Revised Theories.

Yesterday was spent with Sebastian again, as planned. Samuel joined us as before. Again, there was no real reason to be there. It was nice though, to be out in the peaks. As I looked along the valley, there was just the edge of the city visible, the tops of the flats at Stannington cutting into the view like rust. I never really got it, why walking in the country was supposed to be so great, but that’s because I was always walking back to where I’d started from. But sat in Sebastian’s car, while he did all the rambling, I had time to take in the beauty of the half wild hills.

We talked more about Challoner, and sometimes he went quiet as he tried to put the worst out of his mind. Sebastian’s specialism is natural magic, but he’s also interested in Royal magic. The rise in demonology was upsetting for him – he saw it as cheating, since the demon did the work – but since it all disappeared, he’d rather have demonology than nothing.
“Not that your father was a cheat. Your father was the real deal. As I understand it, he designed many of the demons himself.”
“He designed them?” I saw Samuel stirring uncomfortably behind me. He prefers to think of demons as hell-born.
“That’s David’s terminology, I don’t know how accurate it is. He explained it to me once that demons were made up from the raw matter of the soul, and that most magicians pick one off the shelf, like a can of soup, while men like your father blended their own together, for specific needs, like a chef, to keep within the metaphor.”
“Or an alchemist, to be more honest.” Said Samuel.

Last night, Samuel went out to meet a contact of his. When he came back he was agitated. For the last week, his contact has been mingling with the once-magicians who hang around The Red Deer. It proved impossible to get any closer to Reeves than bad breath away, but he did manage to find one disturbing fact. Samuel was hoping to learn what it was that Reeves was after. With Sebastian’s conjecture that the stone Enright found is still potent, it seemed that Reeves was not only the money, but the purpose. His thugs were bullying Enright into place, while everyone was distracted by the smokescreen of his common initiative. It turns out though, that the thugs are not Reeves’ thugs after all – they are in the pay of Arthur Enright.
“Enright’s loaned them to Reeves for the duration of his stay. He took charge of them when he arrived from London, to make him feel more like a man while he’s handing over hundreds of his thousands. It’s probably why he’s hung around so long, getting a thrill out of the mob boss image.”
“You don’t think he’s up to no good anymore then?” I asked.
“Hard to say. From what your friend says, there’s the potential for mischief, but maybe just by Enright. If he’s using the stone to call forth powers, it would take a lot of room. It would explain why no one gets inside his house anymore.”
“What powers would he call forth?” I asked. Samuel didn’t get that I was mocking his theatrics. The idea that Enright is in league with Satan while he simultaneously co-ordinates the biggest effort of anyone to revive real magic, is a little dumb. Why would he bother if he has the power already?
“I don’t know. It would be interesting to find out, but what I really care about is why he set six men on me to leave me for dead.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” I said, offering Samuel my mobile.
“How do you mean?”
“I’ve got Enright’s number. Instead of sneaking around hoping someone drops enough information to put half an idea of nothing together, why not just ask him? It was probably a mistake.”
“Didn’t feel particularly accidental.” He touched a few of the scars around his face.
“I mean he probably didn’t mean for them to do that. He knows where you are, he knows your with me, has he had you beaten up a second time? No. Was he even at the markets when you got beaten up? Was he with them?”
“He wasn’t with them.” Samuel admitted.
“Did you see him at the market at all?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t the most memorable part of the day. So I guess, yeah, I did. I saw him down on the bottom floor, and then around the food markets later on. I remember seeing him in front of the bakers talking on his mobile phone.”
“And was he with those thugs?”
“No.”
“So it’s not as if he set them on you. He probably mentioned you to them, like how much he used to hate you when you were killing demons, and they caught up with you, gave you a pasting, thinking it would please him. It’s a whole ‘who’ll rid me of this turbulent priest’ thing. Ask him.”
“You’ve developed a very blasé attitude to demons. They’re not cuddly toys.”
“That’s not what Angela says.”

Today we met with Sebastian for the final round up of the stone circles. At the Barbrook circle I shared my belief that Challoner had definitely visited there after the party. I pointed out there was a small pile of pistachio shells close by. They weren’t Challoner’s for certain, but it was likely.
“Do they mean anything,” I asked. “Pistachios? Like how the walnuts mean that a spell’s been cast when they go peppery.”
“Oh yes, David’s walnuts. Did you taste those? Horrible aren’t they. An acquired taste, I believe is the polite phrase.” Sebastian smiled, leaning into the car and lucky dipping in his rucksack.
“I tried one at the party. It’s true then, that magic makes them taste like that?”
“Magic can make them taste like that, if they’re set up close enough, for long enough. I don’t know how close David was, but they would probably have tasted of pepper as soon as he came through the door.”
“They’d already been exposed to magic?”
“They’d already been exposed to pepper. David loved the flavour. When last Halloween happened, he went a week without and then he had to come up with his own recipe. He was addicted to them. Were they whole or shelled at the party?”
“Shelled.”
“Then it was a batch he’d cooked up in advance.”
“But everyone thought they’d been effected by Enright’s ressurection.”
“I’m sure they did. That’s because they know nothing about magical theory.”