Hetty both appreciated this and expected it. Thomas was the most gregarious of the group, chatting up anyone he thought was halfway interesting. He had jokes, he had funny stories, and did his best to get Oliver smiling at least once a day. But he was also the best kind of listener, the kind that gave you his full attention no matter the topic at hand. Having him listen now, knowing he would later fend off both Oliver and Penelope, was a weight lifted from Hetty’s shoulders.
So she talked and talked, to make the long night pass faster and to keep her fears from overwhelming her.
She was successful with only one of those things.
PISCES
33
BENJY WAS THE ONLY ONE who slept through the night, unbothered by anything that occurred around or to him. While this worried Oliver and Thomas, Penelope didn’t bat an eye. She coolly mixed, grinded, and cut various herbs. Not once did she show a hint of worry, even when her most powerful healing potions had no effect. She kept trying things, but never enough to make things worse. Throughout the night she sent Oliver and Thomas away, but let Hetty stay in the room, until after dawn, Penelope kicked her out too.
“I’m going home to get a few things.” Penelope cut in to Hetty’s protests. “While I’m gone you need to eat and rest, in that order. If you make yourself ill, it’s not going to help him get better. More likely he’ll get worse. Sleep in one of the spare rooms tonight.”
That suggestion, as kindly meant as it was, was no solution. No matter where she slept, she wouldn’t catch a wink. She might as well stay here and be close at hand.
“I’d rather not,” Hetty said as Penelope pulled several vials from her pockets. “This would have been our room if we’d stayed here.”
“You sleep in the spare room,” Penelope repeated, each firm word making it clear her friend was gone and only the healer whose practical suggestions were not influenced by emotions remained. “Go eat.”
Hetty had no appetite, but one look at Penelope’s stern expression drove her downstairs anyway.
The kitchen stove, which had remained unused and ignored all these months, now happily roared with sizzling pans as Thomas worked a different brand of magic.
Hearing her, he stepped away and let the wooden spoon stir on its own while he rummaged around in the cabinets.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Which is the wrong thing to tell me,” he said. “Sit down and let me fix you a plate. I promise it’ll be the easiest thing you’ll do all day.”
With her protests unheeded, Hetty sat down at the table. But once food was placed in front of her, she found it hard to resist scrambled eggs and fresh bacon. “Oliver just told us you were coming home. I thought I’d have to wait weeks before I got to eat your cooking again.”
“I left nearly as soon as I sent it,” Thomas admitted. “Though I had been planning to return sooner.”
“Trouble?”
“Hardly trouble.” He settled into a chair next to her, pulling out his pipe but made no moves to light it. “Deliverance is a nice town most of the time, but there’s nothing but ugly outside it. White lawmen roll about pitting everyone against each other. Negro, Natives, poor white folks all calling for each other’s blood instead of banding together against the rich.” Hetty’s face must have revealed her concerns, for he managed a laugh. “I’m making it sound terrible, but it wasn’t. There were a few bad spots here and there, but overall it was . . . pleasant.” He gave her a sharp look. “I saw my wife and daughter while I was there.”
“Your wife?” Hetty echoed.
“And daughter.” Thomas’s mouth curled over this.
“But,” Hetty sputtered, “they’re dead!”
“I thought they were dead,” Thomas corrected. “I got a telegram from them last year. They found out about me and wanted to see me.”
“And they live in Texas.” Suddenly Hetty understood every shift and movement in Oliver’s moods in the months following Thomas’s departure. She knew he was upset but thought the reaction a bit excessive, given that Thomas was supposed to be building and protecting schoolhouses. But if Thomas had gone to see the family he had thought lost, why, that explained a great number of things.
Except for one thing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Then, remembering Marianne’s accusations of losing sight of her friends, Hetty added almost defensively, “I would have been so happy to hear you found them.”
“I know.” Thomas sighed and tapped the pipe against the table. “I said nothing because I was scared. I almost wanted it to be a trick. I thought they were dead for all these years, and never checked if it was the truth. I was afraid they’d know that and hate me for it. I arrived in town, and my darling little girl ran up to me, hugged me as if I’d just returned from a short trip. She’s all grown up now—not a little girl anymore, I suppose—and ready to make me a grandfather. And my Bess. She runs the town in every way except in name, and I think her post office is the best run one I’ve ever seen.”
“You had a good time, then?”
Thomas’s mouth twisted, pulling at the old scars that covered the right side of his face. “I saw my wife married to a kind man, saw the brightest and clearest sunsets I’ve ever seen, and . . . and, well, was dreadfully bored the rest of the time! The only time I had fun was when I teamed up with some of the younger men to go after missing livestock.”
“Is that why you came back? You wanted excitement?”
“My heart will always have a spot for them, but here”—he swept his hand around the table—“is where my family is. I’ve missed you all terribly. I only wish I’d come back sooner.”
“Your timing is perfect.”
“Perfect.” He snorted. “I leave you all for a few months, and I return to a mess!”
“Not everything is terrible. Darlene and George adopted a baby.”
“Which is one glimmer of starlight!” Thomas went on, “I still don’t understand how Charlie’s murder connects to what happened to Benjy. Does someone know that you are looking into things?”
“I’m not sure,” Hetty lied. Thomas made a sound of disbelief, but Hetty continued as if he said nothing.
“I do know that Charlie’s made money off of Benjy’s matches. He had a book of figures. It’s likely whatever he owned his murderer was coming from last night’s match.”
“Then why would the murderer attack Benjy like that?”
“Because Benjy was supposed to lose the match.” Hetty paused, remembering the swirl of emotions as she stood at the ring, horrified at what she saw and indignant that he would allow himself to be pushed around like that. They had not traveled a long road together for such things to occur. “But then he saw me.”
“Changing his mind. Don’t blame him.” Thomas nodded. “It’s a wise move. You don’t want to have anyone you care about angry at you.”
Hetty started to protest, but found she had no arguments to make in the face of sadness seeping into his features.
“Have you and Oliver exchanged a single word in private?” she asked.
Thomas shook his head. “He does not want to talk to me. He shut the door on my face when I showed up last night. I’m not sure what would happen if Benjy wasn’t here to whisk me to the match before I could say something I regretted. Again.”
“You just surprised Oliver,” Hetty assured him. “Your return caught him with a body in the cellar, and a house in need of cleaning.”
“I hope that is all,” Thomas said, but did not sound convinced.
Hetty patted his hand. “This is a rather big house, but it’s going to become very small if you try to avoid each other.”
“I thought he would be happy I’ve come back.”
“We’re talking about Oliver. He’s never happy.”
Thomas began to laugh at this only to start to cough so hard she thought he was choking.
Then she saw Oliver leading a man in a rumpled suit toward the cellar. When he turned his head, Hetty knew him at on
ce. This was Preston Stevens, the man she’d seen yelling about the missing wagon.
This truly was a small town.
She hurried after them, ignoring Thomas’s start of surprise.
“I don’t see why you can’t handle—” Preston said, stopping himself as he heard Hetty’s footsteps.
“Don’t mind her,” Oliver said, going around to the table where a coffin lay. “She’s just here to clean up.” He gestured for her to go back upstairs, but Hetty remained where she was, lurking in the background.
With a sigh, Oliver approached the coffin. “Preston, this is the man I need you to put in a pauper’s grave.”
“Do you want the coffin back?” the man asked, eyeing the wood greedily. “Because it’s mighty nice.”
“You can have it,” Oliver said. “Do with it what you want.” He lifted the lid. “Let me just remove some of the preservation charms.”
Oliver barely lifted his hand into the air before Preston let out a small shout. He swayed, nearly keeling over.
“That’s . . . that’s my brother!” he squawked, then pointed at the dead man lying in the coffin. “Morris. I hadn’t seen him since . . . Stars above, how could this have happened?”
“This is your brother.” Hetty stepped up to them. “When did you last talk to him?”
Instead of answering, Preston stared at her. “I’ve seen you before. Who are you?”
“My name is Henrietta Rhodes,” Hetty said. “My husband and I found your brother earlier this week. If we’d known who he was, we would have told you sooner.”
“You found Morris,” Preston said.
“Yes, in an alley off Barclay,” Hetty said. “We brought him here since Oliver doesn’t mind taking care of things.” She hesitated, taking a measure of how grief spilled over the man. The wrong question could push things in a more difficult direction. “Do you know if your brother was involved in anything dangerous?”
“Morris did nothing to put himself at risk.”
“Was he a member of E.C. Degray?”
Preston’s shock faded suddenly, and his stare turned icy. “What would you know about that?”
“It could be connected to his death.”
“ ‘Connected to his death’?” he parroted. “Who do you think you are!”
“Just someone doing their best to help.”
Oliver put a hand on Hetty’s shoulder, pulling her away from Preston. “If I had known this was your brother, I would have told you earlier. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll take him,” Preston said. “By the stars,” he muttered, drawing the Taurus star sigil. The coffin lifted into the air. “This was not how I expected this day to go.” He looked up at Oliver with wet eyes. “Do you know who killed him?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Oliver said, with a warning glance to Hetty. “Although I know someone is seeking answers.”
LEO MINOR
Interlude
February 1866
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA
“THAT’S A VERY IMPRESSIVE MOVE.” Hetty eyed the card that Oliver tossed down onto the stack. “But I think this might be a bit better.”
She slapped the Ace of Mirrors onto the table.
Oliver’s mouth fell open. Across from him, Penelope and Thomas exchanged chuckles as they playfully tossed their cards aside. “How did you do that? How do you even know it’s a proper move? I just taught you how to play noughts!”
“Beginner’s luck?” Hetty suggested. Her words earned a groan from Oliver.
“That’s your problem right there,” Benjy called from behind a book. “You expect her to follow them. Hetty sees rules as guidelines.”
“You’re just afraid of losing,” Penelope said. She leaned forward to confide to Thomas. “Benjy always loses no matter what card game Hetty plays with us.”
“I think he just lets her win,” Oliver growled.
“You’re a sore loser.” But Hetty dropped her cards, letting them start a new game without her.
She wasn’t much of a card player. Her only strategy was playing recklessly until she got results. Which usually meant relying on luck and on the others second-guessing themselves.
Hetty drifted to the other side of the room. Benjy sat with his feet propped up on the table as he read.
He was still pretending to read when Hetty sat down on the windowsill.
“I don’t let you win,” Benjy said as Hetty reached into her pocket.
“I know that,” she laughed. “I wanted to show you this. It arrived in the post today.”
Hetty held out the card.
No bigger than the playing cards she just held, it was perfectly blank with not a single mark on it.
Benjy sat up, putting his book aside. “How strange.”
“Watch this.” Hetty drew the Phoenix star sigil and manipulated the magic so an orb of light appeared in the palm of her hand. She held it under the card, and suddenly the pristine white card changed. Crescent moons appeared in each corner. Then, as if a ghost held the pen, words scratched themselves onto the card.
“A plea for help,” Benjy said as his eyes darted along the card. He blinked. “This is the bookseller that was accused of stealing spellbooks! They think something can be done about it!”
“I just wonder why someone sent this to me. Those cases we took on are not that well known.”
“Except for one,” Benjy corrected. “They must have been at that party last winter when we unmasked the widow who murdered her sister’s family.”
“But why not send it to you? You did most of the talking that night.”
“You’re easier to find, since you’re still living with Mrs. Evans. Or they assume we work these cases together.”
Hetty snorted. “People are always telling tales.”
“You can’t blame them after all the work we did together.” Benjy paused as he always did when a sudden thought occurred to him. “Wouldn’t it make sense if we continued on in a different area?”
“I suppose.” Hetty flashed a grin at him. “You obviously need my help in these cases. What would you do without me?”
“Would you like to get married?”
The room went very quiet at these words. So quiet that when something heavy fell from upstairs, they all jumped.
The sound echoed in the house, rattling the windows and making the lamps flicker. Alarming on its own, it was made worse by the simple fact that there wasn’t anything up there that could have caused the sound. Oliver had just moved into the house last week and the few possessions he owned were scattered around the main level.
Hetty tore her eyes from the ceiling, as Benjy stood up.
“Is this the sound you heard?” he asked Oliver.
“Yes.” Oliver sank into his chair. “Thank the stars everyone heard it. I thought I was hearing things.”
“Is this why you invited us over!” Penelope exclaimed. “To listen for strange bumps?”
“To have company for strange bumps.” Oliver’s eyes fell over to Thomas, who was picking up the cards he dropped. “I didn’t invite you—you just showed up with Hetty.”
“Which I regret,” Penelope huffed. “My potions can’t do a thing against ghosts!”
“There are no ghosts,” Benjy said absently. “It might be an intruder.”
“We would have heard glass,” Hetty said.
“No,” he said, without even considering her words. “Stay here. I’ll take a look.”
The others took that advice, but Hetty did not.
She followed him up the stairs, loudly stomping behind him so he knew it.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” Benjy cautioned. “Go back downstairs.”
“To what, three people asking me questions about what you asked me? I’m many things, but I’m no fool. Besides,” she added, “it’s curious.”
Her words only deepened his frown.
“You can forget I said anything.”
“Why? It’s hardly the worst thing you ever a
sked me—” Hetty took a step forward and her foot sank into the wood.
“Stars,” she swore, “what’s this!”
“It’s a hex.” Benjy studied it with some interest. “I wonder how this was done?”
“I don’t care!” Hetty tried to pull her foot out, but she only sank deeper into the wood. When she started to draw a spell her focus broke as her other foot sank as well. “Get me out of this!”
“It does matter.” Benjy didn’t seem to be aware of her plight as he studied the stairs. “If it’s Sorcery, it meant the previous owner had some sour feelings about selling to Oliver. Which explains—”
“Benjy,” Hetty interrupted, “if I get swallowed up by a set of stairs, I will be the ghost that forever haunts you!”
That got his attention, like she hoped it would.
Without a word, Benjy set a series of spells around her. Taurus, Capricorn, and Virgo flashed briefly before becoming rays of light that shot down at the stairs. As his magic dazzled around her, Benjy hooked an arm around her waist and pulled.
He lifted her out of there so easily that for a moment she felt like she was flying before her feet returned to the ground.
She glanced back at the wood, but it was smooth.
“How did you do that?”
“Who do you think Oliver asked to help him with this house? He had me do a sweep of the rooms. I found some rogue magic lurking about, but I thought I got them all.”
“You clearly haven’t,” Hetty added. “Looks like you’ll need my help.”
He clearly wanted to tell her no—she could see it on his face. But after all they’d been through, a little hex like this was nothing. They’d gone too many places, faced too many things. To treat her like a porcelain doll was ridiculous.
But she might be wrong.
In the months since the war had ended and she had settled into life in Philadelphia, she found change all around her. Changes in her search for Esther. Changes in her friends, who were happy to put the past behind them for new endeavors. Changes in the city itself as its people reacted to the promises of new freedoms.
The Conductors Page 33
