The man named Casimir smirked at Lio across the club. He had strange tattoos and dark hair and a look of utter arrogance as he tipped his glass at Lio and then muttered something to the spirit, Marcidus – a fellow who was large, round, and pinkish in hue. There was something about Casimir’s gaze that made Lio uneasy. It knew something vital that he did not.
And so Lio took it upon himself to eavesdrop on this Casimir. Over the course of the hour, he subtly waded through the crowd and obscured himself not far from Casimir’s chair, beside a spirit who resembled a large carousel pony. From this vantage, he could hear Casimir’s conversation with the amorphous spirit.
‘Marci, please,’ said Casimir.
‘Do not call me that, Mr Delané. Marcidus only.’
‘Whatever you wish, “Marcidusonly”.’
‘Careful lad,’ said Marcidus. ‘Salamander finds your cheek amusing, but I do not.’
‘Well, it’s a good thing he’s my boss,’ said Casimir, ‘and not you.’
‘Why invite me to this place again?’ demanded the spirit. ‘Why insist that we come here time after time?’
‘Where else would we be free to chat without the big boss overhearing?’ asked Casimir, swirling the liquor in his glass.
‘I have nothing to hide from our master,’ said the spirit. ‘Do you, Mr Delané?’
Casimir scoffed. ‘Let’s not play games. You know as well as I do that the factory output is dwindling. The spirits know what’s coming. They’ve heard rumblings, Marci. I think we ought to discuss it.’
The spirit Marcidus leaned toward Casimir. Lio, who was pretending to scribble into his order book, strained to peer through the crowd that jostled him.
‘Salamander has a new favourite, you know, and she is lobbying for your extinction,’ said Marcidus. ‘If you do not treat me withrespect, maybe I will step in. Maybe I will tell Salamander that you bring me here where he can’t listen. Maybe I should go and ask old Sal for your contract? I’m sure he would not mind me keeping it safe.’
And the spirit disappeared, leaving Casimir in his chair, gin in hand, glaring at the revelry before him. Lio peeked out from behind the pony-spirit.
‘Could you have made that any more obvious?’ called Casimir, standing and eyeing Lio. He downed his drink. ‘No wonder T pokes fun at you.’
‘T?’ asked Lio.
‘Some advice,’ said Casimir. He picked up his jacket and threw it over his shoulder. ‘From a fellow pawn in this chess match. Do not stick your nose where it need not be.’
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
The next morning, Dot and Theodora stepped out of the portal and into Hemmington’s department store. Dot had on her new cloche hat and the rest of her smartest clothing which she had magazine-ordered in the months prior. For the sake of her second meeting with the daemon, Salamander, she had even drawn in her eyebrows and put on mascara. Theodora, however, was uncharacteristically unkempt. She wore her usual silk blouse, but there was a stain by the collar. Her trousers needed ironing. And, when they’d been falling through the whirling darkness of the portal, Dot caught a flash of fear in her eyes.
It was the witch who insisted Dot join her on the expedition to Hemmington’s, for without assessing the affliction, how could the daemon assist in the diagnosis? The thought of those leering, hungry eyes roving over her scales turned Dot’s stomach, but what choice did they have?
They had landed on a teleportation platform tiled with stars and sea creatures. An attendant spirit nodded at them as they stepped off the platform and onto the plush carpet. Another thud issued, and Dot turned to catch sight of two more Magicians stepping out of portals, each of them top-hatted, mink-coated and lighting up pipes.
Theodora led her briskly through the department store while Dot’s head twisted this way and that, spotting a tiered table of cakes, exquisite shelves of haberdashery and a wall of parakeets in wooden cages that reminded her so extremely of her exchange with the King that she felt her stomach tighten. The store was eight floors of shoes and pocketbooks and artworks and jewels and porcelain and fine armoires and strings of pearls by the metre.
They came to an elevator.
‘To the top, Madame Kaeïs?’
A small spirit in livery addressed Theodora. He looked like a bleached frog.
‘Yes,’ said Theodora, ‘thank you.’
The spirit shut the doors for them, waving as he disappeared from view. The car soared upward and Dot, having never been in an elevator before, grasped the rail.
‘Who are you here?’ asked Dot. ‘A bear baiter? A professional dancer?’
‘A foreign sorcerer’s daughter,’ said Theodora with a tired smile.
‘I see,’ said Dot. ‘Madame Kaeïs, why does Salamander run a department store?’
