“You were expecting us?” Clare’s jaw dropped.
Waldo nodded. “I have been following the missing humans case. Returning to my ancient texts to find out what magick and mischief is afoot. But please, come in, we will talk in my consulting room.”
When they were settled in comfy chairs in Waldo’s book-lined consulting room, Oliver gave the warlock a full run down, clear and succinct, just like his debriefs at work. But when he got to the grimaald attack, and after, his partaking of Clare’s blood, then his flight to the other dimension, he faltered a few times, clearing his throat and staring at his hands.
Waldo, conversely, became intensely focused, his eyes bright.
Finally, Oliver said, “I believe it was Clare’s blood that made me invisible. We need to find out if that is what happened.”
Waldo stroked his beard. “So Clare, it seems that you may have Golden Blood.”
Clare frowned. “I believe it’s called AOx positive.”
“In the human world, yes. But in my ancient texts it’s referred to as Golden Blood.”
“Are you saying they are the same?”
“Indeed.”
“AOX positive was only discovered a few years ago in humans,” Clare explained. “Apparently it has healing properties.”
“It has much wider magickal powers than that,” Waldo said.
“What do you know about it?” Oliver asked.
“In the early days of Motham, there were many rumors about the existence of Golden Blood. It was written that a few humans had this blood running through their veins, borne of pairingswith witches and warlocks. But like many stories, it faded out of the vernacular and only remained known to seers. My father spoke of it to me. He predicted that this blood would show up again in the future. Finding it in Tween high breed humans would tie in with what my father told me, and what I have read.”
Clare’s mind was reeling. “If I have it, does that mean I’m a witch?”
“You would have witch heritage, yes. But let’s check first.”
Waldo brought out an ancient silver casket, opened it and picked out a delicate silver needle.
“Hold out your finger Clare.”
Clare watched fascinated as Waldo pricked her finger and took a sample of her blood, then mixed it with a small vial of white powder. It fizzed and sparked.
“Promising,” Waldo murmured.
“Is that all?” Clare asked.
“Be patient, my dear. If you do have Golden Blood, we will know very soon.” Waldo took the paste and put it onto a small spoon.
“Now what?” Clare craned her neck.
“I feed it to the pupae.” He placed a spoonful of the paste into a small glass aquarium full of leaves. Soon, a caterpillar moved toward it and fed greedily off the spoon. A second later, it began to shimmer, then completely disappeared.
Clare’s eyes saucered; she heard Oliver inhale sharply.
“Now we wait,” said Waldo. “It should take less than thirty seconds.”
Moments later there was an arc of sparkling light, and a moth appeared just above their heads, its dark wings covered in gold and silver markings. The moth circled and then flew to a plant on top of the bookshelf, where it rested, opening and closing its wings.
“I have never seen this happen, though I have heard tell of it.” Waldo went to the bookshelf, his long fingers moving along the spines. He took out a volume, puffed off the dust, placed it on his desk and flicked through the pages. “Ah, here we are—Golden Blood. When fed to lepidoptera, there will be immediate disappearance of the pupae, then transformation into a Morning Butterfly or a Dusk Moth. Dusk moths indicate the most powerful manifestation of this blood type, belonging to one lineage of necromancers.”
Oliver stared at her. She stared at him.
“There may be more to Doyles funeral services than meets the eye,” he said softly.
