“Aaaahh!” Sheffield screamed, gesticulating wildly.
Amelia sighed. “Caleb, would you please fetch the teaspoon?”
At once he took off running down the Hall, leaping over fallen benches with a casual athleticism that Amelia would have liked to admire, if only she had time. She returned her attention to Vanity.
“Those earrings you’re wearing—are they gold? Real gold?” Vanity nodded, her topknot bouncing. “Perfect. Take one out and throw it down to me, please.”
Weeping and bemoaning fate’s cruelty, Vanity removed an earring and dropped it. Amelia caught the little bob in her cupped palm.
“Aaaaahhhh!” Vanity resumed.
“Miss Tunnicliffe!” Sheffield called up to her. “Be brave!”
“I really could do with a nice quiet ghost hunt just now,” Amelia muttered to herself. “Right,” she said briskly to the sergeant. “I’m going to bring her down by magical means. Hopefully the descent will be slow, but—”
“I’ll catch her,” Sheffield interrupted with a determination that brooked no consideration of physics. He strode to position himself beneath Vanity, crouching with his feet apart and arms spread—a pose that was certain to have no effect whatsoever if the girl dropped as rapidly as her earring had done. There was no way to predict with absolute certainty what might happen, but Amelia consoled herself that she was giving Vanity the best chance she could, and that Balliol had an excellent janitorial team should it go badly.
“Found the teaspoon,” Caleb announced, crawling out from beneath the dais’s table. Getting to his feet, he blew strands of hair away from his eyes as he looked along the Hall to Amelia. He clearly had no idea what she was planning but trusted her nevertheless. Excitement glinted in his expression. Amelia couldn’t help but feel the same lovely, tingly sense of fun. This was the best part of antiquarianism—not finding magical antiques, but using them!
Reaching into her skirt pocket, she drew out the safe bag containing Sir Nigel’s thaumaturgic locket. With sedate professionalism—disguising the fact that she’d forgotten to store the dangerous magical antique in a proper manner, and suggesting instead that she’d purposefully kept it to hand for an occasion such as this very one—she removed the locket and cast aside the bag (which is to say, set it neatly on a nearby table).
“Ready?” she asked Sheffield.
“Ready,” he affirmed.
“Ready?” she called up to Vanity.
“No!”the girl cried.
Without further ado, Amelia opened the locket’s case and placed Vanity’s gold earring inside.
Nothing happened.
Holding her breath, Amelia angled the lid slowly downward…
“Uhh.” The nervous sound shook from Vanity’s throat as she began to descend at a gentle pace…“Aaaahhh!” It suddenly swooped up in pitch as the woman herself swooped up—then shot toward the door—then spun around—and began flying first one way, then another, like a purple-and-red bee that had drunk too much fermented nectar.
“Aaaahhh!” Sheffield hollered, running hither and yon to remain beneath her, arms still outstretched, face a study in panic. “What’s happening?!”
“I’d say the teaspoon’s metaphysical energy is interacting with that of the locket in a decidedly nonconstructive manner,” Amelia said, frowning a little.
“What?” Sheffield stared at her with frazzled bewilderment.
“The streams have crossed,” Amelia explained again. She looked along the chamber to Caleb, and he looked back in silence, his expression steady. They both knew what had to happen now.
“Must I?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “It’s your decision.”
Her frown deepened. “Bother.” With a glance at Vanity, who was on a dizzy spiral up toward the high apex of the ceiling, she turned back to Caleb and sighed. “Fine. Do it.”
He smiled at her like a blown kiss. It was lovely, beautiful—and did not help at all. Amelia watched with dark eyes as hegrabbed a chair and proceeded to employ it in smashing a window.
“You needn’t look so enthused,” Amelia grumbled.
“Come on, Meely!” he replied, eyes bright. “Every Balliol student would love to do this!”
CRASH.Glass shattered.
