“That’s what I said, Lady Salisbury!” Baz couldn’t be more pleased with himself.
“It’s not an act,” I say. “I am actually an orphan.”
Lady Ruth pats my hand. “Of course you are, dear.”
“Yes,” Baz says, “but even if you weren’t, the Mage still would have told everyone that you were. It’s just too perfect. Oh—” He turns back to Lady Ruth. “Smith-Richards also claims he was born underan eclipse.”
She rolls her eyes. “Was he trying to convert you or get in your trousers?”
“Imean,” Baz agrees, eating half a finger sandwich.
“But Jamie wasn’t there?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “Smith seemed excited to introduce us to him, but he wasn’t there. Maybe Jamie got his own flat?”
Lady Ruth frowns, like that isn’t likely. “I tried to track him down again this morning. All my spells are still hitting dead ends. It’s almost like there’s a locked door at the end of my wand. Do you think Jamie got magic, and the first spell he cast was to hide from me?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “If I got my magic back, I’d be too happy to nurse any grudges.”
Baz looks over at me. He’s got his lips twisted to the side, like he’s thinking. Then he turns to Lady Ruth. “Doesn’t it seem like we should have heard of Smith-Richards before? Or his family?”
She’s refilling his tea. “They don’t have any sort of magickal reputation. He just appeared one day.”
“Smith-Richards says he was raised by his godfather . . .”
She shakes her head. “Jamie never mentioned him.”
“We’re going to Watford this afternoon,” I tell her, “to see if we can dig anything up inThe Magickal Record.”
She clicks her tongue, setting down the teapot. “Oh, I wish I hadn’t thrown all our old copies away! My husband used to have them bound up in leather volumes, but I cleared them out when he died. Hmm . . .” She taps the table. “Do you have a pair of reading glasses?”
“I don’t think either of us needs glasses yet,” I say.
Lady Ruth chuckles, patting my hand again. “Give me two shakes . . .” She gets up and bustles out of the dining room.
“Reading glasses are glasses spelled to help you scan books and documents,” Baz explains, helping himself to a slice of cake. (Every time we call on Lady Salisbury, she seems to have just finished making a cake. Today it’s lemon drizzle. Cracking.)
“Why didn’t we use a pair when we were looking for Nico?”
“I don’thavea pair,” he says. “Imagine the magic that would take.”
Magickal objects are rare among mages. They have to be spelled the regular way. So first you need a specific spell. And then you need to be powerful enough to cast the spell—to actually channel magicintoa thing. The Mage could do it, but it always knocked him out. He slept for a full day once, after bewitching a key. I’ve never met anyone who could charm something powerful, like a sword or a wand.
The Mage hopedI’dbe able to do it eventually. I had the magic. But I didn’t have the magickal dexterity. I destroyed every object he put in front of me, including some expensive-looking jewellery.
I’m probably lucky it didn’t work. Imagine how many holes I would have blown in the magickal fabric if he’d turned me into a magic-wand factory.
Lady Ruth is back with an olive-green leather case. She sits down and hands the case to me—even though it’ll have to be Baz that uses anything magickal. I flip it open. There are gold wire-framed glasses inside. The arms have springs on the ends that must curl around the back of your ears. Baz is leaning over the table to look.
“Use them with ‘Fine-tooth comb,’ or any finding spell,” she says. “They’ll give you a boost.”
“Were these your husband’s, too?” I ask.
“My mother’s. I’ve never been much of a reader myself. They’re a family heirloom, I suppose.”
“Lovely,” Baz says. “We’ll be careful with them.”
“I know you will.” She squeezes his arm. “Let me pack up some sandwiches for you to take along.”
