Chapter 13
It’s raining as I hurry down the street. It’s the first time I’ve been to Cheapside, but like most of London, it’s easy to navigate, especially since I looked up the quickest route to my destination before I left my office.
Turning down a narrow side street where the buildings either side of me are part of old London, like a narrow snickelway time forgot, as opposed to the wide, bright main high street I’ve just left.
A sudden change in the atmosphere, faint but definitely measurable, causes me to slow my pace.
The shadows are deeper than they should be for this time of day, and the air itself is heavier, making my skin prickle with awareness and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
The rain isn’t particularly heavy, but the wind is cold and biting, not surprising since we’re still in that strange space between no longer winter but not quite spring.
About halfway down the street, I find the address I’m looking for.
Two columns flank the small entrance and frame a highly polished black door.
Rivulets of rain slide down its surface, sparkling slightly in the dim light as they slip downwards, past an intricately detailed lion knocker with a ring through its mouth.
To the left of me is an intercom with brass buttons and to my right is a shiny metal plaque which reads:
Hadley being straightforward with this man is probably the best way to deal with him. “I want to know about the demon trap in the Whitechapel bookshop,” I say bluntly. “Is that direct enough for you?”
“Ah, yes. Lucien did mention you were there yesterday when he encountered Mr Everett and Mr Ames at the Whitechapel property.”
“I’d also like to know how a London solicitor knows a man who claims to have been born in the Hell dimensions, and how that same solicitor has magical warding protecting his office.” I glance over my shoulder towards the closed door. “And a dragon guarding the gate.”
His lips twitch. “Not quite a dragon, but Mrs Middleton is somewhat of an acquired taste, I’ll grant you.
I can’t imagine she was overly gracious when you arrived unannounced.
She doesn’t like to be inconvenienced, but she has certain talents that make it prudent for Mr Mason and I to overlook her socially intolerant nature.
If it helps, it’s nothing personal. She doesn’t like humans in general. ”
I don’t miss the way he says humans, not people.
My eyes narrow. “You’re not just an ordinary solicitor’s office, are you?”
“No, we’re not. Hadley and Mason has existed in some form or another since 1605, the time of the succession of King James to the English throne and the reformation of The Witchcraft Act of 1563.”
I open my mouth to say something when the door behind us opens. Looking over my shoulder, I see Mrs Middleton bring in a tea tray, which she sets down on the desk before nodding to Mr Hadley and then exiting the room without acknowledging me at all.
Mr Hadley hands me a fluffy white hand towel she had balanced on the edge of the tray, then proceeds to pour from a delicate Wedgewood china set.
“Milk?” He picks up a little jug as I unfold the towel and attempt to dry my face and hair.
My eyes narrow slightly. “Should I be worried that Mrs Middleton may have put cyanide in it?”
Mr Hadley chuckles. “I can assure you, Mr Stone, you are quite safe.”
“Milk, please. No sugar.”
He nods and sets a teacup in front of me. “Now, where were we?” He takes a thoughtful sip of his own tea.
“King James.” I set the towel on my lap and pick up my cup, relishing the warmth against my fingers.
“Ah, yes, of course. Well, by all accounts he was quite unhinged when it came to witches.”
“I’ve read his book, Daemonologie,” I admit. “Unhinged is putting it lightly.”
“Mine and Mr Mason’s forebearers, William Hadley and Henry Mason, were high-ranking members of the king’s court.
They did not succumb to the witch fever, and it didn’t take them long to realise that someone would have to step in and protect the innocents.
They could not do so openly for fear of retribution from the crown, so they founded an underground society to help those accused. ”
I frown. “I’m not really sure I know what this has to do with a hundred-and-fifty-year-old demon trap in a bookshop.”
“We’ll get to that particular subject in due course.”
I wait for him to continue as I lift my own cup to my lips.
“William’s and Henry’s descendants continued to do what they could to protect those of magical abilities, having by this point discovered that magic is very much real, as I’m sure you are already aware.”