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His posture was casual, his expression still thoughtful, but when I looked at him I could tell that something had shifted behind the easygoing mien he wore like a cloak, so comfortably I hadn’t even noticed it before. I went still.

“About Havelock,” he said in the same tone.

“Ah,” I said, deciding to pretend I hadn’t noticed the shift, that I was as relaxed as before, when I felt as if the breath were being squeezed from my throat. “He was in Rue des Hirondelles, outside the shelter. Élise and I saw him duel those other magicians—surely you don’t need another bystander report?”

He gave a polite grimace that sent a shiver through me. “About the magic shop he operates beneath your shelter,” he said.

“I—What?” I spoke with genuine confusion—I still didn’t understand how abruptly the conversation had shifted. I set my cup down on the railing, for my hand was shaking.

“We’ve suspected he was there since before you moved in,” Laurent said. “His associates have been seen coming and going at all hours. Yannick Abrams, for one—we know he’s been buying and selling Artefacts on Havelock’s behalf, even if we don’t have enough proof for the courts. As well as Wesley Juma, Antoine Lasalle, Bette Carrington. And, of course, Valérie Renard, his sister, with whom he’s had some mysterious falling out. We’ve been unable to confirm the particulars. I’m guessing you might know, though.”

My mouth was too dry to even attempt a response to this, so I simply stood there, my mind working frantically. Élise could have found a way out of this, I was certain, but my faith in myself did not match my faith in Élise. Laurent was so self-assured that he was like a looming storm, its course impossible to alter—one could only wait to see what it would unleash.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up straight so that his height was abruptly all that I could see. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s not germane, anyhow.”

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” I finally said.

The same shadow fell across his face then, and I knew he regretted some part of this. Somehow that made it worse than if he’d lured me here out of pure heartlessness.

An ember of resentment kindled within me. He had used deception to bring me here, playing the role of suitor. And I had come, partly out of fear that he might do something of this nature if I didn’t, but hoping that I could place my trust in the kindness I’d seen in him. I had come though I hadn’t wanted to, though I’d wanted nothing to do with this world of illegal magics and spying and power struggles, and had, in fact, been up crying over His Majesty half the night, which had left my eyes slightly swollen. I was tired and heartsick, and yet I couldn’t simply go home and curl up by the fire with the cats—no, I had to deal with yet another crisis.

“We can’t go after Havelock’s shop yet,” Laurent said. “But soon—quite possibly tomorrow—the city council will pass their bylaw granting us special powers to search any place where we suspect Artefacts are being trafficked, with or without evidence, and to use our magicians in our investigations. I can assure you we will be in your shelter not one hour after the last councillor raises their hand.”

This was interesting—I hadn’t known there were magicians among the police rank and file. It was difficult to imagine them joining any human organization—while I knew not all magicians were as depraved as Valérie, nor as complicated as Havelock, they struck me as solitary creatures by nature.

When I showed no reaction to this, Laurent went on, his voice slightly louder, “Agnes, Havelock is a criminal. A dark magician of the worst order. He—do I truly need to explain this to you? No, I can see I don’t. Then how can you—”

He stopped, and seemed to put away some part of himself. “I’m giving you a choice. If you help us, I’ll do what I can for you. If you don’t, I’ll have to place you under arrest.”

“He isn’t a dark magician,” I said. “There’s no such thing, it’s redundant. You’re trying to track the world’s greatest magician, yet you know nothing about magic?”

He blinked at me. “Did you—”

“I’m sorry, Laurent,” I said. “I know you are attempting to be intimidating, but given the company I’ve been keeping lately, you’ll forgive me for not finding you very frightening. Also, it’s cold. Would you mind arresting me a little closer to the bonfire?”

“Agnes, I don’t think you understand—”

“Oh, I see.” I folded my arms, tucking my hands beneath them for the warmth. I wasn’t at all nervous about Laurent anymore—it wasn’t possible to be. Despite the fact that he represented the ruination of everything I had worked for, or maybe because of it, I had never felt more fed up with a person in my life, and I wanted to lash out at him—not because I thought it would get me anywhere, but for the satisfaction of it. Perhaps it was no longer Élise I was drawing inspiration from, but His Majesty.

“I’m supposed to be terribly surprised by this betrayal, am I?” I went on. “Laurent, contrary to what Élise is always saying, I don’t actually believe that everyone is good. What I believe is that the good usually wins out over the bad, unless a person is possessed of a particularly weak nature.”

He flinched as if I’d struck him. “Agnes—”

“I’m going back to the bonfire,” I said. “You can arrest me there, or en route—whenever you’re ready. Or you can feel free to continue standing here—you can loom over the snowman, I suppose.”

I turned and walked away. As I’d expected might happen, two people who I had taken for a couple admiring the view moved to block my path.

“Would you mind—” Laurent sounded off-balance, which was some satisfaction, at least. “Agnes, if I could see your coat—”

I didn’t care why he wanted it. I removed it and threw it at him, then folded my arms and pointedly shivered.

He pulled it off his head, flushing, his hair mussed. I thought one of the other two officers suppressed a smile. He rooted around in the pockets for a moment.

“That isn’t Havelock’s,” I said. “Nor do I carry him around in my pocket.”

Laurent’s expression was distracted. He found the inner pocket and pulled a small object out.

It was the pen. The enchanted pen that I’d been using to catalogue Havelock’s Artefacts. I’d been down there yesterday, in my coat because Havelock kept the basement too cold for my liking, claiming that the spiders preferred it that way. I must have tucked it away and forgotten about it.