The Raven Spell (Conspiracy of Magic #1)(79)
“The moon has a face like the clock in the hall,” he shouted to the sky. “She shines on thieves on the garden wall. On streets and fields and harbor quays. And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.” He feigned taking a drink while they lost their threatening postures, too bemused at his performance to quarrel. He continued with his poem, growing more animated as the words cloaked his spell. “The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse. The howling dog by the door of the house. The bat that lies in bed at noon. All love to be out by the light of the moon.” He and the lads had a laugh as he pointed to the crescent moon slipping in and out of clouds. Then he hit them with the thrust of his incantation incognito. “But all the things that belong to the day, cuddle to sleep to be out of her way. And flowers and children close their eyes, till up in the morning the sun shall arise.”
The young men laughed nervously at the change the spell made to their mood before turning around and wandering back to the lane, stretching and yawning and calling for an early night. Ian watched them walk out of sight, then tossed the bottle aside and hurried back to help with George.
In the stairwell, Elvanfoot had had to do much the same to his son, who did not trust who his intruders said they were or who they claimed he was. He fought to the last until he was rendered unconscious with a flick of the old wizard’s wrist. At Edwina’s instruction, the orb belonging to George was slipped in his mouth to rest on the tongue. Using that lilting quality of her voice, she induced George to swallow the hard stone so it could dissolve inside him. She sang her spell to restore the memories while Elvanfoot cradled his son’s head in his lap. Ian watched with a mix of envy and apprehension as the magic seeped into the man’s system, returning his most personal thoughts to him. He remembered the fuzzy feeling in his blood before the images had flipped through his mind. He only hoped George’s restored visions were of people and places he recognized and welcomed.
When he woke a few moments later, George blinked several times before sitting up and asking what his father was doing in the city. His second question was to ask why they were sitting in the bottom of a stairwell smelling like rubbish, but then the new memories merged with the old and he nodded, not quite understanding exactly perhaps, but acknowledging the strange journey he’d been on after being hit on the head and left for dead in a darkened lane. Ian called for Hob, and the little elf got the man cleaned up as best he could with the help of his whisk broom and chant. There was little to be done about the beard and weight loss, but at least the man no longer smelled like yesterday’s fish. And lucky thing, too, as the stage door opened and a young woman with a white gardenia in her hair walked out and caught sight of her missing beau when they emerged from the alley.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Witnessing the reunion between George and his father had wrenched Edwina’s heart sideways, knowing her own family had been scattered to the four winds. She was happy, certainly, that Sir Elvanfoot’s search for his son hadn’t ended in tragedy. She’d smiled like a loon when the young man spotted his beloved at the stage door and they collapsed into each other’s arms. Yet as pleased as she was for them, her sister was still out there on her own. A willing accessory to murder. How could anything be right again?
And then Ian walked over after shaking Sir Elvanfoot’s hand and seeing him to the coach, and half her worries fell away. “They’re off to the old man’s hotel,” he said. “Thought it might be a bit crowded if we all piled in. Told them to go on without us. Should I see if I can find us a cab?”
“It’s well past midnight. I doubt you’d have much luck. Besides, I don’t mind walking.” She was exhausted, but the night called for a long stroll to exorcise the mind of all that had happened. “If you’ll join me.”
“There may be brigands loose on the street.”
“Then they’ll have met their match with the pair of us,” she replied and took his arm when offered.
They strode without purpose along the narrow lane as an elevated train rumbled past overhead. A halo of lamplight shone on the cobblestone road, deserted now but for a few stray cats prowling the rubbish piles. As yet they’d said very little, other than to comment on the quality of the starlight, each keeping silent while ruminating on the events of the evening. But soon Ian came to the point he could no longer keep his thoughts to himself.
He stopped and released her arm so they might face each other. “There’s still the wee matter of your magic I have to ask about.”
“Ever the detective,” Edwina answered.
“Truer than you know,” he said with a self-admitting nod. He paused then and gave her a searching look. “How long have you and your sister been able to transform?”
His genuine curiosity was a refreshing change from the grotesque fascination people who’d seen them shape-shift usually displayed. Her father, by necessity, had become quite adept at altering mortal memories himself before she and Mary were through adolescence.
“From the time we were girls,” she answered. “And awkwardly at first, but my father was very patient. We lived in the snowy hills then and had ample room to practice our new skill, which he encouraged. Though Mother wasn’t always as keen.”
“Your parents weren’t . . . ?” He gestured to her general being.
“No. Both witches, of course, but neither could recall a shape-shifter in the family before. Everyone teased we must be Merlin’s long-lost great-great-granddaughters. Or the Morrígan’s. That was another theory.”