The Raven Spell (Conspiracy of Magic #1)(11)
“Aye, so you admit you were there.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“Nae?” He advanced and tapped his finger pointedly against the counter glass. “Whatever you and your sister nicked from me, I’ll be having it back. Now.”
Mary had taken all the memories he held up to that point in time on the muddy bank, but she hadn’t affected the new ones he’d formed since. And though he’d appeared dead to the world then, he apparently hadn’t been unconscious the entire time. He remembered them standing over him. Knew they’d taken something from him. But how much could he truly know? Or understand? Whatever he might have seen would retail as a hallucination in the telling, coming from a man recovering from a head wound. Things might still be all right.
She studied him again in the shop light. He was no dock worker, judging by the cut of his jacket and trousers and the thick leather on his boot soles. No whiff of the fisherman on him, other than the damp of having collapsed on the shore. Had she been right about him being a ruffian, then? Or a drunkard still under the influence? Perhaps she could find a way to placate him after all.
Edwina slowly reached under the counter and retrieved the gold ring. There was no way for her to explain to a mortal what they’d truly taken, so a bit of gold would have to suffice. “Here,” she said and slid the ring nestled in its velvet across the glass to him. “It’s yours. Take it.” And she meant her offer. She was proud of the find, but if the monetary value of the ring was enough to compensate for the harm they’d caused him, she could live with the loss. All settled, she thought, and restrained herself from actually brushing her hands together in a matching gesture.
“I’m in no mood for lies,” the man warned, swiping the box and ring aside so that the gold bounced off the counter and rolled across the floor to lodge against the radiator. “And I think what you stole was a little shinier than that.”
Whatever this man did to earn his keep in the world, he was being deliberately brutish in an attempt to intimidate her. Did it come naturally or was it for show? Edwina’s mind raced to get ahead of his accusations. She didn’t like to take advantage of mortals when it could be helped, but if he was willing to turn down gold, he was on the verge of becoming too agitated to reason with. Feeling cornered, she opened her mouth and formed the beginning of a tune.
“What are you doing?” He straightened with suspicion and reached for something beneath his jacket. “Why are you humming?”
But she wasn’t humming. She was singing. A spell to put him to sleep. Dulcet as a lullaby but potent as chamomile mixed with lavender and warm milk. As she sang her melody, Edwina tried to be mindful of the man’s head wound. She only needed him to fall into a light state of unconsciousness so she could think what to do without him badgering her. She refrained from hitting the high notes, keeping her tune soft and subtle. Soon enough his knees wobbled and he gripped the counter. He sank to the floor, crumpling in a pile much like the one he’d been in when they’d first encountered him.
“Dozy bloke.” Edwina said a quick spell to dim the lights in the shop to make it harder to view them from the street, then knelt beside the man. “Now, what to do with you.”
She cradled the man’s head against an upside-down wicker basket while she squeamishly turned out his pockets. She’d hoped to learn who he was, but all she found were a few coins, a cold pipe, a skeleton key, a dirty knife with a trick blade—so a criminal after all—and a curious business card with indelible green ink that glimmered as she brought it up to her face to read.
A jolt went through her, stunned by the implication. It wasn’t the enchanted lettering that made her jump but the name imprinted on it: Henry Elvanfoot.
Henry Elvanfoot!
There wasn’t a witch worth her salt in all the isles who didn’t know the name Elvanfoot. Henry, the old man, was a wizard of renown who’d discovered the secret of smokeless propellant used in the Seven Nations War. Said to be living in infamy and regret ever since in a quiet manor house in the north beside the River Clayborn, doggedly pursuing more useful inventions. But what was this man doing with Henry Elvanfoot’s bloodstained business card in his pocket?
Edwina peeled back the front of the man’s jacket. He’d been reaching for the pocket watch chained to his waistcoat just before he’d succumbed to her spell. Curious, she unhooked it from the button and held it in the palm of her hand. The metal did not carry the same smooth coolness of mortal gold. Instead the thing buzzed and ticked at the particle level, connecting with the energy coursing through her aura. On a hunch she flicked the cover open. Aside from a normal clockface with two hands that purported to keep track of the hours and minutes in the day, it contained several cogs and whirring wheels that revved up when she pushed the button on the side. She suspected it could be an astrolabe of some sort to chart the position of the stars, but if so, the means didn’t become immediately clear. And yet the intricacy of the parts and the manner in which they moved proved conclusively it was no mortal instrument but rather some sort of wizardry at work.
She closed the watch and turned it over, expecting some reference to Henry Elvanfoot as the owner, having been stolen by the lout asleep on her shop floor. Conversely, she was surprised to find it revealed an altogether different clue on the back, though one that shed no further light on its owner. She glanced from the engraved initials on the watch to the unshaven man snoring at her side, and a vein of sympathetic curiosity opened inside her.