confront him, and know the truth about this place.' She almost expected to hear a reply come out of the shadows gathering in the dusk beneath the tropical trees, but there was no response but the twittering of sleepy birds.
In a way, that was comforting. If magic really was a true force in the world, at least Cameron wasn't using it to spy on her every movement and thought.
Cameron was not paying a great deal of attention to the girl as she prowled the halls and rooms of his home; she was not being overly curious-she was not opening drawers or trying cabinet doors, for instance. He didn't see any point in giving her more than cursory attention, although he was too suspicious by nature to let her make her explorations unwatched. He noted with a bit of amusement her enthusiasm for his library, once she got past the first bookcase. She spent a great deal of time where he had expected her to, in front of the medieval section. After that, she retired to the conservatory with a book, one he assumed she had borrowed from those same shelves. Probably more of those ballads the trouveres created, I suspect my selection is as good as that in her university. Trust a woman to be fascinated by the roots of romance and ignore all the open descriptions of Magick as practiced by Masters!
He simply dealt with the mundane affairs of his business while she read, telegraphing orders to his underlings in the city. It was very convenient, having his own telegraphy instrument on his desk; he didn't need to write down the code as it came in, for he was so fluent in Morse he could translate it immediately in his head. If he hadn't had one, he would have had to depend upon Paul to an uncomfortable extent.
It is a pity I cannot give du Mond a watch like Rosalind's-but even if I did, he would probably find a way to be rid of it. Even he is capable of sensing something of that nature.
Having paws instead of hands did not greatly interfere with his telegraphy. With his instructions complete, he turned his attention to shelving his books of Magick and making the selections for tonight. He often ordered the Salamanders to perform this little task, but only when he was busy with other concerns. Even with misshapen paws instead of hands, he could still manage to shelve and remove books-
Then, as he shelved the last one, he knew that there was something wrong. One of the books was missing; there should have been seven, and there were only six. He hadn't noticed because the light was kept so low.
He knew immediately which one it was: The Arte and Science of Magick by Dee. He'd chosen it for her to read, even though it was really an Apprentice's book, because of a partial chapter on transformations, a chapter he thought might jog some associations loose for him if he heard it again.
It was also one of the books he had planned for her to read in its entirety later-when she was ready to believe, to prepare her for the more dangerous books he would ask her to peruse. But he had not planned that to occur for several months at least.
Swiftly he spun, and with a gesture of his black-tipped claws, called the mirror to life. She was still reading, although by the thickness left, there were only a few pages remaining. It was certainly too late to stop her.
He knew her; she was a scholar, and if she had not already deduced that Marcus Dee was a descendent of John Dee, the personal Magician and Astrologer to Queen Elizabeth, she would soon make that connection. The modern Dee had written his book for the instruction of the offspring of High Magicians who also bore the Powers in their blood, offspring presumably under the tutelage and guidance of their parents. To that end, it was clear, concise and erudite, rather than reveling in obscurity. Because it was meant for the eyes of those who were already being competently guided, there was no need to shroud secrets in formulas that required other information from other sources to be decoded.
Even as he watched her, she finished the last few pages and closed the book. In the gathering dusk, she stared straight ahead, her blue eyes behind the lenses of her glasses focused deep within herself. As she sat there, thinking, a myriad of emotions crossed her face. Speculation, alarm, fear-she must be going through incredible turmoil at this moment.
Well, he was sharing those emotions! He clutched both paws in his mane and tugged with frustration. All of his carefully choreographed plans, set awry in a single moment! What was she going to do? More importantly, what was she going to believe?
As if she was answering him, she spoke. 'I have to talk to him,' she said aloud. 'I have to confront him and know the truth about this place.'
She stood up, clasping the book to her chest, and turned quickly. A moment later, she was well on her way to the staircase, her brisk stride unimpeded by her skirts, the silk petticoats whispering about her ankles.
Is she coming here? From the determined look on her face, he was quite willing to believe that she would march straight up to the door of his suite and demand entry!
But she went right past the second-floor landing without a pause, heading for her own rooms.
'Dinner for her, quickly, before she reaches her room!' he ordered his servants, harshly-thank Heaven he had already decided on the menu! It appeared, on his silver and china, as always, purloined tonight from the kitchens of the Palace Hotel. He always selected items that would not be missed slices of beef off the joint rather than a steak;
