“That’s perfect.” Sebastian was heading for the door. “The inn’s cook has a little herb garden. Let me go see if she grows catnip.”
“Catnip—”
“I will send it to your cook’s daughter, Miss Elsie, for her to play with the cats. She can plant it in your back garden if she wants.”
“Inmygarden—”
The door had already closed behind him.
Well, it gave Wesley a moment, at least. He picked up the telephone receiver and rang down to the front desk. “Have I received a delivery this morning?”
“Just arrived, sir,” said Bertie.
Wesley quickly went downstairs. He had severalthings waiting from Ned, including his hunting coat and revolver, but also a stack of mail—with Mateo’s letter. Wesley took everything into the small reading room and immediately opened the letter.
Dear Fine:
This will have to be short: you and Sebi left onboard theGastonyesterday, and I need to mail this in time to reach you as soon as possible after you arrive in England.
Sebi’s binding on my magic is holding, but as I told you, I still get flashes of visions, especially in dreams. I’ve had one of him.
There is a reason his magic is gone: he must not have it when he faces what’s coming. I can’t say more than that. Just know that many lives are at stake—including yours.
Don’t let him try to use it. And don’t tell him or anyone else about this. And thanks for the record. I play it constantly.
P.S. You’re going to have so many cats visiting your garden after that catnip grows.
“For fuck’s sake,” Wesley said, re-reading the letter. “Sebastian can’t have magic when he faces what’s coming—what in ten vague hells does that mean? What’s comingwhen? Today? Next year? Ugh.” He raised his eyes heavenward. “Mateo de Leon, I know you can’t hear me, but next time you tell me the future, put in useful details like a sensible man.”
He read it a third time and then tore it in half and tossed it in the fire, watching to be sure it was in ashesbefore heading back upstairs to finish preparing for the trip.
Finally, catnip had been acquired and Wesley’s second trunk packed with his and Sebastian’s things, the lot of it on its way to Kensington. Arthur had found an available room in the village closest to Valemount’s estate, and he and Rory were still planning to follow in Wesley’s Bentley. Wesley drew him a map of what he knew of the area, including the Valemount ancestral home, Valemount Hall, and its grounds.
Arthur then walked him outside and they stood on the inn’s steps, light raindrops falling on their hats. The day was very gray and quite cold, and Sebastian was hiding inside the inn with Rory until the car was ready to leave.
“I had a cable from Jade,” Arthur said under his breath, as staff packed a hired car with Wesley and Sebastian’s trunks for Dartmoor. “They’re heading from Lisbon to Paris now, instead of Tangier, to meet Gwen and Ellis, then all of them up to London from there. She said to expect them in three days.”
“Right after our hunt, then.” Wesley nodded. “With any luck, we’ll have enough information to plan our next steps.”
He didn’t mention Mateo’s letter. Arthur had been around magic much longer than Wesley, and might have more ideas about the meaning of that cryptic message, but Mateo had explicitly said not to tell anyone, and Wesley would follow his request.
Finally, the car was ready, and Sebastian joined him. They rode to the train station, and from there began their connections of trains through the West Country. They had to switch at multiple stations, and by the timethey were on the main line to Exeter, it was late enough for tea. They sat at a table in the first-class dining car, the window framing the darkening countryside as it rushed by, rolling hills just visible in the fading light. As they waited for service, Wesley fit his monocle into place and unfolded his paper while Sebastian looked out the train window. “Mira, Wes, there are ponies in that field.”
“It’s December; it’s already dark. You can’t see any ponies.”
“It’s twilight, you can still see them,” Sebastian insisted.
“If you say so.” Wesley turned a page. “In my newspaper I can see a front-page story about banking.”
Sebastian subtly kicked him under the table. “I wonder if we’ll see a giant glowing dog in Dartmoor.”
“Of course you’ve readThe Hound of the Baskervilles,” Wesley muttered. “It has a dog right there in the title.”
“You’ve read it too.”
“Excuse me?” Wesley said, looking up. “Why would I read fiction when one can spend one’s time engaging with facts?”
“Because you like logic and solving mysteries,” Sebastian said, and he wasn’t wrong. “I bet you’ve read every Sherlock Holmes story.”
