The door to the cellar was still swinging on its hinges when Hetty reached the main floor.
“Aren’t you going to run downstairs after him?” Oliver waved a hand absently. Pegasus flashed in the air, and the table moved back into place.
“I’ll catch up to him soon enough,” Hetty said. “Is Penelope here yet?”
“Haven’t seen her. Although she might not be needed anymore. Benjy seems to be recovered enough to nearly run me over.”
“I’ll let Penelope be the judge of that. Oh, and when she returns she won’t be alone. Darlene will be with her.”
“Wonderful, more company! Am I running a boardinghouse now? Where people come and go as they please?”
Hetty started at this last bit. “You knew we’d left last night?”
“The wards on the door were perfect. I expected it, to be honest, while you’re working a case—” Then, struck by an idea, Oliver gasped and turned toward the cellar door. “Tell me there isn’t another dead body down there! If there is, by the stars, I swear—”
“Nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “He’s just checking a few things. You kept Morris Stevens’s things here, didn’t you?”
“Figured you’d need it.”
“Thank you for that. And for letting us stay.” Hetty twisted her fingers, trying to figure the most elegant way to say her next words. “Although, we might be here longer than planned. We moved out of our room.”
“I may not be a brilliant detective that solves fascinating mysteries like you, but I was able to deduce that when you came back with the tub, thank you very much. You don’t have to tell me why,” he added hastily. “I don’t think I can handle the reason. Stay as long as you need. Even if it means you never leave.”
Hetty blinked. “I thought you said that if we all lived under one roof, one of us would lose our head and it’d be simpler if it was you?”
“Did I?” Oliver grinned, and it was like seeing the sun after days of storm clouds. “Don’t recall.”
“You’re awake.” Thomas poked his head in from the next room, newspaper in hand. “If you want something to eat, there might be leftovers in the kitchen. Eunice Loring brought something over earlier this morning. I think there was a card for you.”
“She didn’t stay?” Hetty asked.
“Had to leave. Said it was important, but not enough to whisper a word to me. More curious how she knew to come here.”
“Penelope is the start and end of that question,” Oliver said. “But that’s not important.”
“It’s not?” Thomas asked.
“Nope. I need to talk to you.”
Oliver pushed Thomas into the next room. “Go get something to eat,” he said to Hetty, and then firmly shut the door behind him.
Hetty pressed an ear to the wood. She heard murmuring voices but no discernable words to make the effort worth it.
In the kitchen, she found an empty pot, recently scraped clean of grits. There was some hard cheese and fruit about, but she also found a hunk of dried meat.
As Hetty bit into it and chewed, she saw the dish that Thomas mentioned. It was a pie, although Hetty couldn’t tell what fruit made up the filling. Propped next to it was a letter: a belated thank-you to Hetty for sewing Eunice a new dress . . . and then a request to help with a project at Eunice’s house, something for her husband.
Hetty stared at the lies. She had never made clothes for Eunice. Eunice had never mentioned a project.
She turned the page around. Scrawled in a corner was a crescent moon and a sun.
Their calling card for those in need of help.
Eunice had reached out to her. Several times. Mostly under guises and small lies meant to attract attention. This was the boldest overture yet. Was it something domestic? Eunice had wanted Moonleaf for a reason. Maybe there was no miscarriage, but simply a desire not to bring a child into a dreadfully unhappy marriage. Or something more.
Something dreadful that left Eunice moving about quietly instead of speaking plainly.
Swallowing her food, Hetty went down into the cellar.
A light, bright enough to be a contender for a small sun, blazed over Benjy’s head as he studied the broken halves of the collar they’d found on Morris Stevens.
The burnished silver was spotted with blood, giving the markings along it a rusted appearance.
“I’m going to see Eunice,” Hetty announced. “She sent a note. I think she’s in trouble.”
“I’d say that’s a safe bet.” Benjy held up the collar and tapped at the name inside:
Meade.
“That name is familiar.” Hetty frowned. “Why do I know it?” She looked down at the crumpled note in her hand.
Then she remembered.
She’d been standing in a long line at the Freedmen’s Bureau when she’d heard the name spoken by the man waiting in line beside her.
“Meade is the name of the family that owned the plantation Clarence left behind,” Hetty said. “But this can’t be his collar. He told me he got free by being sold to a sympathetic owner.”
“He might have lied about that,” Benjy said. “And a few other things too. How would we know? We don’t know him that well. Which explains everything.”
Everything that Isaac Baxter could have done, Clarence could have done just the same—maybe even more easily, since no one pays attention to him. And why would they? He had a good excuse to be every place where they’d discovered trouble.
And Clarence had been everywhere, Hetty realized. She’d dismissed him because he was Clarence: boring, predictable, harmless Clarence. But maybe not so harmless.
Hetty’s hand tightened over the note.
“Eunice can explain things,” Hetty said. “She’ll give us the answers we need.”
VIRGO
38
THE RAIN HAD PAUSED, but the threat of it lingered enough that Hetty pulled on a rain cape and drew up the hood over her head.
Eunice’s home wasn’t far, but it seemed farther and farther with each passing moment, each step compelling Hetty to walk faster.
“I’ll knock on the door alone,” she said. “Eunice is expecting me. If she sees you, she might panic.”
“What if Clarence answers? You want me to wait on the street as he stabs you on his doorstep?”
“I can make excuses and stall him,” Hetty said. “Go around the back. See if you can sneak in through an open door or something. Do not break down the door.”
“Unless I hear screams.”
“I don’t scream.”
“Which is why I’ll break down the door if I hear any.”
At the corner, Hetty grabbed his hand, swinging him around to look at her. “It’ll be fine. We’ve done riskier things than this . . . and when we hardly knew what we were doing.”
“You don’t have a plan.”
“I don’t,” Hetty admitted. “Just a couple of hopes strung together.”
“That’s all we need.” Benjy squeezed her hand.
They parted at the corner. Hetty continued toward the front door. She knocked, pulling on her brightest smile.
But when the door opened, Clarence stood there.
Inwardly, Hetty cursed the stars.
Why was Benjy always right about these things?
“Henrietta,” Clarence said, pushing up his glasses. “What brings you here?”
“I come to see Eunice.” Hetty lowered the hood of the rain cape, wondering how complex of a lie she could spin. Clarence’s eyes narrowed a bit, and disbelief bloomed on his face. “I wanted to thank her for the lovely gift she gave Oliver. He appreciated it very much. If Eunice isn’t here, I’ll just come back another time.”
“Oh,” he said, relaxing. “How nice of you. Eunice is just upstairs. Come in, sit. I’ll go fetch her.”
Hetty thought of following him but decided against it. Last thing she needed to do was raise his suspicions.
Making sure Eunice was safe—that was the most important thing right now,
not whatever Clarence had done or might do.
Eunice’s note burned in Hetty’s pocket as if chastising her for the missed opportunity. She should have received this note in person. She should have said something to Eunice earlier. She had noticed something was off but hadn’t done anything because it was Eunice. Eunice, who brushed aside any unhappiness that fell her way. Eunice, who was nothing but perfect, and beautiful, and liked by everyone. Eunice, who was in terrible danger if her husband was a murderer.
But it was still possible Hetty was mistaken. Eunice’s letter could have been about something else. Benjy could be wrong about Clarence. He seldom was, but he wasn’t infallible. The collar wasn’t quite evidence. Meade was a common name, and the collar was unlikely to be the only one. Hetty herself had stolen a broken collar once for a disguise. This could be a chance connection, something they’d forced because they had missed the piece that would have brought the whole case together.
If they were wrong, Eunice would be safe. But if they were right . . .
Moving into the parlor, Hetty chose not to sit on one of the stiff-backed chairs, but rather paced around the room, counting the seconds that it took for Clarence to return. As she waited, something on the mantel caught her eye.
It was one of Eunice’s dreadful lace doilies, oversize and draping like a handkerchief from the ledge.
How odd.
She stepped closer.
There were doilies placed all around, but there was something always placed atop. Without something here, the items on the mantel seemed off-balance. No, there was a gap. Between the oval portrait and crystal figurine, something was missing.
Something that had been a centerpiece. Something she had seen the last time she was here.
Hetty’s eyes traced the remnants of a shadow on the wall. Had it been a clock?
Yes, a clock. When she was here after Charlie’s funeral, it had been resting there.
As she peered closer, she felt the band at her neck suddenly tighten.
Magic.
Without thinking, she swished her fingers through the air, casting an unmasking spell.
The sigil flared and the cursed sigil, the Serpent Bearer, revealed itself.
They were right after all.
Hetty hurried to the window. At this angle she should see Benjy. And she did. But instead of lurking around back as they’d discussed, he was moving toward the front of the house. Not going to the front door, but away, and into the streets, striding after a slender figure wearing a rain cape with the hood drawn up.
Eunice.
But if she was leaving, then what did—
“They say you two look alike,” Clarence whispered into her ear. “Never saw much of a difference myself. You’re both stubborn and dark as sin, but that’s where the resemblance ends.”
Behind her, Clarence stood with a wand pointed at her throat.
Although Hetty had crossed paths with the student of Judith’s, that woman had not an ounce of the confidence Clarence possessed.
Clarence smiled at her. Hetty found herself wishing she’d come in here with a better plan.
“Eunice isn’t here, is she?” Hetty managed to say.
“No,” Clarence said. “And she won’t be back for some time.”
Hetty’s hand moved to the band at her neck, but Clarence was faster. He called out an incantation. The wand’s tip turned bright orange before something shot toward her.
Hetty lunged aside, ignoring the pain at her neck. She felt the band slide away. She mourned the loss only for a moment as she threw up Taurus. The star-speckled bull drew itself up in front of her.
It rattled under the force of Clarence’s magic and then shattered—the flecks of stars flying everywhere like dust.
Hetty picked another sigil, the sturdier Pegasus, but it withstood a blast from Clarence’s wand for only slightly longer than her first cobbled spell. As the next charge of Sorcerous energy came toward her, Hetty threw herself behind the couch. Something burst above her head. Wood chips rained down on her head.
Hetty scrambled to her feet, stumbling, her skirts ripping. She cursed her dress as much as the tight seating arrangements of the room. She had been trapped the moment she’d come in here.
She couldn’t fight Sorcery with Celestial magic. It was too fast, too strong, and she didn’t have time to properly set the spells that could slow it down.
She needed to get out of there.
She couldn’t go toe to toe with a sorcerer.
Sorcery overpowered. It devoured. It put people in chains and destroyed nations in the name of gold. It sucked resources from foreign lands in the name of spices and trade routes and allowed untold horrors to continue unchecked.
But it was an old magic, rigid and unyielding, and unable to cope with newer magic.
Or the unexpected.
She didn’t know how much Sorcery Clarence knew, but she knew one thing. She was the best practitioner of Celestial magic in this city.
Hetty ran a finger along the floor, drawing the first sigil that came to mind. The Crow sigil flashed and the couch nearby slid over, giving her cover. Then she drew another to set off a number of flares.
Clarence yelled something. What it was it didn’t matter. All the other noise faded to a dull roar as he contended with her distraction.
Hetty plucked Eunice’s note out her pocket. As the shields around her began to weaken and crack, she drew the Small Dog sigil in the corner and slid it up under the piano.
The last of the shields shattered. The couch was thrust forcefully aside with a wave of Clarence’s wand.
Hetty spun to face Clarence then, a charm on her fingertips, but instead of magic, he blew dust into her face.
“I’m really sorry about this,” Clarence said as Hetty’s vision began to blur. “Just remember, this isn’t about you. This is all your husband’s fault.”
Hetty reached out toward him. She missed and fell to the ground. Clarence’s glasses twinkling above her was the last thing Hetty saw before the world faded away.
URSA MAJOR
39
WHEN HETTY WOKE, her cheek was pressed against cold wooden floorboards.
She moved her tongue about, lessening the cottonmouthed feeling, trying not to let panic take over when she found her arms and legs unresponsive. But moving her toes would be pointless if she didn’t even know where she was. She seemed to have control of her eyes, so she swept her gaze around the room, taking in the details of the building. A musty smell. The damp air. High ceilings with exposed beams. Bricks and stacks of wooden beams in the corners. Boarded windows.
The closest door was on the other side of the room. But her path was blocked by a figure stamping out something on the floor.
Clarence.
A surge of rage shot through her and she attempted to get to her feet. She only managed to jerk her head, banging it against the floor.
“You’re awake!” Clarence turned. Flecks of drying blood were splattered against his glasses and cheeks. Good. Something in that barrage of magic had managed to hit him.
If she was going down, she was going to drag him with her.
“Wore off already,” Clarence muttered as he strode over to her.
His face was flushed, his eyes bright behind the cracked lenses of his glasses. His wand, for now, was stuck in his pocket. “I thought I had more time, but this will be good enough.” He bent over her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Yet,” Hetty managed to spit out. She tried to move. Her limbs jerked a bit, but it was not enough movement for her to leap out and strangle him.
The powder he’d blown into her face was some kind of sleeping dust. Magic was keeping her bound, but what was it? Sorcery wouldn’t last as long, but it would be hard to break. If it was a sigil, she only needed to distract him. “You can’t think I trust you.”
Clarence gave her a lopsided grin. “I promise I won’t do anything to you, unless you plan to be difficult.”
“Have you not heard the gossip? I’m always difficult.”
Despite the clash in his living room, it was unlikely he was going to kill her. If he wanted that, they wouldn’t be having this pleasant chat.
That left only one other option.
“I’m bait, aren’t I?” Hetty asked, although she already knew the answer.
Clarence’s smirk faded at her words. The spell loosened its vise. Hetty felt her foot twitch. “You’re hoping Benjy will find me.”
“I’m counting on it. I can’t seem to find him alone. Whenever he’s not in a group, he’s with you. I couldn’t even get him at the boxing match. My first spell hit him, but my next attempts were blocked by your magic. Must you always lurk around him?”
“I like spending time with my husband.” Her bindings loosened even more with the twitch that entered Clarence’s face.
She’d found a sore spot.
Like prodding with a pin, Hetty pushed deeper. “I pity Eunice for having to live with a man like you. She doesn’t even want to bear your child.”
With a growl, Clarence grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her up to her feet before Hetty realized what happened.
“Keep her name out of your mouth!” Clarence shook her, his face contorting in something vaster than rage. “I’ve done my best by her. I’ve provided a home and beautiful things. I gave money to every committee she joined, every good cause she started!”
“She’s afraid of you,” Hetty said when the shaking stopped. She smiled and pressed in for the kill as the last of the binding magics fell apart. “But I’m not!”
Hetty kicked him, striking lower than she’d have liked, but it was good enough.
He dropped her with a yelp.
Hetty finished the Arrow star sigil by the time her feet hit the ground. It flashed in the air, striking a barrier bolstered by his wand.
“You,” Clarence sputtered, waving the wood at her, “are being very difficult!”
“I warned you,” Hetty replied, and ducked when he returned fire.
Twin snakes of magic spun around her. Hetty deflected the one coming from the right. But the second was close enough to clip her. She darted left, thinking it would miss her, but it looped and—
The Conductors Page 36
