Magic and Mayhem: The Complete Files of Miss Anastasia Galipp

By Jamaila Brinkley

Meet Miss Anastasia Galipp. Debutante, know-it-all... and the Home Office's secret weapon when they need someone to investigate magical mysteries. With her wizard partner Simon, Anastasia will take on the ballrooms of Mayfair and all of the secrets they hold. From missing jewels to kidnapping, cults, and more, Anastasia and Simon will make their way through mysteries, mothers, weddings, and an unexpected duchess in this compilation of all four Galipp Files novellas.

The Star of Anatolia: Meet Miss Anastasia Galipp. Debutante, know-it-all, and the Home Office's secret weapon. She gathers gossip in the ballrooms of Mayfair, winnowing through to discover Society's most unsavory secrets. But her position is a precarious one, and she needs to prove herself to be the spy she thinks she is once and for all. When she's assigned a case that hits close to home, she thinks she sees her chance. But add in a wedding to stop, a new partner, some dangerous magic, and an unexpected duchess, and Anastasia's life is suddenly more complicated than she ever imagined.

The Mathematical Gambit: Simon Armistead has a lot on his plate. He's been newly promoted, and he's got senior wizards and senior spies breathing down his neck, expecting him to prove himself. But most worrying of all are his feelings about another neck entirely – that of his partner at the Home Office, Miss Anastasia Galipp. Who seems to be ignoring him.
Anastasia is almost too busy with her work integrating female agents into the Home Office's ranks to notice the way her heart stutters when her partner is around. Almost. But when they're put together on a new case, she'll have to face the truth.
Before Simon and Anastasia can reconcile their feelings about one another – not to mention that one unforgettable kiss – they're sent on a mission that threatens not only their loved ones but society itself. Can they solve the mystery plaguing Mayfair? And will they solve the mystery of each other in the bargain?

The Portrait Problem: All Anastasia Galipp and Simon Armistead want to do is plan a simple wedding, and get back to work for the Home Office. But when the Duchess of Edgebourne is involved, nothing is ever simple. And when Anastasia's mother shows up in London, everyone's plans go awry. Add in a double wedding, motherly conspiracy, and a magical mystery that nobody expected to find in their midst, and Anastasia, Simon, and their families will be put to their greatest test yet.

The Demigod Dilemma: When young ladies go missing from Mayfair, the Home Office knows just who to call. Anastasia Galipp might be newly married, but she's still got a nose for gossip and her finger on the pulse of magical London. As she and her friends navigate this new case, they'll meet a mysterious woman who isn't at all who she says she is. Junior wizards, ancient rituals, and of course a little light matchmaking will all make for the most dangerous Season yet. It's a good thing Anastasia's always up for a challenge. 

Books 1-3 were previously available individually; Book 4 was originally published exclusively in the Caught in Crystal anthology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jamaila Brinkley
• Release date: Mar 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9780998225296

Book preview

Magic and Mayhem

Magic and Mayhem

The Complete Files of Miss Anastasia Galipp

Jamaila Brinkley

Copyright © 2020 by Jamaila Brinkley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover art: Rebecca Caudill

ISBN: 978-0-9982252-9-6

Contents

The Star of Anatolia

The Mathematical Gambit

The Portrait Problem

The Demigod Dilemma

Mailing List

About the Author

Also by Jamaila Brinkley

The Star of Anatolia

From the Files of Miss Anastasia Galipp

The Star of Anatolia

Meet Miss Anastasia Galipp. Debutante, know-it-all, and the Home Office’s secret weapon. She gathers gossip in the ballrooms of Mayfair, winnowing through to discover Society’s most unsavory secrets. But her position is a precarious one, and she needs to prove herself to be the spy she thinks she is once and for all. When she’s assigned a case that hits close to home, she thinks she sees her chance. But add in a wedding to stop, a new partner, some dangerous magic, and an unexpected duchess, and Anastasia’s life is suddenly more complicated than she ever imagined.

Book 1 of The Galipp Files!

Copyright © 2016 by Jamaila Brinkley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover art: Rebecca Caudill

ISBN: 978-0-9982252-0-3

For everyone who wants to know all the things, all the time.

Chapter 1

London, April 1830

It was Miss Anastasia Galipp's experience that men were far more likely to reveal things they shouldn't in front of a plain woman than a pretty one. Thinking they had nothing to prove, they indulged themselves in that dangerous treat, honesty. She had yet to reveal this simple truth to her superiors at the Home Office, of course. She preferred that they continue to think she was possessed of some preternatural ability to ferret out secrets, a skill for which they paid her handsomely.

In truth, Anastasia was possessed of no magic at all. She came from an utterly mundane family, with a mother, father, and brother who loved her very much but were often perplexed by her interest in complex political affairs. None of the Galipps - not the Squire, his wife, or any of their children or relations - had ever shown any aptitude for magic whatsoever. And it was only Anastasia who had any understanding or interest in how her peers with esoteric abilities managed them. Likewise, only Anastasia had any interest in Town life; her family preferred to remain in the country with their horses. Thus, she spent most of her time shuttling between a variety of friends' houses for the Season each year - her plain face and modest dowry had garnered her only one half-hearted proposal, from a country neighbor, but many friends amongst the flowers of society. She was no threat to them in their pursuit of this lordship or that one, and she often had a witty quip at the ready to make them laugh in the most trying of times, such as dress fittings or awkward betrothal balls.

It was this wide and eclectic circle of friends that had brought her to the notice of somebody at the Home Office. The magical division, led by Lord Bradley, had recruited her to provide insight into the political and supernatural deals negotiated at society events, since she was invited everywhere. To her superiors' dismay, she'd proven adept at unearthing far more unsavory events than simple power brokering. They'd placed her under the supervision of Sir Hugh Bartholomew, a former ship's captain who knew her father and brooked no nonsense within sight of his gigantic, quivering mustaches. He treated her with a mix of paternal pride and exasperation, but was quick to utilize her skills. She felt they had a relationship of mutual respect, although from her side it would be easier if he would shave.

Today, Sir Hugh’s tremendous mustaches were quivering in indignation as he recited facts about their latest case. To think of honest English coin being used to fund such an underhanded enterprise, he said. It quite makes me ill.

His cheeks were ruddier than usual, Anastasia noted. Of course, she said as soothingly as she could manage. Which wasn't particularly soothing, of course. Vocally speaking, her talents lay more toward the interrogatory side of the spectrum than the lyrical. Have you got the file?

He handed her the usual bland-looking packet of papers. There's not a lot to go on, he said. To be truthful, it's only luck and good guesswork that's gotten us this far.

So you're relying on gossip to get you the rest of the way?

Your specialty, my dear, he said, his customary twinkle returning.

You know it is, she laughed, then sobered. Just how underhanded is this cult? Are we talking about sacrificial virgins, here?

You know I oughtn't discuss such things with you, young lady.

She rolled her eyes. Then good luck finding out what you need to know in the drawing rooms of Mayfair yourself.

Why I let Lord Bradley talk me into keeping you is beyond me.

It's because you have an unrequited love for my mother, Anastasia said. I've long suspected so.

Sir Hugh chortled, the sound making its way from his shaking belly to his mustache in a long, jolly roll. Ha! If only. Your father is a patient man, you know.

I know more than anyone, Anastasia said ruefully.

I suppose you do.

Tell me about the cult.

I don't know much. Strange lot, seem to be steeped in myth but showing up in far too many reports to be nothing but legend. Possibly based in the Greek Isles, possibly further east. Worship of a goddess-

Sounds nice.

Sir Hugh snorted but otherwise ignored her interruption. Worship of a goddess who has something to do with... er... motherhood.

A fertility goddess, you mean. Unmarried young ladies were supposed to play along with polite euphemisms, but Anastasia had never had the patience for it.

He sighed. Yes. Her name was apparently Cybelle. The cult hasn't been active in a long time - not like some of those cults they keep finding in India, you know, that have been around for millennia. He sniffed a very superior British sniff at the notion.

I think they call those religions, Sir Hugh, Anastasia said.

Nonsense. A cult's a cult, my girl. In any case, this one just sprung up out of nowhere, and we keep hearing mentions of rites but never catching them in the act. They've got brains and money behind them, and I want to know who it is.

Do the brains and the money both come from the same person?

That's a good question. Your guess is as good as mine.

Have they actually done anything wrong?

"I don't know, Anastasia. Sir Hugh was reaching the end of his patience. That's what I want you to find out. If I knew, there would be charges filed already and you wouldn't be here."

All right, sir. Leave it to me. With the audacity of long family friendship and the knowledge that she was significantly faster than he was, she reached out and patted his jowly cheek fondly, then danced away from his swatting hand. Never fear, Sir Hugh. England is safe with yours truly.

Just go and follow the gossip, Anastasia.

She tossed him a saucy salute and left. There were only a few hours left until Lady Farram's ball, and plenty of secrets to learn.

---

Later that day, she hadn't made much headway on discovering who was behind the cult, but she had discovered what it was that had the Home Office in such an uproar about them. It seemed the fertility goddess' cult was the prime suspect behind the disappearance of a valuable gem. The Star of Anatolia was a star ruby set into an elaborate necklace, and it had vanished from a museum in Sicily a month ago - just about the time when the reports of mysterious rites had begun trickling in. A hasty sketch had been included in the file Sir Hugh had given her. The necklace appeared quite ornate. The gem set in the center of the piece had some kind of magical history; the file wasn't particularly clear about it, and included several underlined notations that more research was urgently required.

She'd read through the packet of papers thoroughly while consuming her afternoon tea, closeted in a guest room at the home of her friend, Eliza Walford. Or rather, Eliza's parents, who had graciously allowed her to stay with them for the season at Eliza's request. Mr. Walford was a genial man who had a distant relationship to the Earl of Bentham; his wife was the daughter of a viscount and determined that her only child would have a title in front of her name by the end of the season. Eliza had written Anastasia in desperation. Please come, she'd said. If I hear another list of lordships I'll go mad. You want to be in Town for the Season, and I need company who won't list the marital virtues of every gentleman we see into my ear. It had worked out rather well for both of them.

Not so well for Eliza's own wishes about her marriage, though. Her heart was set on marrying a man she'd met last year, Mr. John Morgan. But without a title, or hope of one, his case appeared to be closed. It seemed that a winner for the contest for Eliza's hand - and her generous dowry - was soon to be determined, whether she wanted it or not.

It's Lord Easmont, Eliza said as she burst into Anastasia's room.

Anastasia set down the last of Sir Hugh’s papers and turned to greet her friend, whose normally composed demeanor was decidedly... not. Eliza's glowing golden hair was escaping from its knot at her shoulders, and her cheeks showed signs of hastily-scrubbed tears. Her dress, of course, was perfection. The Incomparable Miss Walford was incapable of appearing in anything less than the utmost sartorial elegance, even in times of great hardship. Anastasia had learned a great deal in the last several weeks as she'd accompanied her friend to the shops on Bond Street.

What's Lord Easmont? she asked.

Eliza sat in the chair next to the dressing table with a thump, a far cry from her usual grace. My future husband, apparently.

Anastasia frowned. Isn't he rather... old?

Old, widowed, and a groper, Eliza said grimly. But his title is ancient. And he's got his own money. Anastasia had to give her friend's parents at least some credit; while they were nearly single-minded in the pursuit of a title for their beloved daughter, whether she wanted one or not, they had done her the unusual courtesy of eliminating those gentlemen who sought her solely for her dowry. They strongly preferred their lordship with a side of income. Other gentlemanly qualities, however...

I don't know much about him, Anastasia said. You've looked him up?

In Debrett's, Eliza confirmed. His family has several pages, but he's the last of his line.

Wants an heir.

From me.

So it seems. Any way out of it?

I'm trying to think of one. Nothing's settled yet, but I don't think my parents will accept 'I don't want to' as a legitimate reason not to marry the man they've chosen for me.

Are you going to ask them about-

They don't want to hear a word about John. Eliza's lovely blue eyes welled with tears, and Anastasia hastily handed her a handkerchief. Thank you.

Not for the first time, Anastasia blessed her absent parents for their general lack of involvement in her life. Her brother would marry and carry on the family name, and while her mother would strongly prefer that Anastasia marry - and sent frequent letters to that effect - she didn't have particularly strong opinions about who ought to be the man for the job. Presumably, any man who showed enough interest. Which was none of them, so Anastasia continued to go about her merry way unencumbered by marital requirements, unlike poor Eliza.

We'll find a way, she said. There must be something. The cult would have to wait. Tonight, her sights were set on Lord Easmont.

Chapter 2

Two exhausting balls and a tepid musicale later, Anastasia was both confused and concerned. Eliza's engagement hadn't yet become official, thank goodness, but things were progressing in a fashion that appeared satisfactory to the elder Walfords and thus quite the opposite for their daughter. Lord Easmont hovered proprietarily at Eliza's arm at each event, staring fondly at her impressive bosom rather than her unhappy face. Anastasia, in turn, had made certain inquiries. The results were startling.

For a man who was supposed to have a great deal of money, Lord Easmont lived very frugally in his family's town house, with most of the rooms staying shut up. And he had been hosting some very unusual guests - ones who stayed hooded at almost all times. Anastasia had been jolted with surprise at that particular revelation, and her mind was busy. Perhaps the cult wouldn't be waiting after all.

The whispers passed from valet to cook to footman to maid to maid's sister to tradesman to young gentleman to young lady and thus, eventually, always, to Anastasia. She gathered rumors lovingly to her chest and sifted through them for truth, occasionally utilizing the occasion of a country dance to interrogate a sprig of the nobility, or a dress fitting to exchange gossip with a tailor's assistant. Every tiny morsel of gossip was like a treat she hugged to her chest, marveling over how words - and truth - changed from person to person. She loved it. Only the knowledge that her status as an informant was precarious at best made her reluctantly pass on what she learned before she'd polished it to the finest accuracy. She lived on the charity of her friends, and what the Home Office was willing to give her. Her income was far more than many could boast, but Town life was expensive - and maintaining appearances was crucial. It took careful attention to balance it all so that she could stay here in London instead of going back to the country, doomed to a life where the only gossip was about which horse would be getting the coziest stall.

Someday, she was going to have to choose. Her friends were marrying and starting lives, one by one - willingly or not, as poor Eliza's dilemma demonstrated. Young married ladies didn't host their single friends in Town for months at a time. Not the conventional ones, anyway. And Anastasia didn't have any unconventional friends. What that said about just who was the unconventional one in her circle, she preferred not to think about. Just as she preferred not to think about the future, and where she would live in a year's time. Surely, it would all work out. No need to brush up on horse-related vocabulary just yet.

What she did need was more certain information, about Lord Easmont and the cult, whether together or separately. Perhaps she'd be able to get it this evening, she reflected, as she knocked on Eliza's chamber door. They'd agreed to get ready together for the party the Walfords were throwing this evening, sharing Eliza's maid since Anastasia didn't have one. The party was to be a smaller affair, just dinner and dancing with only Mrs. Walford's fifty closest friends. Quite simple, nothing like the engagement ball Anastasia had overheard Mrs. Walford detailing to Eliza in tones of dire promise.

I'm almost done, Eliza said without taking her eyes off of her reflection in the mirror. Her fingers roamed over her gown, tugging at invisible creases and adjusting lace to lie flat. Maggie, can you see to Miss Galipp's hair?

Yes, miss. The maid transferred her attention from Eliza to Anastasia, who promptly sat on a stool next to her friend in front of the vanity. Up, or...?

Now Eliza looked over. That gown looks lovely on you, Anastasia, she said. Do her hair in a crown, Maggie.

Yes, miss.

Anastasia doubted that the gown was as lovely as all that - it was last season's, and a shade of purple she wasn't entirely in love with - but Eliza's taste was impeccable. And if she thought a crown of braids went well with the dress, she was certainly correct. Anastasia held as still as she could for the maid to swiftly gather her hair. Are you looking forward to tonight?

Eliza made a face, perfect eyebrows swinging downward. You know I'm not. Every minute is another minute closer to the moment my engagement is announced.

I'm sorry, Anastasia said, heart sinking. I just... haven't found anything.

It's not your fault, Eliza said, sighing. Help me with this, won't you? She lifted something sparkling from her dressing table, and Anastasia felt the entire world fall away.

Where did you get that necklace? she blurted.

Oh, Lord Easmont gave it to me, Eliza said. She fastened it glumly around her neck without any assistance after all. As a betrothal gift, I suppose. It's some sort of family heirloom.

It most certainly was not. If that wasn't the missing Star of Anatolia hanging around her friend's neck, Anastasia would cheerfully eat her own expensive silk stockings. I see.

It does look rather well with this gown, doesn't it? Eliza said wistfully.

It did indeed. The ruby medallion was suspended over her magnificent bosom like an ominous blood moon hanging low over the steep, smooth swells heralding an oncoming storm. Her burnished gown reflected the lights above in glimmers of gold, and the necklace caught it all in its dark red facets. It was terrifying and wonderful.

It's all right, said Anastasia. "I do think emeralds would have gone with your complexion more. They're such a friendly gem."

Eliza's face lit, and she reached up with quick fingers to unclasp the necklace with a breath of relief. Do you think so? It's awfully heavy. The beaded strands fell into her hands and Anastasia let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She couldn't let her best friend walk out into the ballroom wearing stolen jewels, even if they were the most magnificent thing she had ever seen.

I do think so. What about your mama's set? The betrothal hasn't even been announced yet, you shouldn't have to wear his family's old things, she said, teasingly.

Eliza's smile was a bit lamer than it ought to be, and Anastasia's heart ached for her. Duty had no regard for the heart, and Eliza's parents were determined upon a dutiful course, official betrothal or not. You're right, she said. I'll wear them.

After Eliza had finished and gone downstairs, Anastasia dismissed the maid and spent some time fiddling with invisible wrinkles in her own gown and staring at the glowing jewels Eliza had tossed carelessly back into her overflowing jewelry box. It was time to go downstairs, she knew. She stood, turned to the door, and stopped. Turned back to the dressing table. Closed her eyes, and took one deep, fortifying breath.

And then, in service to King and country, Anastasia acted in a most unladylike way. To be blunt, she snatched the necklace out of the box and swiftly dropped it directly into her corset. That undergarment having much less decorative flesh to support than dear Eliza's, it had many useful gaps and crevices. She shivered at the strange feeling against her skin - it felt warmer than it should. Surely just residual heat from when Eliza had worn it. Right?

She squared her shoulders and ignored the feeling that she was plunging rapidly in over her head. It was time to go. She had to get back to her room, hide the necklace, and touch up her hair - quickly. She gave her corset and its baggage a firm double-pat, and slipped out of the room. Closing the door quietly behind her, she turned, and ran directly into a hard, warm body. Oh!

Firm hands steadied