The auction itself was held in the late Tiamore’s dining hall, a large room supported by four polished wooden arches. Each was intricately carved, depicting myths of heroes and monsters alike, each from a different culture. And with round, brass-framed windows peeking out from the walls, the room had the distinct feeling of being on an inner deck of a luxury ship.

  Dining tables had been pushed aside to make way for five rows of chairs split into two aisles. After Eliza found seats near the back, a servant presented her with a bidding paddle. It was number ‘44.’ While she had expected to be ranked last, knowing of only forty-three wizards in the city, including herself, she wondered at this, feeling more than a little slighted that she wasn’t ‘43.’

  As soon as the room filled, a rotund man wearing a green velvet tailcoat and pink necktie strode the aisle to the podium.

  He turned, and announced with a flourish, “Our first lot of the day is…”

  An assistant placed a gigantic iron-trimmed book on the display stand.

  “…Principles of Steel. Covering topics from the tempering and alloying of metals with exotic materials to imbuing them with wards and charms. For large structures, written during the creation of Greatwen’s Council Clock Tower. Its principles have been used in telegraphy and locomotion.”

  After a dramatic pause, he added, “The reserve price is five thousand sovereigns.”

  Eliza sort of drifted off during the first few auctions, everything was out of her price range, and most involved work that required more mundane labor than arcane. The winning bids on these came from large teams of mages, workshops led by multiple wizards.

  Eventually, things settled down, and bidding started on the lesser works. Thelemule snapped-up several books on lockpicking and fire extinguishing, which Eliza worried was prelude to some move against her.

  And then, number forty-three won several items in a row with low-ball bids…

  “Fair warning, I’m selling at fifty-four sovereigns,” the auctioneer spoke in that voice the fancy ones use, both urgent and wry. “I’m about to sell at fifty-four gold sovereigns.”

  He beat the gavel. “Sold to number forty-three for fifty-four gold sovereigns.”

  It happened again and again, number forty-three took more and more items with lowball bids. Then Eliza had a bit of a shock when the auctioneer announced, “And sold to the lady again at number forty-three.”

  As far as she knew, she was the only woman currently recognized as a ‘wizard’ in the city, even if no one would call her that.

  This mystery woman wasn’t visible from where Eliza was sitting, so she took advantage in a pause between items to stand up. A man coughed behind her, so she had to sit right back down, but not before she’d taken a good look at number forty-three. This was no witch or sister wizardess, the woman sitting there was in red and gold, the Church’s colors, the inquisitor, Josephine.

  Whenever there was any serious bidding, the inquisitor dropped out, but if there wasn’t, she always won with a low-ball bid.

  What was she up to?

  The next bidding started. “Lot twenty,‘Pyrokinetics: Applications in Fireworks.’ Lot twenty at fifty-gold sovereigns to start.”

  Eliza perked up. This was the book that was going to keep her project from failing and her in the wizard’s guild. Her hand shot up, raising paddle ‘44.’

  The auctioneer nodded to her. “At fifty. Fifty…” Then to someone else. “Fifty-five sovereigns. At Fifty-five.”

  To the ‘Someone’ who had bid against her, Eliza’s first thought was to incinerate them.

  “At Sixty. Sixty,” the auctioneer announced as Eliza raised her paddle again, and ‘43’ shot up in answer.

  “At sixty-five.”

  Maybe she could just incinerate that paddle, real quick like, and no one would even notice. Eliza bit her lip and bid again.

  “At seventy. Seventy gold sovereigns. At seventy, seventy, seventy …” the auctioneer repeated Eliza’s bid. Apparently, the inquisitor had bowed out, saving her from a fiery end.

  “Going once, going twice… At seventy-five.” The auctioneer pointed to Thelemule as he bid.

  Eliza raised her paddle.

  “At eighty. Eighty.”

  What was Thelemule’s problem anyway?

  “At eighty-five.”

  Thelemule had reraised.

  And then they blew by one hundred, and then two hundred, and right through the three hundreds.

  Thelemule signaled the auctioneer.

  “We have a final bid?” The auctioneer nodded back. “A final bid of four-hundred and ninety-seven gold sovereigns.”

  The auctioneer looked at Eliza, and she raised her paddle.

  “Sold for four-hundred ninety-eight, sold to forty-four for four-hundred ninety-eight gold sovereigns.”

  She’d just won, but why had he dropped out?

  Thelemule shot her a confused glance. Had he expected to win?

  During the break to set up the next items, Eliza made her way to the collection area.

  Following along, looking stunned, was the boy. He was probably upset she wouldn’t have enough money for that book he’d been so excited about. That it hadn’t worked out, she did feel bad about it, but that was Thelemule’s fault, wasn’t it?

  She stooped down to meet him at eye level. “Sorry boy, bidders only. Wait for me downstairs.”

  Thelemule, Inquisitor Josephine, and a handful of other mages were all waiting in the collection room. And then Thelemule came right over for a chat, like she would have anything to say to him… like he wasn’t trying to needle her to death… like there was anything she could do about it.

  She ground her teeth as he cupped his hand to his mouth, conspiratorially, and whispered, “What do you think the Church is up to?”

  “I don’t know. I was distracted by you gouging me on that book.”

  “Yes, well, do you think the Church is training their own mages?”

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  “No, not Josephine.” She grimaced.

  Thelemule shook his head. “And that gives me a growing sense of unease.”

  “But not what you did to me?” she shot back.

  “Tsk-tsk Eliza, you of all people really ought to know how to play the game. But what game is the Church playing, I wonder?” He nodded to the collection table, to where Josephine was paying for a stack of books. And as Thelemule sauntered over, Eliza followed behind.

  “Josephine,” he greeted the inquisitor.

  “Thelemule, Scaggs.” Josephine looked up from a folder of receipts.

  “We were just wondering if it was a secret, what the Church wanted with spell books?” he asked.

  Josephine paused, giving Eliza an icy stare, then addressed Thelemule. “We have every right to be here, the same as you. We are on equal standing after all.”

  Thelemule continued, “I don’t doubt that, but you have piqued our curiosity. What are you going to do with ten books?”

  “Ten thousand,” she corrected.

  “Ten thousand?” Thelemule’s voice cracked.

  “We made a deal with the widow to buy the rest in bulk. She always hated her husband’s magic, and his library, and wants to be rid of both as soon as possible.”

  “Are you training mages?” he asked. “They’d have to be licensed.”

  “And we could license them, if that’s what we wanted. Calm down, we’re simply following our mandate. Study and prepare. It’s not like we bought any books anyone wanted, is it?”

  “Well, no,” Thelemule admitted.

  “Then leave the Church’s business to the Church.”

  Several men in red and gold robes, Church robes, were let past the guards and started collecting Josephine’s new acquisitions.

  Watching suspiciously, Thelemule stepped back, offering the collection table to Eliza.

  ? ? ?

  “Wait, that’s not right,” she said after counting out four-hundred and ninety-seven gold sovereigns. One short.

  The clerk cringed. “Have you… overbid madam?”

  “No, I swear I had five hundred, the bank must have—”

  “In these cases,” the clerk gulped, “the item goes to the next highest bidder. And I’m afraid we’ll have to refer this matter to the guild.”

  Eliza shifted her gaze to Thelemule.

  “What? I don’t want it.” He held out his hands. “I mean, I guess I could use it. Or I could loan you a sovereign. If you agree?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Agree to what?”

  “Nothing much, let me think. How about… for one gold sovereign, you give me as payment… one tour of your library?”

  “Die,” she huffed.

  “It’s just an offer. Access to your library for one day, for one gold sovereign. I won’t destroy anything, or write anything down, or move even a single book out of place. And you can watch me the entire time.”

  Eliza let out a raspy breath. “You planned this. What are you getting at?”

  “It might not even be so bad. Maybe I’ll give you some pointers.”

  “Pointers?” she asked.

  “On how to play the game.”

  She cringed at that but left the room with one book in hand and one tour owed, and then found Oliver, nervously watching the men from the Church box up books in the library.

  “Well, that’s just lovely. Let’s go,” she said, but he didn’t move.

  Instead, he got that scrunch face, and she found herself uncomfortably reminded of the first time she’d seen it, just before she saw the bruise on his arm. “Are we going to get the book?” he asked.

  Frustrated, and tired, and feeling a bit ill, she said, “Sorry, the Church bought everything. There’ll be other auctions.” Then she added, trying to sound comforting, “It was almost certainly a fake anyway.” All the while, the burn marks on her legs were itching like crazy.

  ? ? ?

  Stupid Thelemule, what an absolute piece of… Eliza silently brooded on the way home. Oliver was solemn and, maybe, a bit shaken. Whenever she’d look at him, he’d glance away.

  “What is it?” she groaned.

  “Nothing. I’m glad you got your book,” he said, sounding bitter.

  She wasn’t in the mood. “Look, I had a bad day myself. I can’t fix everything.”

  His gaze fell. “I know. You already told me, you can’t fix people.”

  A chill ran down her spine. She remembered the conversation about Reuben, the one, she worried, had really been about Oliver. “That’s just not the way magic works.”

  She should have put on her adult face and asked him what the problem was, but with the auction and Thelemule and everything, she felt so overwhelmed, afraid she’d do more harm than good. Best to wait and calm down first.

  By the time they got home, she wanted to scream. What she needed was a distraction.

  “I’ve got to get to work on this,” she said, holding up ‘Pyrokinetics’ and sounding more cross than she would have liked. She took a step toward her workshop and stopped. “But hold on a second, will you?”

  Her ‘fancy’ new dress was jabbing at her sides, the pain a reminder of what had just happened. So she stepped into the workshop, closed the door, and a few seconds later, had changed into a housecoat.

  She opened the door and stuck her hand out, holding up the dress. “Take this upstairs, will you? Just toss it on my bed. This whole day has been more than a bit… ‘pugnacious.’” She tried to say that last part as a joke, but was sure it hadn’t landed.

  With an unsettled nod, Oliver silently took it from her.

  She went back to the workshop to read, but Oliver’s words kept nagging, ‘You already told me, you can’t fix people.’

  A few minutes later, she found his key placed neatly on the kitchen counter. Was he gone already? Had he really taken it that badly?

  She climbed the steps to the second floor. Her bedroom door was open, and as she approached, she saw him from the side. He was holding the dress up to himself in the mirror, his eyes sad, his body deflated.

  And then everything made sense. Him asking about ‘girl’s clothes’ when she’d called him Ogle, his uncanny help with her dress, the way he wanted that book, the way he’d asked her to ‘fix’ him. She had been so stupid, so blind.

  Poor kid, he was so close today. If only he had told her… If only she had listened.

  Oliver hadn’t seen her approach, and she was wondering what she could possibly say to make things a little less terrible, when he saw her and flinched. As he spun around, three gold coins dropped from his pocket, rattling against the hardwood floor.

  And then everything made sense in a much different way.

  “Get out.” She stomped, and the boy dropped the dress.

  “Get out.” She stomped, smoke curling from her nostrils.

  “Get out!” She stomped, and stalked him down the stairs.

  “Get out!” She slammed the door and watched the boy skulk away into the evening mist.

  Eliza stumbled into the kitchen and fell against the cabinets, wanting to sob, but she would not, could not, give Thelemule the satisfaction.

  ? ? ?

  It was a cold, bitter walk, the drizzle turning to rain along the way, soaking her housecoat, chilling her bones.

  Thelemule’s townhouse, one much larger than Eliza’s and kept in much better repair, sat on the border between the Nobles Quarter and the Merchants District.

  She didn’t bother knocking. Shards of glass rained down, glittering in the light of the fireball she exploded outside his third story window. A few seconds later, the old wizard flung his door open.

  “Eliza?!” Thelemule scoffed. “What the Hells are you doing?”

  “Just bringing you your damn money.” She threw the three coins at his feet.

  Confusion washed over his face. “I don’t understand. I only lent you one.”

  “You sent a spy, a thief, into my house. Don’t you dare feign ignorance.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The boy, you sent the boy. How else would you know exactly how much I could bid? How else could you ‘arrange’ for me to come up short?”

  He pulled away, his expression blank. “I’m sorry but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Did you beat him too?!”

  “Who?”

  “The damn boy!” She trembled.

  “Look,” Thelemule said, rifling through his pockets. “It’s all here.” He handed her a sheet of paper, a list of names with numbers beside them. “You slip security a few coins, they tell you exactly how much money everyone has. It makes bidding more ‘interesting.’ Everyone does it, except you, apparently.”

  She checked the paper and found her listing, ‘Scaggs – 497,’ along with twenty others.

  “Eliza,” he said, “I can see you’re upset, but I didn’t have anything to do with that boy. I still intend to make good on our deal, so I’ll cover the cost of repairs here, but you should go.”

  Another man, younger with dark hair and copper skin, emerged from the doorway. He was bleeding from a cut on his shoulder. Thelemule took his hand.

  “Now please, go before you make things worse.” The old wizard said as he stepped back inside, his arm going around the bleeding man.

  And as Eliza ran into the night, the constables called out, “Order! Order!”

  ? ? ?

  Light flickering from a flame on her finger, Eliza pushed the door to the garden shed open for the very first time. It felt wrong. Yes, she’d been betrayed, but she’d told the boy, promised him, she would never go in there.

  She found his cot neatly made with the blanket she’d given him, a small collection of cleaning supplies, mops, buckets, and rags, lined up against the back wall, and three small candles on the floor beside his bed.

  She lit one, letting her own flame extinguish, and found a small bag under the boy’s cot. Pulling out a book, she read: ‘Aardvark – A large burrowing mammal native to Akebu reported to have a long snout and extensible tongue suitable for feeding on termites and ants (possibly mythical).’

  Eliza leaned up against Oliver’s cot, the scars on her legs burning like fire, and she began to sob.

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