The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(21)
Dinah’s back was to the wall, but she wasn’t giving up. She’d sworn an oath to herself sixteen years earlier when she’d been alone on the streets of Falaise de la Mer, friendless, penniless, and powerless, that she would never allow anyone to put her in that situation again.
She intended to keep her word.
Pulling her black cloak close to her body, she tucked the hood over her head and looked at the ground as she walked briskly beneath the iron arches that led to the Gaillard quarter. Short of robbing every merchant in the city—a sure way to gain the notice of the queen and all the magistrates, especially when Mr. Dubois could then testify that she’d miraculously come up with a way to pay off her debt just after the robberies—Dinah had no way to get her hands on the coin she needed.
But someone in the city did. Someone was creating gold. She’d seen it herself a week ago when she was arguing with that old skinflint Maurice at the open-air market. The alchemist girl had tried paying for her purchases with it only to have Maurice realize the gold wasn’t real.
Maybe it hadn’t been real, but it had been close. And that meant whoever was creating it might have already perfected their methods.
Of course, it could have arrived in Balavata from another kingdom, either through the port or with a traveler who’d crossed their borders. But Dinah didn’t think so. The girl—Blue, Maurice had called her—had seemed nervous when Maurice pronounced the gold a fake. Almost as if she already knew what he was going to say but had hoped to fool him anyway. And when Dinah had visited the girl’s shop to inquire about the complaint the shop owner must surely have lodged with his local magistrate, he’d responded strangely. Freezing in apparent shock at the question and then quickly brushing her concerns away.
No merchant who’d been cheated out of coin would ever ignore the crime. There should’ve been a complaint filed with the magistrate in the Gaillard quarter, and there wasn’t. Dinah’s solicitor had checked.
Turning west, she walked quickly past a cathedral, the iron chimes that hung from its gate tinkling merrily in her wake. The moon hung fat and heavy in the sky, a pale orange ripe for the picking. Few people were still out on the streets at this hour, but Dinah took no chances. Ducking down side streets, crossing through alleys, doubling back over her tracks, she made sure no one was following her as she finally reached the Mortar & Pestle.
The door that led from the alley into the shop was solid, the lock secure, but Dinah had come prepared. Removing a metal crowbar from the deep inner pocket of her cloak, she pried, hammered, and smashed her way around the lock until the doorjamb was in splinters and the doorknob hung uselessly in its socket.
The streets might be deserted, and the shop might be surrounded by businesses rather than homes, but Dinah couldn’t take the chance that someone could’ve overheard her efforts and even now be on their way to alert the quarter’s magistrate. She had to move quickly.
Pulling the door closed behind her, she quickly lit the candle she’d brought with her, found the closest lamp, and used the candle to bring the lamp to life. Soft golden light filled the storeroom, and Dinah swiftly examined the room.
Well-stocked shelves. A worktable, chairs, a sink, and a small stove. What would someone need to create gold besides a hunk of metal? Fire? Acid? Some sort of magical concoction of herbs and minerals?
The thought that magic instead of regular alchemy was being used to create gold sent a shiver down Dinah’s spine, and her gaze sharpened, searching the room for spell books or wands.
At a glance, the room looked free of any of the obvious trappings of a witch, but anyone using magic would be careful to hide the truth, even in their private storeroom.
Moving briskly, Dinah stalked past the shelves, muttering the names of the ingredients she recognized as she passed.
Bolla root. Tryllis weed. Beeswax. Minorate rock.
Bland. Ordinary. Nothing that would explain the gold Blue had tried to use with Maurice.
Dinah reached the stove and brushed her fingers over the strange little pot that sat on an unlit burner. The lid was held in place by five small latches, and a gauge rested on a slender pipe that disappeared through the center of the lid and into the pot itself. When Dinah picked up the pot, something rattled within. Quickly unsealing the lid, Dinah peered inside and smiled as grim triumph spread through her.
Three chunks of pale golden metal sat inside. They weren’t quite the right shade of gold and there were faint lines of dull gray metal still threading through them in places, but they were close.
Dinah scooped up one of the rocks and pocketed it before returning the pot to the stove. Then she gazed around the storeroom, her mind racing.
She had to make it look like an ordinary breakin to disguise what she’d really been after. A stack of burlap sacks sat in the corner by the door. Dinah took one and faced the wall of shelves.
She could just take random things and discard them before she returned to her mansion.
Or she could take a few things she knew how to use in case her plan to have Blue create gold for her failed. It had been years since she’d had anything to do with witchcraft, but a competent woman never forgot her basic spells, and Dinah was far more than competent.
Snatching what she needed off the shelves, she filled the bag and then hurried out the door, her heart pounding. The streets were still deserted. Still silent.
The pale gold rock in her pocket bumped gently against her leg as she walked briskly toward her own quarter again, the burlap sack hidden in her arms beneath her cloak.