Page 51 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

“I’m Peter Holcroft, Mr. Jones’s secretary. Please call me Peter. So nice to meet both of you. Thank you for coming. Mr. Jones is waiting in the library.”

Max nearly vibrated with excitement but looked like he was trying to appear calm and collected. Rory wanted to grin but resisted. Max was adorable, but he probably wouldn’t appreciate being told so.

Peter led them confidently through the house, which was full of wood paneling and beautiful art and decor. Honestly, though, Rory couldn’t imagine having this much space and this many belongings. It seemed like an awful lot to worry about.

They reached a set of closed double doors, and Peter knocked on the door and then opened it as a quavering voice bid them enter.

The room was dim, with what looked like huge windows mostly obscured by large curtains. There were books everywhere. It was floor-to-ceiling books, including on a second level, and there were honest-to-goodness ladders that could be wheeled around the shelves. Rory immediately wanted to leap on one of them, but he managed to restrain himself. Barely.

The shelves contained a riot of colors and textures, though it looked like a great many of the books were leather-bound volumes. Probably not a lot of books like these ended up in Max’s bookshop, not unless they were for serious collectors.

There was a fireplace at one end of the room, with a fire screen up and a safe space between it and the closest bookshelves. Next to the fire was an old man in a wheelchair with a tortoiseshell cat that had a beautiful mix of orange and black fur curled up in his blanketed lap.

Ah. Rory had wondered why the man had decided that now was the time to share his collection. He was a bit hunched over, and his white hair was mostly wisps now. When he looked up at them, though, his eyes were still keen, though their blue was a bit watery. His skin looked paper-thin, mottled with age spots, traceries of blue veins visible. He was carefully petting the cat, whose ears pricked forward as she looked at them, but otherwise she gave no indication of noticing their presence.

The man was very old indeed for a witch.

He was unquestionably dying. Rory would probably have known that without his gift, but with it, he could see just how close the witch was to the end of his mortal life. Rory couldn’t pinpoint an exact day, but they were talking weeks at most, not months.

“Here are Mr. March and Mr. Brand from the Read for a Spell bookshop, sir,” Peter said.

The old man’s voice quavered but still held that trace of impatience and drive that had no doubt been part of what helped him live this long. “Come here, come here.”

They crossed the room until they were standing in front of him. Rory went to his knees.

“May I say hello to your familiar?”

The man sniffed. “Yes. Fine.”

Rory held out his fingers, and the kitty opened one eye, sniffed, and then, reached out and licked them, her tongue a soft rasp against Rory’s skin.

Rory smiled and said, “Hello, little one. This isn’t such a bad life, is it, curled up and warm with someone to pet you all the time?”

She meowed at him. She was content, but she was tired.

“I know,” Rory said softly. “Soon you’ll be able to sleep.”

The old man’s eyes were keen upon him. “She sleeps all the time as it is.”

Rory looked up. “And when the time comes, she’ll be able to sleep some more.”

“No other options?” Mr. Jones asked.

Shaking his head slowly, Rory asked, “Are other options desired? Or does the time not come when you get to lay down your burden and rest?”

The man drew in a breath, then coughed, but he waved aside his secretary when the man tried to bring him a glass of water.

“I suppose so. I’d begun to think I was going to have to live forever.” He eyed Max. “Are you sure he’s up to the task?”

Rory smiled. “If the task is books or spells, no one could be a better choice than Max. He cares for them very deeply.”

The man blew out a breath. “I wasn’t sure. You hear tales, you know, of what unscrupulous Spellreaders and Spellsmiths can do.”

“I beg your pardon,” Max said stiffly, “but I am always extremely scrupulous when it comes to my spells.”

The man wheezed, and it became clear after a moment that he was laughing. When his amusement finally subsided, his face a bit too red, he said, “I know, I know.” He waved a hand at Peter. “I had him call you for spells a few times, just to see what you would send.”

Max stiffened. “There are people who actually need spells, you know. I don’t have time to waste on rich people who have more money than sense!”