Magic Lantern. Alex Archer

we not been longtime friends, I don’t think he would have told me.”

       Taking a deep breath, Annja pushed her anger away. “There are a lot of innocents involved in this.”

       “Exactly my thoughts.” Gaetano sighed. “I fear I, too, have been remiss in the assistance I could have given Edmund.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “Edmund was thrilled with his acquisition. I’d promised to help him research the matter and Anton Dutilleaux and I hadn’t. I’m currently endeavoring to correct that oversight by calling in some favors.”

       For a moment, Annja was silent, chasing thoughts of her own. “There is one other possibility.”

       Gaetano cocked an eyebrow.

       “I was at Edmund’s flat. His collection of magic props doesn’t appear to be there.”

       “No. He keeps them in a storage unit.”

       “Do you know which storage unit?”

       Gaetano smiled when he realized what she was actually asking. “Of course I do. That’s where Edmund shows off his collection. There’s no room at his flat.” He pushed himself up from the table. “Let me go change clothes. I have a car around back.”

       While waiting for Gaetano to get dressed, Annja wandered the dining area and stared at the caricatures. Most of the names were unfamiliar to her, but she recognized the famous ones.

       Then, on the third wall she examined, she found a caricature that she recognized immediately, though the name was new to her. It had been drawn thirty-three years ago.

       The man in the picture hadn’t changed in the intervening years. He was gaunt to the point of emaciation, had white hair that hung to his shoulders and a beard that extended to his chest. He held a long staff in one hand and was dressed in a robe and tall, pointed hat. His eyes were deep-set and she knew the color of them even though the caricature had been done in charcoal and sprayed with a fixative.

      Roux.

      9

      The name came unbidden to Annja. She was aware that she smiled and grimaced at the same time. Roux and Garin Braden were the two people who, like her, were somehow connected to the mystical sword she carried.

       Five hundred years ago, Roux had been charged with watching over Joan of Arc, and he had failed. As penance, he and his apprentice, Garin, had been assigned—or cursed—with finding Joan’s broken sword, reforging it and placing it once more in the hands of a champion.

       Most days, Annja was pretty certain a mistake had been made regarding her role as a champion. But she had to admit that the sword had changed her life in a number of ways.

       “What do you see?”

       Startled, Annja looked at the doorway where Gaetano stood. She didn’t know what to say.

       Gaetano walked over to her and pulled on a pair of glasses. He studied the picture. “Ah, yes. The fabulous Raymond the Red.” He smiled happily. “He was quite an amazing performer.”

       “Was he?” Annja looked closely. “He looks kind of crotchety and unpleasant.”

       “If you can see that, then my father truly captured the essence of this man in his sketch.” Gaetano shook his head. “Raymond the Red had a sweet-and-sour disposition. You never knew what you were going to get with him. Children and women loved him, though.”

       “Seriously?” Annja’s own experiences with Roux had left her between camps. She loved him as a mentor, and perhaps even as a father figure—though she couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t known her own father—but he often got on her last nerve. Roux could be vexing and irritating, and incredibly demanding.

       Over the time they’d known each other, she’d come to look forward to and dread every moment they spent together.

       “Oh, yes. I was just a boy when I first met Raymond the Red. Perhaps eight or nine. The adults didn’t care for him so much. He was far too opinionated for their tastes, and he didn’t seem to delight over magic the way they did. But he had the gift.”