The shopkeeper's eyes bulged. "How did—" He sharpened abruptly. "That was a special discount I offered for a regular customer who offers me plenty of repeat business."
"Remington Cross," she mused, "is a friend of mine. He's decided not to purchase it."
"I can't go any lower than four hundred and fifty," he replied mutinously, and she knew she had him.
"I'm afraid I don't have that sort of coin upon me," she replied, reaching inside her reticule, "but what I propose is a trade."
"I don't—" He stopped talking when he saw the amulet she produced. Indeed, he stopped breathing.
"An amulet worn by Nefertiti herself, or so I am told. I always doubted the truth of that, to be honest." She laid the amulet on the counter. "However, Nefertiti or not, the ankh is imbued with wards of a certain degree. You may test it, if you care to."
"Where did you get such a thing?"
She felt a touch of sorrow, her smile slipping for a moment. "It was deeded to me along with the rest of my father's estate. The amulet belonged to Lord Tremayne."
After that, there was little to be haggled over. The shopkeeper knew he'd gotten a good deal, and frankly, Cleo no longer cared about the odd pieces she'd inherited. Her father had sealed his own fate the day he formed a pact with a demon. She'd warned him of her Visions. It was his own damned fault he hadn't listened to her.
Or so she told herself.
"The mirror?" Cleo reminded the fellow, as he gently buffed the amulet as if to question whether it was real or not.
"I'll fetch it for you."
* * *
"Seems an incongruous trade," Jeremy finally said, the mirror wrapped and settled under his arm, as they headed for the exit of the Labyrinth. "An amulet worn by Nefertiti herself, imbued with Lord Tremayne's best magic.... What does this mirror do?"
"It's the most powerful scrying device ever created. There were three of them, crafted by Angelica Cosson over a century ago. One was lost, one was destroyed, and this"—she gestured to the package under his arm—"is the only one left at large in the world. It can see through any ward, any illusion, any plane or dimension, in fact."
"If it does all that, then why was it only four hundred and fifty quid?"
"Because there is a vast cost to looking into the mirror. One has to be a powerful seer with years of learning in the divination arts behind them to even be able to control it. That limits a significant portion of the Order. Secondly...."
"Secondly?"
"Some say if you don't have the training to control it, or the strength of will, then it can steal your soul. The mirror's connected to the Shadow Dimensions and powered by the Black Arts. A good many sorcerers will have nothing to do with it purely on those terms."
"What do you intend to do with it?" he asked, with a frown.
"I thought I might start by sacrificing a few chickens...."
He looked at her sharply.
"Really, Mr. Prior." Cleo rolled her eyes. "What do you think I'm going to do with it? I planned to look in it." Cleo sidestepped an old woman hunched over a barrow filled with dark charms. They were almost back to Main Street, and traffic was growing thicker. "There's a Vision I once had, one concerning a threat to London. I need to be able to see more of the Vision."
And considering her access to Foresight had been destroyed when her father tore her blindfold from her eyes, she needed another way to access the ability.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Lady Rathbourne didn't think it was necessary. Yet. But she hadn't seen the future. Cleo had, and it haunted her dreams every night.
She simply couldn't wait another day.
Jeremy clearly pondered this as they found Main Street. There was only one official way out of the Labyrinth, which meant crossing Mr. Cochrane again. No doubt there were others, squirrelled away in back rooms and hidden tunnels, but the less they dealt with the denizens of the Labyrinth, the better.
"Has Lady Rathbourne approved of this?" Jeremy finally asked. "It's just... you gave the impression she wanted us to carry out this task, and I thought I was finally helping the Order, but I can't see the new Prime suggesting we turn to the Black Arts. If anyone were to find out...."
"Nobody's going to find out."
"That wasn't an answer."