‘Diall? But…’ Smythe paused. ‘Yes, of course. And if he refuses to come?’
‘Use all force necessary.’ I hung up. I could get used to this; having all manner of uptight witches at my beck and call was rather fun.
Winter tsked. ‘Diall is still a respected member of the Order.’
‘A respected member of the Order that sent out two of his minions to perform an illegal action against a younger witch,’ I pointed out. ‘And who more than likely just tried to have you killed. If he has the Cypher Manuscripts in his possession…’ The consequences could be catastrophic.
‘There are protocols to follow. We can’t act like the Gestapo and drag away whoever we choose.’
‘Why not?’ I arched an eyebrow in his direction.
‘There’s paperwork to be filled in.’
‘In triplicate?’
He seemed to be counting to ten. ‘No, but…’
The ringing phone interrupted his words. He smiled triumphantly. ‘See? That’ll be Smythe calling back to confirm.’
Winter didn’t seem to realise how seriously the rest of the Order took him. Even from the short conversation I’d just had, I knew that Smythe wouldn’t dare to question his orders, whether they were second hand or not. He was probably already on his way to Diall’s with an army of Arcane Branch goons as we spoke. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my own phone. ‘It’s for me,’ I said smugly. ‘Not you.’
I pressed the answer button. ‘This is Ivy,’ I chirped.
‘Hello, gorgeous.’
I beamed. ‘lqbal! How are you?’
‘Good. I’ve got some news for you. And for me. I see karaoke in your future.’ He started to sing, not very tunefully.
I sat up, not looking at Winter. ‘Go on.’
‘There is a loophole to your binding. I found a temporary measure but it won’t last more than a day or two. I figured you were looking for something more permanent so I kept on searching and I think I’ve found just the thing. It’s not going to be easy but if you can get hold of some ossombe root then I have the spell for you.’
‘I’ve never even heard of the stuff.’
‘I’m not surprised. The only reference I found to it was an old text from the seventeenth century. It’s certainly not a typical ingredient.’
‘Where would I find it?’
‘It only grows in one place in the world.’ He paused. I could almost hear the drumroll. ‘The foothills of Mongolia. You’re welcome.’
An odd sensation of relief trickled through me but I quashed it. I was probably mistaking it for disappointment. ‘Iqqy, honey, I can’t get to Mongolia any time soon.’
He was silent for several seconds. ‘Oh,’ he said finally. ‘I didn’t think of that. Maybe you can source it somewhere else.’
‘Have you any idea where?’
‘Um, no.’ He pondered this conundrum. ‘Ebay?’
Pah. I cupped my hand over the receiver. ‘Have you heard of ossombe root?’ I asked Winter.
There was a line forming between his eyebrows and his expression was tight. ‘No.’
If even Winter hadn’t heard of it, then it was highly unlikely that such a rare ingredient would be easy to find. And I didn’t know any Mongolians. ‘Thanks,’ I said drily to Iqbal.
‘You’re welcome!’ he trilled. ‘So how does next weekend suit?’
‘For what?’
‘Karaoke, of course.’
‘The binding is still in place,’ I said. ‘And you don’t know where to get ossombe root from. Ergo, you’ve not fulfilled the terms of our agreement.’
‘Oh yes, I have. I’ve told you what you need to do to gain your freedom.’
I shook my head. ‘Nope.’
‘Ivy…’
‘You really should get back to that thesis. It won’t write itself, you know.’ I ended the call.
Winter drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. ‘What was that about?’
My phone rang again. Iqbal’s name appeared on the screen and I turned it off. ‘I asked someone to look into our binding,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘To see whether there was any way of breaking it before the hundred days were up.’
‘And?’ Winter asked stiffly.
‘Ossombe root.’
His mouth tightened. ‘But you don’t know what ossombe root is or where to get it?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Winter commented. He didn’t look at me.
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘It really is. We could be free of each other if only we could find some.’
‘Hmmm.’ Winter put his foot down on the accelerator, narrowly beating the next red light. Neither of us said another word until we reached the library.
Chapter Fourteen
Winter cracked his fingers as we entered the library’s front doors. I guess he wanted to show that he really did mean business. He strode up to the front desk and barked at the man behind it. ‘This entire area needs to be closed off immediately. Make sure everyone leaves.’ He checked his watch. ‘You’ve got two minutes.’
Just when I thought he’d been softening up. The man stared at him. ‘Adeptus Exemptus Winter,’ he began, his left eyebrow twitching furiously.
‘I’m sure we don’t need everyone to leave,’ I said helpfully. Winter glared at me. Somewhat belatedly, I realised I’d called his authority into question in public. Oops. I hastily backtracked. ‘What I mean is it would be fabulous if you could stay on this desk,’ I said, addressing the man. ‘You seem like an excellent gatekeeper and someone who can keep everyone away from the library for the time being.’
The man’s chest puffed up slightly. ‘I could do that,’ he sniffed. ‘But what I can’t do is kick everyone out. There are a lot of people carrying out important research here. Unless there is a health and safety issue, I can’t simply order them off the premises.’
Thinking about it, I suppose that it was vital to the Order – and by extension, Winter – that no one discovered the Cypher Manuscripts might have been compromised. There was the potential for mass panic if the news got out; even I felt shaken by the possibility and I didn’t care whether the Order lasted one more day or one more millennium.
‘Sorry,’ I muttered to Winter. ‘Don’t forget I’m new to all this.’
If my words appeased him, he didn’t show it. He crossed his arms. ‘Ninety seconds.’
Flustered, the man picked up a phone. His fingers were trembling and he had trouble finding the right numbers. He appeared to be wilting under the pressure of Winter’s impatient glare and he was starting to make me feel uncomfortable.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got a better idea.’ And it would mean a lot less hassle. I held out my right palm and, using my left, sketched the rune for fire. I knew how much fire was feared in the library; this would have them running for the hills before I could toast a marshmallow. I was becoming a dab hand at this rune. By the end of the week, the Scouts would be looking to hire me as their personal mascot – or better still, the fire brigade. I pictured myself on their annual calendar, surrounded by broad-chested firemen. Now there was an idea.