“There’s been another?” Ian’s breakfast churned in his stomach at the news.
The boy’s smile dropped, too, replaced by a scowl. The expression was too old and pained for a child of his age. It was the sort of look shaped from rough years spent living on the pavement day and night, wary of strangers, yet seeing them as a necessary means to an end—a meal, a smoke, a tossed coin. At least that’s how Ian imagined his young life had gone. The boy’s attention shifted to shadows across the street. “My mistake, mister. I ain’t never seen you around here afore.” He folded his arms over his fragile bird-bone chest. “And sure enough you ain’t seen me afore either.”
The change was remarkable. His pity was likely misplaced, but Ian fished in his pocket and set his last few small coins on the window ledge. The impish smile returned as the boy eyed the coins. But instead of scooping them up and running off to the nearest costermonger for a bowl of jellied eel, the boy crossed his arms and sang through his gap-toothed grin. “Three blind mice. See how they run. They all went after the farmer’s wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife. Have you ever seen such a sight in your life as three blind mice?”
The words of the nursery rhyme followed Ian inside the shop, leaving him to wonder if the boy had somehow been affected. The thought quickly dissipated once he caught sight of Edwina standing in the rear of the store, backlit by golden lamplight. How had he ever deemed the blush of her cheek merely interesting? Her brand of beauty had an ethereal, immeasurable quality, arresting the observer in his tracks.
“Ah, arrived at last.” Sir Elvanfoot somberly stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “I knew the elf wouldn’t let me down.”
Behind Sir Elvanfoot, Edwina dipped her head in brief acknowledgment, not looking him in the eye or even bending a lip in a polite smile. The rebuff stung more than he cared to admit. He was accustomed to people being angry with him. It came with the job. But he’d not anticipated, upon seeing her again, how her withdrawal of friendship would unsettle him so.
“Sir,” Ian said, shaking the elderly witch’s hand. To Edwina he returned her nod, daring to hold his gaze on her until she chanced to lift her eyes. “Miss Blackwood.” He then gestured to the street and the ongoing clamor of murder. “More dreadful news this morning.”
“Grisly business,” Elvanfoot said. “But come. We have much to talk about. I want to hear about your investigation.”
“I admit my surprise at seeing you here. I thought we agreed you would remain in the north until I had something to report.”
“Ah, yes.” Elvanfoot exchanged a glance with Edwina. “I understand you’ve suffered a gap in your memory.” He produced the telegram from Ian to explain his appearance in the city. “As you can see, my presence was requested.”
“I summoned you here?” Ian shook his head before removing the telegram receipt in his pocket. “I admit I haven’t any recollection of this. Or why I thought to alert you to the Blackwoods’ shop.”
“You claimed you’d found George,” Elvanfoot said. “But now I’m to understand he is missing once again.”
“Aye, and I’m sorry I dinna have better news.” Ian explained about the boardinghouse and George’s growing agitation while there. “What I canna explain is why I went out that night, leaving George behind. Or why he pushed a man down to escape a place where he was perfectly safe. I’m sorry to say no one has seen him since.”
“And this was the same night you were struck and your memories taken from you?”
“It dragged on until morning but, yes, the very same.”
Both men went quiet. The feeling of helplessness Ian experienced could only be a fraction of what his esteemed friend suffered. To have a loved one missing without a word or hint of why or where while the call of fresh murder rang out on the streets must have been turmoil.
“So,” said Elvanfoot. “The solution to the dilemma seems simple enough. If you were to have your missing memories returned, you could no doubt tell us what compelled you to go out that night. And what transpired with my son and where I might find the lad now. Therefore, I submit we find this bauble, as Miss Blackwood calls them, and have the memories replaced in your head, where they may do some good.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Edwina said. “There is a spell for such a thing, but—”
“My dear, there is a spell for everything.”