Chapter Twenty-One
In truth, cabinet was far too small a word for the space I had entered.
It was a large room, as big as my father’s shoppe, and every available surface was devoted to this particular collector’s vision.
Unlike my father’s shoppe, which was arranged in a way only he could understand, this cabinet was organized into very distinct groups.
First was the artificialia, which included man-made items like art, artifacts, and antiquities.
Paintings lined the walls, from large landscapes in the old style to miniature portraits no larger than a deck of cards.
Even the frames themselves were works of art.
Many of the items in this room were old and clearly valuable: a painted amphora that reached my waist; a golden headdress hung with tiny, jeweled leaves; a marble sculpture of a nymph and a satyr.
Second was the naturalia. I noted a two-headed snake in a jar of preserving fluid and a taxidermic unicorn head—though I suspected it was merely a goat with a narwhal horn like the one in my shoppe. Any kind of natural oddity would fit into this category.
Next came exotica. Wexley had a vast collection of birds of paradise and colorful butterflies from what I could only assume were faraway lands.
I wondered if he’d ventured there himself, or if someone like Torion, the Sapphire Islander, had procured these items for him.
I’d never liked exotica, myself. It often involved skewering hapless entomological specimens with needles or posing endangered creatures in awkward positions.
Finally, scientifica. This wasn’t a category that had particularly interested Da, because in his thinking, science was anathema to magic.
Wexley, too, seemed to have a limited collection.
There were contraptions I had no names for here, but whether they were medical devices or new-fangled inventions, I couldn’t say.
“Welcome to my collection,” said a voice from behind me. “Do you like it?”
I turned to find Wexley standing behind me.
“It’s very impressive,” I said, though the moment our eyes locked, I felt a pit of regret form in my stomach.
I hadn’t liked this man standing in the safety of my own shoppe; I liked him even less here, in his home.
A gold pocket watch chain gleamed against his vest, and I wrapped my fist around the one in my pocket, wondering if I’d made a mistake in purchasing it for Finlay, or if I’d ever get a chance to give it to him.
“Thank you! I must say, Miss Stokes, you are the spitting image of your parents.”
I blinked. “You knew my parents?”
“Your father and I were great friends, once. I was so sorry to learn of his passing.”
I should have felt excited to meet a friend of my father’s, but I remembered what Wexley had said about him that night by the docks. They certainly didn’t sound like great friends.
“We should probably get down to business. It will be dark soon, and I don’t live in town.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, smiling warmly. “Fromme will take you home when we’re finished here.”
My stomach twisted with uneasiness. I had no interest in showing his massive bodyguard where I lived.
“Please, have a seat.” Wexley gestured to an armchair upholstered in emerald-green velvet. Next to it, an elaborate cage housed a taxidermy bird with an enormous bill. “Not to worry,” he said when he saw me eyeing it doubtfully. “My toucan has been dead for many years. Lovely, though, isn’t he?”
I forced myself to nod, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the poor bird.
“Now,” Mr. Wexley said, taking a seat in a matching chair. “I’d love to hear more about how you managed to reopen your father’s shoppe. As far as everyone in town is concerned, you’ve progressed from selling forgeries and fakes to a tidy collection of marvels.”
I noticed he hadn’t said anything about magic. Marvel was a euphemism I hadn’t heard before. “I am.”
“It doesn’t appear that you’ve been trading with anyone. I wonder, if Edward had so many delightful treasures in his possession, why he didn’t sell them sooner?”
Shite. Did he know about Bri, or was he fishing for information? How a man of so much evident wealth could view my shoppe as any sort of threat was unfathomable. What more could he possibly need?
“My father wasn’t the most discerning of businessmen,” I said carefully. “He had some notion of what he had in his shoppe, but he didn’t understand the full potential.”
“But you did? A young girl of seventeen, with no real experience in the trade?”
My pride got the better of me as I raised my chin. “I’ve worked in the shoppe for most of my life. I have quite a lot of experience for someone my age.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.” He crossed one leg over the other, his mustache quirking in a smile. “And once you’ve run out of inventory? If your father was still alive, I’m sure he’d be focused on finding you a suitable husband.”
I licked my lips, finding my mouth had gone bone dry. I didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking, and I needed to somehow steer it toward The Oxblood Book without arousing suspicion. “May I have something to drink, Mr. Wexley?”
“What a terrible host I’ve been! Please, feel free to peruse. I’ll be right back.”
He strode out of the room, leaving me alone with a veritable treasure trove.
I shoved my hands into my pockets lest temptation get the better of me.
I couldn’t deny that I was intrigued by a collection of crystals in a rainbow of hues, or what appeared to be a human eyeball floating in a crystal decanter.
But I’d come here with a purpose, and I might not get another chance.
I skirted the birdcage and made my way to a bookshelf filled with grimoires.
I glanced over my shoulder at the open door leading to the hallway, straining my ears for the sound of footsteps.
Tentatively, I trailed my fingers over the covers, searching for something that might possibly contain Bri’s cure.
The second my fingers touched one particular spine—this one a deep red-black with gold detailing—I felt a strange surge go through me, warming my blood.
Agatha had made it seem as though every grimoire had a personality of its own, but I’d felt nothing like this in the library.
“Tea is on its way, Miss Stokes.” Mr. Wexley had returned.
I stepped away from the shelf, hoping he hadn’t noticed me touching the grimoires.
I couldn’t tell simply from looking at this collection, but something told me that a good deal of the items here were magical.
As I walked toward my chair, I passed a shelf and froze.
A massive fang, yellowed with age, sat mounted on a gilded stand. “Is this a dragon tooth?” I asked, glancing at Wexley.
“It is.” He smiled, seeming pleased by my enthusiasm. “Go ahead, pick it up if you like.”
My fingers twitched with longing. To be so close to something I’d dreamt of for years … It would be the simplest thing to slip it into my pocket when he wasn’t looking …
I shook my head. “That’s all right. I’ve never seen one in real life before.”
“They are exceedingly rare. This one came all the way from the Sapphire Isles. A recent acquisition. I have my eye on something far more exclusive, mind you.”
A servant entered with a silver tea service and set it down on an end table. I returned to my seat and prepared my tea slowly, wondering how much Mr. Wexley knew. Was he trying to warn me off the dragon bones, or was he simply letting me know how powerful he was?
“Do most of your items come from traders?” I asked.
He settled back in his chair, seemingly relaxed, although I noticed a muscle in his jaw ticking away.
“There was a time when I ventured far and wide for my treasures. I’ve been to every continent, recovered artifacts from the bottom of the ocean and the mouths of active volcanos.
I once encountered an entire civilization that had never seen an outsider before.
” He sighed wistfully. “But now I’m older and far less adventurous.
Fromme is my eyes and ears. Occasionally I’ll travel to confirm the authenticity of an item, but those days are mostly behind me. ”
“What do you do with your items, Mr. Wexley?” I asked.
“Why, I collect them! I spend hours in this room, remembering when and where I found certain items, or reimagining the stories of those who brought them to me. I can visit a dozen countries by perusing a single shelf. I entertain my guests with delightful tales, allowing them to visit the places they’ll never go.
Collecting isn’t merely a hobby, Miss Stokes. It’s an art form.”
I couldn’t tamp down my surprise, or my hope that The Oxblood Book was still here. “You don’t sell them? Ever?”
He laughed lightly to himself. “No, Miss Stokes. I don’t sell them. Why would I? I certainly don’t need the money.”
“Right.” My cheeks pinked with embarrassment. I glanced at the window, where the sun was sinking rapidly behind the rooftops. “Pardon my boldness, but what were you hoping to gain from this meeting? Did you want to purchase something from my shoppe? I doubt I have anything that would interest you.”
He smiled and rose, crossing the room to where a full suit of armor stood in the corner.
“As I told you, I have my own sources, Miss Stokes. I can afford to be very particular in my collecting.” He ran a hand over the armor, caressing it with surprising affection.
Or perhaps possession. I didn’t know him well enough to say.
“Not everything in here is magical, Miss Stokes.” He took a few steps back, admiring the armor. “Magical items are so hard to find these days, as you know.”
Without warning, he turned and hurled his teacup at the suit of armor. I gasped as the knight lifted its sword and smashed the delicate porcelain, which fell to the floor in jagged pieces.