods.’

I swallowed. ‘You, uh, know them?’

‘I know of them,’ she said, and added acidly, ‘I’m not exactly the type to be on a first-name basis with magickal celebrities.’

‘Mum, you’re the queen of an Yllanfalen kingdom.’

A pause. ‘I’d forgotten that for a second.’

‘So anyway, we’re—’

She went on as though I hadn’t spoken. ‘They’re amazing. They’ve funded half of the most successful digs in recent history. Clamberwelle. Torrington. The Draypool Chalice was rediscovered because of them. Hell, Claud Elvyng was among the most prominent and successful magickal archaeologists in history. The things that man pulled out of the ground in the twenties—’

‘Mum.’ I thought it wise to cut her off, or she might bang on about it all day. ‘William Elvyng’s lost an important grimoire, his daughter Crystobel has hired us to find it, and we’ve a theory we want to investigate. We need someone who—’

‘Crystobel Elvyng? You’ve spoken to Crystobel Elvyng?’

‘Yes, we—’

‘I’ll help.’

‘What?’ I said numbly.

‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Er, we want to go back to the Elvyng residence and check for magickal residue in the—’

‘The Elvyng house?’

‘Yes…’

There followed an odd, sucking-in noise, which I interpreted as my mother trying not to scream with excitement. ‘I’m there,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

‘I thought you said you were busy?’

‘Never too busy to spare time for my daughter,’ she said primly.

Uh huh. ‘If you can meet us there tomorrow,’ I suggested, realising she’d have farther to travel than we did, and no convenient Waymaster to hand. ‘That’d be great. I’ll check with Mr. Elvyng, text you the time later.’

My mother, irascible and pragmatic Delia Vesper, may actually have squealed. I think that’s what that muffled, covering-the-phone-to-preserve-dignity noise was.

I tried to ignore Jay smirking at me as I hung up the phone.

‘See?’ he said. ‘That wasn’t so hard.’

I thought about explaining the fact that the hard part would happen tomorrow, when I had to spend hours in my mother’s company and she in mine. But that smug look on his face didn’t deserve much of a response, so I merely said: ‘I’m going to the library,’ and left him to congratulate himself alone.

I had so confidently expected to find Merlin waiting for us at Home, I was surprised speechless to discover Sally instead.

At first, I thought maybe there had been a mistake. We were sent to one of the smaller (and more secret) meeting-rooms on the ground floor, and when I saw Sally (the fence, remember?) sitting alone at the glass-topped table with a cup of coffee before her, and an open notebook, I conducted a quick sweep of the room. You know, just in case an entire extra person was sitting in one of the other chairs, or upon the window-seat, and I’d somehow failed to notice.

It was just Sally.

She looked up as we came in, and greeted us with one of those professional nods that always seem just a bit grim. ‘I apologise for the lateness of the hour,’ she said. ‘I understand you have been much engaged on business today.’

‘To say the least,’ I sighed, sliding into a chair opposite her. ‘But we appreciate your coming by. I gather you have news? Something important?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve already seen Val. She thought you should hear it directly from me.’

‘Sounds serious.’

Sally glanced at her page of notes. ‘It is about the matter of Merlin’s Grimoire.’

‘You’ve discovered something?’

She hesitated. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

We waited.

‘I sent out enquiries,’ she began. ‘Among various of my contacts who might have heard about that incident. To my surprise, I found that several had. It had never reached my ears because the stories had been broadly dismissed as moonshine. And they do sound improbable. I would have dismissed them myself, were it not for your information.’

‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘A shadow in the night? An improbably successful super-thief who can bypass security like it was never there, help themselves to the most carefully guarded artefacts, and vanish without trace, leaving not a single clue behind?’

Sally stared at me.

‘And this super-villain primarily targets Merlin-related objects?’

‘Exactly.’ Sally closed her notebook with a snap. ‘If you already knew about this, why did you—’

‘We didn’t,’ I said. ‘We found out about it today.’

Jay added, ‘It’s been an interesting day.’

‘Tell me,’ said Sally.

So we did, though we left out the parts about the maybe-Merlin eyeballing me like I was relevant to something. ‘We have no idea who she is,’ I finished. ‘Except that she talked like she is Merlin, and we know that must be impossible.’

‘That, too, I’ve heard,’ said Sally. ‘I don’t think anyone believes it.’

Jay and I exchanged a look.

‘You mean you do?’ said Sally in disgust.

‘Not… exactly,’ I said. ‘But there’s clearly something very strange going on here.’

‘Strange, and by all logic ought to be impossible,’ said Jay.

‘Where else has she been seen?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know that there have been too many direct sightings of the thief,’ said Sally. ‘Besides the grimoire, a belt buckle said to be Merlin’s disappeared about two years ago from a private house in Scotland. The thing was inscribed in Ogham, believed to be authentic, as far as anyone can be sure about that. And there was one more rumoured incident, though it was too long ago to be relevant.’

‘Maybe not,’ I said. ‘How long ago?’

‘More than twenty years. A chalice, made of horn inlaid with opal and silver, taken from a museum in Cornwall.’

‘Silver?’ said Jay sharply.

I saw the direction of his thoughts. Was it silver, or argent?

‘Why didn’t Val find anything about this on the net?’ I said, frowning.

‘Because there’s nothing there,’ said Sally. ‘Anytime anyone writes anything about this “Merlin”, those articles… disappear. It’s become something of an urban legend, spread by word-of-mouth.’ She smiled briefly. ‘I believe some of my people think I may have run mad, asking about folk tales.’

‘This is really helpful,’ I said. ‘Thank you for bringing it to us.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll let you know if I hear of anything more concrete.’

She waited, expecting something.

‘We’ll let you know if we do,’ I promised.

I guessed right, for she smiled. The curiosity bug had bitten her pretty badly. ‘I’ve got a hot chocolate appointment with Val,’ she said, rising from her chair.

‘Don’t be late,’ I said. ‘She hates that.’

Sally bustled out fast enough, leaving me to exchange long looks with Jay.

‘The plot thickens,’ he said.

‘The internet is full of references to things Merlin’s said to have owned or used at one time or another,’ I said. ‘Those articles haven’t vanished, and neither have the objects.’

‘Just the articles pertaining to the things that were taken,’ said Jay.

‘So why those things?’

Jay sighed. ‘You’re going to argue that it has to be because they’re authentic, aren’t you?’

‘Can you think of another reason?’

‘I really can’t.’

I looked around at the empty room, feeling slightly deflated. Never mind that we had just received a lot of interesting and relevant information. ‘I thought she’d be here,’ I said.

‘Merlin?’

I nodded.

‘I thought she would, too,’ Jay admitted. ‘Milady didn’t say who it was, but she sort of hinted…’

‘That it was somebody Secret and Important?’

‘Right.’

‘Which, I suppose, it was.’

‘But,’ sighed Jay. ‘All Sally’s info, while fascinating, still doesn’t help us. If all these objects were taken by the same person, no one seems to know where to find her.’

‘So we’re still stuck.’

‘Like glue.’

I held out my closed fist. ‘Go Team Magick.’

Jay bumped my fist with his own. ‘It’s great being unstoppable.’

I sighed, and lowered my cheek to the table. ‘Wake me when we have a break-through.’

Crystobel called me the following morning.

I had occasion to regret that I’d given her my personal mobile number.

‘Ms. Vesper?’ she said crisply into my ear.

‘Ves,’ I said. ‘Please. Ms. Vesper makes me feel about eighty.’

I suppose my bleatings deserved no particular response; they certainly received none. ‘Is there any progress to report?’ she said.

‘Well…’ I debated how much to tell her. ‘Sort of?’

‘Sort of.’

‘We’re fairly sure we have identified the person who took the grimoire.’

‘Oh!’

‘Sort of.’ I mean, I would recognise her if I saw her in the street, but that was about it. The only name we had for her was Merlin — maybe — and we had nothing else. Hardly information to take to the police, or indeed to Crystobel Elvyng.

‘Perhaps you could explain what you mean?’ She spoke civilly enough, but I detected traces of impatience.

Fine, less of the caginess then.

‘The likely candidate for the theft of your grimoire identifies herself as Merlin,’ I said, and then paused, remembering too late that she hadn’t actually done so. We had, as the only interpretation we could come up with for her minimal utterances that made any sense.

Sort of.

There was silence on the line.

‘So you’re saying,’ she finally began, ‘that some Merlin-wannabe has taken my grimoire?’

Curse it, how difficult could a conversation get?

Pretty work, maybe-Merlin had said. But it isn’t mine.

‘I think she may have believed herself to be retrieving her own property,’ I said.

‘Ah. Bit of a crazy, is it? That can happen,’ said Crystobel knowledgeably. ‘I trust you’ll have her apprehended soon, and the grimoire restored to my father.’

‘We’re doing our best,’ I said weakly. How could I explain the rest? Unless being “a bit of a crazy” could imbue a person with astonishing magickal powers, Crystobel’s explanation could be nowhere near the truth. But to say as much would make me sound a bit crazy.

We needed something more concrete before I could lay any of this before our client.

So I mouthed a few reassuring words and let her ring off, confident in the belief that her family would have their grimoire back soon.

Hah.

Then I threw in the towel, proverbially speaking, and took myself up to Milady’s tower.

It’s always humiliating to have to go up there and admit to being clueless, but one must swallow one’s pride. Sometimes, a conversation with Milady is exactly what’s needed to clear the head.

‘So,’ I said half an hour later, pacing restlessly back and forth across the plush carpet of Milady’s personal (and rather sumptuous) tower chamber. ‘We’re in a bind. On the one hand, these speculations of ours might well turn out to be moonshine, as Sally put it. They are completely bonkers. In which case, we’ve gone down completely the wrong track, and we will have to go back to square one. On the other hand, we might be absolutely right about this “Merlin” person; but that isn’t especially likely, and either way it doesn’t help us much if we can’t find her.’

‘Why isn’t it especially likely?’ said Milady.

That brought my pacing to a halt. ‘Um. Because the figure of Merlin has always been treated as more myth than reality, and even if he — or she — was a real person once, it must be extremely unlikely that he or she could still be alive today.’

‘You’ve encountered such things before.’

‘Baroness Tremayne? I had thought of that, but it’s different. The Baroness is locked between the echoes of Farringale, whatever that means; I’m still unsure. What it doesn’t seem to mean is that she’s free to wander the streets of the twenty-first century world, alive and kicking, the way this maybe-Merlin is.’

‘There could still be another explanation,’ said Milady.

‘Oh, there could,’ I agreed. ‘But I haven’t the faintest idea what it might be; neither does Jay; and that leaves us with no avenue for investigation.’

Milady was silent for a while. I wondered, not for the first time, what might be going through her head. This disembodied-voice thing was difficult. No face to read, no visual cues. Just words, or indeed silence.

‘I find myself with a dilemma,’ said she, and that wasn’t what I was expecting her to say at all.

‘Oh?’ I said, perking up.

‘What you have told me interests me greatly,’ she said. ‘It is… not what I had imagined you were to find, upon launching this hoax of an exhibition. But I nonetheless find myself unsurprised.’

‘You know something about this Merlin?’

This silence was undoubtedly a hesitation. Milady didn’t know what to say.

Milady didn’t know what to say.

I sensed a secret, and pounced. ‘If you know something that has some bearing on this case…’ I began, and then had no idea how to finish the sentence. Out with it? Speak up, or suffer the consequences?

‘I suppose there is no other way to persuade Ms. Elvyng to part with some of her argent?’ said Milady. ‘Purchase, for example? I am assured of Mandridore’s financial assistance.’

‘We could try that, but Jay and I already offered to buy from her. She said she doesn’t need more money. She wants her grimoire.’

Milady sighed. ‘And if it should prove not to be her grimoire?’

‘You mean it really does belong to this woman?’

‘Perhaps it might. What then?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I cannot imagine Crystobel, or her father, would welcome the idea that they aren’t getting their grimoire back, let alone that they never really owned it in the first place. And they’d need concrete proof that the grimoire is the rightful property of this Merlin-woman, and how could we get that?’

Milady addressed none of these obstacles. Instead she said: ‘Forgive me if I backtrack, but I thought you implied that this woman evinced a special interest in you, Ves. Am I right to think it?’

My turn to hesitate. ‘I might have imagined it,’ I said. ‘Although Jay got the same impression, so maybe not.’

‘What did she say to you?’

‘Nothing. She said very little to anybody. She just… looked at me.’

‘Looked?’

‘In a special way. Like she was trying to read my soul, or like… she saw something really compelling. And she did that more than once.’

‘She did not look at anybody else in this way?’

‘No. Just me.’

Silence again, for a little while. ‘I had wondered,’ said Milady, but in an abstracted way, as though she were not really talking to me anymore. ‘When the lyre…’

‘The lyre?’ I prompted, when she trailed off.

‘Ves,’ said Milady, sounding once again like her efficient, no-nonsense self. ‘There is more afoot here than I can speak of. I cannot tell you the precise identity of the woman you met, for I’m unsure of it myself. But I urge you to keep an open mind. There is more to magick than you know.’

‘Setting aside for a moment the extreme improbability that Merlin ever existed in the first place,’ said Jay, ‘a fact which no one has any real evidence for, nothing but old stories—’

‘There’s lots of truth in old stories,’ I objected.

‘Yes, but also lots of nonsense, and a story isn’t evidence of anything.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Setting that aside,’ he repeated. ‘Those stories go back, what, a thousand years at least? How could Merlin still be alive?’

‘Improbably powerful magician,’ I said.

‘And?’

‘You did see her breeze past our best security like it was nothing? And you can’t have forgotten Farringale, either. Baroness Tremayne? The echoes? It wouldn’t even be the first time we’ve encountered someone who absolutely shouldn’t still be alive anymore.’

‘True,’ said Jay, but sceptically.

‘And before you feel it necessary to point out that this Merlin is female, we also have no evidence that Merlin was male, either. Just stories, many of them written well after the age of Merlin, and largely penned by men.’

‘Who might edit the gender of the hero of the story because of… reasons?’

I shrugged. ‘Nothing so nefarious. They might simply have… assumed.’

Jay sighed. ‘I concede that there’s something in what you say. And you might be right.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

‘But it’s crazy beyond all reason and we have no proof.’

‘What’s your guess?’ I said. ‘If she isn’t Merlin, who is she?’

Jay had nothing to say.

He tried, poor boy. His mouth opened, and I could practically see the gears whirring in his brain as he sought for another, more reasonable theory than mine.

But it would all be the merest guess-work, and he knew it. He gave up. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What’s worse, I have no idea how we’re going to find out.’

A lowering reflection, that. Our maybe-Merlin had disappeared out of our lives in the blink of an eye, and even I wasn’t crazy enough to imagine we could somehow track her down. Where would we even start? How could we expect to find any trace of a person who could glide through doors, and ignore the Society’s most powerful magicks as easily as she might ignore a fly?

‘So we’re stumped,’ I said.

‘Yep.’

I turned and surveyed what was left of our exhibition. Our remaining visitors were all gathered around the case, talking excitedly; word of our maybe-Merlin’s feats of aborted thievery would spread far and wide after today. Rob and team were still engaged in their futile attempt to chase down our suspect. Various of our friends and colleagues from the Society were drifting about or slumped against walls, looking as tired and disappointed as I felt.

Yep, this was an epic fail.

‘Let’s get this lot out of here,’ I said, drawing myself up. ‘And then we’re going to dinner.’

‘Right,’  said Jay tiredly, and strode off in the direction of the Wand-case.

‘And it had better be a big dinner,’ I added to his retreating back.

In the end, I didn’t even eat much of our admittedly enormous repast.

I know. Me, Ves, lacked appetite, despite the small army of delicious dishes Jay and I had splurged on between us.

We’d been too tired, and too distracted, to faff about picking somewhere nice. So we’d headed for the nearest pub, and finding their menu replete with delicious stuff we had gone a bit nuts. We had deep-fried brie and baked camembert (Jay’s choices, proving himself a cheese connoisseur). We had a deep bowl piled high with heavily salted chips (my choice, proving myself not entirely uninfluenced by Addie). We had battered fish and peas, some excellent fresh bread, and a plate of raspberry cheesecake.

I attacked this feast with gusto at first, but rising nausea forced me to slow down to bird-like mouthfuls.

‘Are you okay?’ said Jay after a while, watching my lack of progress with sharp eyes.

‘Sick,’ I said.

‘As in, ill?’ Jay looked aghast.

‘No, no,’ I said quickly. ‘I just feel… weird.’ I shifted in my chair, too restless to sit still, despite my exhaustion.

‘It’s been a weird day,’ Jay offered. ‘And it’s possible to be too tired to eat.’

I nodded, though without fully agreeing with him. He was right, but I felt that my disorder, somehow, had something to do with Merlin. It had begun around the second time she had pinned me with that piercing gaze, as though something about that look had mixed up my insides.

And I was ferociously zapping everything I touched, which didn’t help. I speared a chip with my fork; zap. I gave up on the fork, and used my fingers instead; zzap. I picked up my glass of beer and took a swallow; zzzap-ap, and also STARS.

Pretty.

Disconcerting.

‘You definitely aren’t right,’ said Jay, having watched in silence as my rain of sparkly stars wafted over the table.

‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘But never mind me. What are we going to do about Merlin?’

‘Nothing,’ said Jay glumly.

‘Defeatist.’

‘I know, but I can’t think of a damned thing. Can you?’

I had to sigh. ‘No. And how galling is that? Mission accomplished, thief identified, fat lot of good it does us.’

‘I suppose it’s possible this woman wasn’t the same person who stole the grimoire?’ Jay said.

‘It’s possible,’ I said tonelessly. ‘But not likely. Who else do you suppose is out there, fixated upon Merlin’s personal odds-and-bobs and impossibly great at making off with them? Whoever took the grimoire left no clues. No signs of a break-in, no traces of a struggle with the case it was in. No evidence of how they got out again. And that has to be because they didn’t use the locks, and they weren’t affected by the magick. They — she — just walked in, picked up the book, and walked out again. Who else could do that?’

Jay’s turn to sigh. ‘I can’t think of a reason why you’re wrong there.’

‘Makes a change.’

‘Question,’ said Jay.

‘Great.’

‘Why’d this woman show up at our exhibition when she did? She needn’t have attracted any attention. She could have gone in after we’d closed up and left.’

‘The Wand wouldn’t have been there. We would’ve taken it away with us.’

‘Yes, but how could she know that?’

I shrugged. ‘She might guess that. Wouldn’t be hard.’

‘Right. Or she might have had some other reason for showing up when she did.’

‘Like what?’

‘Maybe she was curious about who had the Wand.’

‘Curious?’

‘She looked rather hard at you,’ said Jay, suiting action to words, and looking rather hard at me too.

‘You noticed that too, huh?’ I avoided Jay’s eyes, and looked at the table.

‘And now you’re spewing stars over the table and fizzing like a popped bottle of bubbly.’

I tried a smile. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

Jay didn’t say anything for a while.

I picked at a couple of abandoned chips.

‘Well, never mind me,’ I said eventually. ‘We need a plan of action.’

Jay still didn’t speak. He had stopped eating too, and sat fiddling with his fork. Sneaking a glance at his face, I found him gazing at nothing, typically unreadable.

‘The Wand lost her interest almost immediately,’ said Jay. ‘Overall, she seemed far more interested in you.’

I couldn’t disagree, unaccountable as it was.

‘So if that was Merlin,’ Jay continued. ‘She must have known in advance that the Wand wasn’t hers. Right?’

‘Unless she’s lost a Wand, somewhere back in the mists of time, and hoped this one was it.’

‘Unlikely. There are too many coincidences in that.’

‘And we’ve been spreading pictures of the thing everywhere. If she heard about the exhibition, she’d have had chance to see a picture, too.’

Jay nodded. ‘And the chances of Indira’s design happening to match any Wand of hers exactly are so small, it has to be impossible.’

I sat up a bit. ‘So she knew the Wand wasn’t hers. Why then did she come? Apparently it wasn’t to issue us with a cease-and-desist notice.’

‘Right. She didn’t seem to care that we were passing off a Wand as hers — or Merlin’s — and if she’s half as good as she seems to be, she must’ve realised, as soon as she saw it, that it was a new creation.’

‘So she didn’t come by to collect her Wand, or to lay the smackdown on us for fraud.’

‘She was interested,’ said Jay.

‘Curious? Really?’

‘In who we are, and what we’re doing.’

‘She asked no questions.’

Jay nodded slowly, thinking.

I cudgelled my brains into something resembling coherent thought, too.

At length I said: ‘Where might she have gone, when she left the exhibition?’

‘If we knew that—’

‘Maybe we could guess. If she’s half as interested in us as you imagine—’

‘In you,’ Jay corrected.

‘—then maybe she hasn’t vanished into the mist, never to be seen again, but—’

My phone rang. I’d set it down on the table while I ate, and it vibrated loudly against the polished pine.

All the words I’d been planning to say went straight out of my head when I saw the caller ID.

‘It’s Milady,’ I said dumbly.

Jay’s brows went up. ‘Okay…?’

I felt frozen. I can’t explain why. I had the oddest feeling of a great weight settling upon me, like something was about to happen that would change everything. Forever.

Maybe in ways I didn’t want and couldn’t cope with.

‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ said Jay.

I just looked at him, wide-eyed and speechless.

He gave me an odd look, reached slowly past me, and picked up my phone.

‘Hi, Milady,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Ves is having a funny moment. What’s up?’

Silence for a few moments.

Jay’s brows climbed higher, and then higher again. He blinked.

‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘Right, okay.’

He ended the conversation with, ‘On our way,’ and hung up.

Silently he returned my phone to its former position beside my plate.

‘There’s a visitor at Home,’ he said calmly. ‘She is desirous of seeing you as soon as possible.’

I swallowed a lump in my throat. ‘She?’ I croaked.

Jay nodded.

He didn’t explain further, but he didn’t need to.

Whoever it was, Milady thought the situation important enough to haul us straight back Home. That was a first.

Whatever was going on, I was going to have to dig deep, put my Big Girl boots on, and pull myself together.

One way or another, magick needed me.

‘Okay,’ I said, rising from my chair. I paused to stuff two more chips in my face — if my life was about to be turned upside down, I was going to need sustenance — and collected my paraphernalia. My phone I put in my pocket, where I’d feel it if it rang again. ‘It’s lucky you’re driving,’ I said to Jay.

Jay’s gaze flicked to my fingers, which at that moment were fizzing so hard with magick I could barely feel the things I’d picked up. I don’t know how he could tell, but apparently he could, for he said: ‘It is. Come on.’

Out we went to the car park. The bus had already departed, taking the rest of the Society home the slow way. Jay and I had walked down to the pub. I waited while he faffed with his phone, checking the location of the nearest Way-henge.

‘Is there an app for that?’ I said.

‘Yes.’ Jay didn’t look up.

‘What? I was joking.’

‘Nonetheless, there is.’

‘For the… what, five or so Waymasters in the country?’

‘I mean, the world’s a bit bigger than that.’

‘Sure, but who thought it worth their while to make a whole app for so small a number of people?’

‘I did.’

‘Uh.’

Jay put his phone away, flashing me a brief smile. ‘This way. Come on.’

I thought about what Val had said about Indira. ‘We really aren’t paying you or your sister enough.’

‘Says who?’

‘I’m not sure we can pay you enough.’

Jay shrugged. ‘We’ve turned down better offers to be here.’

‘Don’t leave me?’ I cleared my throat. ‘Us, I meant. Please don’t leave us.’

Jay cast me a swift, sideways glance. ‘Certainly not for money.’

‘For something else?’

He thought. ‘Probably not.’

And I had to be satisfied with that.

Jay, probably wisely, had eschewed pomp and gone for basic. He’d hired a low-key exhibition hall in a town so dull and unremarkable I can’t even remember its name. Possibly some of these choices had come about due to lack of time and lack of resources (we couldn’t exactly expect our clients — or the Society — to pay for the party of the century, after all). But it worked out well. We wanted people to show up for the Wand, not for the hors d’oeuvres. That should hopefully limit our visitor list to those with a sincere interest, either in magickal rarities or in Merlin paraphernalia. Hopefully both.

They didn’t take me there in a limousine, either, slightly to my disappointment. Jay having declined to try to haul everybody there via the Ways, one by one, he had sensibly hired a bus instead. Or more accurately, a coach.

Took me straight back to my school days, I can tell you. I tried to behave like a responsible adult, and mostly succeeded — in that I spent half the journey eating sweets with noisy wrappers, but I resisted the temptation to screw up those wrappers and turf them at Jay’s head. Or Rob’s.

It’s a mark of affection. Really.

Jay, unfazed, sat with headphones on the entire way, ignoring the lot of us. I asked him later what he’d been listening to.

‘History podcast,’ he said.

‘Very educational.’

‘I didn’t want to waste the time,’ said he earnestly.

This is why, in twenty years’ time, the Patels will have taken over the world.

And I’ll be a fifty-something unicorn, skulking in Addie’s glade and wondering where it all went.

Anyway.

I’ll spare you the details of arrival and set-up and so on. It’s not very interesting. Much of it was done by the time we got there, anyway; we had a ready-to-use venue, with a gorgeous (and, thanks to Rob, very secure) enchanted-glass case waiting to receive our priceless Wand. Ornelle had insisted on conveying the Wand itself, patently distrusting the rest of us to keep it safe. Me, especially. She kept shooting me scowly-looks, despite my disguise, and wouldn’t let me anywhere near the case until it was safely locked down.

I might have been offended, except for two things. One: I’m the only person in the country whose pet is a master treasure-thief in her own right (even if Pup has rather deserted me for Miranda, lately. Hmph). Two: there is the small matter of what became of the Sunstone Wand I wasn’t supposed to have kept forever, and then went on to… permanently lose.

So I quietly kept myself away from the pretty glass case, until it was so securely secured I’d have to throw a house at it to get it open again.

(That last part might seem counter-productive, considering we were hoping someone would steal it. But think about it. You’re a thief with some experience. You know exactly the level of security people tend to employ where priceless valuables are concerned. Then you show up with your thieving-suit on, all ready to burgle, and find the valuables in question in a case a toddler could break into. You’d pretty much smell a rat at that point, wouldn’t you? So we went for ultra-secure).

Rob had brought a team of security personnel along with him. Kind of like a batch of mini Scary-Robs. They looked the part, with dark clothes and stern visages, and I had no doubt every one of them had one of the Society’s most powerful Wands tucked away somewhere within easy reach. These were stationed near every exit, with two of them in the hall with the Wand. They were there for effect, as much as anything; they really made it look like we had something irreplaceable in there.

But they were also poised to protect the rest of us, in case our thief proved dangerous — and to launch the pursuit, as soon as our thief had (hopefully) got away with the Wand.

We had several other Society staff stationed about the hall, ready to talk glibly to our visitors about the Wand’s manufactured but terribly fascinating history. Jay was one of these, looking sharp in a dark blue suit. He’d got a pass from Milady on that one, seeing as he was too new to the Society yet to be widely recognisable as one of ours.

And of course we had me, disguised up to the roots of my hair, and doing a great job of fluttering about checking things, fiddling with stuff and generally looking very professional and experienced.

When the doors opened on the dot of nine o’clock, we were ready.

Oh wait, except for one thing.

The priceless Wand lay in its case looking really great — once you got up close to it. From a distance, though, we had a boring glass case with nothing much in it and that wouldn’t do. My sense of showmanship wasn’t having it.

With a sneaky, surreptitious little bit of magick, I gave the Wand a glow. It’s the same charm I use to throw out light-balls when I need to see where I’m going, except slightly modified.

When I had soft rainbow lights beaming gently from inside the enchanted glass case, I was satisfied, and could move away.

I definitely didn’t notice Jay rolling his eyes at me from the other side of the room.

‘What?’ I mouthed, shrugging. Who doesn’t love a bit of rainbow light with their ancient magickal artefacts?

I had to stop there, because people were coming in. Already. Two minutes after nine and there was a flood of them. An entire flood. They filled the hall inside of ten minutes, and we had to start a queuing system to allow people to view the Wand.

I watched this in stupefied silence for a minute or two, thinking back over all the things Val had done to get the word out about the Wand. I tell you, if that woman ever gets tired of being Goddess of Library, she’d be spectacular in public relations.

Then I snapped out of it, for as events co-ordinator it was my job to deal with this ocean of eager spectators. And so, with zero doddering, I got on with it.

I had two theories about how the theft might go down.

One option: it could happen at the busiest time of the day, when the staff were swamped and harassed and there were so many people milling around, no one would notice the thief. And I was prepared for that, all through the long hours that followed, for honestly the entire day was the busiest time of the day, and none of us had so much as a moment to breathe.

But the Wand remained in its glass case, untouched. And no wonder, really. Thinking about it in the abstract, it had seemed like a good time to steal an artefact, but when I was in the middle of it all I soon realised that was absurd. No thief, however clever, could get near the thing without the unwanted supervision of various staff, not to mention seventy-five impatient exhibition-goers eager for their turn.

So the other possibility had to be the other extreme: when the exhibition was at its quietest. First thing in the morning, I had thought, but that had turned out to be nonsense. There was no quiet period first thing that morning. So that left the very end of the day, when the flow of people had ebbed, and the staff were too exhausted and harried to keep quite the same watch on the Wand as we had been earlier in the day. That was when a sneak-thief might find it possible to slink in, do their thing, and slink out again with a certain treasure up their sleeve.

Unfortunately, by the end of the day, we were too exhausted to do a great job of keeping up our watch.

But that came later.

What happened first was a Distraction.

Not the spectacular kind that would draw the guards away from the Wand and give the thief an opportunity to steal it. Nothing so spectacular.

The distraction was of a personal nature, and only effective upon me, because at about half past two in the afternoon, Baron Alban walked in.

No. Prince Alban, Ves. Prince.

In he came, dressed in a pale summer suit with a fedora — an actual fedora, for goodness sake, and gods did it suit him — and spotted me at once.

Over he strolled, scarcely inconvenienced by the hordes of people in between him and me. It’s the height, perhaps, and the air of confidence. People got out of his way.

And I, forgetting I was disguised as a ninety-year-old spriggan, promptly went smiley and blushy.

‘It’s been a while,’ I said, beaming up at him.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to come by for ages, but my schedule…’

He didn’t elaborate, but I remembered what had been keeping him so busy lately. My smiles went out like snuffed candles.

‘I hope the tour went well?’ I said, with tolerable composure. He’d been swanning about on the continent with his wife, sweet-talking his fellow European royals, and generally doing pretty fabulously at PR himself.

‘As far as I could tell,’ he said, smiling his handsome smile. ‘You know how these things go. Everybody smiles and says the right things, and if they’re secretly thinking something different you’d never know it.’

I nodded sympathetically. ‘That must be difficult.’ I blinked as my tangled thoughts lit upon a more pressing idea. ‘Wait. How did you know I was here?’ I felt a flutter of panic. What if word had leaked out about the Society’s involvement with the Wand? What if everyone knew it was us?

‘I didn’t,’ he said, and the hammering of my heart eased. A bit. ‘I came to see Merlin’s Wand.’

That didn’t quite explain everything.

His response to my questioning look was a wide grin. ‘I knew you the second I walked in here,’ he said.

‘What! But—’ I looked down at myself, indignant. It was a great disguise. How could anybody possibly see through it?

He shrugged. ‘I’d know you anywhere. You’re too… you.’

I squinted up at him, unsure whether to take this as a compliment. ‘You have the honour of addressing Ms. Cornelia Morgan,’ I informed him. ‘I am the co-ordinator of this little event.’

‘Pinnacle of your long career, no doubt?’ His eyes were doing their twinkly thing, the one that melted my insides.

I nodded primly. ‘And if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’ I didn’t want to walk away, but on the other hand I really did. The Baron — Prince — wasn’t the kind of distraction I could afford on that of all days.

He nodded. ‘I can see that you’re busy. What time do you close up?’

‘Um. Around five? Hopefully.’ If the seemingly endless flow of humanity — and other beings — had finally ebbed.

‘Dinner?’ He smiled.

And I hesitated. I wanted to say yes. I so badly wanted to say yes, but he was a prince and a married one, and a mere, foolish Ves had no business getting herself too mixed up with any of that.

And I caught Jay’s eye. He was busily feeding people into and out of the viewing queue, but half his attention was fixed upon me and Alban, and while he was as composed as usual, I detected signs of concern in the dark looks he kept directing at me.

He met my eyes for a long moment, and while I couldn’t read everything that was going on in his mind, it certainly was nothing good.

‘I—’ I began. Great, now I was stammering like a fool. ‘Actually, I already have dinner plans,’ I said, and I didn’t have to feign regret.

Alban hadn’t missed the direction of my gaze. ‘With Jay?’ he said, with a trace of surprise.

‘Yes,’ I said.

He nodded, and backed up so fast he almost squashed the old lady trying to pass behind him. ‘Great,’ he said heartily. ‘Have fun! I’ll catch up with you soon, all right?’

And he left, still smiling.

That damned smile. I looked ahead into the far future, and predicted miserably that I never would find it other than devastating.

I took a breath, tried unsuccessfully to calm the turbulent sensations discomposing my guts, and went back to my job.

I don’t recommend running that kind of distance in slip-on summer sandals. I had to take them off halfway to the glade, having almost tripped and brained myself on one of the ancient oaks marching along either side of the driveway (those gnarly old roots are deadly). I arrived sweat-bathed, out of breath and with shredded feet.

Addie had acquired some new vegetation. Something frilly and pungently-scented met my senses as I entered the unicorn glade, its long, narrow leaves displaying an unusual array of colours. There were so many of these bushes, I couldn’t even see the pool at the heart of the glade.

Or Addie either.

‘Addie!’ I yelled, with as much breath as I could muster. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Nothing stirred at all, and not only was Addie herself nowhere in sight, but her — our — other friends were absent, too.

I stood frozen for one horrible moment, my heart pounding, visions of disaster spinning through my brain. Someone had discovered the glade. Someone had taken Addie and the others away.

A soft whuffi interrupted this sickening train of thought, and something shoved me from behind, hard enough almost to knock me over.

I recognised that whuffi.

I spun on my hooves, tail swishing, horn held high.

Addie planted her feet, lifted her head, and whuffied. Again.

‘You have got to be kidding me,’ I said, the words emerging as a series of whuffis. ‘You’re having a chip emergency? That’s what you brought me running out here for?’

‘Whuffi,’ said Addie.

‘A lack of chips is not an emergency, Addie! Giddy gods! You almost gave me a heart attack!’

‘Whuff,’ said Addie, with less defiance.

‘And as you can see, I have brought zero chips. I expected to find you kidnapped or injured or dismembered or something, not hungry.’

Addie’s head lowered, but she declined to reply, seeming intent upon chewing a long stalk of grass pressed between her lips.

‘I mean, I’d get bored of eating grass too, I grant you. And I have been a bit preoccupied lately. I should have brought you a basin of chips days ago and I apologise.’

Addie whickered, and spat out the grass.

‘Nonetheless, you can’t panic-summon me every time you fancy some fast food. It isn’t on and I won’t have it. There’s only so many heart attacks a girl can survive, you know?’

Addie gave me a flat stare, which I chose to interpret as semi-defiant capitulation. Fine, have it your way.

‘Thank you,’ I said, and looked around. Still no sign of the others. ‘Where are the girls? You haven’t eaten them in a fit of ravening hunger?’

A snort. Addie turned and, tail swishing, trotted away into the bushes.

I followed after.

Jay found me there sometime later. Probably some hours later, judging from the poorly-concealed exasperation I saw on him.

‘Ves,’ he said, picking me out from the line-up of unicorn ladies with unerring accuracy. I wonder sometimes what I look like. All I’ve seen of my own unicorn-form is the hazy, swishy reflection the pool can offer me, which is imprecise. I think I have a rainbow mane, but that might just be wishful thinking.

I dipped my head in acknowledgement of this salutation.

‘Is there some reason why now seemed like a perfect time to take a horn holiday?’

Horn holiday. I laughed so hard I choked on my own nose-hair.

Jay watched me with widened eyes. ‘Is that— are you dying? What’s happening?’

I controlled myself. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. Whuffi, whuffi. ‘Did you bring any chips?’

I knew the answer already: no. I’d have smelt them otherwise. So would Addie, and she’d be presently mowing Jay down in her haste to devour every greasy, delectable morsel.

‘I didn’t bring any pancakes,’ Jay said, nearly but not quite interpreting me correctly. Not bad, huh? ‘I wasn’t expecting to need any,’ he said, a little apologetically. ‘But if you’ll come back Home with me, we can probably persuade Kitchen to rectify that.’

‘I love Kitchen!’ I declared, and frisked over to Jay. Kitchen could probably be persuaded to rustle up a bucket of chips for Addie and the girls, too — better make it two or three buckets — and then maybe my beloved Familiar would leave me in peace for a little while, so we could get on with the important business of pulling off a daring hoax.

I fell into step beside Jay, and we made our way at a slow amble out of Addie’s perfect, peaceful little glade.

The moment I stepped over the invisible threshold, my hooves and horn disappeared again, leaving me human-Ves.

‘Horn holiday,’ I said, giggling.

Jay carefully avoided looking at me. ‘I should have thought to bring you a new dress, too. Honestly wasn’t very organised today.’

‘Oh! That’s okay. I seem to have worked out how to hang onto my clothes.’ I was indeed dressed in my summer silks once more, though my sandals had vanished, probably never to be seen again.

Jay shot me a startled look. ‘How did you manage that?’

‘No clue.’

‘Nice one.’

A little later, one Ves (and one Jay) having been suitably stuffed with banana-split pancakes, and one herd of unicorns having been suitably plied with unhealthy snacks, Jay and I flopped into our usual flumping-spots in the common room and exchanged notes.

‘So why exactly were you hobnobbing with the horn squad?’ he said.

I tried to keep a straight face, really I did.

After ten seconds or so of solid giggling on my part, Jay lost his composure, and began to laugh as well. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t do that when I want a straight answer out of you.’

I took a deep breath, only slightly wobbly in the middle, and managed to get a grip. ‘Addie had an emergency. A real, honest-to-god, sirens-sounding, help-me-this-instant emergency. I almost broke my neck hurtling down the stairs from Milady’s tower, and my poor feet may never recover from my mad dash out to the glade.’ I displayed the ruined soles of my feet for Jay’s inspection.

He made a sympathetic noise. ‘And what was the emergency?’

‘Lack of chips. Honestly, it’s inspiring. Next time I have a pancake craving but no pancakes, I’m getting me an air-raid siren. That should fetch you all running.’

‘I’ll make a note,’ Jay promised. ‘If the air-raid sounds, it’s straight down to the cellar, or risk being mauled to death by Hangry Ves.’

‘Hangry? I am never hangry.’

‘No, that’s true. Really you just look forlorn and a bit pitiful, like a sad puppy.’

My dignity did not especially like that idea. I sniffed.

Jay grinned. ‘It’s okay. It’s cute.’

Cute. Huh.

‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘Why were you looking for me again?’

‘Oh, because everything’s ready. Project Hoax launches in the morning.’

‘Project Hoax? Subtle much?’

‘It’s accurate. Does what it says on the tin.’

‘Fair.’

Jay went down a list of details, proving that he and Val had thought of basically everything. I felt a twinge of compunction. Jay was right, I shouldn’t have spent the whole day hobnobbing with the horn squad. I should have been helping Val and Jay. And Rob, who had an entire security, surveillance and pursuit plan mapped out and it was only seven o’clock in the evening.

I hadn’t meant to spend the whole day in there, honest. It can be hard to keep track of time as a unicorn. I’d swear I had been there for only a couple of hours.

‘So we should get an early night,’ he finished, demonstrating once again what a responsible Boy Scout he is. ‘You especially.’

‘Why me especially?’

‘Because you’re hosting.’

‘What?’

He grinned. ‘We’re keeping the identity of the supposed owner “anonymous”. This exhibition is being handled by a professional events agency, the face of which is you.’

‘Jay. A public exhibition, attracting everyone who’s anyone in magick? People will recognise me. Even if I wear—’ I paused to take a breath, shuddering ‘—ordinary hair.’

‘I know. That’s why we’re putting you in disguise.’

My eyebrows rose.

‘You did want to play dressing-up?’

‘What, are you going to give me a new face?’   

‘No.’

‘Of course not.’

‘But we are giving you the appearance of a new face.’

I sucked in a breath. Advanced illusion work? That shit was expensive.

And incredibly fun.

‘Who am I going to be?’ I asked, breathless with anticipation.

‘We thought we’d leave that up to you.’

I bounced in my seat.

‘But!’ Jay raised a warning hand. ‘Don’t go too crazy, okay? We want your persona to be believable.’

I crossed my heart. ‘Soul of discretion,’ I promised.

Jay’s look was profoundly sceptical.

One thing it’s difficult for illusion-work to do, however intricate, is give an inaccurate impression of height. If you haven’t got the bulk, you haven’t got it; it’s no use trying to stick two extra feet of height onto yourself. I mean, what are you going to put in it? Thin air?

So I went for a form suited to my stunted stature.

‘Spriggan?’ said Jay, when I finally emerged from Home’s hair-and-makeup team (so to speak).

I patted my hair. I hadn’t gone for anything too nuts, as per Jay’s request. They’d given me a blue rinse and a crown of braids, attractive but also professional.

Oh, and they’d aged me up by about sixty years.

‘That’s it?’ I said. ‘That’s all you’re going to comment on?’

Jay looked me over. ‘Anything else I should consider noteworthy?’

‘How about my transformation into a ninety-year-old woman?’

‘I’m sure you had your reasons.’

‘Respectability,’ I informed him, though he hadn’t precisely enquired. ‘People trust kindly old ladies, don’t they?’

‘Are you going to be kindly?’

‘With a bit of brisk efficiency thrown in. No doddering though.’

Jay nodded gravely. ‘There can’t be any doddering. The entire mission would be thrown into jeopardy.’

I squinted at him. ‘My name, in case you’re interested, is Cornelia Spink.’

His face didn’t even twitch.

‘Fine,’ I sighed. ‘Actually it’s Cornelia Morgan.’

‘Very well, Ms. Morgan,’ said Jay. ‘If you’ll be so good as to come with me, we’ll pop off to your waiting venue, maybe get you a nice cup of tea and a biscuit.’

‘I hope that isn’t an age joke,’ I said severely.

‘Not in the least.’

‘I like a nice cup of tea and a biscuit, even when I’m not being ninety.’

‘Even at the tender age of thirty-one?’ Jay said, incredulous. ‘Surely not.’

I thwapped him with my respectably taupe-coloured handbag. ‘As, may I remind you, do you.’

Jay grinned, relenting. ‘I was hoping for a nice cup of tea and a biscuit myself.’

‘Will there be custard creams?’

‘Absolutely without question.’

Off we popped.

Two days later, the internet was teeming with references to the spectacular “new find”. Val and I had concocted a whole story for it. It was found among boxes of junk in some deceased person’s attic, if you didn’t know, and came to light during the preparations for an estate sale. Some discerning soul recognised its unique qualities, sent it for further analysis, and here we are. One priceless artefact bursting forth upon an astonished world.

And if you think no one would believe such a tale, just consider how many times some old master has been dug up out of somebody’s boxes of junk, having vanished out of all knowledge generations before. These things happen.

Also, people believe what they want to believe, and some people really want to believe in Merlin.

Hurrah for tech, too, for the photos of the Wand (only slightly touched up, ahem) made the thing look even more spectacular than it did in the flesh.

But we soon ran into a problem.

‘We can’t hold the auction online,’ Val said.

‘Why not? It’s perfect. We remain totally anonymous, and we barely have to deal with anyone. We just collect the information, cancel it, and move on.’

Val, hunched over her laptop doing who-knew-what, looked up at me at that. ‘Ves. You’ve encountered the internet before?’

‘Yes…?’

‘And you still think everyone’s going to give us their real names and contact details?’

I blinked. ‘Um?’

‘I could call that charmingly naïve,’ she muttered, returning to her screen. ‘Were I feeling generous.’

I coughed. ‘Surely there are obligations to do so, with a legal and above-board auction—’

‘Internet,’ said Val, thundering away at something on her keyboard. ‘If we can remain anonymous, so can everyone else. And they will. Especially anybody shady enough to have already stolen one major artefact, and in case you’d forgotten that’s exactly who we are hoping to find.’

‘But—’

‘Besides, any collector worth their salt will be suspicious of hoaxes exactly like this one. It’s not like it hasn’t been tried before, albeit with different goals. They’ll want to see the Wand. Satisfy themselves that it’s legitimate. Without that, the serious collectors aren’t going to show up.’

‘Isn’t that a bigger problem?’ I said, slightly appalled. ‘I mean, they can’t satisfy themselves as to its legitimacy when it… isn’t.’

‘I know, but Orlando’s work is virtually perfect. If you didn’t know it was a fake, tell me you wouldn’t be convinced. Go on.’

‘Well, I—’

‘You would. Because it is an artefact of great power. That’s its secret. The only things it isn’t are antiquated and belonging to Merlin. Well, it will pass for the former because the materials they used are ancient, even if the craftsmanship is fresh. And as for the latter, if someone’s got a way to prove beyond doubt that an item belonged to someone who lived many hundreds of years ago — if he ever lived at all — I’d love to hear about it.’

‘It’s actually Indira’s work,’ I said.

‘No,’ she said, looking sharply up. ‘Surely not.’

‘With Orlando’s guidance, no doubt, but yes. She made it.’

Val looked at me for a long moment, then returned to her typing. ‘We probably aren’t paying her enough.’

‘So we need to hold a real auction?’ I said, backtracking a bit. ‘In a real place?’

‘Probably.’

‘Isn’t that risky? Won’t the collectors be angry if they show up expecting to bid, and the auction’s cancelled?’

‘Ves complaining about risks,’ Val muttered. ‘That’s a first.’

‘I’m not totally devoid of a sense of responsibility.’

Val snorted.

‘I’m surprised Jay hasn’t been saying the same things,’ I persevered.

‘He might have, if it wasn’t for the fact that our plan was far riskier. As the best of two risky options—’

‘Did we announce yet that there’s going to be an auction?’

‘Not yet. That’s tomorrow.’

‘Okay. Why does it have to change hands?’

‘Dear Ves, if you could please get around to making sense? I am rather busy this morning.’

‘I might be about to override Jay’s brilliant plan.’

‘You mean the same way he overrode yours? Revenge is sweet.’

‘Especially when it’s also practical. Can’t we just have an exhibition?’

‘We…’ Val sat, blinking. ‘Actually, we could.’

‘It gets better.’ I admit to some feelings of smugness.

One eyebrow went up. ‘Better? Or worse?’

‘We’re trying to lure a thief,’ I said, letting that pass. ‘How about we put it on display somewhere — strictly limited time, showing it off to the world before it vanishes into some private collection, etc — and then we put a tracker on it.’

Val said nothing.

‘You know, like the ones we have on Jay’s stuff.’

‘I know what a tracker is.’

‘Right. Well, anyone so desperate to own Merlin’s grimoire as to steal it would probably want to make off with this, too. No?’

‘Maybe.’

‘And if they didn’t just try to buy the grimoire — and they didn’t, Mr. Elvyng said no one ever approached him with an offer — maybe that means they don’t have that kind of money. In which case, an auction would be no good anyway.’

‘You’re just in love with the idea of master thieves pulling off spectacular artefact heists.’

‘I… might be.’

‘Mm. And what were the chances of your having become just such a thief, if the Society hadn’t recruited you?’

‘I believe you are casting aspersions upon my morals.’

‘Grave ones.’

‘I resent that.’

‘So it isn’t true?’

I thought it over. ‘It would’ve been that or a great detective.’

‘Two sides of the same coin.’

‘So we’re doing it?’

‘What? The latest new and brilliant plan?’

‘Exhibition! Come on!’

‘I’m not sure I’m loving this pick-and-mix, trial-and-error approach to planning. Can we please stick with this one now?’

‘We’re going with it,’ I promised.

‘You still have to get it past Jay,’ Val said.

‘Right.’

‘And Milady,’ she added as an afterthought.

To my surprise, and secret satisfaction, Jay took the overthrow of his plan with grace.

Actually, more than that. Enthusiasm.

‘That actually works far better,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t quite work out how to handle the auction structure without making a mess.’

‘It was a better plan than my other idea,’ I allowed, generous in victory.

‘Milady will be happier with it, too. She frowned a lot when I told her about mine.’

‘Frowned? Jay, she’s a disembodied voice.’

‘I know, but sometimes you can hear the frown.’

‘I’ll tell her,’ I promised.

‘You do that. I’ll go find an exhibition venue.’

‘Not too close to Home,’ I warned. ‘We don’t want anyone making any connection with us.’

‘Right.’ He stood up, and retrieved his jacket. ‘I’d better tell Indira to build a tracker into the Wand. Sticking one on isn’t going to cut it. Any thief worth their salt would be ready for that.’

‘Good point.’ I saluted.

‘What’s that for?’

‘I’m saluting your practical turn of mind.’

‘Literally saluting? I feel honoured.’

I bowed.

‘Let’s not overdo it.’

‘Right.’

‘It is a clever scheme,’ said Milady a little later, after I’d presented myself at the door of her tower-top room and awaited admittance. She’d been busy. I’d had to wait nearly half an hour. ‘I trust all proper precautions will be taken?’

‘Er, no doubt,’ I said.

‘Such as?’ Milady prompted.

‘Um, we’ll hold the exhibition well away from Home.’

‘Yes, that would be wise.’

‘And…’ I stopped, empty of ideas.

‘Trust Indira’s tracker, rather than lying in wait for the thieves ourselves?’ said Milady.

I was silent with dismay.

‘Ves?’

‘How did you know?’ I said in a small voice.

‘I have known you for a considerable period.’

‘And you still employ me!’

‘I have great faith in your abilities, but that does not mean that I wish for you to needlessly endanger yourself in the pursuit of this grimoire.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Or Jay, or Valerie, or Indira either.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ I almost saluted again, but thought better of it.

‘Have you considered the probable consequences of failure?’

‘You mean nobody steals the Wand?’

‘That is one possibility.’

‘If that doesn’t happen, well, we’ll still have attracted the notice of a lot of people who are interested in putative Merlin artefacts. We can investigate anyone who shows a particular preoccupation with it.’

‘Good. What else?’

‘Um.’ I thought. ‘If someone does steal it but the tracker doesn’t work?’

‘Also a possibility.’

‘I have faith in Indira’s craftsmanship.’

‘So do I, but if we are dealing with an experienced thief — and we hope that we are — it is very possible they will be prepared for such things. It is not an unusual way of protecting artefacts of great value.’

‘We’ll have to be quick. Get after them the moment it’s gone. All we need is a lead.’

‘So you’ll watch it day and night?’

‘Yes…’

‘And who among my Society is to be involved in apprehending these thieves?’

‘Are we apprehending them? We only want to know where they take the Wand. Presumably it will be the same place they took the grimoire.’

‘And if it isn’t?’

‘Um.’

‘If, for example, the Wand is taken by someone else altogether, with no connection to the theft of the grimoire?’

I thought rapidly. ‘That could happen, but it would be a huge coincidence. Too big, surely? How many obsessed Merlin collectors with inadequate moral fibre can there be?’

‘There might be those whose interest is not in its provenance but in its value,’ Milady pursued.

‘Grab it and flog it? That’s true.’

Milady relented. ‘There have been no such thefts reported in some time, however, so I should think it unlikely.’

‘Right!’

‘It is a good scheme, Ves, but it is also a long shot. I hope you have other avenues of investigation in progress?’

‘There’s Sally.’

‘Very well, tell me about Sally.’

I hesitated, struck by sudden doubt. Milady did know about Val’s adventures in the bookish black market? What if she didn’t, and took exception to Val’s underworld connections?

But I banished the thought. Valerie would never try to deceive Milady upon such a point. Nor would she succeed. Milady, somehow, knew everything that happened at Home.

So I told her all about Sally, and her shock at such a theft’s having occurred without her knowledge.

Milady seemed more interested in that fact than I had been. ‘That is curious,’ said she. ‘It suggests, does it not, that perhaps we are not dealing with a team of career thieves? Surely those are precisely the kinds of people Sally would deal with. Or at least have some awareness of.’

‘You mean maybe there was no heist?’

‘Not as we have imagined it. I think perhaps a previous notion might prove correct: the thief and the new owner of the grimoire are the same person. Sally heard of no sale because there was no sale.’

‘Then that person must be formidable indeed. The security at that manor is top-notch, and to get past the charms on the case — to take on the Elvyngs —’ I remembered what Val had said, when we’d first entreated her help. I rather fear we’re dealing with a considerable power.

‘Going back to what I said about reasonable precautions,’ said Milady.

‘Yes. We’ll be careful.’

‘I shall send Rob with you.’

‘Scary Rob. Yes, please.’

Our business complete, I bowed myself out and began my noisy clattering back down the stairs. I was halfway down when I felt a strong tug upon my heart. A strong, urgent tug, with a shade of panic to it.

Addie.

This new familiar-bond of ours had produced all kinds of effects I hadn’t anticipated. I was in tune with Adeline’s feelings and well-being in ways I had never been before; not all the time, but I received odd pulses of awareness at intervals, some of them rather strong.

I hadn’t felt anything like this from her before.

Throwing dignity to the winds, I thundered down the rest of the stairs, and took off for Addie’s glade at a dead run.

I was later comforted to recall that I still had an appointment with “the best fence in the industry.” Hey, you never know how things are going to turn out. If Sally had fenced the stolen grimoire, or knew who had, we could have answers right away. We wouldn’t need Jay’s fake auction. I left for the meeting with high hopes.

And Sally turned out to be nothing like I expected.

I mean, really. You talk of a legendary dealer in stolen magickal artefacts, I picture somebody shady-looking, possibly rather greasy. Someone used to a life of skulking in the shadows, evading the law. Someone who in some way looks the part.

I arrived — alone — at the location Val gave me for the meeting, dressed in my best meeting-master-criminals ensemble. That being a dark-coloured dress, smart but not too smart, and power heels. I didn’t bother changing the powder-blue colour of my hair. The best fence in the business had to have a strong stomach. She couldn’t be easily perturbed by little things like eccentric hair choices.

Sally had agreed to meet me at a tiny coffee shop in a remote town I’ve agreed to leave nameless. Partly because it isn’t far from Home, the location of which is not for public consumption; partly because it isn’t far from Sally’s base of operations either. The meeting was set for ten in the morning, and when I arrived, the shop was duly deserted. Only one other patron was in evidence when I walked in: a stout man parked in a far corner, laptop open, headphones on, a tall latte set at his elbow.

Probably not Sally, I decided, and sat down with my mocha on the other side of the room, right by the window. We were hurtling towards September, and the weather was beginning to reflect that: the morning was overcast and drizzling with rain, and I watched a procession of miserable-looking people in drenched t-shirts pass by.

Sally turned out to have one characteristic one might expect of a master criminal: stealth. Intent as I was upon the people out on the cobbled street, I still didn’t notice anybody turn in at the door to the coffee shop, and make her way over to my table. I merely became aware, all of a sudden, that I was no longer alone.

I slowly turned my head.

My new table-mate was Yllanfalen. That shocked me more than it ought; after all, just because they’re improbably beautiful doesn’t mean they can’t be morally compromised, does it? Sally was about my mother’s age, at least in appearance, but not one iota less gorgeous for it. Her silver hair was upswept, and secured with jewelled combs; she wore the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes with superb grace; and the smile she directed at me might be called devastating.

I was intrigued to notice that she had totally eschewed the smart-but-not-too-smart look that I’d chosen, opting instead for a dazzling peacock-blue dress and the most stunning black velvet coat.

Okay, nothing about Sally suggested she had any interest in skulking. Far from trying to pass unnoticed, she positively invited attention.

‘Sally?’ I said, realising belatedly that I had no idea of her surname.

She inclined her head, and sipped delicately at the coffee I hadn’t seen her purchase. Espresso. Strong, black and uncompromising.

‘You are Valerie’s friend?’ she said, in one of those melodious Yllanfalen voices.

I tell you, these people make you feel like such a crow. I cleared my throat. ‘That’s me. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’

She nodded, subjecting me to a casual scrutiny that didn’t fool me for a second. Her seemingly idle gaze swept over me and missed nothing. ‘And how may I help you, Ms. Vesper?’

I tried not to glance theatrically around the coffee shop to check for anyone listening in, then stagily lower my voice to talk to my companion. Honestly, nothing says “we are up to no good” more obviously than that. But it is so hard to help it when you’re up to your eyeballs in nefarious deeds.

Emulating her effortless poise instead, I said: ‘We are attempting to track down an item that went missing four years ago. It’s of some importance that it is retrieved.’

‘And when you retrieve it?’ she said. ‘What then will you do?’

‘We aren’t particularly interested in how the, er, transferral of ownership was effected, or by whose hand,’ I said, conscious that she might have friends and contacts to protect. ‘The item must return into the possession of its original owner. That’s all we want.’

‘Are you the original owner?’

I shook my head.

‘Then what is in it for you?’ She looked me over again. ‘You are not an investigator of crimes, I think?’

‘I work with Valerie,’ I said. ‘I’m not usually for hire in such cases, this is true. But the owner of this missing thing made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.’

There was a pause. I imagined her weighing up the option of pumping me for further information, which I very much hoped she wouldn’t. I could not tell her about the argent; what might not such a person demand, if she understood its existence?

‘The Society’s goals are ever enigmatic,’ she murmured, sipping coffee.

‘Not really. We rescue endangered magickal things. If we have to bend a few rules to do it, we will.’

Something like amusement sparked in her limpid green eyes. ‘And you have no such questions to put to me?’

‘I could ask you why you agreed to this meeting,’ I conceded. ‘And I could express all manner of curiosity as to your business. But all I really want to know is: were you involved in finding a new home for a certain priceless grimoire, about four years ago?’

‘Grimoires often come up,’ she said, setting down her empty cup. ‘Some more valuable than others. A priceless one, however? I take it you do not exaggerate.’

‘Only a little. It has been sold in living memory, so someone has put a price on it.’ When I named the price in question, her eyebrows lifted. Just a fraction.

‘I know of only a few spell-books that could command such a price,’ she said.

My curiosity fired up at once. A few? What were the others? Where were the others?

But I controlled myself. Stick to the mission, Ves. Get the job done. ‘Have any of them changed hands in the last few years?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

My heart sank. ‘Nothing linked to a rather famous chap known as Merlin?’ I tried.

The eyebrows went up again. ‘That one, was it?’ She pursed her lips, an expression of — strangely — displeasure crossing her serene face. Then she said, very softly, ‘I did not know it had been stolen.’

The fact that so major a theft had occurred outside of her range of influence evidently irritated her.

‘Something like that would normally reach your ears, would it?’ I said.

She inclined her head. ‘So much so that—’ She stopped, and after a pause, went on. ‘You are certain that it was stolen, are you?’

‘Its owners have asserted that it was.’

‘No private sale? With these old families, there can be embarrassment about straitened circumstances. Perhaps they might rather term it stolen, than admit it was sold for cash?’

‘You might be right,’ I allowed, not choosing to go into the question of the Elvyngs’ wealth. ‘But if so, why would they contract us to find it again? Why not let it quietly be forgotten?’ And they offered a truly princely reward, too. That the Elvyngs might be strapped for cash must be unthinkable.

Her brow contracted into a frown. She said nothing, appearing abstracted. I suppose she was questioning how such a spectacular theft could have been conducted without her ever hearing of it.

That she was genuinely nonplussed was beyond question. I’d completely stymied her.

‘I have nothing to tell you,’ she said abruptly. ‘And that ought not be possible.’

I didn’t know what to say, so I drained the dregs of my mocha and waited.

‘I will make enquiries,’ she decided. The dark frown hadn’t lifted from her brow. ‘If I hear of anything relevant to you, I shall inform Valerie.’

She gave me scant opportunity to respond to this, for in another moment she was gone, whisking out of the coffee shop with the straight-backed, bristling posture of a seriously displeased woman.

Did she imagine someone had been deliberately hiding things from her? I had no idea what her operation might be like.

Clearly, though, someone was in for a bad afternoon.

‘Well,’ I said aloud, and looked about me. The meeting hadn’t gone as I was hoping, but perhaps it had not been a total loss either. If anybody could find out some titbit of information about that theft, it must be someone with connections like Sally’s.

In the meantime, we had a pretend auction to launch.

‘Indira,’ I said late that evening. ‘You’re a genius. I hope your brother tells you that every day.’

Jay’s insanely talented sister ducked her head, unable to hide her pleased smile, but unwilling to show it off either. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered.

Honestly, the girl is amazing. She must be twentyish, but seems much younger — partly due to that persistent shyness, and a tendency to try to be invisible. But young as she is (or looks), there’s no end to her brilliancies. Someday she’s going to be a magickal legend.

On this occasion, she had thrilled me by bringing our new “Merlin’s Wand” to the first-floor common room, where Jay and I were holed up for the evening. There are two particularly excellent arm-chairs in there, positioned on either side of a long window. They’re plushy and huge and one of them is mine. The other is Jay’s. We often sit up there in the evenings, watching the sun sink over the verdant grounds at Home, and drinking more chocolate than is good for us.

Indira has obviously figured us out by now. I spotted her slip into the room, and thread her way unerringly through the various clusters of chairs and coffee-tables, some of them occupied, on her way to our corner. She hadn’t even checked to make sure we were there before she headed our way.

‘It’s perfect,’ Jay said, excellent big brother that he is. He had it in his hands as he spoke, and I swear I could believe that exquisite thing had once belonged to someone extraordinarily powerful. Amber and bone. Rich, deep gold, and aged ivory-white. She’d crafted these materials into a Wand of remarkable beauty: slender, tapering, coiled and embossed, mounted into a gold filigree handle. Magick radiated from it, together with a palpable sense of antiquity. How had she contrived that?

No wonder she’d been recruited straight into Orlando’s secret lab.

‘I want to keep it,’ I said. ‘Can I keep it?’

Jay rolled his eyes at me.

‘Um, maybe after the auction’s finished,’ said Indira.

I sat up. ‘Really. Really? I could?’

She blinked, alarmed. ‘Um — maybe if Milady says…?’

Right. Milady’s call. I sank back down again. ‘Well, you’ve outdone yourself, and I applaud you. We shouldn’t have too much trouble passing off this beauty as Merlin-ware.’

Jay snorted with laughter. ‘Merlin-ware? Watch out for her, Indira. She’ll have you crafting up an entire line of Merlin-themed paraphernalia in no time.’

‘The Society’s always in need of more funding,’ I said. ‘You can’t tell me Indira-designed Merlin-ware wouldn’t fly off the shelves.’

‘Someone’s been spending too much time in the Elvyng Emporium,’ Jay muttered.

‘I maintain that they’re onto something with that place.’

Indira bent over our glass-topped coffee table, and made an imperious gesture in the direction of the velvet-lined box she’d brought the Wand in. Jay, to my fascination, obediently put the pretty thing back.

‘You’re taking it away?’ I said. ‘Already?’

‘Valerie needs it,’ she said. ‘It’s got to be photographed and filmed.’

Right, for the fake provenance records Val would be industriously spreading around online. ‘Pics for the rumour mill!’ I said. ‘I love my job.’

Jay exchanged a look with Indira. I could not flatter myself that it was a look of shared admiration for me. ‘I get results,’ I said defensively.

‘Are we forgetting that this particular mad plan was my concoction?’ said Jay.

‘You’re right.’ I picked up my empty chocolate cup and toasted Jay with it. ‘Here’s to my unholy influence rubbing off on you.’

Indira, surprisingly, grinned.