“Because,” Donovan replied, “I don’t just want to stop him from creating this potion, I want to catch him. I want my book back, and I’d like to collect the fee for bringing Vanessa back as well. I know she can take care of herself, but even the best of us gets in over their head now and then.”
This brought another quick snort of laughter from Amethyst, and with a sigh Donovan picked up her glass and took a drink of her wine.
“Laugh it up,” he said, returning her glass. “But promise me you’ll keep an eye out for this guy? I wish I could figure out who it is. I can’t imagine any of the major players involving themselves in something so risky, and I don’t remember anyone with a crow. That bothers me more than anything. I thought I knew everyone in the craft that called this city home, so either I was wrong, or it’s an outsider. Either way, it’s bad.”
“The crystals are safe, Donovan. When I’m not home, my apprentice Lance handles the wards. It’s part of the fee he pays for instruction, and he’s very meticulous. As for your rogue magician, I have a thought on that.”
Donovan wanted to ask more about her apprentice, but he remained silent as she continued. He remembered Lance Ezzel, a tall, powerful young man with bright, piercing eyes and hair that was an odd, platinum blonde — almost white. He’d been with Amethyst for several years, and seemed bright enough to go the distance. She wasn’t a patient teacher, and she was reluctant to part with her secrets at the best of times — the price for apprenticeship must have been tantamount to becoming her live-in cabana boy.
“You remember that guy Cornwell? Alistair Cornwell?”
Yanked from his thoughts of Ezzel, which were wandering toward jealousy, Donovan blinked.
“Cornwell? Vaguely. Wasn’t he sort of a 'poseur' with delusions of personal grandeur?”
Amethyst laughed again.
“You’ve been spending too much time in the louder part of this club. You’re beginning to talk like the kids over there; you need to spend more time in adult company.”
Donovan met her gaze levelly, and this time it was Amethyst who looked away. He smiled. They both needed some time, and when this business was over, he intended to make a point of finding it.
“Anyway,” she said, blushing slightly, “Cornwell had a little power, but not much sense. He came to me several times demanding that I share things with him, or loan him crystals for his experiments. He always wore crazy robes, like he’d stepped out of some King Arthur movie and though he was Merlin.”
“Yeah, I remember him,” Donovan said.
“Well,” Amethyst continued, “don’t you remember his familiar then? It was a ratty old crow named Asmodeus.”
Donovan started.
“Yes! I remember now. The thing looked like it should have taken its last flight a few decades back, but I do remember it. He came to me once wanting a charm that would split the bird’s tongue so it could be taught to mimic speech. As I recall, he wanted to teach it to say ‘Nevermore.’ He used to carry it around on his shoulder, even out on the streets. I warned him against it, but people just saw a crazy old man in ragged clothes and a half-dead bird. In California, who’s going to notice something like that?”
“I haven’t heard anything from, or about him in years,” Amethyst said. “I suppose he might have studied… gained some power here and there? Maybe you and I aren’t the only two he pestered. He’s been out of the local scene long enough to turn his life around and actually learn something. He did have the gift, just not the patience, or the personality, you know?”
Donovan nodded. It made sense. All the times he’d spoken to Cornwell, the man had seemed harmless enough, but he’d always been seeking. First one spell, then another, then just ingredients, and always with questions about this and that book. Donovan was known as the leading expert in the area on ancient texts, so he’d never thought twice about the queries, but had he ever given away the existence of Le Duc’s journal? Could he be responsible for this whole mess, just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about old books?
”I don’t suppose you have any idea where I might find Mr. Cornwell?” Donovan asked.
“Nope,” she said, finishing her second glass of wine. “I’ll ask around. I have to be going. I want to go check the wards on my vault, and to let Lance know there might be a new threat.”
She hesitated, then stepped around the table and leaned close. She let her hair drape down over his head and teased her tongue across his earlobe. “You be careful, cowboy,” she whispered.
Donovan took a deep breath, fought the sudden rise of heat that flushed through his nervous system, and sate very still.
“I really don’t think there’s any danger of a break in at my place,” she added, “but I’ll put some extra effort into security, just in case. I’m sure if Lance and I put our minds to it, we can design something new that will surprise anyone who thinks they have a plan for getting in. I almost hope he tries.”
Donovan thought about Kline and the description of how he’d lain broken and battered on the floor. He hoped that their thief stayed far away from Amethyst and her crystals, but if not — he hoped it was Lance who was on duty when the visit took place.
“I’ll see you soon then,” he said, giving her a hug. Amethyst turned and disappeared into the phone booth in a flash of sun-drenched quartz, and Donovan glanced at the bar a final time. He eyed the bartender, took in the stolid, uninterested expression and the noncommittal tilt of the man’s jaw, and then shrugged. Who else was he going to ask?
“Excuse me,” Donovan said, taking a seat at the bar, “I was wondering if you’d seen a friend of mine in here recently?”
“Depends,” the bartender said, still polishing the glass in his hand carefully. “I’ve seen you with several people today, but it’s hard to tell if they’re your friends from back here.”
“Fair enough,” Donovan said. “I was thinking of one person in particular. I think I’ve seen him here before, but I can’t remember when. His name is Cornwell, Alistair Cornwell. I’ve been trying to find him all day, but he seems to have disappeared.”
The bartender didn’t look up from his work at all.
“No one is friends with that one,” he said. “He isn’t welcome here.”
“Then you’ve seen him?” Donovan asked, trying not to sound eager.
“About a week ago was the last time,” the bartender said. “Had to have him eighty-sixed.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea where he’d be staying, then,” Donovan asked.
“I never talked to the guy except to mix his drinks,” the bartender said, glancing up at last, “but I hear things. I always hear things. Most of those things I keep to myself. It’s bad for business to get a reputation for telling secrets.”
Donovan sensed that no response was expected, so he waited in silence.
“This guy, though,” the bartender shook his head. “Good riddance, I say. If you’re trying to find him, I hope he isn’t really your friend.”
Donovan continued to hold his silence.
“He has that old church on the east side,” the bartender said with a shrug of his own. “Out near the barrio? It’s been vacant for years; he bought it and fixed it up some. That’s what he said when he came in; anyway, you can take it for what it’s worth.”
“I know the place,” Donovan said, nodding. “I thought it would have fallen down or been demolished by now.”
“The city won’t do it,” the barman growled. “Some kind of historic monument or something. They won’t tear it down, and now that your buddy owns it, I suppose it will never be fixed up either. Just an eyesore.”
“Maybe I’ll see if I can do my civic duty,” Donovan said, leaving a ten on the bar and rising. “I think I’ll go pay old Alistair a visit.”
The barman slid the bill off the bar and into a pocket without seeming to move.
“Give him my regards,” he said. “He was a lousy tipper.”
Donovan grinned, winked, and for the second time headed through the phone booth and into the alley. This time it was empty, and he made his way to the streets without meeting a soul. Things were looking up.
TEN
