The Magick of Merlin

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

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

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

It’s a mark of affection. Really.

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

‘History podcast,’ he said.

‘Very educational.’

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

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

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

Anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh wait, except for one thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that came later.

What happened first was a Distraction.

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

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

No. Prince Alban, Ves. Prince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That didn’t quite explain everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Dinner?’ He smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes,’ I said.

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

And he left, still smiling.

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

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

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

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

Or Addie either.

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

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

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

I recognised that whuffi.

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

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

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

‘Whuffi,’ said Addie.

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

‘Whuff,’ said Addie, with less defiance.

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

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

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

Addie whickered, and spat out the grass.

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

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

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

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

I followed after.

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

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

I dipped my head in acknowledgement of this salutation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Horn holiday,’ I said, giggling.

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

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

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

‘No clue.’

‘Nice one.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hangry? I am never hangry.’

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

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

Jay grinned. ‘It’s okay. It’s cute.’

Cute. Huh.

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

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

‘Project Hoax? Subtle much?’

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

‘Fair.’

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

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

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

‘Why me especially?’

‘Because you’re hosting.’

‘What?’

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

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

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

My eyebrows rose.

‘You did want to play dressing-up?’

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

‘No.’

‘Of course not.’

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

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

And incredibly fun.

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

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

I bounced in my seat.

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

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

Jay’s look was profoundly sceptical.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m sure you had your reasons.’

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

‘Are you going to be kindly?’

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

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

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

His face didn’t even twitch.

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

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

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

‘Not in the least.’

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

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

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

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

‘Will there be custard creams?’

‘Absolutely without question.’

Off we popped.

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

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

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

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

But we soon ran into a problem.

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

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

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

‘Yes…?’

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

I blinked. ‘Um?’

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

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

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

‘But—’

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

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

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

‘Well, I—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Probably.’

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

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

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

Val snorted.

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

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

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

‘Not yet. That’s tomorrow.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Val said nothing.

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

‘I know what a tracker is.’

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

‘Maybe.’

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

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

‘I… might be.’

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

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

‘Grave ones.’

‘I resent that.’

‘So it isn’t true?’

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

‘Two sides of the same coin.’

‘So we’re doing it?’

‘What? The latest new and brilliant plan?’

‘Exhibition! Come on!’

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

‘We’re going with it,’ I promised.

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

‘Right.’

‘And Milady,’ she added as an afterthought.

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

Actually, more than that. Enthusiasm.

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’ll tell her,’ I promised.

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

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

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

‘Good point.’ I saluted.

‘What’s that for?’

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

‘Literally saluting? I feel honoured.’

I bowed.

‘Let’s not overdo it.’

‘Right.’

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

‘Er, no doubt,’ I said.

‘Such as?’ Milady prompted.

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

‘Yes, that would be wise.’

‘And…’ I stopped, empty of ideas.

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

I was silent with dismay.

‘Ves?’

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

‘I have known you for a considerable period.’

‘And you still employ me!’

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

‘Yes, ma’am.’

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

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

‘Have you considered the probable consequences of failure?’

‘You mean nobody steals the Wand?’

‘That is one possibility.’

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

‘Good. What else?’

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

‘Also a possibility.’

‘I have faith in Indira’s craftsmanship.’

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

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

‘So you’ll watch it day and night?’

‘Yes…’

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

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

‘And if it isn’t?’

‘Um.’

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

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

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

‘Grab it and flog it? That’s true.’

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

‘Right!’

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

‘There’s Sally.’

‘Very well, tell me about Sally.’

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

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

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

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

‘You mean maybe there was no heist?’

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

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

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

‘Yes. We’ll be careful.’

‘I shall send Rob with you.’

‘Scary Rob. Yes, please.’

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

Addie.

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

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

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

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

And Sally turned out to be nothing like I expected.

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

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

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

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

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

I slowly turned my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are you the original owner?’

I shook my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Not to my knowledge.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Its owners have asserted that it was.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay rolled his eyes at me.

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

I sat up. ‘Really. Really? I could?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Indira, surprisingly, grinned.

I mentally banged my face against the steering wheel. Expressions of implicit and unshakeable confidence are a lot nicer when you’ve got something to work with. Otherwise, it’s the high road to disappointing your friends.

‘What would Nancy Drew do,’ I muttered.

Jay shook his head. ‘No good. Being fictional, Nancy Drew always had a convenient lead.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I may have read some of them.’

‘Uh huh?’

‘Or a lot of them.’

I grinned. ‘I knew there was a reason why I liked you.’

‘Hopefully there are one or two more.’

‘We can discuss that some other time.’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘All right, what would Poirot do? He didn’t need leads. He just needed to think.’

Jay made a show of consulting the watch he didn’t wear. ‘Right. Some people work best under pressure, so I’m giving you five minutes to think.’

‘Five?!’

‘You’ve already wasted three seconds.’

I gulped. ‘Thinking.’

And I did. For real.

‘Time’s up,’ said Jay, what seemed like thirty seconds later. ‘What have you got?’

‘Motive.’

‘More specifically?’

‘Why would somebody steal this particular grimoire?’

‘For one thing, it’s incredibly valuable.’

‘That’s one possible reason. In which case, we’re looking for a way someone might manage to sell a unique, priceless and recognisable grimoire for a fabulous sum without attracting notice.’

‘For another thing, it’s famous.’

‘Right. It might be because of its purported author, in which case we’re looking for someone with a Merlin obsession strong enough to consider it worth the manifold obstacles and risks involved with stealing it. I didn’t think to ask Mr. Elvyng if anyone had ever offered to buy the book from him. I’ll do that.’

‘There’s also hatred of the Elvyngs as a possible motive,’ said Jay. ‘So, spite.’

‘I think we covered that one, though. If there’s anyone out there with that level of a grudge against the family, they’ve been so quiet about it that we’ve no idea where to look for them.’

Jay nodded. ‘Last option is the contents. Is there a charm in there someone would just about kill to get their hands on?’

‘Possible, but tricky. For one thing, nothing either of the Elvyngs have said suggests they publicised the contents at all; indeed, they’ve had the strongest of motives not to. So who could even know what was in it?’

‘They didn’t always own it. Who had it thirty years ago?’

‘Possible line of enquiry, but low priority. Thirty years is a long time. Why wait so long to steal it? Anyway, if it’s someone who was familiar with it thirty years ago, they know the contents already. Why would they need the grimoire now?’

‘So you’re thinking it’s most likely either the money or the cachet.’

‘Yes. It’s time to go consult with our favourite book-sleuth. I want to know about any known fences of rare and illegal spell-books.’

‘You think Val would know?’ Jay sounded shocked. Adorably so.

‘Picture this. A woman — indeed, a Society — absolutely dedicated to rescuing beleaguered magickal paraphernalia wherever it may be found. And a world full of people eager to get their sticky hands on valuable artefacts, by means legal or otherwise. How many irreplaceable tomes end up changing hands on the black market, do you think? And how many would end up disappearing forever into the dubious care of unsuitable people, if somebody didn’t intercept them?’

‘Giddy gods,’ said Jay. ‘Val’s a library superhero.’

‘You should definitely tell her that.’

‘No. She’ll raise her brows at me.’

‘You’re scared of Val?’

‘No!’ said Jay, and coughed. ‘Er. Aren’t you?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘I knew you for a brave woman, but that beats everything.’

I didn’t kick him, because I was driving, but he had a narrow escape.

Upon sharing my flashes of brilliance with Val, I found myself regarded — keenly — in a fashion I might term “surprised and impressed in equal measure”.

‘That’s actually a great idea,’ said she, patently astounded. What, was it so unlikely I’d come up with a good idea?

I swallowed my sense of injury. ‘About the fence?’

If there was an eye-roll going on in response, I opted not to notice it. ‘No. What do you think I’ve been scouring the dark web for, all this time? I’ve got an appointment set up for you already. Best fence in the business. Been working in the industry for twenty years.’

I chose not to contest Val’s terming of black-market book trade as an “industry”. ‘And you just… made an appointment?’

‘She’s a friend.’

‘Of course.’

Val closed the heavy old book she’d had spread open on her desk when we came in. ‘No, I meant about the collectors. Lots of treasures vanish into private collections, and they don’t always go through a fence, either. An occasional enterprising soul has been known to hire people especially for the purpose of acquiring some special piece, with or without the consent of a given artefact’s present owner. And Merlin’s just the type to attract that kind of crazy.’

‘Question is,’ I mused, ‘if I were Merlin-obsessed and determined to possess his personal grimoire — or something said to be so — well, I can imagine I might be able to trace the sale of said grimoire into the Elvyngs’ possession a few decades back. And I might guess that they wouldn’t part with it again, not for mere cash. Supposing I’d resigned myself to a more questionable transfer of ownership, then, how would I go about hiring a team to steal it?’

‘And without bringing the police straight down on my head,’ added Jay.

‘I’m not aware of a convenient yet somehow top-secret forum for thief hire, if that’s what you’re driving at,’ said Val.

‘I actually mean it literally. I’m not speculating. I want practical advice.’

‘Ves?’ said Jay. ‘Don’t say it.’

I said it. ‘Forget scouring four-year-old records for traces of a spectacular book heist no one seems to know anything about. I want to hire a thief.’

Val stared at me. ‘To steal what?’

‘Something rare and Merlin-related, obviously.’

‘Ves. From where?’ That was Jay again, not quite expressing such deep-seated confidence in me as he had earlier.

‘From here. Obviously.’

‘Obviously.’

‘I don’t know if you knew, but we happen to have a priceless piece of Merlin memorabilia right here at the Society.’

‘We do?’ A flat stare from Val.

I nodded enthusiastically. ‘His very own Wand, made from ancient amber and bone—’

‘Ves. We have no such thing.’

‘As far as the world is shortly going to be concerned, we do. It’s in Ornelle’s care and we’ve done our best to keep it a secret all this time because obviously it’s precious, but some thoughtless person with a blabbing mouth will set all our care at nought, and broadcast its existence far and wide.’

Jay’s face had gone into his long-suffering look.

‘And whenever someone investigates they’ll find a neat trail all over the magickal web pertaining to just such a Wand, indubitably the property of Merlin.’

‘They will?’ said Val. ‘How’s that to come about?’

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way.’ I smiled seraphically.

Val’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then what?’

‘Then I pose as a Merlin-crazed collector of near inexhaustible means, whose attempts to purchase the Wand have been brutally rebuffed. That greedy Society has to pay. They’ve no right to keep Merlin’s Wand for themselves. It will serve them right to lose it!’

Silence.

‘What?’ I said. ‘Jay! I asked you how we were going to be different from all those failed investigators. This is how.’

‘By getting yourself arrested for instigating a robbery?’

‘That won’t happen.’

‘How not?’

‘Because we’ll be careful.’

‘We?’

‘Come on! How can I be expected to pull this off without the help of my improbably musical sidekick?’

‘You know you’re not exactly popular with Ornelle already, right?’

‘Right. She hates me anyway, nothing to lose.’

‘There’s still one problem here,’ said Jay.

‘Just the one?’ said Val.

‘How are we going to hire this legendary and as-yet unidentified thief team?’

‘I’m guessing… word of mouth,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Rumour! No one just hangs out an ad for grand larceny—’

‘You think?’

‘—but if we were to let it be known, quietly, in certain circles, that we’re in the market, word might get around.’

‘Which certain circles?’

Poor Jay. I did exasperate him so. ‘We do have an appointment with a notable fence?’

‘Two Society employees have an appointment with a notable fence.’

‘Not quite true,’ said Val. ‘I only told Sally I’d be sending a friend over. I didn’t say what friend, or why.’

For all his supposed wariness of Val, Jay didn’t pull any punches when he saw a problem. ‘Do you think she’s likely to believe you’d collude with said friend to commit a robbery against your own employer?’

‘Why not?’ said Val. ‘People with shaky morals rarely have any difficulty believing in other people’s.’

‘So many years stuck at your desk,’ I said. ‘Slaving away for the Society. Long hours, low pay. You deserve the handsome fee you’re going to get for helping me get hold of this Wand.’

Val smiled. ‘Right. And the prospect of a job with inside help might be quite attractive to a professional thief, no?’

‘Oh?’ said Jay. ‘Why aren’t you just stealing the thing yourself, then, and selling it directly to the-collector-who-most-certainly-isn’t-Ves-in-disguise?’

‘First-time thief,’ said Val promptly. ‘I have qualms. Also mobility issues. No daring getaway in the nick of time for me.’

‘She’s sold you on this idea, hasn’t she?’

‘There was one true thing Ves said in all this nonsense. I do spend a god-awful amount of time at my desk. Wouldn’t you fancy a change?’

Jay groaned. ‘You’re both getting arrested.’

‘Ye of little faith,’ said I. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have an identity to prep.’

‘I realise I’m making myself Mr. Unpopular here,’ said Jay. ‘Again. But you’re overcomplicating this.’

‘Please don’t rain on my parade,’ I said.

‘If you want a parade, throw a birthday party,’ Jay said brutally. ‘This is an important mission for the future of magick.’

‘And you’ve a better idea?’ I said.

‘Actually, I do.’

‘Oh.’

‘We aren’t looking for whoever extracted the grimoire, are we? We’re looking for whoever ended up with it afterwards.’

‘What if they’re the same person?’ I said.

‘They might be. Might not. Point is, we aren’t actually the police. We’re here to retrieve the grimoire, not to punish the burglars. There has to be an easier way to cut straight to whoever has the grimoire now, not whoever took it out of William Elvyng’s house four years ago.’

‘And that way is what?’

‘If I might borrow the clever part of your plan—’

‘Jay.’ I gave him a wounded look. ‘All of it was clever.’

Jay ignored that. ‘Hold an auction.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘A Wand has recently come to light, purported to have belonged to Merlin himself. It’s in the hands of a private citizen at this time, and said (anonymous) person would like to flog it for the highest possible return. Supposing we establish convincing credentials for the thing, that ought to bring the collectors out in force, no? And nobody runs the risk of arrest.’

I felt a little deflated. It was a much better plan. ‘Can I still dress up?’

‘As whom?’

‘I could be the private citizen flogging the shiny thing.’

‘Which part of “anonymous” isn’t getting through?’

I sighed. ‘Party pooper.’

‘I do foresee a problem,’ said Val. ‘We don’t actually have a Wand that once belonged to Merlin. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but there are probably a few laws regarding deliberate fraud?’

‘We aren’tgoing to sell anything,’ said Jay. ‘We could have a kind of silent auction. Let people register to bid, and then at the last minute cancel it.’

‘Cancel it why?’

‘Our anonymous seller has had a fit of capriciousness and changed her mind.’

‘Still smells strongly of fraud.’

Jay stared both of us down. ‘Two minutes ago you were happy to hire a team of professional thieves to steal an equally fake artefact. Now you complain about a little misdirection?’

‘We’re disappointed about the grand larceny,’ I said. ‘It’s only natural.’

Jay rolled his eyes. ‘Right. If we’re agreed, I’m going to talk to Indira about manufacturing a certain fake but convincing Wand of Merlin.’

Jay exited stage left without another word.

Val busied herself shuffling papers.

‘I suppose he’s right,’ I said forlornly.

Val grunted. ‘I liked our plan better.’

‘Me too.’

‘I see what you are thinking,’ said Mr. Elvyng, looking at me. ‘I realise what the obvious solution must appear to be. But I beg you to believe it impossible. What motive might either I or my daughter have, for faking the theft of our own grimoire?’

A good question. I wanted to ask about insurance money; Crystobel had mentioned that there had been an insurance valuation made of the grimoire, which suggested a policy also. But the Elvyngs were rolling in wealth. Everything about them proclaimed as much. Why go to such lengths for even more?

‘We made no claim upon the insurance policy,’ continued Mr. Elvyng, and I began to feel unnerved. Were my thoughts written so clearly upon my face? Or was he actually reading my mind?

‘Thank you for clearing that up,’ I said crisply. ‘One has to consider all the possibilities, of course.’

‘Of course.’

All right, so if they hadn’t even tried to claim the insurance then it wasn’t a scam. But why hadn’t they? Purely because it might look suspicious?

Well, they had no need of the money, and obviously hadn’t purchased the grimoire as an investment. But then why have an insurance policy at all?

‘Mr. Elvyng,’ said Jay. ‘Do you have any idea who might have taken the grimoire? Was there anyone who had shown signs of excessive interest in it, or who might have a grudge against your family?’

Mr. Elvyng was shaking his head. ‘You must understand, a family in our position will always have its detractors. There are those who envy our prosperity, or who disagree with our values, and who are quick to say so. But I am not aware of anyone with any serious grudge. As for interest in the grimoire… again, such an acquisition must attract interest, but we have never widely publicised our possession of it. I doubt that many people even knew that we had it.’

‘And what about within your own household?’ I said. ‘Who had access to this house four years ago?’

Mr. Elvyng gave a sigh. ‘Yes, I understand the direction of your thoughts. I have had the same ideas, but I have of necessity dismissed them.’

Charming naivety, or just wishful thinking? ‘I believe it must be considered our first line of investigation,’ I said gently. ‘Someone knew when you and your daughter would be away from home. Someone has managed to get past the charms placed upon the case, arguing a familiarity with the enchantments. And someone has got hold of a key, either one of the original two or an excellent copy. It must have been someone who had access to you or your daughter — more likely both of you — and opportunity enough to purloin your keys.’

‘Perhaps also someone who could move about this house without exciting comment,’ added Jay. ‘Someone whose presence here would not be questioned. No one broke in, did they?’

‘The police found no signs of forced entry,’ agreed Mr. Elvyng. He looked diminished suddenly; tired? Or weighed down with regret?

‘Who was here four years ago?’ I prompted. ‘Had they been with you for very long?’ I had a feeling Mr. Elvyng had a good idea who might have taken the grimoire, and he didn’t like it.

‘I cannot fault your logic, Ms. Vesper,’ said he. ‘The problem is, there was no one else with access to this house, four years ago.’

My mouth opened in surprise. I had not seen that coming. ‘No one?’ I echoed dumbly. ‘But what about that nice butler who admitted us?’

‘My health has deteriorated in the past two years, enough that Crystobel has persuaded me to add to my staff here. Mr. Baker and his associates save me a deal of effort and they are trusted employees, but they are all of recent hire. I had no need of such, four years ago.’

‘Cleaners?’ said Jay. ‘Gardeners?’

Mr. Elvyng’s faint, crooked smile appeared again. ‘Accomplished by magickal means, Mr. Patel. Then, and now.’

The Elvyngs had so much magick to throw around as to keep this entire manor — and its grounds — in perfect order without a single human employee? Giddy gods. What a glittering magickal heritage and a supply of raw argent couldn’t do.

I cleared my throat. ‘Er — and what about friends? Family members?’ I hesitated to ask the question; no one wanted to consider that their nearest and dearest might have betrayed them.

‘I have a sister,’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘Her name is Anna Mason. She lives in America with her husband and children, and does not often come back. At the time of the theft, neither she nor her family had been near this house for at least a year.’

‘Forgive me,’ I said, ‘but you are certain of that?’

‘Yes. We have hired other investigators in the past few years. One of them conducted an exhaustive investigation into every connection of ours, and their traceable movements at the time. Anna was at home in Washington, together with Crystobel’s uncle and cousins. My own cousin — Jessica — was in London. None of my friends or Crystobel’s — few enough as they are — were seen anywhere near here that week, and I believe alibis were established for them all. So you see, it proved a fruitless line of enquiry.’

I exchanged a look of consternation with Jay. Everything Mr. Elvyng had said suggested a culprit known to the family, intimate with them; and yet, by this account, that was impossible.

What next, then? Could it really be the case that someone totally unconnected with the Elvyngs had pulled off such a seamless crime?

If so, we were dealing with — as Val had put it — a considerable power.

Mr. Elvyng did not conduct us himself to the grimoire’s annex. Considering his obvious ill health, I had not expected it of him. It was the butler (or whatever he was), Mr. Baker, who extracted us from William Elvyng’s fireside, and took us to the library. We left the Elvyng patriarch with a great many thanks (on both sides), and an invitation (from him) to call anytime we found ourselves with further questions.

The library at William Elvyng’s manor was (dare I say it) slightly disappointing. I suppose I had got carried away with my imaginings, considering the illustrious nature of the erstwhile star of the Elvyngs’ book collection. I’d expected a library to rival that of the Society. Instead, we were conducted into a handsome enough room, with a full complement of mahogany bookshelves, glass cases, polished desks and silken reading-chairs, but the actual quantity of books was rather modest. Probably they kept a great deal of their collection at the Academy, either for the daily use of the students, or in that cellar repository Jay had once talked of. These were just Mr. Elvyng’s own books.

I took note of the environs as we walked among those immaculate shelves. Only one door lead into the room, and that opened onto a panelled corridor connecting the library to the drawing-room and whatever lay beyond. We were on the first floor, one level removed from the ground; I made a note to ask, later, about the staircases.

A second door occupied space on the far wall, but that led into the grimoire’s annex. There was, as Mr. Elvyng had said, no other door there; certainly no way to get straight into that room from the outside. Whoever had taken the grimoire must have gone through a few other rooms at least, in order to reach this one. But then, I’d been working on the assumption that there must have been someone else in this sprawling pile of a manor at the time of the theft, even if Mr. Elvyng was away. But if that wasn’t true, the thief had enjoyed the luxury of waltzing through an empty house on their way to steal the grimoire; there hadn’t been anyone here to challenge them. All they had to do, then, was get in and out, without leaving any obvious signs that they had done so. Once inside, they would have had totally free rein.

Which made it strange that they hadn’t taken the opportunity to empty the house of valuables while they had been inside. But the police report had clearly stated that nothing else was reported missing.

The annex proved to be tiny. It had space enough only for the sizeable glass case, set upon a sturdy and ornate carved-oak pedestal, within which the grimoire had once been housed. Besides that, there was nothing; only polished wood panelling and the window Mr. Elvyng had mentioned, which I saw at once was too small for anyone to fit through, unless they had done so by magickal means. But again, why would anybody need to do that, if the house was empty? They could come through one of the doors, and wander up the stairs at their leisure. Provided they managed to switch off or disable the house alarms, which such a manor would certainly have. 

Jay, having prowled optimistically around the compact annex as though he might trip over something noteworthy, leaned over the grimoire’s case until his nose almost touched the glass. ‘Was all this built just for the grimoire, Mr. Baker?’ he said. ‘That you know of?’

‘I’m afraid I couldn’t say,’ said Mr. Baker, who had taken up a discreet post just inside the door, and stood waiting with hands folded. ‘It was before my time.’

Jay nodded. Whatever he was doing with his face two inches from the glass, I hoped he was uncovering something useful about the charms upon it.

‘This must have been,’ I said, patting the corner of the great glass box. ‘It looks sized for a specific book.’ There was an indentation in the velvet-covered interior, a perfect little nook in which a certain priceless grimoire could nestle. ‘Maybe the whole annex, too. It has the appearance of a converted airing cupboard.’

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ said Jay. ‘I wonder who built it?’

‘And when? Was it done around the same time the grimoire was purchased, or more recently?’

Whoever had constructed the annex might never have known what it was intended to house. But then again, they might have — or made some guesses about it, later. Or perhaps whoever had stolen the grimoire had been able to consult with the builders, and gained some information from them, as to the location and security of the room. I made a note to enquire with Mr. Elvyng shortly as to the date of the annex’s construction. If it had been thirty years ago, perhaps it was of no relevance now.

Jay and I left William Elvyng’s manor feeling discouraged.

‘I can see why multiple unnamed investigators abandoned the case,’ I said despondently as we got into my car. ‘There are no leads here at all.’

Jay shook his head, and sat staring sightlessly through the glass as I backed up and turned around.

‘You didn’t detect anything interesting about the glass case?’ I prompted.

‘Nothing. Whatever charms used to be on it are long gone.’

I sighed. ‘So someone outside the Elvyngs’ circle somehow managed to get into the house, past the alarms, and through the impenetrable enchantments on the glass case, which they somehow unlocked; proceeded to extract the grimoire, and then left again without leaving any trace behind?’

Jay said, ‘Apparently.’

‘Fingerprints?’ It was a faint hope.

Swiftly dashed. ‘Police report says no.’

‘Footprints?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Jay. We’re actually going to fail at this, aren’t we?’

‘No.’

‘The police and three different investigators came up with nothing. What have we got that’s going to make us different?’

Jay began ticking things off on his fingers. ‘The finest, if untried, magickal sleuth in England, and her improbably musical sidekick.’

My eyebrows went up. ‘That’s us?’

‘Resources of an unusual nature, presided over by the best librarian and book-sleuth in England.’

‘Val and the magickal dark web.’ I nodded. Fair.

‘Breathtakingly high stakes.’

‘You mean the inevitable and total decline of magick in all of Britain if we don’t find Crystobel’s crummy grimoire?’

‘Motivating, no?’

I muttered something incomprehensible, even to me.

‘Exactly when did it go from the most exciting book in the world to a “crummy grimoire”, by the way?’ said Jay.

‘About halfway through our fruitless meeting with the obliging William Elvyng.’

‘I wouldn’t say it was fruitless. We have discovered several ways not to investigate this crime.’

‘That would be more helpful if either of us could think of a single way to investigate this crime.’

‘You’re the great detective,’ said Jay, tapping out some unrecognisable melody on the dashboard of my car. ‘You can do this.’

‘You believe in me.’

‘I do.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Anytime.’

William Elvyng lived less than fifteen miles from the city of York, which was the home of his emporium and his academy.

Naturally, he had an entire stately home all to himself.

‘Don’t ask about his wife,’ I said, as Jay and I drove up the driveway towards the house. The damned thing was huge — not so enormous as our House, of course, but crazily oversized for just one man. He had one of those elegant eighteenth-century piles, with a gorgeous symmetrical façade, formal gardens, stucco, a lake; everything.

‘Why not?’

‘She died, eleven years ago. According to the papers, William Elvyng never recovered.’

‘Do you know everything about these people?’

‘If I didn’t before, I do now.’

Jay, still in his not-quite-a-suit, looked sharp. He’d done something to his hair, too, some kind of windswept-but-orderly style that rather suited him.

I felt a moment’s envy; not over William Elvyng and his wonderful house, but the fortunate few towards whom Jay had directed his charm earlier in the day. I’d never seen him so well turned out.

I pulled up and parked just outside the handsome columned portico. I kid you not; as I got out of the car and smoothed my cream cotton dress, an actual butler appeared at the door to welcome us.

He even bowed. ‘Miss Vesper and Mr. Patel?’ he said.

‘That’s us.’ I walked over, smilingly intent upon not turning my heel on the gravel driveway. The Elvyngs’ butler was on the younger side, fortyish perhaps, with elegantly greying hair immaculately arranged, and a perfect dark suit, not too expensive.

‘Is that William?’ hissed Jay in my ear.

I shook my head. I’d seen pictures enough of Crystobel’s father, and this wasn’t him. ‘Butler, I think,’ I breathed.

Jay gave a tiny, almost inaudible snort.

Well, indeed.

I liked Mr. Butler, though, however incongruous his existence seemed in this day and age. He ushered us into the house as though we were honoured guests arriving for a garden party, and immediately promised to bring refreshments to the drawing-room. ‘Mr. Elvyng is expecting you,’ he said, and conducted us thither at once. He discreetly withdrew as soon as we were fairly through the door, presumably to fetch the aforementioned refreshments.

The interior of the manor matched its beautiful exterior, of course, in that it was perfectly maintained, and sumptuously decorated. The Elvyngs hadn’t made a museum of the place, and filled it exclusively with period-appropriate antiques. Instead, they’d had a top-notch interior designer in. That fortunate soul had created a look obviously inspired by fashionable décor of the seventeen-hundreds, but with a modern update. The house was plush, luxurious and gorgeously coloured and I entered William Elvyng’s drawing-room with a strong feeling that I could really make myself at home in his house.

My questing eye also detected more than one magickal trinket of interest and (no doubt) high value, artfully poised upon shelves and console tables. How the other half live, right?

William Elvyng was ensconced in an elegant, brocade armchair near the fire when we came in (an actual fire, despite the late summer heat beyond the walls of the manor). He rose upon seeing us, and came forward with outstretched hand and affable expressions of welcome. I admit to being agreeably surprised, though I don’t know why. Had I expected a repellent personality to go with all this wealth and ease?

‘So good of you to lend us your skills,’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘Crystobel and I have always felt the greatest respect for the Society’s work.’

Crystobel’s father had an air of frailty about him, which perhaps explained the fire. He was rather older than I’d expected, considering Crystobel was only a few years off my own age. His pictures in the media I now realised were inaccurate, on the flattering side; he was well into his seventies and not in good health. His paper-white face, softened as it was with smiles, still had a pinched look about it, and his shoulders stooped. Someone had carefully arranged his thinning white hair to disguise an encroaching baldness.

‘It’s our pleasure,’ I was saying smoothly, and with perfect truth. Everything about the mission appealed to me, from the sleuthing to the visiting notable people in their spectacular houses. Did I have a taste for splendour? Apparently. Was that somewhat inconvenient considering my profession and prospects? Rather.

I resolutely turned my eyes away from a beautiful gilded clock enthroned upon the mantel, and fixed them instead upon Mr. Elvyng.

‘Is it all right if we ask you some questions about the grimoire?’ Jay said. ‘And the theft?’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Mr. Elvyng, gesturing us to take seats. He restored himself to the embrace of his own armchair with some care, and sat there looking as though a crane might be required to haul him out of it again. I felt rather touched that he had gone to the trouble of rising to greet us at all.

I installed myself upon the matched brocade sofa, conscious of a desire to move with an elegance to match the house, and folded my hands primly in my lap. ‘The police reports were lacking,’ I began. ‘Can you tell us what happened on the day of the theft?’

Mr. Elvyng’s lips twisted at my mention of the police. Clearly they had fallen some way short of impressing him. ‘The problem was, Crystobel gave them too much information,’ he said.

‘Too much?’ I repeated.

He nodded. ‘She should never have mentioned Merlin’s name. The officer who came to the house, well, he visibly stopped listening from that moment. Thought it some kind of publicity stunt, I believe. As though we need any more of that.’

I made a sympathetic noise.

‘I kept the grimoire here, under my eye,’ Mr. Elvyng continued. ‘Perhaps that was foolish of me, but you understand — an irreplaceable item — I couldn’t entrust it to one of the public buildings, with people going in and out all the time. And I couldn’t be comfortable with it lying in a vault somewhere, either. I wanted it where I could personally see to its safety.

‘Well, perhaps I could have prevented its theft — had I been here. But once or twice every year I pay an official visit to the Academy in York. It’s expected. I go there to talk to the teachers, meet a few of the students, permit my photograph to be taken. That kind of thing. That year, when I returned, the grimoire was gone.’

‘How soon did you discover it missing?’ I said.

‘Within a day or two of my return. It is — was — my regular habit to go into the room where it was kept, and look at it. Read a few pages. You understand, perhaps.’

‘Absolutely,’ I murmured, and I did. If I owned something that spectacular, I’d have a hard time leaving it alone.

So would Val.

‘Well, I did so, perhaps, the day after I arrived home, and that’s when I knew it was gone.’

‘Where was it kept?’ said Jay.

‘You will be shown, shortly,’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘But I kept it in its own annex off the library here at the house. The room has no access to the outdoors, and only one, small window, which is kept secure. I had a glass case created for it. It had every charm we could muster between us for its security, as I’m sure you can imagine. The thing is unbreakable, and kept locked at all times.’

‘Was it broken?’ said Jay.

Mr. Elvyng shook his head. ‘Perfectly intact. The lock as well.’

‘So someone had a key.’

‘It appears so. Before you ask, there are two known keys in existence: one in my possession, and one in my daughter’s. Both keys were accounted for at the time. Mine was with me at the Academy — I always carry it about with me — and Crystobel was travelling in France that week, her key with her.’

‘So either someone managed to make a copy,’ I mused, ‘or the lock was opened by some other method.’

‘Magickal, do you mean?’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘It is not impossible, but nearly so. Believe me when I say the charms laid upon the case, lock included, were immensely powerful.’

I had no trouble believing him on that point. ‘Was the lock made from argent, by any chance?’ I asked, struck by a sudden insight.

His smile was faint. ‘Very insightful, Ms. Vesper. The lock itself is made from commoner materials, but some of the mechanisms were worked from argent.’

‘The keys, as well?’

Mr. Elvyng nodded.

The argent workings would be amplifying the effects of any charms laid upon them, which meant that the lock behind which Merlin’s Grimoire had been kept was probably the most secure in the whole of England, if not beyond.

Interesting.

‘Is there any way those charms could have been changed?’ Jay said.

‘If they were, they were changed back again before I discovered the theft,’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘I noticed nothing amiss with the case.’

I wondered if the thoughts wandering through my own mind reflected Jay’s at all. If Mr. Elvyng was right, and the case was so impregnable, what did that suggest? Either someone had managed to copy one of the two known keys without their owners knowing it, and that would be difficult indeed, if both of them were made from pure argent. Who but the Elvyngs have a supply of magickal silver lying about?

The alternative must be that the case showed no signs of being broken into because it hadn’t been. Could it be possible that the apparent suspicions of the police had some truth to them after all? By Mr. Elvyng’s account, the only people who could so neatly have made off with the grimoire were either himself or his daughter. If this was the tale they had told to the police, no wonder they hadn’t been taken seriously.

I could tell you just how much the Elvyng family, in the person of William Elvyng (Crystobel’s father), had paid for Merlin’s Grimoire back in the eighties. I could also tell you how much the spell-book had been valued at, about eight years ago.

Believe me, you don’t want to know.

You’d spit chips. Like I did.

‘How do people get so wealthy?’ I complained to Val, as I sat one morning in the library at Home, perusing the Elvyngs’ photos and documents pertaining to the impossible spell-book.

‘The argent operation can’t hurt,’ she said, without looking up from her laptop. ‘And you’ve seen the prices at the Emporium.’

Right. If you happen to be the only family in the country with a secret supply of the most important magickal substance known to man, and therefore sole rights to stock a shop with souped-up magickal artefacts, you would be rolling in it.

History had rather favoured the Elvyngs.

I sighed.

Val looked up, and directed at me the Quizzical Brow. ‘Suffering some envy?’

‘Aren’t you?’

Val shrugged. ‘What would you even do with that kind of wealth, if you had it?’

‘Well, I…’ I had to pause, and think about it. I could live in my own personal castle, with a swarm of servants to wait upon me hand and foot. I could have a private plane, and go anywhere I liked. I could eat every day at the finest, Michelin-starred restaurants in the country.

None of which sounded much like me.

‘I’d become the Society’s secret benefactor,’ I decided. ‘Oodles of funding, every year, and nobody would know where it came from.’

‘Like Ancestria Magicka.’

I grimaced. ‘Right.’

‘It’s too bad you’ve just told me, then, isn’t it? Cover blown.’

I sniffed. ‘You would never give away my secrets.’

‘Not without handsome compensation, anyway.’ Val missed the wounded look I sent her, having returned her attention to her laptop. Presumably she was still deep in the magickal dark web, scouring the online world for any mention of lucrative book heists, or the sale of improbably expensive grimoires.

I went back to Crystobel’s documents. I’d already lingered a long time over her photos of the grimoire itself, torn between wonder and horror. The book was old, and by that I mean old. Hand-stitched bindings, scrubby leather covers, crumbling pages — the works.

So far, so convincing.

I may have been a little disappointed at how ugly it was. I was definitely disappointed by its poor condition. Didn’t people know to take care of priceless artefacts?

My mind drifted back to the book-box that had stolen Jay’s heart, back when we’d (unwisely) paid a visit to the Elvyng Emporium. The box was enchanted; slowly, gradually, anything placed in it would be restored to a better condition, some of the deleterious effects of time reversed. I had no doubt the Elvyngs would have kept Merlin’s Grimoire in just such a box, which suggested it had reached them in a still worse state.

Merlin would’ve been crushed.

If there ever was a Merlin.

On this point, I remained profoundly sceptical. Merlin was a myth. Besides, while his purported grimoire was scarily old, it still wasn’t old enough. As near as anyone can determine, a hypothetical real Merlin would have lived something like fifteen hundred years ago, and possibly rather more; surely no book, however magickal, could have survived in legible condition for so long?

But all this might be immaterial. Crystobel had said, I am less concerned with the precise identity of the book’s author than I am with the contents. Whoever had written it, the grimoire contained charms and enchantments the likes of which most of us would kill for. That’s why the Elvyngs wanted it back — at almost any price.

‘Surely,’ I said aloud, struck by a sudden thought, ‘they’d have copies of every page.’

Val looked up, frowning. ‘What?’

‘Of the grimoire. The Elvyngs, I mean. Why do they need it back so badly? They wouldn’t be so careless as to keep only one source of such important magicks. They would have records. Photos. Transcriptions.’

‘No doubt, but now they also have competition. Potentially, someone else could be using all that secret magick.’ She blinked sightlessly at me. ‘That’s a good point, Ves.’

‘What point did I make?’

‘Whoever stole the book. Did they just want to own it because it’s valuable, or did they want to use it?’

‘Both?’ I ventured.

‘Maybe. Maybe not. Anyone suddenly coming out with copies of magicks only the Elvyng family have been able to produce would attract a certain attention, no?’

‘If it were known. The thieves could be out there, working marvels in secret.’

‘So they could. The question remains: was it the book itself that was wanted, or was it something in the book that was important? A charm or something, that the Elvyngs wouldn’t share?’

‘Good questions all, Val, but I don’t see how they can be answered until we find the thieves.’

She sighed, and her mind came back from wherever it had gone. ‘Probably not. Still, it’s something else to search for. Accounts of unusual feats performed by unlikely parties.’

The laptop once again swallowed her attention whole.

I stared, a little hopelessly, at my pile of papers. I’d covered the desk in them. I had not only Crystobel’s documents, but sheaves of print-outs I’d squirreled up from all over the internet. Every mention I could find of the Elvyng family’s doings for the past several years (lots of attending-of-events and sightings-at-magickal-libraries, plus the various accomplishments of the individual family members, and the doings of their prestigious academy). Val had been hoping for reports of bad blood between them and someone else — another family, or organisation. Something.

No luck. They were perfect. Everyone loved them.

I had also struck out on the subject of Merlin’s Grimoire in the media, in that there was almost no mention of such a thing. Ever. All I’d been able to dig up was scant reference to the auction at which William Elvyng had purchased the book, and the account consisted of exactly three lines: a minimal description of the book, its purported provenance, and to whom it had been sold.

It hadn’t mentioned who had sold it, and when I had called the auction house to find out, they’d claimed they no longer had access to those records.

Considering we were at a distance of some decades from that sale, that was probably even true.

There had been no reports on the theft. The Elvyngs had kept that one very quiet. Why?

I heard the heavy clunk of one of the library’s ancient brass doorknobs turning, and the door to the main reading-room swung open.

Jay stood upon the threshold, eyes wide.

‘Hi,’ I said, beaming.

Jay stared at me like I was some kind of apparition.

‘What?’ I said.

‘How did I get here?’

‘You… were expecting to end up somewhere else?’

Jay released the door, and composed himself. ‘Actually, yes,’ he said, ambling in. ‘I’ve just left my room.’

So he’d expected to find the usual panelled passageway beyond, and instead had been neatly whisked straight downstairs. ‘House thinks you should visit us,’ I suggested. ‘I was thinking the same thing!’

It struck me that he was looking unusually smart. His beloved leather jacket was nowhere in sight; instead he wore a pair of neatly-pressed navy trousers and a matching jacket, with a white shirt underneath. Not a suit, but a far cry from jeans and leather.

‘Been somewhere interesting?’ I said, having looked him thoroughly up and down.

‘Police station.’

‘What?’

He grinned. ‘I went voluntarily.’

‘Jay, you’re the last person I’d suspect of getting yourself arrested, ever. For any reason.’

‘I can’t decide whether you say that as a good thing.’

‘I mean, I know I’m a rebel but I’m not that bad—’

‘What did you get?’ Val, impatient with our nonsense, firmly interrupted. Indeed, she directed her if-you-don’t-mind look at Jay, the kind that sets new recruits all a-quiver.

Even Jay, a little, for he snapped to attention. ‘Right. I wasn’t getting anywhere trying to talk to them on the phone, so I went in person. Looking respectable.’ For some reason, he appeared to be directing that last comment at me, for he frowned in my general direction. ‘After some fast talking and a deal of flirting—’

‘Flirting?’ I blurted.

‘Having taken a leaf or two out of the Book of Vesper—’

‘Me? I’d never flirt my way into classified information.’

I got the raised eyebrows look from Jay and Val.

‘Fine,’ I sighed. ‘Did it work?’

By way of answer, Jay pulled a notebook from a pocket and flipped through it. ‘I did manage to blag my way into a look at the case file for the grimoire theft. I think. The Elvyngs weren’t too open about which book it was or why it was important; the incident report listed it merely as “a valuable book”, taken from the home of William Elvyng. Or, reported missing. Apparently there were no leads.’

‘None? Not one?’

‘No signs of forced entry, nothing else taken, no traces of any strangers in the house that day. I got the impression whoever responded to the call might have thought the Elvyngs were wasting their time.’

‘You mean they might have made a false report of theft?’

‘Which seems unlikely, before you get carried away with the idea,’ Jay cautioned. ‘Why would they do that? Insurance fraud? They have more money than they can spend already. It’s more likely that, finding themselves stymied, the police were only too happy to declare it hokum and set the case aside.’

‘And the Elvyngs let it go?’ I stared. ‘That’s spectacularly unlikely.’

Jay restored the notebook to his pocket. ‘They didn’t chase the police about it, at any rate.’

‘They hired a private detective,’ I said. ‘They must have.’

‘You mean, besides us?’

‘Definitely. It’s been four years. We need to find out who that was, and whether they discovered anything.’

‘Agreed.’ Jay leaned against the nearest desk, hands in his pockets. ‘What have you two dug up?’

‘While you were charming paperwork out of the police? Not much,’ I said. ‘The theft wasn’t picked up by the media, as there’s no mention of it, and the book wasn’t much talked about before, either. It seems to have been kept a deep, dark secret. And as far as I can tell, the Elvyngs have no enemies.’

Jay looked at Val.

‘Don’t look at me with the eyes of hope,’ she said. ‘So far I’m turning up nothing.’

‘No four-year-old shady auctions purporting to be selling off the most remarkable spell-book in the world?’

‘Not a one. Nor any chatter about thrilling heists pulled off against the most powerful magickal family in England.’

I gave a disappointed sigh, and laid my cheek upon my desk. ‘Reality is so disheartening.’

‘But there was a thrilling heist,’ Jay said encouragingly. ‘And it’s the best kind.’

‘The incredibly secret, no-one-could-possibly-track-us-down kind?’

‘Exactly. Challenge accepted?’

I sat up again. ‘Challenge accepted.’ I withdrew my phone, and dialled the number I had wrung out of Crystobel. I hadn’t yet had occasion to call her since she’d given us our unusual mission. I felt a curious flicker of anticipation — nerves? — upon doing so now.

She answered quickly. ‘Miss Vesper?’

‘Ves,’ I said. ‘Hi, Crystobel.’ After the obligatory exchange of pleasantries, I said: ‘Listen, we’re going to need an invitation to your dad’s house.’

‘My father? Why?’

‘We’d like a look at the place the grimoire used to be stored, and I’d really like to ask Mr. Elvyng a few questions about it.’

‘I can arrange that,’ she said.

‘Great. Also, do you happen to know if anyone else was ever contracted to go after the grimoire?’

‘Oh, yes. We went through three agencies at least. Father would have all the reports, I’m sure.’

‘Three? And nobody found anything?’

‘Nobody found enough, certainly.’

‘I’m touched by your faith in us.’

‘It’s desperation, Miss Vesper. If the regular investigators have failed us, I am forced to look elsewhere.’

‘So we’re the wild card?’

‘Something like that, yes.’