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“What’s the Collegium?” I asked.
She said to Owen, “Do you want to explain it, or do you want me to?”
“The stories say they were a cabal of sorts, a coalition of certain magical families, though no one was sure which families were really involved,” Owen said. “Supposedly, they had some legitimate businesses in the magical world, but their primary function was to destroy or take over any competition, and they then used their position to gain power elsewhere.”
“Like a magical mafia?” I said. “Only instead of giving people concrete shoes, you turn them into frogs.”
“We very rarely resort to that these days,” Sylvia said. “Now, before I tell you anything else, I need your promise of protection.”
“Protection from what?” Owen asked.
“From the Collegium, of course. You don’t talk about them to outsiders and stay off a lily pad for long.”
“Then why are you talking to us, if it puts you in danger?”
“Because I’m already in danger. I’m considered high-risk. I was the scapegoat for what happened with Ivor Ramsay, and they’re probably going to get rid of me to avoid connecting that affair to the Collegium. So I thought my only chance was to trade the information I have for whatever protection you can offer me. And believe me, what I’ve got is worth it.”
“What have you got?” Owen asked.
“Nice try, handsome, but you’ll have to guarantee protection for me. You talk it over with your boss, and then I’ll talk.”
“How will we let you know?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be able to find you.”
“Do you have a deadline?” I asked, but there was no reply. A dense mist suddenly arose, so that I could no longer see Sylvia—or anything else more than about two feet away in any direction.
“Can you see anything?” Owen asked.
“It’s a real fog, not an illusion,” I replied. We didn’t dare move, given the steep hills and rocky ground in that area. Owen waved a hand and murmured a spell, and the fog gradually dissipated, but by the time we could see our surroundings again, Sylvia was gone.
“Okay, that was weird,” I said.
“For us?” Owen said with a wry smile. “Very low on the weird scale, but I’ll agree that it’s somewhat odd.”
“There’s a magical mafia? How did I not know about this?”
“I don’t know much more than that, and I’m still not convinced it’s real.”
“Philip was turned into a frog so his business could be stolen,” I pointed out.
“A hundred years ago.”
“And the family that did that was still running it until earlier this year.”
He nodded. “Good point. But that doesn’t mean it was a vast cabal. It could have been just the one family of crooks. We should probably talk to Philip about this, and then we can bring it to Merlin to see what he has to say.”
Yes, Merlin is my boss. And yes, it’s that Merlin. I work for a company called Magic, Spells, and Illusions, Inc. They do pretty much what it says on the label, but they also function as a kind of de facto authority in the magical world, since the magical Council that’s supposed to run things isn’t all that effective. “Sounds like a plan to me. Now, shall we get back to our perfect fall day?”
*
I let Owen report the incident to Merlin, since he knew more about the Collegium. I was a little surprised when I got word that Merlin had agreed to Sylvia’s terms, since she’d so recently been an enemy. Supposedly, she’d been blackmailed into helping with Ramsay’s scheme, and the takeover of Philip’s company had happened long before she was born, but I still wasn’t sure I trusted her. Now we had to wait for her to contact us again.
I was on the subway after work one evening the following week, crammed in with the other commuters, when I felt someone bump against me. That was hardly unusual, but then the person who’d bumped me whispered, “Well?”
I turned to see Sylvia, a shawl pulled over her head. “You’re on,” I said. “You can come by at any time.”
“I’m not going there. No meeting in public, either.”
