A Matter of Magic

  As they proceeded, Kim made a point of observing the gentlemen’s hands. Though she saw a great many rings of varying value, none was the ruby-centered flower she was looking for. Twice, she saw Renée D’Auber passing into another room. Prince Durmontov was also present; when Kim spotted him, he was listening with apparent attention to Letitia Tarnower while Lord Starnes stood by in barely concealed irritation. Kim found herself hoping that the Beauty was hanging out for a title after all.

  “Kim,” Lady Wendall said, calling her back from her reverie. “Allow me to present Lord Franton, Marquis of Harsfeld, who particularly desires to meet you.”

  Kim turned. A slim young man with dark hair bowed immediately; as he straightened, she recognized him as the gentleman she had seen observing her at the opera, before the scrying spell and Prince Durmontov’s appearance had driven everything else from her mind. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Franton,” she said.

  Lord Franton smiled. He had a very nice smile, and his expression was openly admiring. He looked to be no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, but he had an air of self-confidence that made him seem older. “Not nearly so pleased as I am to meet you at last, Miss Merrill,” he said to Kim. “I have been trying to arrange an introduction for a week, but you have been remarkably elusive.”

  “I have?”

  “So it seems to me. Now that I have managed it at last, will you allow me to procure you a seat for the music? I believe they are about to begin.”

  Feeling a little dazed, Kim looked at Lady Wendall, who nodded encouragingly. Like a puppet, Kim’s head bobbed as well, and a moment later she found herself being escorted to the music room by the marquis. His arm was firm under her gloved hand. Her breath had gone odd, and she was abruptly conscious of the depth of her gown’s neckline. Nobody ever really looked at me like I was a girl before, she thought suddenly. No man, anyway. She stole a glance upward and encountered another warm smile that almost made her stumble. She felt tingly all over, rather as if someone were doing magic nearby, only different. I could get to like this.

  “I hear that you are studying wizardry, Miss Merrill,” Lord Franton said. “I have very little skill myself, but I admire those who do. How did you come to it?”

  “Mairelon—that is, my guardian decided to teach me,” Kim said. “It’s a long story.”

  “I would be happy to call on you next week to hear it at more leisure,” Lord Franton said.

  “Sure,” Kim replied. “I mean, that will be fine, Lord Franton.”

  They found seats in the fourth row of hard, straight-backed chairs and sat down to wait for the harpsichordist to begin playing. “Are you enjoying your first Season, Miss Merrill?” Lord Franton asked.

  “I’m still getting accustomed to it,” Kim answered cautiously. She risked another glance upward, and found him watching her face with a keen admiration that renewed her tingling. Hastily, she averted her eyes.

  “You find it still so new, even after a year? I understood that you have been Merrill’s ward at least that long.”

  “Yes, but we were in Kent for most of it, and Mairelon—I mean, my guardian isn’t much for house parties.”

  “Why do you call him Mairelon?”

  “It’s the name he was using when we met.” She hesitated, but the circumstances were no secret, and neither Mrs. Lowe nor Lady Wendall had forbidden her to discuss them. “He was working Hungerford Market as a stage magician, and I broke into his wagon. And got caught.” She grimaced in remembered disgust. “The toff who hired me forgot to mention that Mairelon was a real frogmaker, and not just a puff-guts making sparkles for the culls.”

  Lord Franton looked at her, plainly intrigued. “And that was when he made you his ward?”

  “No, that came later. I told you, it’s a long story.”

  “I am even more eager to hear it than I was before,” Lord Franton said. “And I must remember to compliment Mr. Merrill on his perception. You clearly were meant to grace the drawing rooms and country houses of the ton.”

  No, I wasn’t, Kim thought as the first harpsichordist appeared at last and the conversation ceased in a round of polite applause. Though the marquis plainly meant what he said, and though she could not help being flattered by it, she could not pretend, even to herself, that she felt truly comfortable among so many toffs.

  Lord Franton, however, was a different matter. Comfortable was not, perhaps, quite the right word for the way he made her feel; nonetheless, she found that by the first break she had promised to go driving in the park with him later the following week, and to grant him two dances at her come-out ball. She was profoundly relieved when he offered to bring her some punch and took himself off for a few moments. Finding a quiet spot beside a large marble bust, she waited, scanning the milling toffs for familiar faces.

  A corpulent gentleman entered the room, saying something about the music to a tall woman in a feathered turban. As he went by, waving his arms with considerable animation, Kim stiffened. He’s wearing that burglar’s ring! But he can’t have been the cove in the library; I’d have noticed for sure if he’d been that fat.

  “Your punch, Miss Merrill,” Lord Franton said.

  Kim turned. “Find Mairelon right away,” she said. “Mr. Merrill, that is. Tell him to come here; it’s important.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lord Franton said, blinking.

  “Never mind,” Kim said. “There he is. Excuse me, I got to talk with him right away.”

  Abandoning the puzzled marquis and his cup of punch, she threaded her way through the crowd to Mairelon’s side. “Mairelon, the cove with the ring is here,” she said. “Only it’s not the right cove.”

  Mairelon turned, frowning slightly. He blinked at Kim, and then his expression cleared. “Who is it, then?”

  “The jack weight talking to the mort with the green feathers in her hat,” Kim said. “I’ll go bail he wasn’t the cracksman, but he’s got the ring. Or one near enough like it to be its twin.”

  “Ah, Lord Moule. Let’s find out how he came by it, shall we?”

  Mairelon offered her his arm, and they crossed the room together. Though Mairelon nodded to several of the people they passed, he did not pause to converse, and Kim could tell that his attention was focused sharply on the fat man with the ring. Despite her own curiosity, Kim could not help comparing Mairelon’s attitude to Lord Franton’s, and she found herself wishing that Mairelon were not quite so single-minded.

  They reached the discussion which, judging from the degree of Lord Moule’s animation, was reaching its climax. As Lord Moule paused to draw breath, Mairelon said, “Excellent point, Moule. I was just saying something similar to my ward, wasn’t I, Kim? Do allow me to present you.”

  The ensuing round of introductions completely derailed the conversation and allowed the lady in the green feathered turban to escape. As soon as she had, Mairelon said, “Interesting ring you’re wearing, Moule.”

  “This?” Lord Moule studied the gold ring that was squashed onto his littlest finger. “Yes, I thought so. Won it at play last week.”

  “Naturally,” Mairelon said. “From whom?”

  “Some young chub or other,” Lord Moule replied. “You know how it is—White’s, three in the morning, claret been flowing for hours, things get a little fuzzy. But it’s a nice piece, and I’m glad to have it.”

  “I should think so. It’s not everyone who’s that lucky at play. Though I understand there’s rather a good game going in the card room.”

  “Is there?” Lord Moule brightened. “Excuse me, Merrill. Your servant, Miss Merrill.” And he departed in a hurry that was barely seemly.

  “And that disposes of the one fact we thought we had,” Mairelon said, looking after him. “I wonder whether it was cleverness or mere bad luck that led our burglar to stake it?”

  “Don’t they keep records or something at those clubs?” Kim said.

  “The betting-books? Those are for long-term wagers, not for what’s won or lost at tabl
e of an evening.” Mairelon sighed. “It’s a pity. Ah, there’s Renée and that Russian in the back corner. Let’s see what they’re up to.”

  They made their way around the room to the alcove where the other two stood. Prince Durmontov did not look best pleased to have Mairelon and Kim join his nearly private conversation with Mademoiselle D’Auber, but he greeted them politely nonetheless. Renée gave Mairelon an amused look and said to Kim, “How is it that you are enjoying yourself?”

  “It’s a little confusing,” Kim said.

  “It will become less so,” Renée told her.

  “My mother tells me you’re a wizard, Prince,” Mairelon said to Durmontov.

  “Of no great measure, I fear,” Durmontov said. “I hope while I am here to study your English methods.”

  “You seem more intrigued by French ones,” Mairelon murmured in a provocatively innocent tone.

  “I have some familiarity with French magic already,” replied Durmontov. “One of my aunts—”

  A prickle of magic ran across Kim’s skin, and she stiffened. So did the other three wizards. Mairelon’s eyes lit. “Now, then!” he said, and reached into his pocket. Kim heard a sharp crack, like a twig breaking. An instant later, power ripped across her in a sudden wave.

  I thought he said you couldn’t tell when someone invoked a spell instead of casting it, she thought fuzzily, clutching at Mairelon’s arm, and then the sensation was gone completely.

  “Monsieur Merrill!” Renée said, her voice full of concern.

  Kim looked up. Mairelon’s eyes had gone blank, and his face was gray-white. He swayed on his feet, and she clutched at his arm again, this time to support him. “Mairelon!” she said, her voice wobbling in sudden terror. “Mairelon?”

  14

  Mairelon blinked and a little color returned to his face. “That was . . . unexpected,” he said in a shaken voice.

  A little reassured, Kim shook the arm she held. “What happened?”

  “I, too, am full of the curiosity,” Renée said. “And so will be a great many other persons, and very soon, I think.”

  “It appears not,” Prince Durmontov said. “Your English seem entirely uninterested.”

  Kim glanced over her shoulder. Lord Starnes stood against the far wall, arms crossed, glowering at the ring of gentlemen hovering around Letitia Tarnower; Lord Franton was deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman; knots of ladies talked placidly with each other or with gentlemen, or moved with studied grace from one room to another. No one gave any indication of knowing that something out of the ordinary had occurred.

  “Good,” Mairelon said. “Though that, at least, isn’t a surprise.”

  “No?” Renée studied Mairelon for a moment. Her concerned expression lessened, to be replaced by one of annoyance. “My friend, if you are not at once more clear, I shall become what it is that Mademoiselle Kim says wizards are, and turn you into a frog. Why is it not surprising that no one has noticed this spell?”

  “No one noticed the spell at the opera, either,” Mairelon said. “This was the same thing, I think. I got that much before he . . . broke off.”

  Renée nodded. “That is a good beginning. Continue, if you please.”

  Prince Durmontov frowned. “Spell at the opera? To what do you refer?”

  “There, you see?” Mairelon said to Renée. “No one but us noticed it. I was rather hoping that wizard would try again, whoever he is; I had an analyze-and-trace spell all ready for him.” He shook his head. “I didn’t expect him to chop everything off in the middle the minute the trace got to him, and I caught a bit of back blow, I’m afraid. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Kim and I have to be getting home immediately.”

  “What?” Renée said, alarmed once more. “Why?”

  “Because the last time whoever-he-is tried this, he attempted to run off with something from my brother’s library.” Mairelon’s cheerful tone sounded forced to Kim, but neither Renée nor the prince seemed to notice. “I didn’t catch him here; maybe I can catch him there. Come along, Kim.”

  “What about Lady Wendall and Mrs. Lowe?” Kim said as they started toward the door, leaving Renée to attempt to explain Mairelon’s cryptic utterances to the prince as best she could.

  “I’ll send the coach back for them as soon as we get home,” Mairelon said. There was an undercurrent to his voice that made Kim want to break into a run. Whatever happened back there, he hasn’t told it all yet. And it isn’t good.

  In the coach, Mairelon gave the orders to the coachman and then leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes. Even in the dark interior, Kim could see his face settle into lines of unnatural exhaustion. She waited, not daring to think for fear of what thinking might lead to, watching the rise and fall of Mairelon’s chest as if he were a child on a sickbed.

  The carriage lurched into motion. After a few minutes, Mairelon spoke, without opening his eyes and in a voice so low that Kim had to lean forward to hear it over the sound of the carriage wheels. “You’ll have to check the house-ward as soon as we get home. You shouldn’t have a problem; you’ve watched Mother and me do it enough times, and I’ll be there to talk you through it.”

  “What?” Surprise and shock made her tone sharper than she intended. “Why? If you’re there—”

  Mairelon’s eyes opened, and the bleak despair in them cut Kim off in mid-sentence. But his voice was steady as he answered, “I won’t be doing it because I can’t.” He hesitated, then shook his head as if to clear it and took a deep breath. “At the moment, I haven’t got enough magic to light a candle.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever my tracing spell hit, it didn’t get cut off and blown up back at me.” Mairelon closed his eyes again. “It got sucked into something, and everything else . . . went with it. So you’ll have to check the house-ward.”

  “Oh.” Kim wanted to say more, but Mairelon’s pose forbade the sympathy and comfort she didn’t know how to express anyway. It hurt to look at him, but she couldn’t stop. “How long do you think it will last?” she asked carefully after a moment.

  There was another long pause. “I don’t know,” Mairelon said finally. “If I’m very lucky, I’ll be back to normal in the morning. If not, perhaps a week or so. Perhaps longer.”

  Perhaps never hung unspoken in the air between them, and supper congealed in Kim’s stomach like three-day-old porridge. What will he do, if he can’t work magic anymore, ever? she thought, and then, And what happens to me? She frowned suddenly, wondering what she had meant by that. It wasn’t as if Mairelon were dead, and even then Lady Wendall wouldn’t throw Kim back out on the streets. To do her justice, neither would Mrs. Lowe. What am I worried about?

  Abruptly, she realized the answer, and her eyes widened in shock. All the wizards in St. Giles—Tom said they were working for Mannering, or they weren’t working. Ma Yanger hadn’t done any spells for two months, and then she . . . she. . . . The memory of Ma Yanger’s vacant expression and the grunting sound that had been all the speech she could manage made bile rise in Kim’s throat. Not Mairelon!

  She looked across at him, suddenly frantic with worry. His eyes were still closed; he hadn’t noticed her reaction. She hesitated; but only briefly—they must be nearly to Grosvenor Square, and she didn’t have much time left. “Epistamai, videre, l’herah, revelare,” she said, too softly for him to hear over the sound of the coach wheels, as she sketched the pattern in the air.

  A softly glowing green haze sprang up around Mairelon, twin to the one she had seen surrounding Ma Yanger in the tenement the week before. Despite herself, Kim gasped. Mairelon’s eyes opened. “What is it?” he said.

  Kim swallowed. If she needed further proof, she had it now; he hadn’t felt the spellcasting. “I just did that spell you taught me, the one that shows what things are enchanted. And you’re glowing green.”

  Mairelon’s eyes narrowed, and his face lost some of its hopeless look in sudden interest. “Brightly? Evenly?”

  “N
ot very bright, just sort of a mist. It’s about three inches deep all over, near as I can tell.” She leaned forward to measure more nearly, and Mairelon jerked away.

  “No!” he said, and then, more gently, “Until we have a better idea just what happened and how, you’d better not try anything like that again. You don’t want it to happen to you.”

  Kim sat back. The advice was good, but . . . “If you won’t let nobody throw the wind at you, how are we going to figure out what sneaking bully fitch done this, let alone set it to rights?”

  Mairelon frowned, looking yet more like himself. “I hadn’t really thought it out. Shoreham may have run into something like this before, or one of his men may have. I’ll see him in the morning. And Kerring—if it’s a known spell, it’ll be in the Royal College’s library somewhere, and if it’s there, he’ll find it.”

  And if it’s an unknown spell? But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not when the thought of being able to do something about the spell had banished the haunted look from Mairelon’s face.

  The carriage pulled up, and for once Mairelon waited for the footman to open the door. The house was quiet as they entered. Mairelon nodded toward the darkened dining room and said, “We’d best check the ward before we do anything else. The check is a small variation of the warding spell you already know, like this. . . .”

  Kim followed his directions, but found nothing; the warding spell remained untouched. When she reported this to Mairelon, he frowned. “Either we’ve arrived in good time for whatever he’s planning, or he isn’t planning to do it here,” he muttered.

  “Or he’s done it already,” Kim said.

  “Eh?” Mairelon looked up, startled.

  “It was a trap,” she said patiently. Mairelon’s face set, and she went on quickly, “Maybe that’s all he meant to do.”

  “Ah. If he thinks that I’m the only full-fledged wizard in the household, he’ll expect the ward to dissipate in a day or two, because ward spells require maintenance and I . . . can’t do that any longer. All he would have to do is be patient, and he’d have a free hand.” Mairelon dropped into a chair and began drumming his fingers on the dining-room table. “But as soon as he realizes that the ward isn’t weakening, he’ll know that someone else is maintaining it. Then he’ll come after you and Mother.”