March 3
- Arsenic
- Tarot cards
- Black Silk – 50 yards
- Lavender Oil – 6 bottles
- Bosom Rings (do not question me why I'm asking you to purchase this, or you will die)
- Iodine Salts for Katherine's weird experiments
- Beef
- Potatoes - 6 sacks
- Rosemary
- Eucalyptus Oil - 5 bottles
- Honey – 30 jars
- Eldarberries from Ainsley's Apothecary as requested by the missus
- Carpets from Hawthorne's - 3 rolls, 10 by 5 yards
- Random Curiosities (Just buy another clock with hieroglyphics for goodness sakes. The count will not care)
- An erotic photograph if you could find one, for the amusement of the gentlemen
... ... ...
Froilan Rhodes scratched his head in a mix of shock and amusement. Mr. Matthews definitely had a dark sense of humor. But of course, Froilan was used to the odd ministrations of the Faelore Household servants. A good footman does not question a gentleman's purchase items, however perverse or odd they may be. (He wondered how in the seven hells he was supposed to carry sacks, jars and bottles and carpets all by himself, but they might have over-estimated his skill as a valravyn he supposed.)
Shaking his head, he pocketed the small parchment and went on his way. It would do him ill if a lady found him with such an offending object—let alone if it was Mrs. Ashfield who would. The housekeeper would give him an earful for sure.
Jolly good thing he found a good parking spot. Now he can set out to do his shopping duties.
Mr. Rhodes, we need your help.
Was that Katherine he heard just then? He perked his ears, drowning out the sounds of the downtown hustle and bustle. Above the grey bog of London's polluted air, Froilan heard the flapping of wings, and then the stream of static. A downward plunge and—yes, his senses had lead him to downtown Aster.
By jove! Chills ran through his skin as soon as he detected Katherine's presence. He could smell the powder she conjured in the air, as well as taste the strange energy permeating an establishment filled with metals, books, bricks and iron...
Froilan swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry. The air tasted like blood and metal.
There's a damned magician in their midst. Fuck.
"And I thought we were just shopping today." He sighed. He walked towards a nearby alley, discretely loosening the collar of his shirt. "They should know how hard it is to transform in broad daylight."
Rhodes! Turn into a crow and fly here already!
Froilan tutted. He kept telling Katherine and the others that no he was definitely not a crow! He was a raven. Big difference.
I don't care. Just come here already!
He looked to the left and then to the right, all the while loosening his cuffs and pulling out his shirt from his trousers.
"Skift til en ravn."
He felt himself shift, his body dissolving in a cloud of black smoke. His vision turned red and his arms exploded into a torrent of black feathers and magic. He stumbled, falling to the side and nearly crushing his left wing with the weight of his body. Tsk, hard to use his magic in the mornings. They should have brought the shapeshifting Marcel in case of these atrocious emergencies!
With all the strength he could muster, Froilan righted himself, flapped his wings, and flew into the smoky morning air.
Time for Froilan the Smooth to make an entrance he supposed.
... ... ...
He was just in time to witness what he would later learn as the most absurd deal in all ninety-nine years of his life.
Perched on the window overlooking the inside of the curiosity shop, Froilan spotted the count with Katherine and Mr. Matthews speaking to an old man. With one hand, the man levitated a large scroll with writings in a language he could not understand. He pecked on the glass window thrice, hoping to signal Katherine that he was there. Froilan could see how thick the air in the room was of concealing magic. Using telepathy while in his raven form was out of the question.
There was a spike of dark magic that even Katherine's dust couldn't conceal. Froilan flapped his wings cautiously. Lord Mircea's energy was frightening, even when he wasn't in his true form.
"Translate this," Lord Mircea said, nose up in the air like the pompous lord he was. "If I am to make a purchase, I require full understanding of my contracts," the lord narrowed his eyes, red irises glowing with malice, "especially from immortals I've not heard of, roaming and setting up shop within my domain, without my consent."
The lord pulled at his cane, pointing it towards the shop keeper like he would a rapier when he and Froilan sparred. Froilan observed the shop keeper, curious about how he would respond.
The old man shook his head apologetically. "Pardon my intrusion then, my lord. I am more than willing to leave, but that also means I cannot sell you the doll."
Froilan squawked. All this for a doll? Surely the lord would not confront another immortal for the sake of curiosities—
Froilan blinked. No, wait, he would cause trouble for the sake of weird baubles. Truly, he acted like a materialistic English lord robbed of his favorite new collectible.
"Do you think me mad?" he heard Lord Mircea ask the man. "I am not so foolish to sign an agreement I cannot understand." The lord circled the shop keeper. Froilan likened it to the way vultures circled around dead prey.
He found Katherine's eyes on him. Finally, she spotted him.
Katherine discretely went to the window, slowly opening the glass to let him in while the shop keeper was distracted. The soonest he flew in, the dark magic that unsettled him the night before punched him right to his guts. The energy dispelled his transformation, his body exploding into a cloud of smoke as he fell like a rag doll on the hard floor.
Neither the lord nor the shop keeper paid him any heed. Were they already aware that there was a valravyn in their midst?
"Then there is no deal, my lord," the shop keeper said. There was sadness in his tone—a grief that Froilan, in his disoriented state, could hear clearly well. "I had not planned to sell this doll after all. She is of course, mine."
Something hard struck the floor, hurting Froilan's ears. It was probably the lord's cane. Lord Mircea always struck the floor with his cane when angry.
"You sneak!"
"My lord," said Mr. Matthews. "It is probably best if we leave. The man does not want to sell the merchandise, clearly."
Lord Mircea turned his head slowly, red eyes glazed with anger resembling a madman's. "That doll is mine."
"My lord, if I may—"
"You may not Rhodes." The lord shut him down immediately. He would have laughed had he not felt like he was about to vomit with all the conflicting energy in the room.
Katherine pulled Froilan up by the arm. "You are late, Mr. Rhodes."
Froilan chuckled despite himself. No, he was just in time to see the lord lose his gears.
The shop keeper sighed. "Was it not the Lord Mircea who said there is nothing he cannot give in exchange for a doll as priceless as her?" The man stepped forward, and like an angry ocean wave, an obscure energy washed over Froilan and made him dizzy. "Are you willing to give away caution in exchange for my most prized possession?"
This man's power was monstrous! Shouldn't they have left the damned shop already?
"My lord, please do not pursue this any further!" Froilan said in a hurry. "The man radiates strange magic even I cannot measure!"
Which is ironic given that the old man looked friendlier than the way the lord looked at him right then.
The spite in the lord's eyes was quickly replaced by what looked like amusement. Knowing the lord's quirks after all the years, Froilan knew that Lord Mircea was impressed.
"You are one conniving bastard, that you are, Mr. Toy Maker," said the lord. "You are correct. When I desire something, I am willing to give away anything, including my caution."
Froilan felt the lord's magic wane, and the sly mirth he was familiar with returned to the lord's eyes. He did not expect the lord to give so quickly.
"My lord!" Mr. Matthews spluttered indignantly. They all did. Who would not splutter in indignation after such a ridiculous announcement? What was the lord thinking?
"My lord, please reconsider—"
Lord Mircea held a finger up, shushing Katherine. "Not now, Ms. Edwards. This is a conversation between two, reasonable gentlemen of the underworld," he paused, turning to the old shop keeper, "assuming of course that Mr. Toy Maker is of the same kind as we all are?"
The shop keeper shook his head, "I am but a mere toy maker with many obscure talents. The arcane arts being one of them."
The lord chuckled. Froilan knew that chuckle. Lord Mircea's unguarded demeanor was a complete farce.
"Ah yes, of course," the lord agreed with a crinkly-eyed smile. "Of course, I would still prefer I understand the blasted contract. What language is this in?"
The shop keeper grinned, letting the contract hover over the lord's view for his perusal. "It's just like any other contract, my lord. Just ensure that the doll is well taken care of," and after a pause, he said, "among other things."
Raising a brow, the lord asked, "what 'things'?"
"It's in the contact, sir."
Froilan heard a crack. Ah, the lord is furious. He broke his cane.
"Oh bloody hell!" the lord cursed. He grabbed a feather pen from the counter and signed his name on the hovering contract.
It was that abrupt. Quick enough that he, Mr. Matthews and Katherine, despite their sharp wits, weren't fast enough to process.
The soonest Lord Mircea signed his name, two things happened: the contract burst into flames, and spots of blood stained the earl's right glove. In spite of the absurdities, the lord didn't appear to give two shits about them. Froilan had to admire the lord's uncanny responses to conflict.
The shop keeper frowned, seeming dissatisfied of the lord's handling of matters. It was an expression Froilan was all too familiar with after all. The old man obviously did not want to give up the doll. The strange contract may have been a ruse to unsettle the lord out of purchasing the toy.
But Lord Mircea took joy out of stealing other people's playthings, he supposed.
The lord went to a still baffled Mr. Matthews, taking the wallet from his hands. He put the object on the shop keeper's counter with a satisfied grin.
"Mr. Matthews, Mr. Rhodes," the lord said, without turning to them, "bring my purchase to the car please." He turned to Froilan and said, "you shan't be driving sir, Mr. Matthews will as we barely have room in the car."
Froilan spluttered. "But sir, I've yet to purchase today's groceries, and it's hard to maintain my raven form in broad daylight!"
He could hear Katherine groan with disbelief beside him. Ah, it's good that the lady empathizes with his predicament.
Lord Mircea dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I do not care, Mr. Rhodes. Oh, and do bring the car over to the front after."
Froilan felt like crying in exasperation. The nerve of this lord! No wonder Katherine and Mr. Matthews couldn't stand him!
... ... ...
Lord Mircea's three servants exchanged looks of exasperation. Of course, they had to yet again endure one of the counts bouts of unreasonable spontaneity. The shop keeper was clearly one suspicious scoundrel, and yet the lord had literally thrown caution to the wind to make such an odd purchase.
Froilan carried the doll in his arms. He stared at it, wondering what was so special about the mannequin that the lord had to have it. What he first noticed was her smell, like the fragrance of earth after the first spring rain. He could also smell light wafts of honeysuckle and freesia in her hair and the nose-itching dust on her clothes. What struck him odd was the way the doll's skin felt soft to the touch, as if she were made of human flesh, and the way her cheeks blushed pink as sunlight cast over her. There were vey light speckles of peach beneath her eyes. When opened, her lids revealed a pair of crystal blue eyes made of precious stones and glass. When he pressed into her limbs while adjusting his hold, he could feel the weight and hardness of the metal skeleton underneath, and the mechanisms of the ball-joints and gears that held her pieces together.
And right then he understood. The doll was so finely-crafted that she almost resembled a human girl. The royal family would pay a high price for such craftsmanship. The shop keeper must have been one gifted toy-maker to pull off such an exquisite masterpiece.
But there was one other thing that bothered Froilan about the lord's purchase...
"Careful, Mr. Rhodes!"
He had bumped into Mr. Matthews while lost in thought. Froilan grinned apologetically, handing over the doll to the count's valet. Mr. Matthews carefully hauled the doll up into the coach, letting her sit there like a sleeping child.
Taking a closer look at Mr. Matthews, Froilan concluded that the butler was beyond furious at the lord. He would be. He had known the lord the longest and was his closest confidant. He could almost hear the many different ways Mr. Matthews was going to kill the lord in his thoughts.
"I'm sorry you had to fly the rest of the way, Mr. Rhodes," Katherine sighed beside him. She pulled out a flask from her infinite pockets. How many pockets can a woman have on her person he wondered?
"What do I do with this miss?"
Katherine rolled her eyes. "Drink it. It should keep your magic strong enough to maintain your crow transformation."
"Raven," Froilan corrected, "not crow. And what do you mean should?"
The maid shrugged. Froilan fought the urge to bite his lips with worry.
"Quit the dilly-dally everyone," said Lord Mircea as he sauntered in between them. He stepped into the coach beside the doll. "Coming Ms. Edwards?"
"Drink it," Katherine told Froilan one last time before letting him assist her up the coach. The maid sat tight-lipped as she stared at the smug look on Lord Mircea's face. Yes, she was fuming at the lord too, and was impressed at how she wasn't afraid to show it.
"Fair winds on your way home, Mr. Rhodes," Mr. Matthews grumbled, hopping up the front. "I'm sorry the lord had to bring you to this silly charade."
Froilan nodded empathetically. Poor Mr. Matthews, always stressing over the lord's outrageous antics.
He watched them drive away with a somber expression. Smoothing his seaweed-colored hair into a low bun, he looked back at the curiosity shop and wondered. He could still feel the shop keeper's dark energy, but to a lesser degree. It grew fainter and fainter as the seconds ticked by...
Wait.
Froilan searched for Lord Mircea's car, watching as it disappeared into the bustle of daylight England. He realized with dread that the magic did not come from the shop at all.
It came from the doll.
Did the Lord Mircea notice? If not, surely Katherine would have. The girl had keen senses and a strong affinity for the arcane. Why had no one noticed? Why did it take him that long to notice?
He turned to the shop again, finding the owner standing by the window, staring at him with deadpanned green eyes. Froilan gulped, for the man, despite the lack of dark energy he felt from him earlier, still seemed too strange and dangerous to be around with.
Froilan popped his collars up, fixed his cuff links, and began walking away from Pinocchio Antiquariato. Never mind the spontaneous, supernatural endeavors of the day. He still had a lot of shopping to do.