It was vandalism, then! Dot stepped out from the alcove, ready to chase after the villain, when he straightened and raised his arm.A strange wind kicked up. Dot glanced about. No windows were open. In tumbled the sweet smell of burning wood, gunpowder, incense and something else she couldn’t pick. Citrus? She heard, from nowhere in particular, wind chimes and chanting.
The figure stepped up onto the dais and light erupted from beneath his feet.
He was aMagician.
She moved almost involuntarily toward him, drawn to the light. The spell circled the man, whipping his dark hair. He made to climb onto the throne, placing one foot down on the seat, but the moment his shoe connected with the holy cushion, the spell burst. A shriek erupted and Dot threw her hands over her ears. The man was shot out from the throne, high into the air, and landed on the marble with a painful-sounding smack. The magic was gone; darkness swallowed them.
‘That was magic,’ cried Dot, and the man startled as she rushed to him. ‘Wasn’t it?’
‘Where in Saints’ name did you come from?’
She could see him properly now and, sprawled on the marble as he was, he was handsome. The Magician climbed to his feet and brushed the dust from his fine, tweed jacket. He had a short black beard, a long nose and a warm brown complexion. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair.
Dot watched the man as he turned back toward the throne. He was only a little taller than her. He wore no hat. His arms were folded. ‘What were you doing?’ Her voice was small, her eyes on her hands.
‘What areyoudoing?’ he asked, indignant. ‘Why are you in here when the cathedral is closed?’
Dot had no answer. It did not matter. He had already turned back to the dais.
‘Do you have a licence to use magic?’ asked Dot.
‘Are you going to reportme?’ asked the young man with an ironic grin. Warmth spread over Dot’s face. The man’s smile was lovely, even when it was in mockery. ‘You are aware that you would have to explain to the authorities exactly how you also came to be in Saint Penelope’s Cathedral after the doors were locked.’
‘I’m not going to report you,’ said Dot.
‘Obviously,’ he said, turning back to the dais.
Dot bristled. ‘You’re the only Magician I’ve met.’
‘What an honour.’
‘I mean to say,’ said Dot, stepping forward, ‘that, well, I have tried everything else, and I suppose you’re hardly going to have me arrested because I just watched you use unlicensed magic, and so I might as well ask.’ The man glanced at her then and Dot forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘Do you know where to find Theodora’s Tea Shop?’
The Magician baulked. A mild horror played on his face and then, after a moment, he let out a dry, exhausted laugh.
‘Of course you’re looking for Theodora,’ he said at last, shaking his head.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Dot.
‘You want to know what I was doing?’
‘Performing sorcerie, of course.’
‘I was casting a portal,’ he said. ‘Would you like to know to where?’
He looked pointedly at Dot.
‘Not the tea shop?’ gasped Dot.
‘No, but close enough,’ he said. ‘The Raven’s Attic.’
‘Oh,’ said Dot. ‘What is that?’
‘Herclub,’ said the young man. ‘It’s located in the Commerce District, but I am certain it connects to the tea shop somehow in the Market District. She runs them both. Theodora sells packet spellsto the government and the royal family and any well-to-do without a licence. Only, she’s not Theodora, there. She’s Bianca De León.’
‘MinisterDe León?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the young man. ‘As I said, the club must be attached to the tea shop. There’s no other way she could dip between the two without leaving a trace.’
