Opal smiled. ‘Theodora’ would soon find what Opal had left behind at the tea shop.
Lio had played his part. As had her mother, in the end, taking down wards across the city. That only left one fatal piece.
‘How does it all work anyway?’ Opal had once asked, laying against the rug in Theodora’s room.
‘The wards are made up of three elements,’ said the girl from the forest, as she painted in watercolour. ‘The wards within the tea shop. The wards without the tea shop. And the final keystone ward which binds it all together, but that’s between me and Belchamber. Even if I die, so long as Belchamber keeps his side of the bargain, the wards cannot fall entirely. Why do you ask?’
Because Salamander had wanted to know, hadn’t he?
Because the woman had a talent for wards, and because the daemon wanted to use them, and as soon as he fused the witch’stalent with his own magic, he would turn the tea shop into an impenetrable zoological gaol. He would sell spirits, Magicians, children – any creature of curious magical capacity. He would do whatever his depraved, scientific mind wanted, with absolutely no consequences.
Did Opal really want to see the tea shop used that way?
That final keystone ward was strictly between Theodora and Belchamber. Opal scoffed. Now she knew what the witch had meant by that. No matter. It was all soon to end. That little girl from the forest, who had vomited after skinning rabbits, who Opal had fallen asleep watching, who Opal had loved and had been betrayed by more than any other person alive, would soon be broken and beautifully bound to her forever.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Dot bounded down the staircase, darting into the hallway that connected the abandoned tea shop and the courtyard. She had in her arms several instruments of magic: an orrery, her brass scales, her chalk and the three journals she had filled with all of her neat notes on runes. She took a seat outside on the wooden porch, brushing away the bright yellow ginkgo leaves that had blown in over the roof. She opened her notebook and picked a rune at random.Soften.
Three concentric circles. Five lines connecting them. The symbol for ‘youth’.
Dot drew the rune with chalk straight onto the wooden deck, placed down her right hand, closed her eyes and felt the wood beneath her become smoother. She laughed. What a novelty it was to use magic.
Her human magic was weak, no doubt, but it was there, growing spell by spell like a muscle, stretching and strengthening.
‘Looks like it might rain soon.’
Dot glanced behind her and then quickly away and up at the heavy clouds gathering above. Lio was awkwardly hovering in the doorway; he held a plate with a pickled onion sandwich on it.
’I suppose,’ she said.
A pause. At length, Lio said, ‘Your grandad’s nice.’
‘He is,’ said Dot, and the young man laid the plate beside her.
Archie had assured her of Lio’s remorse: how Lio had given himself pneumonia, how he had spent days without rest casting portals, questioning the dock workers, combing through the port logs, landing on probably a hundred ships between Seafarthing and the South Pole. When he turned up on Archie’s ship, he had almost caught his death. He had not slept nor eaten in several days, so determined was he to reunite grandfather and granddaughter. Dot glanced at Lio now. His eyes were drawn and guilty as he watched her.
Even now, he was beautiful.
Dot almost thanked him, but she did not.
Lio almost apologised, but he did not.
Instead, he trundled up the stairs, passing Belchamber, who had taken to ambling slowly around the house. Lio coughed heavily into his handkerchief and so he did not notice the spirit moving with strange, jerking movements.Hadhe noticed, Lio would have seen the spirit’s eyes now shining black. Had he listened, he would have heard the spirit muttering to himself as he climbed down toward the courtyard. Lio should have stopped. He should have stayed with Dot.
Instead, Lio took up the rest of the sandwiches from the kitchen counter and went into the living room where Theodora was sat with Archie and Rupert, poring over diagrams the witch had sketched of Hemmington’s department store.
Still, the witch searched for answers with reckless abandon, casting magic about the space; she levitated maps and letters and papers, all of them riddling out solutions to her debt. Here was the hurricane of her thoughts, swirling about them in ink and parchment.
‘The spirits of the Ollianne Shrine are sure allies,’ said Theodora. She flourished her hand at a map of the city, still stained here andthere by the Lourdes. ‘They are fickle, and hardly as dependable as Belchamber, but surely I could convince a few . . .’
‘Surely, you would need more than a few spirits to help break your contract?’ asked Lio. ‘You said his contracts were bespelledbeforehis daemotion, right? If it took five hundred of the United Allies’ spirits to daemote him, then wouldn’t it take the same number of powerful spirits to break your contract?’
‘Well, five hundred would be ideal,’ said the witch, ‘but the Ollianne Shrine doesn’t have that many. Perhaps we can find some more to make up the numbers?’
‘What about the elevator to Salamander’s dungeon?’ asked Rupert. ‘What if he locks it up?’
‘My wards count for something, you know,’ said Theodora. ‘Theyareamplifiers for my magic. I’ve already placed one ward right next to the department store. If I had the help of the spirits, maybe Salamander wouldn’t notice if we created a portal into the dungeon and bypassed the elevator entirely? Casimir would be the obvious helper for this, but he is changeable even on a normal day, so I will rule him out. Perhaps I can be the one—’
