Simple words, thought Hero. But they transformed the unknown father from some unfeeling monster who sent his little girl out to sweep the streets into an impoverished man doing the best he could to care for his young children without a wife. She pressed a guinea into the girl’s small hand. “Here. Get yourself and the children something to eat, then go home for the day.”
The little girl’s nearly lashless eyes grew round with wonder, and she dropped another of her bobbing little curtsies. “Oh, thank you, m’lady.”
Hero was watching the children run off, hand in hand, when a frisson of awareness passed over her.
She turned her head to find Devlin walking toward her, the fitful afternoon sun warm on his lean, handsome face, his movements languid and graceful and sensuously beautiful. And it struck her that there was something so deliciously wicked about a woman enjoying the mere sight of her husband in broad daylight that the Society for the Suppression of Vice would probably outlaw it, if they could.
“You can’t save them all, you know,” he said, coming to stand beside her, his gaze on the running children. “There’s too many of them.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I was watching you. It’s written all over your face.”
“Ah. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the baby that’s turning me into such a maudlin sentimentalist. Whatever you do, don’t tell Jarvis. He’d be scandalized.”
Devlin laughed out loud. “Your secret is safe with me.”
They turned to walk toward her waiting carriage. “Were you looking for me for some reason in particular?”
“I was. I’ve something I’d like to show your Miss Abigail McBean. Care to introduce me to her?”
“Of course. What is it? Another manuscript?”
He shook his head. “Something that I suspect is far more sinister.”
“It’s called a magic circle,” said Abigail McBean, holding the unrolled vellum with hands that were not quite steady. Sebastian and Hero were seated in Abigail’s crowded little morning room, with its towering shelves overflowing with manuscripts and learned texts on magic, alchemy, and witchcraft. “Where did you get this?”
Devlin said, “I found it along with a number of others in a chest in Daniel Eisler’s house.”
She looked up at him. “You say there were many?”
“Yes.”
“So what made you choose this particular one to bring to me?”
Hero watched in bemusement as a faint hint of color touched her husband’s high cheekbones. “That I’m afraid I can’t fully explain. At the risk of sounding fanciful, this one seemed more powerful . . . almost menacing.”
“That’s because it is. In fact, I’d describe it as downright nasty.” Rising to her feet, she went to select a volume from her shelves and brought it back to lay it open on the table before them. On the page was an almost identical figure. “This circle is known as the fourth pentacle of Saturn.”
Devlin looked up at her and shook his head. “What does that mean?”
“In magic, there are seven heavenly bodies, each of which rules its own day and certain designated hours within the day. Operations—which is what ‘magic spells’ are called by those who practice them—are thought best performed on the hour and day ruled by their relevant planet. The sun is considered the realm of temporal wealth and the favor of princes; Venus governs friendship and love, while Mercury is devoted to eloquence and intelligence. The moon is the planet of voyages and messages. The hours and days of Jupiter are best for obtaining riches and all you can desire, while Mars is for ruin, slaughter, and death.”
“And Saturn?”
She met his gaze squarely. “The hours and days of Saturn are for summoning souls and demons from hell.”
“Nice,” said Devlin.
Abigail pointed at the Hebrew words printed around the sides of the triangle. “This is from Deuteronomy, chapter six, fourth verse, and reads, ‘Hear, oh Israel; the Lord our God is one Lord.’”
“The Bible?” said Hero in surprise. “Are you telling me this nasty old man was performing magic spells while quoting the Bible?”
Abigail nodded. “Most of the grimoires contain biblical verses. The Bible has long been considered a source of powerful magic.” She traced the strange writing around the circle. “See this? It’s from the Psalms. It reads, ‘As he clothed himself with cursing like with a garment, so let it come into his bowels like water, like oil into his bones.’”
Devlin frowned. “What alphabet is that?”
“It’s an alphabet of twenty-two letters called the transitus fluvii. It’s found in Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s sixteenth-century grimoire, Third Book of Occult Philosophy, although I don’t know if it originated with him. Basically I guess you could call it an occult alphabet.” She sank back into her chair. “The items on the table you described would be used for various magic rituals or operations. The short lance is supposed to be dipped in the blood of a magpie, while the knife with the white hilt is dipped in the blood of a gosling and the juice of the pimpernel.”
“And the knife with the black hilt?” asked Hero.