12
‘I’ve certainly learned that lately,’ I muttered, thinking back over all the bizarre things I’d witnessed in the past year. Jay’s Waymastery whizzery, and that thing he did with the voids. Perambulating buildings and a small army of chatty, haunted houses. Alternate Britains drenched in magick. Paintings of long-dead (sort of) people, who talked like they were still alive (which they sort of were). Griffins and Farringale. Turning into a unicorn.
That lyre.
‘Can you give us some kind of lead?’ I pleaded. ‘We just need a direction to go in.’
‘It may be that you will not be able to restore this grimoire into the Elvyngs’ possession,’ said Milady.
‘Uh. Then… then what do we do? We need that argent.’
‘I can send a negotiator to Ms. Elvyng. Perhaps she can be persuaded to sell the arge
