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I made my way to the library with some feelings of mild apprehension. Jay might justifiably kill me for having left him to fret all day. Val might justifiably murder me for having failed to get her the contents of Merlin’s grimoire.

My life was in all kinds of danger, lately.

I found Jay sitting in one of the deep, silver-brocaded chairs before the hearth in the main hall of the library. Those self-same chairs I hardly saw anyone use, until recently when Val sat there with Crystobel Elvyng.

Now Jay sat alone, a book on his lap but his gaze fixed upon the empty grate. He didn’t look worried so much as forlorn, which tore at my heart-strings rather a lot.

‘For a man pretending to read, you’re doing an abominable job,’ I said.

He looked up sharply, and then sat up, so fast he almost tossed his book onto the floor. ‘Ves! You’re okay. I mean… are you okay?’

I wondered, too late, what I looked like. I hadn’t bothered to check, and considering my frame of mind, I probably looked like a washed-out wreck. ‘I’m fine,’ I said, attempting a reassuring smile. ‘And I’m really sorry that I worried you. I should have thought of that before.’

Jay smiled. ‘In your shoes, I’m not sure I would have reacted much differently,’ he said, generous as always. ‘It’s a big ask.’

Daringly, I took the opposite seat to Jay’s. It felt like I was lounging all over hallowed ground, and I half expected Val to come shooting in from her desk, ready to incinerate me on the spot.

But she didn’t, and nothing happened, so I relaxed a bit. ‘It’s just been a… strange couple of months,’ I said, with towering understatement. ‘I don’t feel much like myself anymore.’ I remembered Rob’s recent words, and his encouragement to visit Grace for some in-house counselling. I’d spurned the very idea at the time, but.

Perhaps he had a point.

‘I think you aren’t like your old self,’ Jay said. ‘You aren’t quite the person you were when I first met you.’

Dismal thought.

‘But is that a bad thing?’ he went on. ‘You were magnificent before. Now you’re going to be epic.’

I had to grin. ‘Epic! Will people pen long accounts of my daring exploits?’

‘Undoubtedly. Great tomes of extravagant praise.’

My smile faded. ‘But no, because in this new future scenario, I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be doing the things I do under the banner of Merlin’s legacy. Who will remember Ves?’

Jay looked long at me. ‘Is that what’s bothering you?’

I thought about it. ‘Not the likelihood of not being personally remembered. That is the fate that awaits almost all of us. But ceasing to be me anymore, in my own lifetime? Yes, that bothers me. What’s left of Ophelia? What became of her life?’

‘You can do this your own way, Ves. Like you do everything. You don’t have to let Ophelia’s choices rule you.’

‘But maybe she made them because she had to.’

‘Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she made those choices because she wanted to.’

I shifted in my seat. ‘I need to talk to her again. I mean, I don’t even know why she wants to replace herself, or what I’d be expected to do as the next Merlin.’

Jay nodded. ‘She anticipated that, so she left me the means to reach her.’

‘She left you the means?’

‘She’s got a little henge, apparently. I assume it’s attached to that secret abode you visited. If you’re ready to talk, I can take you there.’

I felt a surge of gut-gnawing apprehension, and badly wanted to say no.

But fear is there to stop us from doing things. That is its sole purpose. And while, on occasion, it’s wise to pay attention, most of the time it’s talking crap.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘If you’re at leisure now, shall we get it over with?’

Jay smiled like he was impressed with me, which made me feel a tiny bit better. If Jay experiences such ordinary human sensations as nerves or indeed screaming terror, I’ve rarely caught a glimpse of it, but I suppose he must. ‘I can take you right now,’ he said, and stood up.

‘Ves?’

I looked up. Val came floating towards us in her spectacularly green Elvyng chair, one hand held out to Jay. He placed into it the book he’d been ignoring, and she settled it tenderly in her lap. ‘You’re going?’ she said.

I nodded.

‘Good.’ She looked piercingly at me, and added, ‘You’ve got this, Ves.’

‘And there I thought I was doing a good job of exuding an effortless calm.’

Val snorted. Then, pointing a finger at me, she said: ‘Get me that grimoire.’

Before I could reply, she’d turned her chair and sailed back into the depths of her beloved library.

When Jay whirled us away upon the Winds, we emerged into a compact little grove, ringed around with rowan and ash trees, and carpeted in deep moss and clover. Merlin’s henge was a collection of low, time-worn stones, reddish-brown in hue and veined in moss agate.

At one edge of the grove rose a low-roofed cottage, timber-beamed, with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof. For a building that apparently dated from somewhere in the late fourteen hundreds, it looked curiously new and fresh. This couldn’t be the dwelling of the original Merlin; it wasn’t old enough. But its state of preservation owed much to the powerful enchantments that kept this place just a little separated from the regular flow of time. Which long-forgotten Merlin had created this place?

I set off in the direction of the cottage, heading for the diminutive, blue-painted front door that led into it.

Halfway there, I realised Jay was not following.

When I turned, I saw he’d settled himself cross-legged in the middle of the henge, and looked fixed there for a while.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ I called.

He shook his head. ‘Not my place.’

‘Not your place? Jay, you’ve every right to be a part of this.’

His smile was faint. ‘I don’t think so. I’d be intruding.’

I went back over to him, and held out my hand. ‘If you mean you’d rather not be dragged into this, I can understand and respect that. But we’re friends, and we’re partners, and if I’m given the choice I don’t want to do this without you.’

Jay still looked doubtful.

‘If it’s Merlin you’re worried about, I think she acknowledged and accepted your involvement when she left the means to bring me here with you.’

‘Instead of one of the several other Waymasters at Home?’

‘Jay, don’t be an idiot. She could’ve just opened a gateway. You know, like she did at the Elvyng house.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘I… didn’t think of that.’

I grinned, and wiggled my outstretched fingers. ‘Come on. Somebody’s got to keep me from doing anything too completely crazy.’

‘Since when have I ever had that power?’ said Jay, not without justice. But he permitted me to pull him to his feet, and when I set off again for Merlin’s cottage he came with me.

‘Ves,’ said Ophelia shortly afterwards, as she answered the door. ‘Excellent. Do, please, come in, both of you.’

Feeling obscurely pleased to be addressed as Ves, rather than anything more intimidatingly formal, I followed her inside.

I soon concluded that some kind of illusion was going on somewhere, for there were more rooms inside than seemed possible. Ophelia led us through a small kitchen (not without its modern conveniences); a cosy parlour, resplendent with polished wood and tapestry; a book-room stuffed with volumes both aged and new; and finally back into the workroom I’d seen before, which was far too big for the cottage’s confines.

‘This,’ she said as we entered, ‘is inherited from the first Merlin, or so it’s said. The rest of the building has been added at different, later times.’

‘Has every Merlin lived here?’ I ventured. Subtext: would I be living here, too, someday?

‘I assume so,’ said Ophelia. ‘I lived here with my predecessor for some years before he moved on.’

Moved on. I hesitated, but I had to ask. ‘Do you mean… did he die, or…?’

She shook her head, busying herself with a brisk tidying-up of the cluttered chamber. ‘Not then. He spoke of a desire to travel beyond the borders of Britain. I do not know where he was, when he finally died.’

Heartened by this vision of life after Merlinhood, I perched atop my chosen stool from before. Jay had taken a similar seat, and looked similarly uncertain. But when I looked at him, he managed to find for me an encouraging smile.

Poor Jay. Remorse smote me again. From the moment he’d joined the Society, he had been swept up in my orbit, and I had no doubt I had run him ragged since. I hadn’t meant to, but did that matter?

I needed to think of a way to make it up to him. Or at the least, to show the enormous gratitude I felt for his staunch presence at my side, no matter how crazy I got, or how foolishly I’d failed to listen to him.

‘You’ll have questions?’ said Ophelia into the silence.

‘Right. Yes,’ I said, dragging back my wandering thoughts. ‘I was wondering… about the practicalities, I suppose. Like, how does it work? Will I be your apprentice? Will I live here? How is the role handed over? What will I do, as Merlin? And… and what won’t I do, anymore?’

She nodded along with each question, and when my trail of worries had come to a close, she spoke with the kind of brisk efficiency which made short work of my anxieties.

‘You will be my apprentice for a time, though you won’t have to live here if you would prefer not to. I can arrange for a gateway to be available for your use. You won’t have to give up your present occupation, if that concerns you. In fact, I would rather that you did not. It is my hope that Merlin’s legacy will be used to support your stated goal of a magickal restoration for Britain, and indeed beyond, and you will best achieve that by remaining with the Society.’ She took a breath. ‘There is no complicated process in handing over the role. It will not hurt you.’

Which neatly answered most of my questions, and quieted some of my fears. I wouldn’t have to change completely. I could still be me, and do the things I do. Hopefully.

But.

‘If you’ll forgive me for prying,’ I said. ‘Why is it that you want to hand off the role? Are you not… happy with it?’ For while she was no longer a young woman, she wasn’t a crone either. She had nothing of the look of a woman in imminent danger of her life, nor of a woman in urgent need of retirement. If it wasn’t those things that spurred her to seek a replacement, what was it? Something about the role itself?

Ophelia met my eyes, briefly, and looked away. ‘I have not been a stellar Merlin,’ she said quietly. ‘I have tried my best, but… the things at which I have excelled have done little to further the role. I have compiled a new grimoire. I have developed new enchantments, new magicks, derived from all those ancient practices I have inherited. But I have not used them. It has been my nature to remain within these walls, working alone. Is that what Merlin should be? Is that why his powers have been handed down? I think not.’ She shook her head, and I saw raw regret in her face. ‘For three years, I have been searching for someone who could carry those powers back into the real world. Someone who will use them, who will do something that matters. Someone who will not be alone; someone with the right people beside her.’ Her glance acknowledged Jay, and her words encompassed the Society as a whole. ‘I think I have found that person at last,’ she said, looking squarely at me again. ‘I am well aware of the trepidation you must feel, but I assure you I will do everything in my power to make the process as painless for you as possible.’

There was an undercurrent of pleading in her words, I realised. She really, badly wanted someone to say yes.

She wanted me to say yes.

I swallowed another surge of terror, and said: ‘Must it be me? Are you sure?’

‘Who can ever be absolutely sure of anything?’ she countered. ‘But as far as I can judge, I believe you to be the right candidate.’

‘But… why?’

She’d already answered that question, of course. Something to do with my capacity to absorb magick, my affinity with ancient musical wonders and mythical creatures — none of which I could understand or explain. I struggled to believe it. I struggled to feel that these happenstances were anything I could claim, anything I could take credit for. They were just… me.

 Ophelia’s eyebrows twitched. Amusement? ‘Humility is healthy,’ she said. ‘But look back over your track record these several years past, and tell me I am asking the wrong person.’

‘Touché,’ I sighed. I could bleat a bit more, if I wanted to. I could bang on about my lack of inherent magickal prowess — I wasn’t a natural genius like Jay or Indira, and I lacked the discipline to study and learn as much as someone like them. Or Val. But those things weren’t really being called for, were they? If she needed someone with a cause, and a support network, and just enough reckless determination to tackle utterly stupid goals in the name of magick, well… that’s exactly what a Ves is for. Right?

‘Okay then,’ I said, all in a rush. ‘I accept.’

There. I’d said it, and that was a promise. I couldn’t turn chicken and back out now.

Ophelia smiled, the first real smile I had seen from her. It had a great deal of relief in it. ‘And you?’ she said, turning to Jay. ‘Are you in agreement?’

Jay looked rather wide-eyed, and I could picture the words scrolling through his brain. Just exactly what am I agreeing to do here? But to his credit, with only a visible swallow, he said: ‘Absolutely.’

‘I don’t suppose you’d make a Merlin of Jay instead?’ I offered. ‘He’s much more responsible than me, and cleverer, and he’s more powerful, too. He’s used to wielding magick of absurd potency. He’d be great!’

Jay’s eyebrows had climbed into his hair at this portrait of himself, and his eyes telegraphed a frantic no, thank you, at me.

Fortunately for us both, Ophelia shook her head. ‘I have alternative ideas in mind for Jay Patel,’ she said, and if those words terrified Jay half as much as they did me, then we were going to need another karaoke night in pretty short order.

Shock is a strange experience. Events that are (arguably) positive, amazing and overall pretty great can be as much of a shock to the system as more unpleasant happenings. Who knew?

I say arguably positive, because I was by no means sold on the whole Merlin deal.

Why don’t we do pros and cons?

Pro number one: Power. Who isn’t just a little bit seduced by that, at one point or another? I’ve never been power hungry, but I couldn’t altogether resist the allure of that much magick at my disposal. That much arcane knowledge. All the things I could do… Jay was right. We could use it.

Pro number two: Respect. To be Merlin, the Merlin, would be to join the magickal insider club for real. And for good. No one would argue with my right to do, or know, pretty much anything I wanted. Plus, I’d get to hobnob with all the magickal greats. Surely? Ophelia might have chosen to hide, but that didn’t mean I would have to… right?

Pro number three: Long life, sort of. Was Ophelia any older than the average human woman, or was it merely that she’d skipped a lot of years? Either way, I might get to see what the world looks like in a century.

Con number one: Long life. If I am still kicking around in a century, then everyone I know and love today will be dead. Not for nothing was I struck by the loneliness of Ophelia’s existence.

Con number two: Power, and indeed respect. Look at that train of thought. I could do whatever I like! No one could argue with me! That, my friends, is the high road to Hell.

More cons: I’m truly not sure that I could handle that much magick. I wasn’t kidding when I said it might break me. Without Addie, I’d already be a gibbering wreck. What would Merlin’s powers do to me?

The only way to find out the answer to that little conundrum? Try it and see! And hope I don’t explode.

I know this has been my favoured modus operandi for some time now, but never with these kinds of stakes.

I, reckless Ves, am running scared. How’s that for an about-face?

Not that there has been much actual running involved. I’ve been holed up in House’s favourite room for a night and most of a day, and I can’t tell you that I feel any more inclined to emerge. I don’t want to face Milady, who spoke of my incipient Merlinhood as though it would be a lovely little promotion, no big deal. I don’t want to run the risk that our current Merlin herself will still be out there, waiting to coolly tell me more about how ideal I am for this doom.

I don’t want to face Jay, who accepted both Merlin’s existence and her mad proposition without a blink, and smilingly told me to go for it.

If anyone’s taught sceptical Jay to accept pure craziness at face value, it’s undoubtedly me, but that isn’t a reflection to make me feel any better right now.

To hell with it.

‘House,’ I said at one point. ‘How did this happen? I mean, how did I get here? I never wanted anything this big. Truly, I didn’t. I’ve just been doing my job.’

And later, ‘Okay, I developed a few gigantic dreams here and there, but they weren’t for me. They were for magick as a whole. I’m not legend material. Am I?’

Dear House let me ramble in peace. I wasn’t really expecting a response, of course. Just talking to the wall. Sometimes it helps a person achieve some measure of clarity.

Sometimes.

House did keep me well supplied, though. Three meals a day, served on the dot of eight o’clock, one o’clock and seven o’clock. Afternoon tea at three. An en suite bathroom just off the parlour, which I strongly suspect was not there before. A comfortably blazing fire, which may seem odd for the end of summer, but the parlour’s oddly chilly.

I studied the portraits on the walls at my leisure, without deriving any further clues as to the probable identities of the subjects. Or indeed, who had put them there. Were they the property of Milady, or had House preserved them for reasons of its own?

I did ask, but nobody answered.

‘One thing that interests me,’ I said, shortly after dinner (pancakes, of course. How well House knows me). ‘If there’s one hereditary magickal role derived from an ancient legend, are there more? If Merlin was, and is, real, how about Morgan le Fay? Circe? Hell, how about Gandalf?’

‘I knew you would ask those questions, sooner or later,’ came Milady’s voice.

After a solid day of silence, save only for my own voice, I near jumped out of my skin.

I may have sworn a bit.

‘Sorry,’ I said immediately. ‘I was startled.’

‘I do apologise. I could not think of a way to announce myself.’

‘Have you been here the whole time?’ I asked.

‘No. But occasionally I’ve looked in on you.’

I suppose if I’d wanted absolute peace and privacy, hiding in the heart of the House was not the best choice.

‘Jay is most concerned,’ added Milady.

‘Sorry,’ I said weakly, afflicted with a sudden rush of guilt. Poor Jay. I’d left him kicking his heels all day, and apparently he was kind enough to worry about me.

I checked my phone, but he hadn’t messaged or called. He’d been giving me space.

That, or my phone wouldn’t work in House’s favourite room. It did have a certain seventeenth-century air about it, after all.

‘Are you perhaps ready to emerge?’ said Milady. ‘Merlin has left us for the present.’

‘I suppose I must,’ I sighed. ‘It’s childish to hide from my problems, isn’t it? As though if they can’t see me, they’ll go away.’

‘It is natural enough, at times of great stress. I myself once spent two days complete in this very room, quite alone.’

‘Really?’ I sat up a bit. ‘Why did you do that?’

She hesitated long enough that I wasn’t sure she would answer. But then she said, ‘I had been offered the role I now occupy, and I did not know whether or not to accept.’

‘Wow. Offered by whom?’

She chuckled. ‘I cannot provide too many details, of course. Not at this time.’

At this time. That meant: not now, but maybe someday.

‘I need hardly ask whether or not you regretted it,’ I said.

‘For the most part, I have not. I have been able to achieve far more than I ever dreamed possible, and it is worthy work.’

Worthy work. Yes. What these kinds of choices came down to, in essence, was: were we willing to devote everything we had to our work, at any price?

And I suppose I was frightened because I already knew the answer to that question. I’d been saying yes for years.

I would say yes again.

I just didn’t know whether I was up to the cost.

My hands were shaking again, so I clasped them tightly together and tried to appear unconcerned.

But the shaking spread to my whole body, and when my teeth began to chatter I gave up on trying to hide it. ‘I don’t know if I can do it,’ I said. ‘I really don’t know.’

‘We never know what we can do,’ said Milady gently. ‘We never feel ready. All you can do, dear Ves, is decide whether you’re willing to try.’

Giddy gods. I gritted my teeth on a rising tide of nausea.

‘If it helps, I have complete confidence in you,’ Milady continued. ‘So does your excellent friend Jay. So does Val; indeed, I have no doubt that the entire Society would support you without question. To us, the question is not can she do it, but what will she achieve when she does?’

‘I appreciate that,’ I said tightly. ‘Really, I do. But I’m also seeing the dark side. Like, how many people are going to be disappointed when I burst like rotten fruit?’

‘Ves…’

‘Though if that happens I’ll be a goner, so I suppose I won’t care anyway.’

‘I am one hundred percent positive it will not kill you.’

‘Really? That certain?’

‘To partially answer your earlier question: yes, there are other such roles in this world. Or, there have been; I am not sure myself how many yet survive, or who now embodies each archetype. But I have never heard of anyone’s dying in the attempt of it.’

A flicker of excitement rose, somewhere in my beleaguered soul. ‘Who are the other ones?’

‘Some of your guesses were rather shrewd.’

‘Gandalf wasn’t one of the shrewd ones?’

‘Not that one, no.’

‘Curse it.’ I’d been hoping for Gandalf. ‘But Morgan le Fay? And Circe?’

‘Again, I do not know if either of those still walk these worlds. But they are certainly past archetypes, and may still be current.’

‘I bet Merlin knows.’

‘I imagine she might, yes.’

And my traitorous curiosity betrayed me.

All the things Merlin knows.

All the things I would know, if I became the next Merlin-archetype.

‘Sideline,’ I said. ‘All those three names are from ancient times. Are there new archetypes? I mean, has anybody from a more recent era become such a legend as to qualify?’

Her silence was… eloquent.

‘I cannot discuss that,’ she finally said.

Milady being cagey meant… I’d stumbled over something.

‘You’re one of them,’ I gasped. ‘A newly minted archetype. Or an old one?’

‘Ves, these are things I cannot discuss.’

‘I respect your right to conceal anything you choose, of course, but… why can’t you?’

‘For the same reasons Merlin has chosen to hide herself. Morgan and Circe may be doing the same. Legends loom especially large in this modern world, Ves, and that has its drawbacks as well as its advantages. Anonymity grants me a degree of safety and freedom that I might not otherwise enjoy.’

‘I think I understand.’

‘I am sorry for it, sometimes. Secrecy has its costs as well.’

I thought of Ophelia/Merlin’s lonely abode, and nodded.

‘Well,’ I said briskly, and hauled myself out of my comfortable chair. ‘It’s time I stopped bemoaning my fate and got on with it.’

‘I have always admired your courage, Ves,’ said Milady quietly. ‘I realise this is not easy for you.’

I bowed my acknowledgement of this vote of confidence. ‘Where might I find Jay?’

‘He’s in the library, with Valerie.’

‘Right.’ I made it halfway to the door before I was halted by an appalling thought. ‘Wait. These archetypes. Nicolas Flamel… he isn’t one of them, is he?’ The words I’d scrawled in my notebook not long ago floated behind my eyes. Nicolas Flamel sucks.

Milady laughed. ‘To my knowledge, he is not.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’

We trotted up House’s driveway, passing in between those ancient oaks all silver-painted by the moon. Upon discovering the front door sitting open at three in the morning, we entered the building at a near run.

‘House,’ I said, a bit breathless. ‘Is everything all right?’

I couldn’t see much. The door might be open but no lights illuminated the entrance hall. That air of dead-of-night stillness shrouded everything, as indeed it was supposed to at that hour, and though Jay and I stood for a couple of minutes, we heard nothing but silence.

‘House?’ I said again. I found the nearest wall and laid a hand against it. Cool, smooth brick met my fingers, and that was all. Nothing untoward.

‘Seems normal enough,’ I whispered, and that’s when the lights came on.

‘Aha,’ said Merlin, coming into the hall through a far doorway, her arms full of boxes. ‘I’ve brought your argent.’

I blinked stupidly at her. ‘What?’

‘Your argent,’ she repeated, and offered the stack of boxes to me. They were ordinary parcel boxes, though I could feel the strength of their warding enchantments even from several feet away. The cardboard hid some of the Elvyngs’ patented safe boxes, I guessed, and inside those…

‘Wait,’ I said, looking wildly about. ‘How is it that you have the argent? And — and how are you here?’

Her brows rose, and she looked more closely at me than she had yet. ‘Oh,’ she said, no doubt observing my inebriated state. Fortunately, her expression was more amused than disapproving.

‘You haven’t done something to the House?’ I said, unable to suppress a flicker of panic. The visibility, the open door — it wasn’t normal and it wasn’t right.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘The House has been very welcoming.’

I relaxed a little. House was very, very hard to find, when it wanted to be. If it didn’t want Merlin in here, she’d never have discovered its whereabouts.

Probably.

Was Merlin powerful enough to outwit our House?

‘If House didn’t want her here, we’d be seeing some sign of it,’ Jay murmured to me, sotto voce.

And he had a point. If she had forced her way in here, House wouldn’t be doing all this nothing about it.

‘It was visible,’ I said to Merlin, attempting to explain. ‘From the fields, way back there.’ I waved an arm.

‘I did ask it for your whereabouts,’ she said. ‘Having gathered that you were absent, I requested its assistance in bringing you Home. Perhaps that is why it rendered itself perceptible from an unusual distance.’

A nearby floating lamp flickered briefly, and I felt a sense of warmth. Approval from House.

‘Right,’ I said, relaxing. ‘Sorry. Um, hi! Lovely to see you again.’

‘Perhaps I can take those,’ said Jay, stepping forward.

‘You must be Jay,’ said Merlin, handing off the stack of boxes to him. ‘Excellent.’

‘Is it?’ said he, hefting the load as though the boxes weighed nothing. Hopefully they didn’t literally weigh nothing. Just a handy enchantment to take the burden out of carting them around… right?

‘I was hoping to meet you both,’ said Merlin. ‘It is important that Ves should have suitable support, at least for the early years.’

‘Support?’ I felt that lurking sense of dread again, the same as had plagued me during my last conversation with this woman. ‘For what? The early years of what?’

‘If we may find somewhere suitable to talk?’

‘Milady’s tower,’ I said promptly. Whatever it was this woman proposed to say to me, or to do to me, I wanted Milady to be present for it.

‘An excellent choice,’ she said.

I exchanged a puzzled look with Jay, who glanced at the boxes he carried. ‘I guess these can come with us for now,’ he said. ‘I can take them to Orlando in the morning.’

Few places at Home could be more secure than Milady’s tower, so I made no objection. As we clambered our way up the stairs, more questions flooded into my befuddled brain.

‘Ophelia,’ I said. ‘Or Merlin. Sorry to be inquisitive, but how do you come to have Crystobel’s argent?’

‘I thought it polite to pay a call on her,’ she said, sounding for all the world like an eighteenth century society lady. ‘Having inconvenienced her and her father over the matter of the grimoire, of course.’ Something in her tone hinted at a hidden layer of steel. Had it been a mere social call, or had she also wanted to inspect those who had access to the magick contained within the grimoire? I was suddenly grateful that I wasn’t standing in Crystobel Elvyng’s shoes just now. Had the uses to which they’d put the grimoire’s enchantments satisfied Merlin?

‘And when,’ Ophelia/Merlin continued, ‘I understood she intended an immediate dispatch of your argent, I offered to convey it.’

‘How kind,’ I murmured. ‘But, um, you aren’t here just to deliver the silver?’

‘Indeed not.’

I rubbed at my face, tripped over the next step, and wished to all the gods we hadn’t chosen this of all possible nights to let our proverbial hair down. My wine-fogged brain refused to keep up with these strings of surprising events. I felt half asleep and half awake, dreaming yet not.

‘Perhaps I might be of assistance?’ said Merlin/Ophelia, and without waiting for an answer, she touched my elbow. The lightest of touches, there and then gone, but in an instant my inebriation vanished.

I straightened, blinking. ‘That is a good trick,’ I said, with a certain amount of envy. ‘Thank you. Could you do Jay, as well?’

‘Do what to me?’ said Jay incredulously, but in another instant Merlin had performed her excellent drink-busting charm upon him as well, and he followed that up with an enthralled, ‘Oh.’ He added, ‘That’s way better than Anaya’s!’

Dimly, I recalled that this was the name of yet another of Jay’s sisters.

‘It is one of the inherited arts,’ murmured Merlin, striding slowly up the stairs beside me, and without exhibiting the smallest signs of tiring, despite her apparent age. ‘Not among the most useful or the most spectacular, of course, but it has its uses.’

‘A.. Merlin-inherited art?’ I hazarded.

She nodded.

I travelled up the rest of the stairs in silence, trying unsuccessfully to parse that unlikely piece of information. Something about her Merlinness involved inherited charms, presumably those ancient magicks my mother had spoken of. And one of them was… an inebriation-busting charm.

Right.

At last we reached the top of the many flights of stairs, and arrived at Milady’s tower-top room. The oaken door, of course, was closed.

I knocked. ‘Erm, Milady? Sorry to bother you at this hour, but it’s quite important.’

‘Come in,’ she said instantly.

‘Sorry,’ I said again, upon entering the room. My bare feet, slightly damaged from the walk, relished the sensation of soft, thick carpet under my toes. ‘I know it’s an unsociable time, but…’ I stopped talking, because the wall-lamps were softly aglow, a set of three deep armchairs sat arranged around a low, pearl-inlaid coffee table I hadn’t seen before, and a tea set sat ready, with several elegant porcelain cups and two pots. One for tea, one for chocolate, judging from the aromas.

We hadn’t taken Milady by surprise. It might be three in the morning, but she was waiting for us.

‘This looks nice,’ I said lamely, claiming one of the chairs.

‘Welcome Ves, Jay,’ said Milady. ‘And Merlin. It’s an honour to have you with us again.’

Again? Jay and I shared a what-in-the-name-of look.

‘One of my predecessors, I fancy,’ said Merlin, taking her seat.

‘I had thought the role lapsed,’ said Milady. ‘Long ago.’

‘I have considered it advisable to remain hidden,’ said Merlin.

None of this made much sense to me, or to Jay, either. We sat in shared silence, thoughts awhirl.

‘Is it time?’ said Milady.

‘Not immediately. But the time approaches, and it would be well to prepare.’

At which point, she looked at me.

I didn’t like that look either, nor the timing. I avoided it by lunging for the coffee table, and divesting it of one cup of chocolate. This I attempted to sip in elegant fashion, and ended up gulping half of it down in two swallows.

My hands were shaking.

Jay, sensibly appointing himself spokesperson, said: ‘May I ask what’s afoot?’

Milady said nothing, leaving Merlin the floor.

Merlin — or Ophelia — shifted in her seat, betraying a trace of discomfort at last. ‘You understand the nature of the Merlin role, of course?’

‘We never heard it referred to as a role until two minutes ago,’ said Jay.

‘In other words, no,’ I croaked.

‘Many years ago,’ she answered. ‘Many centuries ago, the man remembered as Merlin wrought magicks of unfathomable power across the British Isles. He was, and is, among the greatest of magickal legends these shores have ever produced. All this is known.

‘What is not known is what became of him when he died. He had no wish to permit his extraordinary powers to die away with him. Perhaps it was arrogance; perhaps it was foresight. He may have seen that we would need those powers, someday far in the future.

‘So he chose a successor. An apprentice, if you will, but one who inherited the greater part of Merlin’s powers upon his death, as well as much of his knowledge. And he charged his apprentice to do the same, whenever his own time should come. By no means should Merlin’s magick ever be permitted to fade away.’

‘You’re wielding fifteen-hundred year old magick?’ I squeaked. My brain stuttered and died just trying to picture the kind of potency she was talking about.

‘Some of it has been lost to time, of course,’ she said, nodding at me. ‘Merlin’s magick is a degree lessened each time it is passed to a new host, and some of the things he knew are no longer remembered now. But what remains of it is still considerable.’

‘Interesting,’ I said.

Interesting indeed. When Ophelia said considerable, she meant of unimaginable depth compared to weak and faded modern magick. Yes, she was just one person, but still. The possibilities.

‘And in my turn, I shall need someone to carry these powers into the future,’ Ophelia continued briskly. ‘Someone who will put them to good use.’

She was looking steadily at me as she uttered most of this. I have no idea what my face was doing, but my brain repeated just the one word, over and over: no, no no no no no no…

Milady said, ‘Someone dedicated to protecting and preserving magick, perhaps.’

‘And restoring it for the future,’ said Jay, the traitor.

‘Wait,’ I said, breathless. ‘It — you — surely you can’t mean me.’

‘You have shown a remarkable capacity to absorb unusual and potent magick,’ said Merlin. ‘You also possess a kinship with creatures such as the unicorn, and an affinity with ancient magicks most can in no way fathom, such as the Lyre of the Yllanfalen. And your morals, your priorities, are exactly where they ought to be.’

‘You also have the full support of the Society,’ said Milady.

‘And your friends,’ said Jay quietly. I shot a sharp look at him. How could he be so laid back about this? Why wasn’t he freaking out, like I was?

‘This is—’ I groped for a fitting word. ‘Insane. Impossible. You can’t be serious. Jay, tell me you don’t believe this craziness?’

Jay’s smile was a little strained. ‘Too crazy, even for Ves?’

‘Way too crazy!’

‘We’ve little reason not to believe it,’ he said. ‘And imagine what it would be like, to have powers like this at the Society’s disposal. We need this, Ves.’

‘I don’t,’ I said vehemently. ‘I can’t do this. Ophelia, you’ve got the wrong person. I haven’t been the same since Vale — the damned lyre — it almost tore me apart.’

‘But it did not,’ said Merlin.

‘It might yet,’ I muttered darkly.

Merlin shook her head. ‘The worst is in the past.’

‘Until you dump an ocean of ancient magick on my head. Then I fly to pieces.’

‘I do not think you will,’ she said, damnably serene.

‘I have full confidence in you, Ves,’ said Milady. ‘This comes as no surprise to me.’

‘I realise this is a great deal to take in,’ Merlin said, inadequately.

‘You, perhaps, do,’ I said. ‘But can you tell me you’ve never regretted the day you agreed to take on this role?’ I was thinking of the life she seemed to lead, tucked away from the world among the echoes of a distant past. Safely hidden. Completely alone.

‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘But the things I have been able to achieve—’

‘I have to go,’ I blurted, and shot out of my chair. ‘Sorry, I… I have to go.’ I was out of the door and halfway down the stairs in seconds, running hard. Running away. I ran and ran, clattering back down all those long flights of stairs, through corridor after twisting corridor, doors that opened for me before I ever had a chance to touch them.

I ended at last somewhere I’d scarcely ever been before.

The parlour at the heart of Home. House’s favourite room.

‘House,’ I panted, collapsing into one of the delicately upholstered mahogany chairs. ‘Shut the door. Please, don’t open it to anybody else. Not yet.’

The door creaked slowly shut behind me, locked with a reassuring snap, and I was safe. Safe from importuning Merlins, encouraging Miladies, or supportive Jays.

A fire flickered into being in the grate, and roared into comforting life. Better still, the opposite wall buckled, and a narrow bed slithered free of it, thickly covered in a floral duvet and drowning in pillows.

‘Thank you,’ I said weakly, trying unsuccessfully to stem a confusing and rather humiliating flow of tears. But the bed was welcoming, and as I collapsed face-first onto it, I watered the pillows pretty liberally. I’m not proud of it, but I’m here to tell you the truth.

Sometime much later, I fell into an exhausted sleep.

I emerged back in the Elvyngs’ grimoire-cupboard, seated atop the glass case. Thankfully, the thing was made of sturdy stuff, for I didn’t crash straight through it.

Being dizzy as hell and confused, I did promptly fall off it.

Sadly there was no Jay to catch me.

‘Ouch,’ I wheezed, picking myself up. ‘Too much to hope for a nice, soft carpet—’

‘Ves?’ somebody yelled. ‘Was that you?’

Jay appeared in the doorway, looking harassed.

‘You mean the inelegant thud marking my undignified tumble off this delightful display case, and the ill-natured muttering with which I expressed my dissatisfaction?’

‘Yeah, those.’

‘Because who else could it possibly have been?’

‘Exactly.’

I dusted myself off, rather crossly. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been?’

‘Hadn’t thought it necessary.’

‘Because the story will naturally spill forth in my usual display of verbal diarrhoea?’

Jay just nodded, like, obviously?

I sighed. ‘I went to Merlin’s Secret Lab where I learned almost nothing, but at least the grimoire’s back.’ I peered through the clear glass. Yep, one priceless and elusive spell-book stashed therein. ‘Great. Okay. Does Mr. Elvyng know? Can I call Crystobel?’

‘Merlin’s Secret Lab?’

‘She’s got a between-the-echoes thing. A bit like Baroness Tremayne’s, but cooler.’

‘How did you persuade her to return the grimoire?’

‘I didn’t. She borrowed the book one time, and would’ve returned it sooner, if she hadn’t happened to forget for about a thousand years.’

‘She… forgot.’

‘She’s absent-minded, but who isn’t when you’re wielding the ancient power of a lost age?’

Jay made his incredulous face.

‘You didn’t really think she was Merlin? I guess I didn’t either. But she is. Also her name’s Ophelia.’ Jay clearly getting ready to voice a million questions of his own, I held up a hand. ‘Don’t ask me. She did not choose to tell me what any of that means.’

Jay digested that. ‘And the other items?’ he said.

‘The what— oh, the other stolen things that Sally mentioned? No idea, but they probably ended up in the same place. Whether she borrowed those, too, or decided to keep them, I neither know nor care.’

Jay nodded, eyeing me with a slight frown. ‘Are you okay?’

I ran my hands through my tumbled, jade-green hair, thus casting it into still greater disorder. ‘I don’t know. I feel as though I was just assessed for something, but I don’t know what, and I don’t feel good about it.’

‘Pass or fail?’

What a very Jay question. ‘No clue. Suspect pass, but could be either. And I’m frustrated that I didn’t get any answers to anything else, either.’

‘Well… mission accomplished, right?’ said Jay, putting a hand under my elbow when I displayed a propensity to wobble. ‘We have what we came for. We can move ahead.’

‘True,’ I said, with a deep sigh. ‘True. Yay, we won.’

‘Best detectives ever,’ said Jay, with a small smile.

‘Craziest detectives ever, and more dependent on deception, luck and outright fraud than any self-respecting detective is supposed to be. But hey, if it gets the job done.’ My own smile was rather humourless. I’d have to try harder.

Jay wasn’t fooled. ‘It’ll be okay, Ves,’ he said, giving my arm a friendly squeeze.

I turned troubled eyes on him, unable to feel comforted. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No, but… I have hope.’

‘Care to share some of that hope juice? I seem to be fresh out.’

‘By all means. We’ll start with a cake or six, because you look like you could use the sugar. A barrel or two of wine. Bit of karaoke. And if you aren’t feeling better by the end of all that, I’ll eat my hat.’

‘Which would be quite a sight, I grant you.’ I straightened my spine, took a deep breath, and sallied forth. ‘Onward to victory?’

‘Onward to victory.’

I had the sense to call Crystobel before our party-hard event, not after. She was pleased.

To say the least.

‘You’ve what?’ she said, after I’d dropped the news.

‘Got your grimoire back. All sorted. It’s at home with your father.’

‘Really! Really?’

‘Didn’t you think we would?’

‘I… hoped so, but everyone else we’ve consulted came up with nothing.’

I struggled with myself for a second, but decided to let it pass. If she had set us what she’d thought was an impossible mission in the full expectation that we would fail, well, too bad for her.

Never underestimate the power of a half-deranged Ves and her workaholic sidekick.

‘Who took it?’ she said, which was the question I’d been dreading. ‘And how did they get in?’

Naturally, she needed that information. They’d want to shore up their security, make sure nobody could get a chance at swiping the grimoire again.

‘Well,’ I said slowly. ‘This part gets a little improbable, if you’ll bear with me.’

‘All right…’

‘Merlin took it. Or actually, she just borrowed it back for a bit, and forgot to return it. You should issue her with one hell of an overdue fee.’

If I was hoping the joke would help the dose go down easier, I was deluding myself. ‘Merlin?’ she said sharply. ‘Actually Merlin? That’s absurd.’

And I sighed.

I’d had a debate with Jay before I’d called. Me, I’d been in favour of concocting a more plausible version of events which didn’t involve my having to conquer all of Crystobel’s understandable incredulity and risk a verbal dismembering for being a filthy liar. Jay, of course, was in favour of telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the impossible, ridiculous, who-the-hell-would-believe-me truth, gods damn it.

He won.

So I explained, again, and I was getting a bit tired of lengthy recountings-of-events followed by unlooked-for responses. Merlin had stared at me like she was seeing into the heart of the known universe, and said virtually nothing. Crystobel laughed in my face, only slowly came around to a place where she consented to take me seriously (sort of), and finally rang off in a bit of a huff.

The huff came about because I couldn’t assure her that the grimoire wouldn’t go missing again, or indeed that there was anything she could do about that either.

Really, if Merlin wanted a gateway in the Elvyng mansion so she could occasionally consult the grimoire, then the gateway was going to stay right where it was. Good luck talking her out of it.

I pointed out that Merlin could have just kept the grimoire forever, leaving the Elvyngs short both spell-book and its obscene purchase price, but Crystobel didn’t take that well either.

‘So I should be grateful for mostly retaining ownership over my own property?’ she snapped.

That was the part where I gave up. If I ever saw Merlin again, I’d recommend her to go meet the Elvyngs and have a nice chat about her grimoire. Nothing short of that was going to convince Crystobel (for which I couldn’t truly blame her).

‘It’s been great working with you, Crystobel,’ I said. ‘The Society will send a requisition for the argent soon, okay?’

Fortunately, her sense of professionalism won out over her discontent, and she didn’t spit in my face down the phone. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a shipment ready for you soon.’

Some gracious, mutual (and even vaguely sincere) praise followed, after which I hung up and awarded myself two minutes of deep breathing, with a side of daydreaming about cake and wine.

One last thing to do: call Val. She at least would be happy with us. The grimoire was real! No word of a lie! This of all mythical spell-books was the honest-to-gods truth!

But I was forgetting one small but crucial detail.

‘That’s fantastic Ves, and what did it say?’ were her words upon hearing the news.

Oops.

‘Er, no idea,’ I admitted.

Ominous silence.

‘I didn’t get a chance to read it…’

‘You didn’t read it?’

‘I was sort of distracted, and anyway the bit I saw wasn’t comprehensible, I think it was in a script I don’t know—’

‘Tell me you at least took a picture?’

‘I, uh, didn’t have the chance, but before you kill me remember that Crystobel promised! Promised, Val. If you talk to her I’m sure she will arrange to get you a look at it.’

‘Let’s all hope so,’ she said dangerously, and then she hung up.

And that’s when Jay and I decided we really needed that drink.

Word of warning for you.

Never challenge Jay to a karaoke contest.

Really, I should’ve known. The man’s part Yllanfalen, and I’ve had every possible clue as to the musical genius he’s hiding under those flashy Waymastery skills.

But I’d had some of that wine he mentioned, and I wasn’t thinking clearly by then.

‘Jay,’ I’d said, after he’d favoured us all with a few of my favourite eighties rock anthems. ‘What are you doing with the Society? I mean, what are you even doing? You should be a rock star.’

He was pleased, I could tell. But being Jay, he was also effortlessly cool. ‘I don’t want to be a rock star,’ he said. ‘I want to be the Society Waymaster, and your sidekick, and maybe do a little music magick on the side. Shall we go Home?’

‘I want to sing again,’ I’d thought it wise to declare, and gods help me, I did.

Sometime later, when I’d finished my Mary Bennet routine and consented to be coaxed out the door, I found myself halfway back Home on foot. Barefoot, if you please, and don’t ask me where my sandals went because I haven’t a clue. The silver moon shone brightly upon the quiet country lane along which Jay and I tottered, not quite at the point where we were obliged to prop each other up, but definitely the worse for wear.

‘Your sister’s great,’ I was saying. ‘What a talent.’

‘Which one?’

‘Right. Indira, I meant. She’s amazing. You’re amazing. Is your whole family like that?’

‘Depends who you ask. My parents would say yes.’

‘What about you?’

‘Modesty’s considered socially acceptable, Ves.’

‘All right. Excepting yourself, is your whole family like that?’

‘Yes.’

‘See, that’s what I thought.’ I fell into a short episode of brooding. ‘I wish I’d had a sibling,’ I announced. ‘A sister. I’d have liked that. Hey, maybe she would’ve been amazing, too.’

‘Not a doubt of it,’ said Jay.

‘Maybe I do have a sister,’ I said, struck by a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘My Dad could have hundreds of kids, for all I know.’

‘He could certainly have one or two more,’ Jay allowed. ‘Have you asked him?’

I vigorously shook my head. ‘But I don’t think Indira and I can ever be friends,’ I said.

‘Why not? She likes you.’

‘I like her, too!’ I said earnestly. ‘Only, she doesn’t like Phil Collins.’

‘It’s a failing I’ve often had to speak to her about.’

I nodded sadly. I’d sung three of his greatest hits only an hour or so earlier, or perhaps I should say I’d mangled them. Poor, wonderful songs, they deserved better than me.

‘You’ll have to change her mind,’ Jay persevered. ‘Invite her to a music party.’

‘Not a karaoke party.’

He laughed. ‘You were pretty good, honestly.’

I gave him the side-eye.

He grinned. ‘No, really.’

I put my nose in the air. ‘I may not be a natural pop singer, but Addie loves me.’

‘That she does.’

‘Do you have a unicorn Familiar?’

‘Nope.’

‘There,’ I said, unsure what point it was I thought I had won, but certain of having triumphed at something.

‘There’s Home,’ Jay said, pointing. And indeed, upon the silver-lit horizon of harvest-ready wheat there appeared our beloved House, only the top of the roof visible yet, for we were toiling slowly up a woldy slope.

‘Blessed Home,’ I murmured, delighted to see it. Then, a thought filtered slowly into my wine-fogged brain. ‘Wait. Why is it visible?’

Jay glanced sharply at me. ‘What?’

‘My first time here, I got lost for days looking for it. Because it isn’t visible from this distance.’

Jay frowned. He, of course, hadn’t had much occasion to wander up to the House on foot like this.

‘How did you find it on your first day?’ I asked.

‘Way-henge.’

‘Seriously?’

He nodded. ‘Milady marked it on my app for me.’

If we’d had apps like that a decade ago when I was first rolling up to the Society, things might’ve been different. I certainly wouldn’t have been lost for half of eternity.

But if they had, I might never have met Addie.

‘Come to think of it, though, you’re right,’ said Jay. ‘I don’t usually see it until I’m much closer.’

I looked all around, and behind me, as though something to explain House’s unusual visibility choices might materialise out of the darkness. ‘Do you think we should hurry?’ I suggested.

‘You think there might be something wrong?’

‘Wrong? I don’t know. But something? Definitely.’

Jay took my arm. ‘Well then, let’s get a move on.’

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.