Chapter 1 #2
“Point taken, but Mackenzie isn’t obscure.
He’s the most well-known lord advocate, a position he held for a number of years from 1677.
He labeled the punishments meted out to convicted witches cruel.
He conducted extensive research into witches and concluded that most of the time, their craft was medicinal, not magical.
His work led to the abolition of witchcraft trials in Scotland.
The rest of the world eventually followed. ”
“Quite an enlightened man for the seventeenth century. But you said ‘most.’”
“Pardon?”
“‘He concluded that most of the time, a witch’s craft was medicinal, not magical.’ Are you saying he also found some evidence of real magic?”
I shrugged. “It’s a question that scholars with an interest in the occult have often wondered, but only amongst ourselves. To discuss such things in mainstream circles would have been career suicide. Anyway, without evidence, the discussions were inconclusive.”
Oscar studied the second letter. “Perhaps the book in Kinloch’s possession will lay the question to rest once and for all.” The somewhat absent note in his voice intrigued me.
“What does the second letter say? Is it also from Kinloch?”
He folded the letter and shook his head. “It’s from John J. Defoe.”
“The American railroad magnate? What does he say?”
Oscar hesitated before passing me the letter.
I unfolded it and read. It was clearly the first time Defoe had corresponded with Lord Coyle.
Written almost five years ago, he introduced himself as a fellow collector of magic.
He’d heard about a book that gave a clue to the whereabouts of another text that he sought.
The book containing the clue was titled A Treatise on the Laws of Witchcraft and Maleficium in Scotland.
Defoe didn’t know where to find it, however, so he appealed to Lord Coyle.
While that was intriguing, it was the next lines that caught my attention.
Now I understood Oscar’s hesitation in handing the letter to me.
There must be a part of him that wanted to keep the information to himself. To his credit, he had not.
Defoe’s ultimate aim was to find a text about tattoos made with magic ink that could turn the tattooed person into a superior human. “How extraordinary. Have you heard of tattoo magic?”
Oscar’s eyes were bright, as if he were in the throes of a feverish delirium. “No, but it makes sense that it exists. Tattoos are made with ink, and magic ink in the skin can potentially have a number of practical applications. Superior strength, or perhaps even make the person fly.”
I laughed, but he looked quite serious.
“If I can make regular ink fly, why not a tattoo? And if the tattoo is within the skin itself, then why not the human?” He clasped my elbow. “Gavin, we have to get that text about tattoo magic.”
His enthusiasm didn’t surprise me, given he was an ink magician, but I was more intrigued by the book containing the clue.
A Treatise on the Laws of Witchcraft and Maleficium in Scotland by His Majesty’s Lord Advocate George Mackenzie could be an important historical document, something we academics referred to as seminal.
“We don’t know if Coyle wrote back to Defoe and mentioned that Kinloch has Mackenzie’s book,” I warned him. “If he did, it could now be in Defoe’s possession. I suppose we could make him an offer.”
Oscar scoffed. “Coyle would never help a fellow collector. He was too selfish.”
“Even if Mr. Kinloch does still have it, what if he doesn’t want to sell?” I indicated the first letter where he stated as much.
“He didn’t want to sell to Coyle. We are not him. In fact, we hated him. Perhaps Kinloch would be prepared to negotiate with his enemy’s enemy.”
The sound of light footsteps approaching silenced me before I could respond. Lady Coyle stopped at the entrance to the hidden storeroom and gawped in an unladylike fashion at our surroundings. “Well,” she said on a breath. “You’ve found his collection.”
Oscar showed her one of the books on the library shelf. “I pulled on this and the hidden door opened.”
She picked up a pair of silver earrings inlaid with blue enamel that matched her eyes. “I suppose most of this is worthless, now that magic is no longer a secret. He used to hoard it in the hope the value would rise, but India and Matt’s actions sank it instead.”
“I doubt that was their motive for liberating magicians from persecution,” Oscar said wryly.
Hope cast him a frosty glare that lasted a mere moment before warming.
She clasped his arm with both hands and blinked up at him.
She was quite beautiful, although I’d heard one of her sisters rejoice that Hope had put on weight during her pregnancy.
Oscar showed no sign of discomfort at her flirtation.
He was capable of fending off unwanted attentions, and I was quite sure that in this case, they were indeed unwanted.
I was glad she focused only on him and ignored me.
She was like a tropical jellyfish; beautiful and elegant to the point of mesmerizing, but capable of stinging those who got too close.
I’d learned to stay silent in her company and let Oscar do all the talking.
This was the second time Oscar and I had met her in as many weeks.
We’d had unpleasant dealings with her before, of course, but those turbulent times were now behind us.
We were moving forward, as was the entire country.
It was time for magicians like Oscar to come out of the shadows and take advantage of the freedom afforded to them under new legislation that forbade their persecution.
He was precisely the sort of man to take advantage, too.
Enthusiastic, enterprising, and forthright, with a thirst for knowledge and adventure.
He’d been chomping at the bit for over a year, eager to begin our book-gathering expeditions.
Our visit to Lady Coyle was the first such expedition.
Since the Coyle townhouse was based in London and the widow eager to sell as many of her late husband’s books as possible, it seemed like the easiest place to start.
Besides, we had no other specific destinations in mind yet, just vague notions of visiting the continent.
“Are you interested in buying any of the books, Oscar?” she purred.
Oscar smoothly extricated himself from her grip in such a way that it didn’t appear as though he were rejecting her outright.
“We’ve made a collection on the table.” He placed Monsters and Myths of the Central American Tribes on top of the pile.
“Is there a footman who can help us with these? And can your butler fetch us a cab?”
“I no longer employ a butler, but my coachman can take you wherever you wish to go.”
A few minutes later, we saw the coachman walking down the main staircase to the entrance hall where we waited.
Both Oscar and I stared as he approached, but not entirely because seeing an outside servant inside the house was a rare event.
He was indeed a redheaded fellow, just as Oscar had claimed.
He was lanky, freckly, and younger than Hope.
He also smelled faintly of baby powder. She gave him instructions to bring the carriage around and he hurried to do her bidding.
It would seem that, after Lord Coyle, she’d been keen to take a younger, more malleable lover.
If the rumors were true, perhaps she hadn’t waited for her husband’s death.
As we drove away from the townhouse where so much drama had occurred last year, Oscar patted the crate of books beside him. “So, what do you think?”
“I think with her looks and the money her son inherited, she’ll find herself another husband quickly, despite her waspish nature. Although I’m not sure she’d want to marry again. I can see her enjoying widowhood and all the benefits that come with being wealthy, clever and attractive.”
Oscar grinned. “Not quite the vague professor you appear to be, are you?”
“Vague?”
“But I wasn’t asking for your thoughts on Lady Coyle. I meant what do you think of our purchases?”
“I’m pleased with our haul. It’s a good beginning.”
“Indeed. May I look at the letters that fell out of the book about monsters?”
“I left them behind,” I said. “I didn’t think we needed them, and we’d only agreed to the books. Taking them would be theft.”
He looked disappointed. “The title of the book owned by Kinloch was long. I can’t remember it. Nor can I recall his address.”
“I’ve memorized both.”
He flashed a smile. “Good man. I knew that prodigious memory of yours would come in handy.”
I didn’t think my memory was all that special, but I liked that he thought it was. “We should speak to the Glasses about funds and check the railway timetable. We can travel to Scotland this week.”
“You mean Lord and lady Rycroft.”
I often forgot the formal titles of the easygoing India and Matthew Glass. Their lack of pretense was what made them such delightful company. “I believe they’re all currently in London.”
“All? As in Lord and Lady Rycroft, the baby, and the members of their entourage?”
“And the newlyweds who live here,” I added. “Do you know, I never thought Willie would go through with it. She doesn’t seem like the marrying kind.”
He chuckled. “Shall we make a wager on how long the marriage will last?”
“Oscar! You can’t do that. Besides, I doubt Detective Inspector Brockwell would divorce her. He seems like a steady fellow who’d follow through on a promise until the end.”
“Who says it will end in divorce? Or that he’ll be the one to end it?”
I pushed my glasses up my nose. “That’s a rather cynical view of things. Willie may be volatile, but I truly believe she loves him.”
He turned to look out of the window, but I doubt his distant gaze took in any of the streetscape. “Marriage has nothing to do with love, apparently.”
Poor Oscar. Although he’d been the one to end their relationship, Lady Louisa had given him no choice after he realized she only wanted to marry him because he was a magician.
Oscar wanted to be loved and to love in return.
She’d wanted to be the mother of magician children and hadn’t particularly cared who fathered them.
His cynical declaration about love and marriage was proof he must still be struggling to move on from his ill-fated romance, despite outward appearances. The more I got to know Oscar, the more I’d come to realize he wasn’t as cavalier as he liked everyone to believe.