Magic in Manhattan Collection by Therin Allie

Author:Therin Allie [Therin Allie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“—still say we should wait, but if you absolutely must, here it—”

The English accent is interrupted by a choked retch and a much more American, “What the hell is that smell?”

The two white men in suits and hats stand by a stone railing, on a wide landing a few steps up a graceful staircase that spans half the block. A light snow is falling on the lounging stone lion looming behind them. More stairs lead to up to giant columns and a roof with carved figures, the building glowing ghostly white under a night sky. The stars are shining oddly bright—and then abruptly dim to darkness.

The thin American, blond hair just visible beneath his hat, is bent at the waist and still gagging. A briefcase is at his feet.

The Englishman, a brunette perhaps in his mid-thirties, huffs impatiently. He’s holding a small open box, and nestled in the silk is an orb about the size of an orange, made of bright gold-and-silver filigreed like lace. At the top of the orb, a delicate linked chain leads to a ring. “It’s four-hundred-year-old musk, Mr. Barnes. Of course it’s wretched.”

“A pomander.” The American, Barnes, groans. “Why hasn’t it been cleaned?”

“Would you like to be the one to faff about with a fifteenth-century supernatural totem?”

“I would like to be the one who turns the clock back two weeks and forgets this blasted supernatural garbage exists.” Barnes straightens up, still looking green under the lamplight.

“Hmph.” The Englishman eyes him. “You said you were Luther Mansfield’s lawyer? Rumor was he was orchestrating a sale of his own, but he’s dead and gone. Why are you suddenly in the market?”

“I have my reasons.” Barnes sounds haunted. “How do I know this is what you claim it is, Mr. Chester?”

“Does that smell counterfeit?” Chester snaps. “Do you think I’d cross an entire ocean pretending to be the valet of an idiot lord for a fake?” He shrugs dramatically. “But if you don’t want it, I can find another buyer—”

“No!” The terror in Barnes’s voice is real. “I must have it. I need it.” He snatches up the briefcase. “Here’s your money. You can seal up that foul-smelling—did you hear that?”

Heavy footsteps echo on stone. A new voice, also English, far deeper than either Barnes’ or Chester’s, says, “Well done, Barnes. You’ve got us a relic after all.”

The man steps into the faint light. He’s broad and tall and dwarfs the other two, with close-cropped, white-blond hair, small eyes, and a heavy coat dotted with snowflakes. A woman is just a step behind him, a cloche hat over her neat blond bob and a cool smirk on her lips. She has a choker around her neck, and the stone at her throat catches the light; small, gray, and far more attention-catching than such an unremarkable stone should be.

“And quite the relic, I’d wager.” The woman inhales the rotting musk like she’s scenting perfume. “Can you taste that, Mr. Hyde? That’s no ordinary power.”

Chester takes a step back as Barnes draws in a sharp breath.

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