"Sourcing the materials is your problem, and I really don't have that kind of money. Two thousand."
Jenkins threw up his hands, not bothering to explain that his cat, Chocolate, was hardly a glutton.
Magic Miss didn't imdiately object. She paused for a mont before retorting, "Are you really only going to raise your offer by a thousand pounds? You must understand, my profit margin on this is razor-thin. It should be common sense that restoring an unknown ritual requires enormous amounts of trial and error. A single attempt could waste hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds worth of materials. If you're serious about this, then please, make a serious offer."
A muscle in Jenkins's jaw twitched. At this rate, he thought grimly, he wouldn't need to look for any other investnt opportunities. He could only hope that Miss Miller's knowledge and friendship would be worth this staggering expense.
"Five thousand..."
His voice quivered. He hadn't had any major expenses recently, having spent only a few dozen pounds at the church to restock his supplies. After completing the mission for Constantine Sir, the church had paid him an advance of about 500 pounds as a reward once they had dealt with the... remains in the castle. Tallying up his regular inco and personal savings, the most he could possibly muster was around 8,000 pounds. And deep down, he knew that what Magic Miss was asking wasn't unreasonable at all.
"Still not enough. A little more."
Her tone was firm, but inwardly, she was fighting a smile.
"The mysterious Mr. Candle, making a face like that over re money."
If Jenkins had known what she was thinking, he would have surely told her that even a pseudo-god walking the earth needs gold pounds to survive.
"Eight thousand."
Magic Miss nad her final price. "Eight thousand pounds, and I want it in cash. I'm only giving you this discount because we're acquainted."
"Seven thousand."
"Eight thousand."
"Seven thousand."
"Eight thousand."
Jenkins fell silent, ntally bidding farewell to his days of lavish spending.
"How long will you need?"
"A week. At least a week. I'll give you an address. When the signal appears there, it ans I'm done."
Her voice held a hint of a smile, perhaps from the pleasure of closing a major deal.
With a heavy heart, Jenkins handed her a paper-wrapped bundle containing a 1,000-pound deposit. Magic Miss reached for it, tugged, and when it didn't budge, she snatched it away with a sharp yank.
She clicked her tongue, then expertly began to count the banknotes, the crisp bills shuffling with a soft rustle. As she counted, she murmured to herself, "I can't believe my luck. I really didn't expect to get anything tonight."
The last ti, she had made a wish upon A-01-2-2221, the Unfortunate Wishing Tree, which had soured her luck for a period of ti.
Ordinarily, a deposit would only be ten to thirty percent of the total price. After all, no one could completely trust a stranger whose true identity was unknown.
"Everyone's more or less the sa—cautious to a fault."
As he mulled this over, he considered the transaction a success.
Although only six people attended the gathering organized by Mr. Hood, each held so precious items. Mr. Hood was no longer trying to acquire the holy water he needed, instead seeking a material called 'tail hairs from a Three-Headed Stag.'
As luck would have it, Mr. Black Cat had so on hand. Their trade was conducted openly, and the small tuft of iridescent, faintly glowing hairs went for thirty pounds.
Jenkins guessed the material was required for a ritual to learn so kind of ability. Otherwise, Mr. Hood wouldn't have paid so decisively, but would have hemd and hawed just as Jenkins himself had monts ago.
Based on his own recent experience, Jenkins felt certain he was right.
Sotis, acquiring materials was all a matter of luck. The usually common silver trefoil, for instance, was sothing nobody happened to have on them this ti. anwhile, Magic Miss had only ntioned 'the ashes of an illegally long-lived person' in passing, never expecting to find any, yet Mr. White Cat happened to have a vial.
These were the ashes of soone who had used special ans to live to at least 150 years old, hence the jesting title. Rituals or special items capable of extending one's life were exceedingly rare—otherwise, Constantine Sir wouldn't have taken such a desperate risk. Consequently, this material was exceptionally scarce, which ant Magic Miss's luck was indeed turning around.
"Huh? But doesn't the Wishing Tree bring bad luck?"
Jenkins felt a flicker of confusion. He too was plagued by bad luck, and if he could get a cheap thod for turning his fortune around from soone else, that would be perfect.
Mr. White Cat also had a surprise for the group: he was willing to sell the thod for a special ritual. This ritual could enchant eyeglasses, or similar items, with a week-long effect, granting them the ability to see through up to 3.5 inches of ordinary materials.
"That's thick enough to see right through a person and spot any weapons they're carrying."
Jenkins considered it carefully. While his Eye of Reality could see spiritual auras through clothing, it couldn't detect ordinary knives, pistols, or other weapons. But Mr. White Cat's price was simply too high. In the end, only Hathaway was willing to pay.
The rest of the gathering passed without incident. The six of them agreed on the thod for announcing the next eting and then went their separate ways.
Jenkins deliberately chose to leave in the opposite direction of Hathaway. The mont everyone was out of sight, he broke into a dead sprint. He tore down the mountain, crouched low as he raced across the open fields, then vaulted over a low wall in the slums to enter the city proper. Dodging young lovers in alleyways, suspicious middle-aged n huddled in conspiratorial whispers, and patrolling constables, he managed to make it back to her riverside residence just before she did.
With practiced ease, he scaled the tree and had Chocolate leap onto the windowsill. The cat struggled for a mont, pawing at the latch until the window slid open, and then bounded back into the bedroom.
He first went to the door and gently turned the cold tal handle. It was still locked from the inside.
Jenkins breathed a sigh of relief. He turned, closed the window, drew the curtains, and was about to retrieve his own things from the wardrobe to restore the room to how Hathaway had left it.
But just as he pulled the wardrobe door open, he heard two won's voices from outside the bedroom door:
"Miss Mikhail, the young mistress was very clear. No one is to enter her bedroom before she returns. Oh, I'm not even supposed to be on the second floor!"
The voice was laced with panic and helplessness. Jenkins didn't recognize it; it must belong to one of the house servants.
"You know perfectly well who I am. Go back to your duties. Hathaway has never kept any secrets from ."
The handle turned a few tis, but of course, the door didn't open. Then ca the distinct sound of a key scraping against the lock.
"Damn it! Miss Mikhail has a key to the room!"
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