‘Acanthi? Why?’
Theodora’s expression darkened. ‘I could guess, but I like none of my theories.’ She rattled the box. ‘Blood magic is Moira’s talent, that’s all I’ll say. These are to ward the customers. I developed these not long after I worked out how to trick Cate. A temporary fix, and a weak one if I am being honest, but I haven’t the time to alter each of the city’s wards properly. If the customers take these, they should be temporarily protected.’
‘How are Acanthi locating your customers in the first place?’ asked Dot, chewing on her fingernails.
‘How would you do it?’ asked Theodora. She stepped off the busy footpath and into an alley. Deftly, she threw the box upward and it disappeared with a small pop, presumably landing on the workshop table back in the tea shop.
‘Sympathy?’ said Dot. ‘I’d take something that belonged to you, and use it to find others who you had connected with. It would need to be customers who had formed strong attachments to you and your businesses.’
‘You are a quick study, Dorothy. Bloody shame your magic is blocked.’
For luncheon, Theodora took Dot to a sandwich shop with wiry black chairs and a board advertising poached eggs on toast. Theodora bought for herself a cup of coffee, for Dot a mug of black tea, and for the pair of them a tomato sandwich each. They ate outside in the gentle summer sun. Dot chewed happily, feeling the warmth on her face.
‘You seem content.’
‘I am,’ said Dot, clutching the soft bread with both hands. Her eyes landed on a young man in a paisley suit – he had a cloud-shaped birthmark along his chin and she was certain she had seen him in the tea shop. ‘Theodora?’
‘Mm?’
‘What happens if a tea shop customer spots you here?’ Then she thought for a moment longer and, with a sudden realisation, said in a rush, ‘And why has the King of all people never realised that Bianca De León and Valiente are the same person? He sees you every week in the Raven’s Attic, and more at the palace.’
‘Does he?’ asked Theodora, wiping her mouth. ‘You presume too much.’
‘Who does he see then if not you?’ asked Dot.
‘Whoever he wants to,’ said Theodora. Dot gave her a look of scepticism and so the witch went on. ‘Do you ever wonder if the shade of blue you see is the same shade of blue others see?’
‘Yes,’ said Dot.
‘To every person in the tea shop or the Raven’s Attic or out on the street,’ said Theodora, leaning back in her chair, ‘I am perceived differently. The venue in which I stand, the clothes I wear, how I hold myself – all of these things affect that perception, but what is far more significant is the individual, their biases, their preconceptions. I use my magic to embellish these and I let their imagination adorn me however they wish: proud, snide, enchanting. To the workers on Stirrup Street, I suppose my hair is as dirty as theirs is. To the King? I shudder to guess. He has told me before that it is a shame that I am so old, so perhaps that’s an indicator.’
The witch returned to her coffee and, as she did, Dot eyed her dark hair and heart-shaped face. The mole on her cheek. The scar on the palm of her left hand. That gallant smile and the glinting daggers hanging from her ear. Theodora was, to Dot, the very pictureof confidence and charm and, for the first time, she wondered: was this really the witch’s face?
It was afternoon by the time Theodora led them through a portal and into her enormous study at the Royal Institute of Alliaster. On the mahogany desk, the plaque read:Doctor Edythe Evans-Pritchard.
‘The university library is resplendent,’ said Theodora. ‘You would love it, Dorothy. Tall bookcases, lots of nooks and crannies to eavesdrop on lecturers.’
Dot’s cheeks reddened. She’d forgotten that she’d told Theodora that story.
‘Shall we go, then?’
‘Oh, we had better not. All the books you could possibly need, I’ve had collected for you,’ said Theodora, pointing to the large writer’s desk in the corner. Upon it were at least a hundred books in haphazard stacks. ‘If another Magician realised you were unlicensed, it would not go well for either of us.’
‘Either of us?’
‘Well, for your act of trespassing upon the academy library, the Prime Minister would probably take your eyes. For myself, a worse outcome. I was, after all, the one who warded the library.’ Theodora walked behind her desk and sat in her chair. ‘They’d realise I lied about the parameters of the spell.’
Dot sat cross-legged upon the carpet and spent a good half hour flicking through the books that had been collected for her. There were several on ancient curses; a few on maladaptive magic; Dot had no idea what she was looking for, yet she thumbed through each page. Here and there, she glanced up at Theodora, whose pointed boots were up on the desk as she scribbled in her notebook.
‘You’ve glanced at me forty times in the past five minutes,’ said Theodora at last. ‘Do you have a question?’
‘Always,’ said Dot, and the witch laughed.
‘What is your most pressing one, then?’
‘Why a tea shop?’ asked Dot.
Theodora took a long breath, shut her notebook, and folded her arms.
