“You need to go around the back,” he said.
The words to ask why were already on her lips, but they vanished as Hetty noticed what Benjy already had.
The wards on their room had been breached.
AQUARIUS
14
THE WARDS PLACED on their room were basic spells. They got rid of deeper protections after the time their landlord banged on their door early one morning and was greeted by a rush of ice water. Not wanting to be evicted in the future, they set protections that warned when the wards were breached. From the outside, this took the form of Aries nervously tapping its hooves on the lamppost next to the boardinghouse doors.
“Whoever is inside wasted their time,” Hetty said. “We have nothing to steal.”
“Maybe,” Benjy answered, his attention fully on the building. “Go through the window. I’ll go in the regular way. We can trap whoever is in there.”
Given his temper, Benjy was likely to charge in there. If the intruder was smart enough, they would run. If they were even smarter, they would run right into her so she wouldn’t have to chase after them.
Working her way around the building, Hetty found the window that aligned with their room, and then started to climb.
The bricks and window ledge made an untidy stair, nearly unbroken except a place or two. While she had climbed it in skirts, it was far easier to maneuver in trousers without the added weight and rustle. Hetty climbed quickly, her boots slipping against the bricks as she did.
She lost her grip only once. As her foot met only air, she hit the wall hard enough that it made the light turn on in a nearby window. Her nosy neighbor peered out into the darkness. Hetty hung there for what felt like an age until the neighbor and the light finally disappeared.
Hetty hung on to the sill for a moment, counting her breaths, before she put her hand on their window.
Through the glass pane she could feel the hum of the wards. They were still intact. Just as she was about to grumble about Benjy being wrong, a ripple of light along the bottom of the windowpane changed her mind.
Her wards were intact, but his were shattered.
Which meant . . .
The window popped open and the barrel of a pistol leveled itself right between her eyes.
“Be a dear and jump right back down or I’ll shoot,” said a familiar voice. “From this distance I can’t miss.”
Hetty rolled her eyes. “Penelope, move out of the way!”
“Hetty?” Penelope squinted in the moonlight. “Is that you?”
The lamps flicked on. Penelope jumped and nearly dropped the gun.
“Of course it’s me.” Hetty swatted Penelope aside. “Who else would climb up this way?”
“Thieves?” her friend declared. “Murderers? Someone who wants to leave a trap for you? Should I go on?”
“You made your point.” Hetty pulled herself through the window and rolled neatly inside.
She wasn’t the only one who had made it in.
Benjy had his back against the door. His arms were crossed and his scowl told her he had figured out how someone was able to slip into their room.
It went without saying, he was not pleased by this discovery.
“Put that gun away,” Hetty said to Penelope, glad her friend provided a distraction. “You shouldn’t wave it around.”
“It’s safe.” Penelope tilted the pistol to the side. “I don’t have any bullets.”
“It’s hardly of any use without them.”
“I’m only following your example,” Penelope replied demurely. “Make a great show but never actually intend to shoot anyone.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve always intended to shoot people,” Hetty said. “At least the ones that deserved it.” Hetty looked Penelope up and down, taking her in.
Her friend had tossed on a rain cape over a worn and faded house dress. Hetty didn’t see any signs of injuries or wounds, but there was a certain fright lingering in Penelope’s wide brown eyes under all her playful banter.
Penelope was always welcomed for a long evening chat, but tonight she hadn’t come for gossip.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” As Penelope’s mirth vanished, Hetty added, “If it’s delicate, I can send Benjy out the room.”
“Benjy should hear it too.” Penelope turned to him, still clutching the pistol. “I’ve been thinking about the night Charlie died. I think . . . I think I’m sharing a house with murderers!”
“Potential murderers,” Benjy said, not even blinking at this statement. “Everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise. Good thing you have a gun with you.”
Penelope swallowed hard and her knees wobbled.
“Do you seriously believe—”
“No, he doesn’t.” Hetty placed a steadying arm around Penelope. “He’s throwing out ideas again.”
“It’s not an idea,” Benjy scoffed. He settled on the end of the bed, flipping open his book. “But it’s a possibility.”
“Which can also be wrong,” Hetty said. “Darlene is our friend, and George, is, well, George. Neither had any reason to murder Charlie.”
From behind the cover of From the Earth to the Moon, Benjy snorted before turning a page. “Are you about to explain they couldn’t have murdered anyone because they have a baby? Because there are several flaws in that logic.”
His words bristled and seemed poised to irritate. But even as they did, Hetty recalled his manner when he returned after visiting Oliver. How he spoke nonsense about a coffin until Darlene had left. He wasn’t just messing with Penelope. He believed it. Just like how quick he was to consider Marianne as a suspect. Just because one of their friends died didn’t mean the rest of them were murderers!
“All possibilities need to be proven.” Hetty guided Penelope to a chair. “Penelope, what did you hear?”
“I heard nothing, actually.” Penelope’s words came out slowly as she placed the pistol on the table. “The night Charlie died I was looking after Lorene while they were out. It wasn’t their usual night and it was so sudden, I nearly refused. But Darlene begged and promised she’d make it up to me. They didn’t come back until quite late. Since then, there’s been whispers. I haven’t been invited down to dinner. And when I do come downstairs, conversation stops and they watch me very carefully. Like they want to ask what I heard, but if they do it’ll give everything away. It’s possible, isn’t it?” Penelope peered up at Hetty. “We saw how upset they were about that party forced upon them.”
“That is a motive,” Benjy interjected. “Not a strong one, but plausible. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve taken a case about someone killed over a terrible party.”
Penelope’s face filled with an unspoken question.
Hetty nodded. “Last winter someone stabbed their host with an ice pick.”
A burst of nervous laughter escaped Penelope as she clutched her arms. “I can’t do this. I can’t spend the night at home. I shouldn’t have come here at all. I was hoping you would say there was nothing to worry about, but now I think I should have gone to Oliver’s instead, or even to my cousins’—”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Hetty patted Penelope’s shoulder. “Especially not on your own.” She glanced over at Benjy.
When he didn’t respond, she swept her fingers about and brought his book flying into her hand.
“Yes, stay,” Benjy remarked as he leaned against the bedpost. “You won’t end up with a slit throat come morning.”
* * *
The neat stack of blankets on the chair was the only sign Benjy had even spent the night in the room. He had gone for a walk after his last remark sent Penelope into hysterics. And when he returned, Penelope was curled up in their bed, with Hetty lying on his side of the bed pretending to be asleep until he settled into the chair.
“Looks like someone pulled a vanishing act,” Penelope yawned.
Hetty moved her gaze from the blankets, back to the bed where Penelope sat rubbing sleep out
of her eyes.
“He’s only gone to work. I’ll make him apologize to you later. He was extraordinarily rude.”
“I may have deserved it,” Penelope said. “I did surprise you.”
“It’s not just that,” Hetty admitted. “He didn’t know I gave you a key.” Hetty sat down on the bed, running her fingers along the quilt. “There’s also the wards I changed without him knowing.”
“So it’s you he’s mad at?”
“No need to sound so eager,” Hetty snapped, bristling at the uncomfortable truth tucked into her words.
Penelope’s face took on a rather thoughtful expression. “I didn’t just surprise you—I surprised you in a middle of an argument!”
“Not an argument. A disagreement about a silly little thing.”
“You say that,” Penelope said, “but I’m worried about the quilt under your hands.”
Hetty loosened her grip on the quilt square. It hadn’t come loose, but the fabric was much more wrinkled than it once had been.
“Dare I ask the cause? It can’t be about you quitting the dress shop. This isn’t the first time you did such a thing.”
“How did you know about that?”
“Maybelle.” Penelope gestured with her chin toward the dress form draped with fabric. “Tell me, it can’t be that horrible.”
“It’s not,” Hetty admitted. “I thought Benjy was out playing cards with friends when instead he’s been boxing in matches held below Seventh Street. Not only that, Charlie might have placed some bets on an upcoming match. Bets we think caused his death. But the part that bothers me the most is that I didn’t know a thing about it until he brought me there. He never lied about it. I just never noticed, for months.”
“Since last November?” Penelope asked.
That question brought Hetty’s attention squarely on her friend. “You knew?”
“No!” Penelope declared empathically. “I would have told you the moment I did. Around that time Benjy started asking questions about my healing salves. I have a special recipe. It’s why Miss Linda hasn’t fired me from the shop. She can’t brew anything to match. When Benjy started asking, I was afraid he was going to do the same but unlike Miss Linda he’d figure it out. So I made him a batch that was three times what I usually give to you, made him swear up and down that he’ll never try to figure out the recipe, and admitted I mistook the number on a card the last time we played noughts.”
“Did he make you promise not to tell me?”
Penelope shook her head. “It was only that one time. I figured he used it at the forge. Or for Sy,” she added. “My cousin is not suited for any trade that involves heavy or sharp things. I’d take him on at the shop, but Sy doesn’t even know what lemongrass looks like.”
“Not many do,” Hetty said, then jumped up. “But you reminded me of something that requires your expertise.”
From the mantel, Hetty picked up the vial of the strange herb that had been found on Charlie’s body.
“Do you recognize this?”
Penelope lifted the vial to her eye. “I don’t know for certain, but if I had to guess it’s related to thornapple. Most people use it for sleep potions, but add anise and nettle, and it gains protective abilities. Something for the body, maybe even spirit, depending on the other herbs involved.”
“Protection from what?”
Penelope chuckled and handed back the vial. “I hope you’re not expecting me to answer that.”
“If only it were that easy.” Hetty scowled at the herbs. “I hate brewed magic. There’s never a simple answer.”
“Hetty,” Penelope said as she went searching for her shoes, “you use five different star sigils to do the same spell.”
“That’s different,” Hetty retorted. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? I used to think I knew how Celestial magic is supposed to be, but Eunice has a system with unique sigils for each type of magic. It’s very clever. And it might help me figure things out.”
“Eunice has plenty of time to waste to make up such things,” Hetty snapped. “And you wouldn’t want to learn from her. Her spells might be neat, but she’s too slow making them.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, you should, if you’re going to put your magic to good use. It’s not window dressing, Esther. It’s all about protection from the worst.”
Penelope stopped pulling on the laces of her shoe. Her hand tightened before she gave them a mighty tug. “Now there’s something new I’ve learned,” Penelope said cheerfully. “Your sister is as terrible with magic as me!”
“Worse,” Hetty replied, nodding until she realized why Penelope said that. “Stars, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry.” Penelope laughed as she moved on to her next shoe. “You didn’t sleep well last night. You kept tossing and turning, like a fish out of water. Did you have that nightmare about your sister again? The cliff and the river?”
“No,” Hetty admitted, embarrassed at how easily Penelope had brushed off her slip of the tongue. “I’ve been having bad dreams since we found Charlie. I’ve seen my fair share of the dead, but this was the first time it felt personal. The person most likely to have done it was someone he knew, which means we knew them as well.”
Penelope’s fears of the night before were nowhere to be seen as she thoughtfully frowned. “No wonder Benjy is willing to see our friends are murderers. I bet he’ll think even sweet Eunice Loring might have killed Charlie.” Penelope deepened her voice in a bad imitation of Benjy. “Everyone is a suspect until I prove they’re not.”
“Not everyone. He tends to think the people close to a murder victim have the greatest motive and opportunity. That list, I’m afraid, is going to include people we know quite well until proven otherwise.”
“Well, if it includes me, tell me. Then I can start questioning my own memories!” Penelope picked up the rain cape and pulled it over her shoulders. “I’ll see you at the funeral,” she sighed. “I might be late. I had promised to close the shop today.”
With the room to herself, Hetty finished dressing for the day and pinned up her hair.
Reaching for the small box she kept the pins in, she paused for a moment. Inside was a pile of pins that weren’t there yesterday. They were curved and shiny with sharp tips sure to stay in place no matter how she dressed her hair. The one pin that caught her eye was the only straight one among them. It was longer, and one end of the metal was twisted so a bird perched on a branch.
Hetty held this one, marveling at the little curves and bends.
It was just a hairpin, and not even one that would stay in her hair for long. Yet she loved it all the same from a single glance.
Or was it, a small voice urged her, because of who made it?
Benjy had made many things for her, but this was the first that made her linger for several moments. It was a pretty thing, something that someone like Marianne would show off as a symbol of her husband’s affections.
Or wear to show off her own affection.
The pin slipped from her fingers and joined the others back in the box.
In love? Her?
The idea was ridiculous. Her friends had love matches, and everything she’d seen only made her glad her marriage was nothing like that. Her friends worried and fretted at the slightest change in the wind, but Hetty always knew where she stood with Benjy.
She was respected, she was cared for, they had delightful conversations about odd things, and he left thoughtful gifts when she wasn’t looking because she liked surprises. They were family, they were partners, they were companions, and—
Hetty remembered jumping out of bed the other night to sew protections into his clothes, because every time she closed her eyes Benjy met a different grisly end.
She thought those dreams were a reaction to Charlie, but those were just her own fears. Fear of his dying, fear of her losing him, fear of her having to live without him in a world that would be a little less br
ight.
She loved him.
Not as a friend. Not as family. But differently, in a way that all the words she knew weren’t enough.
Was this a temporary feeling? Would it fade away along with the shock of Charlie’s death? Or would this feeling remain stubbornly for months and even years?
And if it did, would that be a bad thing?
Yes was the answer she wanted to give. Such romantic feelings were a distraction. She could name seven stories where one half of the couple died in a gruesome way because of romance. And then there were her friends. In the name of love, Darlene and Marianne gave up their own goals and wishes for their husbands and didn’t seem to notice how small their lives had become. More important, these feelings complicated matters between them. Hetty’s feelings may have changed, but she knew Benjy’s had not. If they had, he would have said something. He would have done something more than just leave her new pins as a surprise.
Staying quiet was probably for the best. She liked how things were, after all. They were simple and pleasant and—
The door opened and Benjy appeared with bowls of steaming porridge floating in behind him as he carried mugs for tea and a pot of honey.
“Good! Penelope’s gone. I brought breakfast.”
Wonderful. Things were already wonderful.
Frozen like a statue, Hetty remained seated at the table as Benjy made room for the bowls, pleasantly explaining how he got a jar of honey from one of their neighbors. He could have been explaining how he solved Charlie’s murder based on some strange smudge he found and Hetty wouldn’t have given it a second thought.
She spiraled in a mess of her own creation. If he had gone on to work, she would have had time to stitch herself together and pretend these stray thoughts had never occurred to her.
But Benjy had returned, which meant she had to face an even more unpleasant truth before she fully accepted the first.
Benjy was not in love with her. He had stated it numerous times, to her and others when they asked why he joined her on that very first trip south. They were companions and partners, he always said, working together in mutual agreement. This was something Hetty agreed with. Companion had been a good word to describe their marriage, and now Hetty saw it as a lovely but plain dress that needed something to draw out its quiet beauty. Though while she could easily find suitable fabric to add, she was certain that if she asked for Benjy’s opinion, he would either reject it kindly or tell her something he thought she would want to hear.
The Conductors Page 14
