To her amusement he had easily fallen for her charm, although she could feel the ties of bewitchment, something plucked at them. Something fought her hold over his mind and that was interesting al on its own. She wondered if she could plant something on him, some sort of item enchanted to spy, or maybe a spell? She racked her brain for any ideas and one certainly came to mind. She smiled to herself and nodded, pulling a handkerchief from her décolletage.

“Oh, no I didn’t [i]see[/i] anyone but perhaps someone spiked one of her glasses? Rumor is, she tortures and torments her servants mercilessly. In the past several weeks, she has had three seek serious medical attention, and one died. I would suspect that would make her a target to the working class.” As she finished, she dabbed the handkerchief onto her tongue then, in a very bold and forward move, cleaned a spot of dried blood just below his lip. “You had a little something.” She laughed softly and folded the piece of cloth, clutching it in her hand.

“Well, sir. It has been a very long night and I have important matters to attend to before I seek the comfort of sleep.” Gibli appeared from the shadows, strolling behind Amelia, a cold blank expression on his young face. “If you will excuse me—have a peaceful night, sir.” Gibli helped her into her coat before leading the way to the carriage. 

“What do you think?” he asked quietly as they walked along the moonlit cobblestones. “He plays as a simple boy, but I feel like there is more to him than he is letting on.” She muttered, a sly smile widening her lips.
 “Madam?” He questioned her smile and Amelia laughed, shaking her head. “I sense a storm brewing, Gibli.” She sighed happily and stepped up into her carriage, glancing back as Gibli started closing the hatch. She whipped her hand out, stopping the door from closing, staring directly a the boy with a doll in his hands, flinging it about. “What a pretty little thing that is, may I have it?” the boy looked up at her, his mouth falling agape and without much thought, he reached the doll out, placing it in her palm. “Thank you, darling.” She cooed and Gibli shut the door, walking around the stricken boy and to his seat. He cracked the whips on the terrifying beasts that played horse and they made their way back home.

“Meet me in the attic.” She called to Gibli as she raced up the steps and into her home. Amelia unclipped, unzipped, unbuttoned, and untied until she was completely dressed down. She kept the handkerchief tightly clutched in a fist. Gibli would pick up the trail of clothes on his way to the attic. 

If one were looking for it, one could see a faint line in the ceiling, and if one was educated in the art of hidden doors, one would twist the knob on the nearest door counter clockwise. Amelia did just that and in the dead silence, a soft click could be heard. The hatch popped just a little bit, a string falling out from its tight spot. Amelia eased down the door and ladder and then hastily climbed up.

You would expect it to be cold and smell of dust, but instead, it was a cozy room that smelled of lavender. Ili wasn’t too far behind, and having known his mistress for so long, he had brought a night robe with him. 
“Oh Gibli, I believe I have finally found my way in. I might have eyes in St Dominic.” She laughed in disbelief, gathering bottles and bowls of ingredients. Gibli watched her move about the room with a real sense of purpose and familiarity. Books staked across many tables, most spoke of history and witchcraft. 

Sometime in her rush around the room, Amelia had plucked the robe from his hands and donned it. “I know just the spell, too.” Her hand flung out, fingers all pointing in one general direction. Books shuffled and moved, dust appeared in a cloud over the table. A book lifted into the air then flew towards her, landing in her working space, then flipping to a page that read “Fly on the Wall”.

“I’ll cast a spell on a fly, tying it to this blood. It’ll follow London’s little hero around, gathering information for me.” She explained as she flicked the little specks of dried blood from the handkerchief and into a bowl with other ingredients. She lit a few candles, recited the spell and from a small mason jar, she picked out a dead fly, dropping it into the frothing bowl. 

In a poof, the fly buzzed out of the bowl and hesitated, then flew off to his new assignment.