Wildest Hunger by Laura Laakso

Author:Laura Laakso
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Louise Walters Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

20. Spell Roda

We follow Queen Victoria Street towards the Royal Exchange. Near the Bloomberg Arcade, wide wooden plant boxes are filled with hardy roses and tiny evergreen trees wreathed in fairy lights. The sight of the roses blooming despite the late season reminds me of my intention to visit Lady Bergamon. I mention this to Karrion, whose face lights up with eagerness. He is always willing to explore the mysteries of Lady Bergamon’s garden, not realising that there are far more secrets to uncover than he appreciates.

The Royal Exchange, with its war memorial and porticoed front, houses the largest collection of magical texts and reference books in the country. A few people are hurrying up the steps as we cross the road in front of the building, dodging those ascending the stairs from Bank Tube station. With a subtle suggestion from Karrion, a flock of pigeons takes flight.

‘It might be worth paying the Royal Exchange a visit,’ I say as we turn to Cornhill and walk alongside the large building.

‘Why? Are you planning on refreshing your knowledge of Mage rituals?’

‘No, but aren’t you at all curious about what the oldest magical library in the country has to say on the subject of Leeches?’

‘Maybe.’ Karrion stuffs his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. ‘How about you dive into dusty books while I follow a suspect at a discreet distance and duck into a speakeasy for a word with a dodgy informant?’

‘You still haven’t given up on the glamorous view of our job, have you?’

‘I live in hope.’

‘Feel free. Just don’t hold your breath while you wait for a damsel in distress.’

‘With my luck, she’d turn out to be Fria.’

I laugh. Fria, a Cat Shaman thief, has become a valued contact over the past couple of months. While Karrion appreciates her looks, the natural enmity between Bird and Cat Shamans puts him automatically on his guard. He has complained more than once that someone as beautiful as Fria should not have been born a Cat Shaman.

We turn to Birchin Lane, and I keep an eye out for any sign of a gym or a dojo. The tall buildings surrounding us cast the narrow street into shadows. A man in a suit hurries past, leaving the scents of cologne, horsehair, and fresh hay lingering in his wake.

A door across the street catches my eye. Tacked to the red surface is a poster showing a man dressed in white, executing a kick while spinning on his hands.

‘I think that’s it,’ I say as I cross the road.

Through the door, I hear singing and clapping. I hesitate, wondering whether I should knock when the door opens. Two teenagers carrying rucksacks step out, chattering in Portuguese, beads of sweat still clinging to their foreheads. We step aside to let them pass, and I catch the door before it closes.

We come to a narrow hall, with stairs leading up to our right and a door of frosted glass in front of us. The voices I heard before seem to come from the far side, and I test the handle to find it unlocked.

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