by C. J. Archer
"And the speed," Fabian said, chuckling. "Slower, this time."
"Oh, but we don't have another watch. We can't use mine. I've worked on it too many times and it might respond too well. We need an unadulterated timepiece."
He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a plain open-faced watch. "I have another."
"Why didn't we use this one first and save your good one?" I eyed the pieces he'd placed on the desk. I could put the innards back, but I couldn't fix the dented case and smashed glass.
Fabian placed the second watch in my palm. "Try it again, but concentrate on speed and direction. Fly it onto the sofa."
I steadied my breathing, slowing it down, and stared hard at the sofa, then at the watch then at the sofa again. I imagined the watch rising gently from my palm and floating toward a soft landing on the cushion.
I repeated the words in the modified spell, carefully and deliberately. The watch rose and drifted to just above the sofa where it hovered before gently lowering.
Fabian clapped. "You did it! Well done, India."
I retrieved the watch, grinning. "That wasn't hard at all."
We tried it twice more and both times, I steered the watch and controlled its flight. I couldn't stop my smile. It felt marvelous to have achieved something so remarkable. Mere months ago, I would never have suspected I could make a watch fly. The applications of what we'd learned today stretched before me like a hall runner.
Speaking of carpets… "We should try it with a small rug next time," I said. "Or perhaps a piece of leather. But we'll need the right kind of magician."
"I do not know any magicians in London," Fabian said.
"And I don't know many who won't ask for a favor in return."
"What favor?"
"To extend their magic and make it last." I told him about Mr. Bunn, the leather magician.
He grimaced. "Did Glass scare him away?"
"For now." I sighed. "He might return."
"So who will we ask?"
"Mr. Delancey is from wool magic stock. He says it died out with his father, but perhaps he has distant cousins who still possess magic. We could ask him and since he has already received such a magnificent gift of your key, he won't ask for something else." I hoped not, anyway. The Delanceys might just be greedy enough to ask for another magical item to add to their collection.
"We must try," he said.
Matt appeared in the doorway, a look of mystification on his face.
"I did it," I told him. "I controlled the watch's flight."
"On her first attempt," Fabian added, his eyes alight.
"Wonderful," Matt said, absently.
"What is it?" I asked.
He held out the newspaper. "Your butler just handed me this," he said to Fabian. "It's a midday issue, printed this morning." He pointed to an article at the top of the page. "Read that, India."
It was the gossip page. "'Lord ____ to disinherit after secret older brother found,'" the headline read. "My God," I murmured. "This is terrible."
The first paragraph of the brief article said the reclusive lord, who was not named, was reeling from the news that he should never have inherited his father's title and estate. His older brother was suing for everything and the matter was in the hands of lawyers.
"Do you think Lord Coyle told the columnist?" I asked Matt.
"Coyle?" Fabian all but spat out the name. After the earl attempted to blackmail him by paying off the debt that saw him released from prison, Fabian had no liking for Coyle. His family paid back the debt, but Coyle had insisted Fabian still owed him. We suspected Coyle had manipulated the moneylender into calling in the debt in the first place, which only made his demand harder to swallow.
"He denied it," Matt told Fabian. "But he is probably behind this." He explained Lord Cox's predicament without naming names then turned to me. "India, read the rest. You haven't got to the most interesting part yet. "
I read the second paragraph and gasped. The article stated the older brother asked that a symbolic gift be made of the family heirloom, a priceless coronet. He had “nobly” refused it when he discovered it had been made with magical gold.
"Magic?" Fabian repeated. "Gold magic does not exist anymore."
"I touched the coronet," I told him. "I felt magic heat and it could only have come from the gold."
"Remarkable," he murmured.
"So it's true? Gold magic has died out?"
"Over a thousand years ago, yes."
"We met a gold magician once," I told him. "He could feel gold magic, but he didn't know any spells. He claimed they'd been lost and the magic line was now impotent."
Fabian indicated the newspaper. "You say Coyle is the source for this?"
Matt shook his head. "While I do think Coyle informed Longmire that he is the rightful heir, I don't think he orchestrated this." He slapped the newspaper with the back of his hand. "It's not in his best interests. Not if he wants to keep magic a secret."
"It's very public," I agreed.
I read the article again. The wording was interesting. He or she did not speculate on the existence of magic, or scoff at it. It was stated as factual. "My first thought is Oscar Barratt," I said. "But this is mean spirited, and he's not cruel."
"I think it was Longmire himself," Matt said. "The half-brother," he added for Fabian's benefit.
I read the article once more and this time I could almost hear Mr. Longmire's voice in the words. It had to be him. "Why mention the magic coronet at all though?"
"To taint the unnamed lord," Matt said. "To Longmire, magic is unnatural and despicable. By associating the illegitimate lord with magic, no matter how loosely, he thinks he's painting a picture of him as unworthy—unholy, almost."
"But that's absurd. It's his family coronet too."
"He 'nobly' refused it." Matt pointed to the line. "He wants to be seen not only as the rightful heir, when names are finally revealed, but he wants the general public to think of him as the better man who refused a valuable object because of its unnatural origins."
Fabian muttered something in French that I suspected wasn't a nice word about Mr. Longmire or his assumption.
"Do you think he's right?" I asked weakly. "That the public thinks magic is something to be reviled and avoided?"
"Most of the public are still skeptical, despite Barratt's early articles," Matt assured me. "Many don't realize magic is real."
"But they would agree with Mr. Longmire if they knew it existed," I said heavily.
"We don't know that yet."
Perhaps not, but once Oscar Barratt's book came out, we would find out for certain.
Chapter 5
We dined that evening with Catherine and Ronnie Mason. The invitation had been extended by Cyclops, with an assurance that I would agree to it.
"I hope you don't mind," he'd said to me that afternoon. "Ronnie wanted to show you a letter he received so I told him to come for dinner. I had to invite Catherine too, of course."
"Of course," I said slyly.
Ronnie showed us the letter as soon as they arrived. Even though it wasn't signed, we knew it was from Mr. Longmire. This one was a little different to the others, however.
"It's accusing me of selling timepieces that you've put your magic in," Ronnie explained as I read. "But I'm not. The Guild knows I'm not. I had to show them the storage facility full of clocks and watches they made us remove from the shop before we re-opened."
"Ignore this," I said, handing it back. "It's written by an angry man with a chip on his shoulder by the name of Longmire."
"That's what Nate told us," Catherine said. Her lips curved into a mysterious smile that turned her pretty face into an interesting one. "But he wouldn't say more than that."
"It ain't my business," Cyclops said.
The dinner gong sounded and we filed into the dining room. Aunt Letitia had elected not to join us, citing a headache, but Duke and Willie were pleased to eat a hearty meal after spending the cool autumn day fi
xing the schoolroom roof at the Sisters of the Sacred Heart convent.
"Will you tell us who this Longmire fellow is, India?" Catherine asked.
"And why did he send me an angry letter?" Ronnie added.
"He's part owner in a rope making factory in Yorkshire," I said. "He believes magicians are cheating, giving them an advantage in business."
"Are there magician rope makers taking his business?" Ronnie asked as Peter placed a bowl of mock turtle soup in front of him.
"I don't know. He's riled on behalf of the artless in every field of manufacturing."
"Tell them the rest," Willie said, tucking her napkin into her collar.
"Matt and I met Mr. Longmire last night. Our meeting didn't go well."
"Matt gave him a bloody nose," Willie said proudly.
Catherine gasped and Cyclops gave Willie a warning glare.
"Mr. Longmire deserved it," I said. "He's a horrible man. I suspect he sent you the letter after our encounter because he knew it would get back to me. He dislikes me because I'm a magician."
"Tell them how he's Lord Cox's older brother," Willie said. "And how he should have inherited Cox's baronetcy, only he didn't on account of his father was a bigamist."
Catherine gasped again.
Cyclops sighed.
Ronnie lowered his soup spoon with a clank on the edge of the bowl. "Is Lord Cox the one everyone's talking about?"
I glanced at Matt but he was looking at Ronnie. "Everyone's talking about the newspaper article?" he asked.
Ronnie nodded. "Gossip spread up and down the street as soon as the newspaper came out. No one knew who this mysterious illegitimate lord was, although plenty made guesses."
"It's quite a scandal," Catherine added.
"Don't repeat his name to anyone," Matt warned. "Not until it's made public."
"We won't," Catherine assured him. "Isn't he your cousin's husband?"
Matt picked up his spoon. "Patience. They married recently."
"How awful for her. For both of them. So is it true? He really is illegitimate and this Longmire fellow is the real heir?"
"It seems so."
"It's unclear if Lord Cox should give everything to him yet," I said. "He's seeking legal advice."
"He should give it up," Ronnie said. "It's not his. Everything should have gone to this Longmire fellow."
"He's a turd," Willie cut in. "So India and Matt say."
"I guessed that from the threatening letter he sent us," Catherine said.
"It seems to me he thinks he's entitled to everything without working hard for it," Duke chimed in. "A successful business, the baronetcy."
"That's hardly fair," Ronnie said. "If he's the rightful heir, he should have it."
"Aye," Cyclops agreed. "And it can't be easy to compete against a magician in the same kind of business. Especially a magician who ain't afraid to use his magic."
"Good point," Ronnie said before tucking into his soup. "I'm glad we don't have any watch magicians with shops or we'd struggle to sell a single piece."
"Ronnie," his sister hissed with a glance at me.
"India's different. Her father didn't practice his magic. He used hard work, experience, and know-how, just like I plan to."
"I used my magic," I told him.
"That's different. You didn't know you were using your magic. You can't be blamed for that."
I thought his logic a little skewed, but we dropped the matter, thankfully. The subject of Mr. Longmire didn't come up again through the next four courses or afterward, as we played cards.
Willie joined us in the drawing room only briefly. "I have an appointment with a nurse to keep," she said, smiling.
"A nurse?" Duke asked. "Not the same one who broke your heart."
"A different one. And my heart weren't broken. It was bruised and it's fine now."
Duke huffed as he stretched out his legs. Like Willie, he elected not to play poker with us. "You sure about that? And anyway, does Brockwell know about this nurse?"
"It ain't his business."
I lowered my cards. "Of course it's his business. You and he are together."
"Except when we ain't."
I frowned. "I'm confused."
"So am I," Ronnie added.
"I'll explain later," Catherine whispered from where she stood behind a seated Cyclops. She'd claimed she didn't know how to play poker so would watch and learn. She'd stood at Cyclops's shoulder the entire time.
"Look, India," Willie said huffily. "Jasper and I have an understanding. He can see other women if he wants, and so can I. Or men. Whatever takes my fancy."
Ronnie eyed her as if he'd never truly noticed her before. His curious little smile gave away his thoughts before he returned to studying his cards.
I pointed my hand of cards at Willie. "Brockwell says that, but does he really mean it?"
"Why would he say it if he didn't mean it?
"Because he's trying to appease you. He wants to keep you happy and he thinks he needs to let you be free to do that."
She thrust her hands on her hips. "I do want to be free and he does know that, but that don't mean he hates the idea of it. He ain't the jealous sort, and he ain't got no truck for your sentimental nonsense, India. He likes our arrangement just fine."
"India's right," Duke said.
"What do you know about it? I know Jasper better than all of you, and he ain't pining for me or just going along with it to please me. He's got his work and that's all he really cares about. If I don't see other people then I'll pester him when he's busy trying to solve murders, and that ain't a sight no one wants to see."
"London thanks you for your sacrifice," Matt piped up. He pushed a pile of matchsticks into the middle. "Who's still in?"
"That's an audacious bet," I said.
"I'm out," Ronnie said, throwing his cards down.
I also threw in my cards.
Cyclops stroked his chin and studied his hand. Behind him, Catherine watched, biting her lip.
"Go on," Matt said. "You can afford it."
"Give me a minute," Cyclops said.
"Or just fold like I know you're going to.
Cyclops glared at him through his one eye then tossed down his cards with a click of his tongue.
"You knew you'd won that, didn't you?" I said to Matt.
He smiled as he raked in his winnings.
"How?" Ronnie asked.
"You were all distracted," Matt said. "If you'd paid attention to the game and not Willie's conversation, you'd have realized I also had nothing." He showed us his hand. He didn't even have a pair.
"I wasn't listening to her," Cyclops said, crossing his arms.
"And yet you were the most distracted. I knew you had a poor hand, although I suspect it was still better than mine."
"A pair of queens. How did you know?"
Matt's gaze lifted to Catherine, although she didn't notice. Cyclops gave a good-natured grunt.
"India, I saw your cards when you pointed them at Willie," Matt told me.
"Did I?"
"And me?" Ronnie asked, picking up his port glass. "How did you know you could beat me?"
"Er…"
"Because you're just easy to read," Willie said. "Duke you should give him some help."
Duke finished off his port and stood. "Not tonight. I'm going to a real game. Cyclops?"
"Not me," Cyclops said.
Willie clapped Duke on the shoulder. "Come on, we'll leave together. Woodall can drop me off then you, then he can wait and—"
"Don't ask Woodall," Matt said. "It's getting late, and I won't have the staff waiting up for you. Take a hansom."
Willie grumbled as she left with Duke.
We didn't play much longer before Ronnie and Catherine left too. Cyclops walked her to the door, her hand on his arm, their voices low as they talked.
After they left, I sidled up to him. "You two seem happy. Does this mean you're going to speak to her parents soon?"
"N
o."
"But you looked so content together."
"We are, and I ain't risking that by going to her parents and declaring myself."
"But you must!"
"It's too soon. We're going to take it slow. I'll go to their church again this Sunday, and the next Sunday, and the one after that. You all gave me the idea, and I think it's a good one. I'll let them get used to me there. In the meantime, I'll keep seeing her at the shop."
"Catherine could invite you to her parents' house for tea. That might help things along."
He shook his head. "We prefer our way. We've got patience."
"Unlike some," Matt said innocently.
I took his arm. "I have patience. I'll show you just how patient I can be by delaying bedtime. I'm going to read."
"In bed?" he said, hopeful.
"The drawing room."
Matt waited until we were alone in the drawing room, then he shut the door. "You win. You have more patience than me."
"I'm still going to delay bedtime." I circled him, tapping my chin and appraising him as I did so. He looked very handsome in his dinner suit, his dark eyes blazing so fiercely with desire that I thought I might melt. "But I'm not going to read."
"Wish I'd gone with Duke," Willie said as she poured a second cup of coffee at the sideboard. To our surprise, she'd joined us for breakfast. Usually after a late night she slept in, but it turned out her night wasn't that late after all.
"It were slim pickings at the poker table," Duke told her. "I didn't stay long."
"You should've gone somewhere else," she said.
"I was tired."
Willie sighed as she sat. "We're getting old. You don't like late nights no more, Cyclops wants to settle down, and I'm getting mighty fussy about my lovers."
"What was wrong with the nurse?" I asked.
"Bad teeth."
"Crooked? Missing?"
"She complained of a toothache the entire time and her breath was as foul as a pigsty on a hot day. I told her she should see a dentist but she refused. She's scared of the pain."
"Dentists ain't so bad," Cyclops said. "Not if they use cocaine or laughing gas."
