Page 56 of The Society of Unknowable Objects
Owen scowled as he finally pushed himself to his feet, his head spinning. The colours were fading from the world now. It had been hours since he had taken a sip from his flask and his senses were closing down. He stood in the rain, watching as his beautiful butterfly wings slowly faded from sight, leaving only the wet dark world. Once the colours were gone, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper the man had been carrying with him. It was still a map, but it had changed. Now it showed Owen’s surroundings at a bigger scale. He saw a scribbled star moving slowly across the paper. This map was a magical item itself, and it had led the colourless man, the thief, to him in the first place. Owen nodded slowly as he understood immediately that the star was his flask, and the colourless man was carrying it away from River House.
“I can find you again,” Owen called out, his teeth chattering.
Hewouldfind the thief and hewouldfind his flask.
But just as he knew those things to be facts, so too did he know the stranger was carrying magical items that protected him somehow. Bullets seemed to bounce off him, and he could control the tree roots. Owen needed a weapon that could hurt the stranger.
He needed another magical item if he was to face the colourless man again.
A powerful one.
Part Three
This Is Magic
Someone Who Fears the Worst (2025)
On the morning after the attack at Bell Street Books, Magda awoke to find she had slept well for eight hours, despite her crippling anxiety about Frank and the many questions that had been rattling around in her mind the previous evening. She was sore, particularly her shoulders, where she had hit the ceiling when trying to fly up the stairs from the Society meeting room, and her neck felt tender to the touch where the man—Owen Maddox—had tried to strangle her. But otherwise she felt rested for the first time since landing in Hong Kong, freed from the weight of exhaustion and jet lag.
They were at her house on Norfolk Road, having relocated there from Frank’s apartment after reading the letter, because she hadn’t been comfortable with them all camping out in Frank’s place while he was in hospital. Henry had tried to leave—“I have my own place in London, you know, I don’t need to borrow one of your rooms”—and then James had started talking about a hotel and not inconveniencing her. Magda had finally persuaded them both to stay, telling them she needed thecompany. In truth she had been worried that Henry might just disappear again.
Magda savoured the comfort of her own bed for a few luxurious minutes, cold morning sunlight brightening the room around her. After a while she heard the murmur of conversation through the floor and the smell of hot food—toast and coffee—reached her, enticing her out from beneath the duvet.
As she thumped stiffly down the stairs she heard laughter, two people enjoying easy conversation, and the sound of plates and cups being moved around. The kitchen was filled with the morning light, filtering in through the windows from the garden outside. Henry was sitting at the counter, just as she had a few nights previously, a cup in her hand and her elbows on the countertop. James was at the hob and the smell of butter and eggs filled the room. He had changed clothes and was wearing a tight-fitting black V-neck T-shirt. Magda stood in the doorway for a moment before she was noticed, staring at that T-shirt and the torso it covered.
Time for another perfect-man joke. Not only does he cook,hecooks dressed like that...
“Magda!” Henry exclaimed, noticing her first, and then James looked up from the frying pan and beamed at her like he was delighted that she had joined them. Magda ran a hand through her hair, struck by the thought that she probably looked a mess. “We were hungry,” Henry explained. “So I told James to go ahead and make breakfast. I said you wouldn’t mind.”
“Scrambled eggs,” James said. “And there’s toast on the counter there. Sorry for rummaging around in your cupboards.”
Magda blinked away the temptation to tell James that he could rummage around in her cupboards anytime and moved to the counter.
“There’s tea here as well,” Henry added, passing the teapot to her. “To wake you up.”
Magda poured some tea and stirred in some milk, listening as Henry and James went back to their conversation. They were talking about hotels they had both visited in different parts of the world, comparing notes on likes and dislikes and the ambience in hotel bars and the views fromthe best suites. Magda took a piece of toast from the plate and started to scrape butter onto it, realising she was jealous of how well Henry and James were getting on, jealous of Henry’s easy-going charm.
He was your friend first!
She silenced the jealous voice in her mind and smiled at James as he brought over a bowl of hot, scrambled eggs.
“Little butter, little Tabasco, and a little bit of cheddar,” he explained. “Best eggs you’ll ever have.”
Magda took a spoonful of the eggs to spread on her toast. She took a bite, aware of James watching her as if waiting on her judgement.
Oh my god.
They were probably the best scrambled eggs she’d ever tasted.
“Lovely,” she said, not wanting to give James the reward he was hoping for.
Why? Because you’re annoyed at him for making friends with Henrietta?
“So what’s the plan, then?” Henry asked, fixing Magda with a probing gaze. “What has your big brain been working on?”
Magda munched her toast and then wiped away some crumbs as James and Henry watched her, James leaning against the counter with his arms folded and biceps bulging. It was very distracting.
“Where’s the book?” she asked. “Frank’s book?”
