Winter nodded grimly. ‘Third Level or beyond. In fact, to take it out of the library without anyone noticing, they’d have to be one of the strongest witches we’ve ever seen.’
I absorbed this. ‘Fair enough. At least that narrows down the list of suspects. Let’s examine the crime scene, solve the crime and then we can break for afternoon tea.’
He frowned. ‘Leave the investigations to me. You’re an amateur and I’m the professional.’
While I didn’t object to Winter doing all the work, I was still needled. ‘I thought we were supposed to work in tandem?’
‘As long as you’re with me, the binding will be satisfied,’ he said shortly. ‘If you pay enough attention, you might learn something. Now let’s get moving.’
‘Yessir, Adeptus Exemptus Winter.’ I crossed my fingers and hoped he was good at his job so the sceptre was recovered quickly. More to the point, then I could finally go back home. I did, after all, still have Eve’s burglars to deal with. And Enchantment was on TV tonight.
***
The third floor was busy. Most people were standing around and staring at the sceptre’s empty display box. I’d seen enough episodes of CSI to know that these onlookers would be doing little more than contaminating the scene but Winter had made it pretty clear what my role was in all of this, so I kept my mouth buttoned shut.
‘What are all these people doing here?’ he barked. ‘We need this area clear so that we don’t lose any evidence.’ Maybe he’d seen the same episodes I had.
‘Come on everyone,’ a nervous-looking red robe said. ‘You need to vacate the area.’ Unfortunately his voice was so quiet and lacking in authority that no one paid him any attention. He tried again. ‘Everyone downstairs.’
For goodness’ sake. ‘Oi!’ I yelled. Every face turned towards me, some pale and in shock, others merely confused. That was more like it. ‘Everyone clear out! No one leaves the building until your details have been noted or you’ve been questioned.’
There was a dissenting murmur from several of the onlookers but they did as I asked, shuffling downstairs no doubt to congregate and gossip about the culprit. The librarian gave me a grateful nod while Winter raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. ‘The sooner you investigate and solve this crime, Sherlock, the sooner we can leave.’
He looked like he was about to say something then thought better of it and turned his attention to the display cabinet. As I watched, he circled round it a few times before pursing his lips and beckoning over the hapless librarian. ‘Talk me through the wards,’ he grunted.
The librarian’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. ‘Well, you see, er, there’s, um…’
Winter was obviously growing impatient. He tapped his foot and glared at the man. No wonder he was nervous. We’d be here all day at this rate. I stepped up. ‘What’s your name?’ I asked softly.
‘Philip. Philip Maidmont.’
‘And you’re a librarian here?’ I questioned, ignoring Winter’s frosty demeanour.
‘Yes. Four years now. I’m Practicus but I never managed to proceed to Philosophus.’
‘Those exams are a bugger.’
He tittered slightly. ‘Yes, yes, they are.’
I ignored the question in his eyes about what level I was at and gently touched his arm. ‘Philip, can you tell us what wards were in place around the case?’
His eyes widened. ‘Oh, the very strongest. The Ipsissimus himself put them in place.’
‘When did that happen?’
‘After the swearing-in ceremony for last year’s Third Level witches.’
I calculated: that would have been during the Winter Solstice, which was almost five months ago. The Order liked using auspicious dates to add to the pomp and circumstance of their ceremonies. ‘And no one’s opened it since then?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Thank you, Ms Wilde,’ Winter interrupted tautly. He focused on Maidmont. ‘When was the last time you saw the sceptre?’
Maidmont swallowed again, his eyes shifting nervously as if Winter were accusing him of stealing the damn thing. This time, at least, he held it together to answer. ‘Last night. I did the final rounds around ten o’clock.’
‘Bloody hell!’
Both Winter and Maidmont turned to me. ‘What is it?’
‘The library closes at ten?’
Maidmont nodded.
‘You have a thought, Ms Wilde?’ Winter asked.
‘I’m having several thoughts, Adeptus Exemptus Winter,’ I returned. ‘Who in their right mind is studying at ten o’clock at night? Clearly, they’re several sandwiches short of a picnic.’
Winter’s blue eyes filled with exasperation. ‘You have the logbooks?’ he asked Maidmont.
‘Yes, yes, I’ll get them for you. But everyone left.’ He shot me a look. ‘I made sure of it.’
‘Just get us the books,’ Winter demanded.
Maidmont half bowed and half curtsied, as if he couldn’t make up his mind how to treat either of us, then skedaddled downstairs.
‘You are not exactly helping,’ Winter informed me.
I crossed my arms. ‘I think I’m helping a lot. That poor man would still be trying to answer your first question if I hadn’t stepped in. Softly, softly catchee monkey.’ I shook my head. ‘Getting things done quickly takes a gentle approach sometimes.’
A muscle throbbed in his cheek. ‘I’m not interested in getting things done quickly, Ms Wilde. I’m interested in getting them done right. Now stay quiet and let me do my job.’
I rolled my eyes. Fine. I leant back against the nearest wall and let Winter go to it. Idiot man.
He withdrew a stick from the inside pocket of his jacket. It was similar to a chopstick in length, maybe a few inches longer. I stared at it then snickered. Was that supposed to be a magic wand? Winter ignored me. Using the wandy chopstick, he probed the display case. The moment the tip touched the glass there was a faint hissing sound and the stick turned green around the edges. It didn’t take a Second Level genius to realise that vestiges of the original ward were still in place. All the same, as far as I could tell the sceptre had been lifted right out of the case with incredible ease. Some ward.
Winter poked around a little longer and then made for the stairs. I was perfectly willing to watch him go but, when he was almost out of sight, he called in an irritating voice, ‘Come on then, Ms Wilde. Get a move on!’
No. I understood he had a job to do and that he treated the loss of the sceptre as a particularly grave matter but that didn’t give him the right to talk to me like that. Keeping quiet was one thing; acting like Winter’s obedient shadow was something entirely different. I dug in my heels and didn’t move.
That was a good plan as far as I was concerned except that almost immediately the skin on my arms began to tingle, and not in a good way. I pulled up my sleeve. I was covered in goosebumps, each hair standing on end. And I appeared to be turning a dangerous shade of purple. The tingling wasn’t just painful; it was also bloody itchy. I stared after Winter. Was this because of him? Had he cast a damn spell on me?