Lord Coyle took a very long time to come down the stairs after his footman went to fetch him from his study. By the look of his sleepy eyes, I wondered if we'd woken him from a midday nap rather than interrupting him at work.

He greeted me enthusiastically—Matt less so—and invited us into the library. It was the same room that harbored the secret storeroom for his magical objects.

"Have you come to donate something to my collection, Miss Steele?" he asked, settling his wide frame into a deep leather armchair. He offered Matt a cigar but Matt refused.

"No," I said. "Is that why you asked me to dine with you?"

"Not at all. I simply wished to get to know you. My friends were eager to meet you too." He plucked a cigar from the box and plugged it into his mouth. "Magicians are not easy to find in this city," he said, clamping his lips around the cigar.

And yet it felt as though magicians were coming out of the woodwork lately. I was finding them everywhere. Then again, it was easy for me to identify them through their work now that I knew what magic heat felt like.

"Who supplies you with your personal stationery?" Matt asked.

"Odd question." Lord Coyle shook the match to extinguish it and sucked on the cigar. "Why do you ask?"

"Have you heard of a supplier by the name of Hendry?"

"No. Why would—? Ah." He pointed the cigar at Matt. "He's a magician, isn't he? Well, well. I'll add him to my list."

"You keep a list of magicians?" I asked.

"Of course. Names, addresses and magical ability. We share contacts with other collectors. This Hendry fellow must have been lying low to remain undiscovered."

My name would be on that list. I felt rather sick about it, although I couldn't say why. I felt even sicker that we'd just given Lord Coyle another name to add to it.

"I'll have to ask my butler who supplies my paper." Lord Coyle rang the small bell on the table beside the cigar box and a moment later, the butler entered. "Where do you order my stationery?" Coyle asked him.

"From Hendry's in Smithfield, my lord."

Lord Coyle waited until the butler shut the door on his way out and turned to Matt. "Well, well. It seems I can add the letterhead to my collection. How remarkable. Another magical object was right under my nose, and I didn't know it." He looked to the clock on the mantel but didn't ask me to use my magic on it, and I didn't offer.

"Can you tell us where to find the other guests who dined with us here that evening?" I asked. "Mr. Glass is thinking of hosting a dinner party and would like to invite them."

Lord Coyle's bushy eyebrows rose. "Of course. I'm surprised. I didn't think you enjoyed yourselves."

"Perhaps we just need to get to know them better."

He grunted. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, eh?"

Enemies?

He called his butler back with a ring of the bell and asked him to copy the addresses from the book on his desk.

We passed the next few minutes by discussing Matt's family. Lord Coyle knew Lord Rycroft, but they weren't close, and he'd never met any other Glasses. Indeed, he seemed quite disinterested in the conversation. He glanced frequently at the clock yet didn't ask me to use magic on it. If he did, I wasn't sure how I would answer.

The butler soon returned, thankfully, and we rose to leave.

"Just a moment." Lord Coyle heaved himself out of the chair. The effort brought on a coughing fit that turned his face puce. "Why do you want to know the name of my stationer?" he managed to splutter.

"Someone sent threatening letters to Oscar Barratt at The Weekly Gazette," Matt said. "Someone who wanted him to stop writing his articles. You've admitted to wanting him to stop."

"You think I'd send threats by mail?" Lord Coyle chuckled a throaty, phlegmy chuckle. "Think again, Mr. Glass."

"My mistake," Matt simply said.

"Does this have something to do with the editor's death?"

"Barratt received the letters, not Baggley."

Lord Coyle said nothing, and I wondered if he'd also concluded that the wrong man had been shot.

The butler saw us out, and Matt gave instructions to our driver to take us to Mr. and Mrs. Delancey's house, only a few streets away.

"I don't believe Coyle sent the letters to Barratt," Matt said once we were seated in the carriage.

I agreed. "I cannot imagine him hiding behind anonymous threats."

"We'll cross him off our list of suspects."

"Excellent. It has shrunk from hundreds to hundreds minus one. If we continue to eliminate suspects at this rate, we'll have our killer by the turn of the century."

"We'll get there, India. At least we're not directly affected by the murder, this time."

That was something to be thankful for.

The Delanceys were not at home, so we traveled to University College on Gower Street where Professor Nash had a room tucked away in a wing far from the main building. We had to ask directions from three students before finding one who knew Professor Nash and where to find him.

"Apologies for the humbleness of my abode," Nash said with an embarrassed glance at the bed.

It was made but the covers sported creases from where he must have been lying moments ago. A book lay open on the bedside table next to a candle melted down to its stub. The desk positioned by the north-facing window was covered with books and the room smelled stale.

"We're glad to find you here," I said. "We thought you might be lecturing."

"Not until this afternoon." He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave me a thorough inspection. He must have liked what he saw because he fussed over me, suggesting I sit on the only chair and clearing a space on the desk. "I can't offer you tea, I'm afraid, but I do have water and wine."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"As am I," Matt said pointedly.

Professor Nash didn't even glance Matt's way. "I'm thrilled you're here, Miss Steele. I was hoping you'd want to talk to me away from the others. I image it must be intimidating being the object of their obsession."

"Obsession?" I repeated.

Matt stiffened. "They have not made any demands of her."

Nash looked at Matt properly for the first time. "They will. That sort are used to getting what they want. They're probably biding their time. Am I right in thinking you would refuse to perform magic for them?"

"She is not a performing monkey," Matt growled.

Nash stepped away, hands to his chest. "No, no, that's not what I meant, sir. I simply mean that she is a powerful magician, and Coyle has told them, and me, about her watch saving her. I suspect they want to see that happen again with their own eyes. They'll probably ask you to donate the piece to their collections too, Miss Steele. I'd hazard they'd even auction it among themselves, the highest bidder to keep it. That's what happens with their rarest pieces, so Coyle told me."

"The watch wouldn't work for anyone else," I said. "Only me."

"They may know that, but I think they believe otherwise. Anyway, an item from the famed Miss India Steele will be an asset to their collection nevertheless."

I laughed. "Famed?"

He peered over his spectacles at me. "Yes, Miss Steele. Among those who are aware of magic, and have spoken to that jailed sheriff, you are known as the most powerful."

I stared at him.

"You don't believe that nonsense Payne is spouting, do you?" Matt scoffed. "The man's mad. It'll be proven so in court."

Nash stared back at me, and I got the distinct feeling he was studying me as a scientist would an insect under a microscope, watching for my reaction. I tried to keep my face blank.

"According to my studies," Nash said, rifling through the books on the table in front of me. "You are not the first timepiece magician to extend the magic of other magicians." He found the book and flipped through the pages. He stopped at a page with a sketch of a man dressed in seventeenth century clothing standing beside a rudimentary clock. The scene appeared to take place at a smith's forge where another man sat, sword in hand. "This drawing is thought to be of two magicians combining their magic. The clock magician is probably extending the life of the swordsmith's magic."

"Or it could be a drawing of two men who are not magicians," Matt said. "It's not clear."

"Devices for telling the time were very new when this was drawn," Professor Nash went on. "While spells to manipulate wood or metal were very old by the seventeenth century, clock and watch magic was in its infancy. Those magicians were probably still experimenting with how to put the magic words together effectively at this point" He indicated the drawing. "It was also at a time when magic use was declining. That decline has persisted to this day. Then, as now, magicians were afraid for their lives and went into hiding. Unfortunately, that meant the complicated spells became lost, because they weren't passed on to the younger generations. It also meant magicians from different crafts didn't share spells. New spells were rarely created and even more rarely combined. This is one of the latest depictions of the combining of spells across disciplines. Even rarer is the notion of time magic being combined with medical magic. I'd never heard the like of it until I spoke to Lord Coyle. He told me about the experiment your grandfather and Dr. Millroy performed twenty-seven years ago. It was such a mad notion to me at the time, that I admit I laughed at him." He began pacing back and forth, his hands at his back, his eyes huge behind his glasses. "The idea grew on me, however, and then when he told me Sheriff Payne's story, well, I had to visit him and find out for myself."

"It was you," I said. "You visited him in prison."

"Lord Coyle told me you would not speak about it, even if I asked nicely and even if he offered you money."

"He wanted to buy information from her!" Matt crossed his arms and muttered, "Damn him."

"I don't think I am the only one who visited Payne," Nash said. "I know Coyle did. There are probably others from the club too."

I groaned. No matter how many of us refuted Payne's claims in the trial now, Coyle and his ilk wouldn't believe us. I only hoped the public never found out.

Matt rested a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed. "As long as the general populace believe us, nothing should come of Payne's claims. It's the mob mentality that must be curbed before it gathers momentum. Coyle and his friends seem keen to keep magic quiet and exclusive."

"Quite right, Mr. Glass." Professor Nash passed the book to me. "You may borrow this. It'll help you understand the history of your power."

"Thank you," I said, clutching it.

"Did you have any specific questions to ask me?"

"We want to know where you buy your paper from," Matt said.

"My paper?" Nash pushed his glasses up his nose. "What has this got to do with Miss Steele's magic?"

"Nothing."

"Oh." Nash sounded disappointed. "The university supplies me with notepaper."

"What about personal stationery?"

"Monogrammed letterhead and calling cards are not items a humble professor can afford. Why? What is this about?"

Matt and I glanced at one another. An understanding passed between us and Matt said, "Someone sent threatening letters using magic-infused paper to Oscar Barratt at The Weekly Gazette's offices. We'd like to find out who."

"Barratt, not Baggley? How strange that Baggley was the one to die, then. I assume the two things are linked?"

"It would be quite a coincidence if they aren't," I said.

Nash nodded slowly as he thought. "Why are you two investigating and not the police?"

"The police don't think the threats and the crime are linked." Even as I said it, I wondered if we should have taken Oscar's word for that. "Mr. Barratt asked us to help, since we have experience in investigating crimes related to magic."

"Do you know of any paper magicians?" Matt asked.

Nash shook his head.

"Thank you for your time." Matt put out a hand to assist me to my feet.

I took it and tucked the book under my arm. "Thank you for the reading material, Professor. I'll return it to you as soon as possible."

"Keep it as long as you want." He clicked his heels together and bowed. "My door is always open to you, Miss Steele. I will endeavor to answer any questions you have."

"He paid you rather too much attention," Matt said as we made our way back through the hallowed halls of the university. "There were times I felt as though he forgot I was even there."

"It's understandable, since he thinks I'm a powerful magician," I said, lowering my voice. "He hasn't had the opportunity to study any before. Not that I think I'm powerful, you understand, only that he does."

"He is not going to study you, India. You are not some mediocre history professor's project."

"Mediocre? That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"If he were more important, he would be given better rooms in a better part of the university. He's at the back end of the campus in a tiny room. He may not be mediocre, but the university thinks he is."

I did see his point. Not only had we walked down several long corridors, and up and down quite a few flights of stairs, but we'd also crossed a quadrangle and a lawn where several students lounged in the sunshine, and we hadn't even reached the main building on Gower Street yet. I was beginning to feel sorry for Professor Nash. His interest in me seemed harmless enough.

We drove to Sir Charles Whittaker's Hammersmith residence next. The bachelor lived in a handsome row house with white bay window frames and a small front garden. He wasn't a gentleman of means then, living off family land holdings as I'd assumed. Unlike the large mansion of Lord Coyle, and the impressive five level townhouse of the Delanceys, he did not have a butler or footman. The housekeeper answered the door and informed us that he was not at home.

We were about to leave when Sir Charles himself approached on foot along the pavement. He paused at the gate, surprised to see us, before inviting us to stay for tea. The sitting room furniture was elegant yet simple, neither too masculine nor too feminine, and the decoration was kept to a minimum, which I expected from a bachelor of his age. His pinstripe suit, with the crisp handkerchief poking out of the pocket of the jacket, was also elegantly simple.

"What is it you do, Sir Charles?" Matt asked.

"I'm an advisor."

"Whom do you advise?"

Sir Charles crossed his legs and flicked imaginary dust off his trousers. "The royal family."

"How interesting," I said. "What do you advise them on?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Steele, but I am not at liberty to say. Her Majesty prefers such things to remain private. I hope you understand."

"Oh. Of course." Whatever he did, it was enough to earn him a knighthood.

The housekeeper brought in tea and buttery biscuits that tasted as delicious as they looked.

Matt got straight to the point as soon as she left. "Someone has been sending Oscar Barratt of The Weekly Gazette threatening letters. He asked us to find out who."

Sir Charles's eyebrows rose ever higher with each sentence. "Probably wise, considering what happened to Baggley. What does it have to do with me, though?"

"The paper used was made by a magician named Hendry. He has a workshop in Smithfield. Does the name ring a bell with you?"

"No. Should it?"

"Who makes your personal stationery?"

"A local man by the name of Woodley." Sir Charles frowned. "Are you accusing me of being the author of the letters?"

"You wanted Barratt stopped."

Sir Charles set down his teacup with a clatter. "I did not send anyone threatening letters. I may not want Barratt writing those articles, but I wouldn't bother with a written threat. That sort of thing is ineffective, in my experience."

"What method would you employ?" Matt asked.

Sir Charles picked up his cup again and sipped.

"May I see one of your calling cards?" I asked.

Sir Charles pulled a small silver case from his inside jacket pocket. He flipped open the lid and picked out a card, which he handed to me. His name was printed in black ink on the thick cream paper. Neither the card nor the ink felt warm. I handed it back and shook my head at Matt.

"I suppose you're asking to see the stationery of all members of the collectors' club," Sir Charles said.

"Only those we met at Lord Coyle's dinner at this point," I said. "We have several other lines of inquiry to follow up too."

Sir Charles smiled. "You sound like a seasoned detective, Miss Steele. Lord Coyle tells me you two have solved other crimes together. You're gaining quite a reputation for yourselves."

"It's why Oscar Barratt came to us with his problem."

"Could it also be because you're a powerful magician?"

"Is she?" Matt stood and buttoned his jacket. "Lord Coyle seems to be basing his theory on the gossip spread by a prisoner who resents me. Has it occurred to you that Payne might be trying to get his revenge by making life difficult for Miss Steele?"

"You're right," Sir Charles said. "I do apologize. I don't appreciate gossip and innuendo either. Unless I personally see Miss Steele extend someone's life, I will assume her powers are as ordinary as every other magician's. Do you accept my apology, Miss Steele?"

"Of course," I said.

He put out his hand to assist me to stand. "I hope to see you again. I understand you're reluctant to talk about your magic with strangers, but I hope you will realize, in time, that no one in the club wishes you harm. We are merely curious about magic, as none of us have the ability ourselves. We are all quite dull." He chuckled.

"I don't think the artless are dull," I said. "But thank you."

He walked us to the front door and we were about to leave when I remembered something. "Did you enjoy the fights the other night?"

He blinked. "Pardon?"

"The fights at the tavern. I was there with my friends and saw you."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid you have the wrong man. I don't watch fighting for amusement. I find it rather unpleasant." He held the door open wider. "Good day, Miss Steele, Mr. Glass."

"That's odd," I said to Matt as we drove off. "It was definitely him I saw."

"Perhaps he's embarrassed to admit he likes to watch illegal bare knuckle fighting. It's not the most gentlemanly of sports."

"True. And he does strike me as rather a debonair gent who'd be particular about getting blood on his nice suit."

Matt smiled. "Not like my friends. I seem to have trouble keeping them away from blood sports. Willie in particular has an affinity for it."

"She's quite the ring leader when it comes to leading the other two astray. I know why Duke does whatever she wants, but I thought Cyclops would back down before the fights started."

"He needed the distraction. He's more interested in Catherine than he likes to admit, even to himself." Matt watched me through half lowered lids and I got the feeling he had more to say.

"Go on," I urged.

"If I don't find something for them to do, they're going to grow more restless. If they grow too bored, they'll either pester me to return to America, or they'll want to compete in more bare knuckle fights. Since Duke and Cyclops are averse to beating each other up for sport, they'll run out of taverns soon enough."

"Are you saying you want to return to America?" I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I wanted to be with Matt, and I would travel to the ends of the earth if needs be. But my grandfather was in London, and everything I knew was there too.

"No," he said. "Just that I need to give them something to do."

"Then let’s start delegating before they kill one another."

Matt brought me breakfast in the morning before I was fully awake. He promised that none of the servants saw him enter my room, but since they would have prepared the tray, I thought the fact irrelevant. I wasn't sure whether I minded or not. I should. It was terribly scandalous to have a man in my room at such an hour, but it was also a small way of showing the world we planned to be together.

I sat up in bed and he handed me the tray. "What's happened?" I asked upon seeing his grim face.

He opened the curtains then removed the newspaper he'd tucked under his arm. It was opened to the announcements page. I groaned as I read the short paragraph he pointed to.