James stared at the skeleton in front of him with a frown. Elbert had dragged Anne and him along to visit a friend in the ‘Spiritualist’ community that Elbert claimed owed him a favor. They soon found themselves standing in the parlor of a townhouse not terribly far from where Richard Swain was likely still sweeping up the mess of their visit, in a parlor decorated by an aficionado of Edgar Allan Poe’s work.

In fact a leather bound volume by Poe was on the book shelf, next to well respected books on philosophy as well as less respected volumes concerning spiritual or occult matters. Anne had snorted at several of the titles, muttering something about babbling idiots.

James, for his part, was trying to figure out how someone could go to the effort to carve an entire skeleton out of wood, only to screw up several aspects of gross anatomy. While not a physical doctor, he had taken a biology course or two and was fairly certain there were more than one vertebrae in the neck.

“So have you brought me customers, Elbert?” The voice of a woman, dramatic in pitch, drifted down the stairs of the small house. James turned and looked up, to find an older woman, being helped by her servant girl, down the stairs. She was dressed in long robes, which he was fairly certain were supposed to be reminiscent of Indian fashions but weren’t.

“Oh my god. Is this the best he could do?” Anne muttered next to him, bringing a smile to James’s face. “I mean… really. The crystal ball isn’t even crystal. That’s made of glass.”

“Shh… She might hear you.” James whispered, with a grin.

Anne scoffed. “I’ll be shocked if she can hear you.”

“’Ello there Margret.” Elbert greeted with a smile.

The woman smiled in a grandmotherly fashion. “Now Elbert, you know I no longer go by that simple name. I am…”

“They aren’t customers, Margret.”

“Oh, bugger this then.” The woman, who’s cultured and spooky tone suddenly shifted to low Londoner, jerked her arm free and stamped down the rest of the stairs. “What the bloody hell do you want then?”

“Actually, I’m trying to track an auction down.” Elbert explained. “One of the more spiritual manner, if you get my meaning.”

“And why would I tell you. There’ll already be dozens of collectors there!” She said with a grimace. “I understand a set of rune stones made of allegedly real dragon bone will be on sale!”

“Really? That’s fascinating!”

“Fakes, more likely.” Anne muttered. “Just like her.”

James shushed her and stepped forward. “Ma’am… My name is James St. Cloud…”

“I know who you are.” The woman commented. “You’re the bloke who bought out old man Jameson’s collection on the topic of ghosts and hauntings about six months ago.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Well… yes…” James blinked, surprised that she’d heard of him.

She chuckled. “Don’t be shocked, boy. You managed to do an end run on a lot of interested spiritualists, simply by throwing money at the problem. We were all geared up, with kids in your neighborhood bribed to mention us when they got a chance. We figured you were trying to contact a dead loved one or some such and would be knocking on our doors any day now.”

“What? No. I was doing a research project… of a sort.” James was taken aback. “You bribed the local waifs to mention yourselves? Who’s 'yourselves'?”

“Spiritualists. You’re one of the heirs to the St. James whiskey and tobacco fortune. We were going to run a right game on you. But if you know this blighter, and he admits it’s not business, he’d warn you off afore we could get much out of you.” She gestured at Elbert as she spoke.

“What? Maybe I had a plan to run a game on him!”

James and Margaret both glared at Elbert. The woman shook her head. “Elbert, you couldn’t run a long game on a short lunatic.” She observed archly before turning her attention back to James. “What is it you’re after in the auction?”

“A book that was stolen from me.” James replied. “It belonged to a friend of mine.”

“A bit more than a friend, ain’t she?” Elbert muttered with a smirk.

“Shut it!” Anne yelled, causing the man to wince. She had been standing next to him and had yelled directly into his ear. Limited ability to hear her or not, Elbert had found it painful.

Margaret the Spiritualist frowned for a moment, then her eyes widened. “You had the Campbell spell book, didn’t you?”

“What?” Anne, Elbert, and James both asked at the same time. The woman just laughed and settled into her padded chair.

“You did! Oh my, that’s going to be a bother to get back.” The medium commented. “It’ll go for a dear price. You have my word on that!”

“Why?” James asked, since the two cousins were still looking on in shock. It seemed the book was famous, but neither of them had known.

“The Campbells are one of the few families of witches to survive the inquisition, if you believe those who are in the ‘know’ of such things.” The woman replied. “That book’s got lore dating back to when the Romans were still pagan, again if you believe the stories.”

“That’s not possible.” James observed. “I’ve held it, and its make is far too modern…”

Margaret interrupted with a snort. “I didn’t say it was that old.” She observed. “It’s the lore that is. Each generation or two, in the families of practitioners that remain, they’ll write a new book of lore, trimming the old stuff that they’ve improved and adding the new that wouldn’t fit. Of course, rumor has it that the Campbell’s, back during the purges run by the Church before the Anglicans broke off, used a bit of the so called ‘craft’ to make a book they wouldn’t need to replace. I think I read an account by one of the Westchester family, another group of practitioners that are still about, that it was a fine bit of work and larger than it appeared on first glance.”

James frowned, having thought the same himself. “How dear, as you say, is it likely to go for?”

“At the auction it’s at… you’ll be lucky. Rumor hasn’t hit that it’s there and the sellers aren’t the most… respected. At most it’ll be a thousand pounds.”

“A thousand!” Anne gasped, Elbert looking close to a heart attack. Even James took a step back.

“That’s a fair sum.” He observed mildly.

“Indeed. You’ll probably want to let it go, son. You’ll never get that together in a week.”

“Oh, I have it.” James commented. “Where will it be?”

“Hasn’t been announced yet… but if you come here on Saturday eve, before the strike of seven, you can accompany me.” The woman replied. “Providing, of course, you pass a small sum of silver across my own palm, so to speak. Call it fifty pounds?”

“Acceptable.” James said with a smile. “You have a deal. One question though, if I may.”

“What’s that?”

“Are such functions formal, or can I dress casually.”

The woman chuckled. “I like you. You’re a cheeky bloke.”