The Midnight Bargain

by C. L. Polk

  It was over. Her choice had been taken. But she made the signs of summoning, breathed out her casting, and hoped.

  :Nadi. I’m sorry.:

  :Beatrice?:

  Beatrice lifted her head, looking about the room. :Nadi?:

  :You’re sad.:

  Beatrice sat up, sniffling. :You could come without a full summoning?:

  :I see you,: said Nadi. :Ever since you called to me, I can see you. Our task is not done. I am near you until you have the book in your hands.:

  Beatrice looked for a distortion in the air, something to show her where the spirit was. She saw nothing. :I don’t have anything to ask you.:

  :Nadi just wants to be here.:

  :Can you stay? I don’t need anything. Can you stay? I’m riding a horse tomorrow. And going on a basket lunch you can eat. Do you want to do that?:

  :Yes,: Nadi said. :Let me in.:

  There was no summoning circle to move her to the aetheric. There was only the air, and Beatrice stretched her hand out before her, fingers curled in the sign of welcome.

  Mother stared, her eyebrows high. She looked at Beatrice, opened her mouth . . . and then shut it again. She remained silent as her daughter welcomed a spirit, offering to host. Beatrice could have wept.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her fingers prickled. Nadi slid under her skin, settling down next to her bones.

  :Better,: Nadi sighed. :You’re not so sad anymore.:

  Beatrice folded her arms around her middle. :Thank you. This is—this is what a friend would do.:

  Nadi hummed, content.

  Father returned with four books tucked under his arm. “We found the candles, and the chalkstones, and these books. What were these books doing up there?”

  Beatrice blinked away tears. “Books?”

  Oh. Tales of Ijanel and Other Heroes. The Philosophy of Persistence. A Study of Natural Pigments and Dyes. Gemstones and Their Qualities. To Father, they were just books—and if he read them, he would be irritated by the typographical errors in the text. He didn’t have any way to know what they really were. She shrugged her shoulders and prepared to lie.

  “They were up there when I found the attic,” Beatrice said.

  Father gave them a scowl and slid each volume onto the room’s bookshelves. “Perfectly good books,” he grumbled. “Go ask Cook for your supper. She’s working hard on your luncheon basket for tomorrow.”

  It wasn’t forgiveness, but the books hadn’t been burned. And Father didn’t know what they were—he had believed her when she claimed they had just been in the attic with the rest of the junk.

  She knew the magic inside them. She could hide another grimoire in plain sight, then. She would find a way to find privacy. She still had a chance.

  Beatrice climbed the stairs, thinking hard about how to escape.

  CHAPTER XV

  It should be raining right now—a cold, pounding rain that plastered all the fragile petals on the cherry trees to the muddy pathways of Lord Harsgrove Park. But cotton-fluff clouds sailed in a perfect blue sky without a drop of rain in sight. Marian frisked and dazzled on fresh horseshoes. Beatrice kept her spine straight, her head high, and breathed in the scent of cherry blossoms.

  :More,: said Nadi. :Now make a jump.:

  :The jump comes later. After the luncheon.: Beatrice hitched her reed basket containing the meal Cook had prepared for the orphans’ auction, cursing the awkwardness of the burden. A fat violet silk ribbon matching her riding habit fluttered from the handle, and it was heavy with treats and hearty foods.

  Beatrice hefted it again and glared at the basket. What if she simply dropped it and let it smash on the cobblestones? Then no one could buy it.

  :No,: said Nadi. :You promised to let me eat it. You promised.:

  :You will get your share.: Beatrice propped the basket on her thigh, but it interfered with Marian’s reins. Confound the thing! She had to get rid of it.

  “Please allow me,” said a voice from her right, and she twisted in the saddle. Danton Maisonette rode beside her, one hand offering to take the basket for her. “I noticed your struggle.”

  :Oh, him.: Nadi would have rolled Beatrice’s eyes, if she hadn’t an iron grip on the spirit.

  :You can’t hex him again,: Beatrice thought, and put on a hasty smile. “I’m surprised at your efforts to speak to me.”

  “I was dreadful to you at the chapterhouse. I apologize, Miss Clayborn. It was quite churlish of me. Please allow me to lighten your burden.”

  He still had his hand out. Beatrice wished she had not taken breakfast in her room. If she had unbent from her anger and let her in, Harriet would have told her every detail of luncheon basket etiquette, and then she would have a chance of knowing what message accepting his help communicated. Stubborn anger had done her no favors.

  Danton’s smile faded as Beatrice rode on without handing him the basket—but what did it mean? Curses! She widened her smile and offered the heavy burden to him, and he cheered considerably.

  “Thank you,” Beatrice said. “It’s an awkward thing to carry while sidesaddle.”

  “Exactly my thought,” Danton said. “And if I may confess, I desired to speak to you before the bidding started.”

  What! Why? He had mocked her, and she him. She had witnessed the humiliating accident that surely had ruined a fine set of clothes. She had actively avoided him at the Robicheaux party, and now he was at her side, playing the gallant?

  “This is a fine basket,” Danton said, hefting it. “I’m curious to know its contents.”

  :I don’t like him,: Nadi said. :His smile is too smooth. He wants something.:

  :Of course he does.: Beatrice dipped her chin, as if it were a compliment to be the object of such attention. “I hope Cook packed her currant-fig tarts.” She couldn’t survey the chatty crowd that had gathered while she had the company of a gentleman. It would be rude. “Will you be racing in the competitions this afternoon?”

  Danton smiled regretfully. “My finest horses laze about at home in Valserre,” he said. “ Have you ever been there?”

  :Where’s Valserre?:

  :It’s another country, far from here. Across the sea, to the west.:

  :Can we go?:

  :Not in a single morning.:

  :Hmph.:

  “Never, but Masillia is a city of legendary music,” Beatrice replied, and turned to the source of hoofbeats to her left. “Ysbeta, good morning. What a lovely habit.”

  Ysbeta grimaced, but she was a picture—her golden silk embroidered weskit and cream jacket were the peak of fashion, and her warm brown complexion glowed in the presence of a color that would make Beatrice look bleached. “Good morning. Come with me.”

  Ysbeta rode off without waiting for Beatrice’s response. She turned a helpless look at her companion. “I fear I am needed, Mr. Maisonette. My apologies.”

  She put her hand out for her basket, and Danton gave it over with some consternation. Beatrice hoisted it to rest on her knee as she wove through the riders to Ysbeta’s side.

  “What are you doing?” Beatrice asked.

  :Why is she scared?: Nadi asked.

  “Looking for somewhere to hide,” Ysbeta said. “It’s not noon yet. I don’t want him distracted by me. Trying to keep Elamin under control on the way here was exhausting.”

  Perhaps ivory and gold riding habits were not the most discreet sartorial choice for one who wished to fade into a crowd, but Beatrice kept her silence. She followed Ysbeta as she found a place where the road featured a spot to pull away from the traffic of so many horses and young people trying their best to attract attention.

  “I’d feel better under some cover, but—” She indicated the spotless drape of her skirts, the toe of a golden-yellow boot peeking from beneath. “I couldn’t delay Ianthe’s attendance any longer. He’s scouting all around for you, wanting to know how to pick out your luncheon basket. You’ve thoroughly enchanted him. Who was that riding with you?”

  “Danton Maiso
nette,” Beatrice said. “You don’t have a basket.”

  Ysbeta watched a group of young women laughing together. “Ianthe took it to the committee. You should do the same.”

  “In a moment,” Beatrice said. “We can’t meet at your house, but I know exactly where to begin our search for hazelnut ladies.”

  “Where?”

  “Thornback Street.”

  Ysbeta grimaced. “That’s so obvious I should have thought of it. I will call on you tomorrow to go to a café, and we will begin our search.”

  Beatrice winced, her shoulders rising. “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Father knows about my work with magic. He’s put his foot down. While I am not confined to home, Father has only given permission for me to attend the party on the Shining Hand, and only if . . .”

  “Only if what?”

  Beatrice sighed. “He expects an offer of marriage from Ianthe.”

  Ysbeta tilted her head, amused. “And you think that won’t happen? I will speak to your father after the ride and let him know that I wish to continue acquainting myselfwith my future sister-in-law. He’ll let you go to a café with me.”

  “You seem awfully certain.”

  “There’s no reason to refuse me, and every reason for your father to maintain smooth relations between his family and mine. He won’t do anything to jeopardize the engagement he hopes for. It will all come out fine. Now let’s get your basket to the committee.”

  If they missed the deadline, they might not auction her basket at all, but she couldn’t say that to Ysbeta. Clearly she hadn’t thought of turning hers in late. “But we’re hiding.”

  Ysbeta tilted her chin down, attempting to hide her face under the wide brim of her rakishly pinned hat. “Let’s hand in your basket. Come on.”

  Beatrice sighed. “All right.”

  Ysbeta touched heels to a slender-necked, elegant mare and caught the flow of traffic on the path. “Are you entering the ladies’ race?”

  :Go fast.:

  :No.: Beatrice caught her left boot going home in the stirrup, and slipped her foot back into the proper position. “I thought perhaps the hazards course. Marian’s more of a jumper.”

  “She’s a lovely bit of horseflesh. Bought or bred?”

  “Are you horse-mad?” Beatrice asked. “Bred, but she was a gift for my twelfth birthday.”

  Ysbeta shrugged. “I can keep a horse by myself. I don’t have to, but a woman who can’t tend her own mount is a woman in a cage.”

  “I agree with that sentiment entirely,” Beatrice said. “There is something I must ask you. I need the travelogue.”

  Ysbeta cast a sharp glance at Beatrice. “We have a deal.”

  “I know, but I may not be able to keep it unless I make use of Churchman’s work,” Beatrice said. “Circumstances have changed.”

  She couldn’t go on with her plan. Father would disown her, and the Clayborns would sink. She had only one choice. But now that magic had been taken away, she grasped at it with desperate fingers.

  “They have not changed that much,” Ysbeta said. “Unless you are saying you won’t help me.”

  “I must help you,” Beatrice said. “I cannot abandon you to Bard.”

  “Then why do you need Churchman’s book?”

  “For myself.”

  :I will hex her.:

  :You can’t hex my friend.:

  :But she won’t give you the book. I promised to get the book for you.:

  :Nadi. I promise you, when we meet someone you can hex, I’ll let you do it.:

  Nadi, satisfied, settled itself inside Beatrice’s skin.

  The greensward was dotted with bright squares of checkered linen waiting for the winners to unpack the luncheon they bought, accompanied by the lady who brought it. Beatrice and Ysbeta, already traveling at a walk, came to a halt as riders milled around while waiting for their grooms. Too many ears were in range of this conversation, but Ysbeta shrugged as if they were speaking of trivialities.

  “You worry too much. Ianthe bears great regard for you. You have been cornered, but it won’t be bad. A few years of the collar until you have two or three children, and then the freedom to pursue magic with a lesser spirit. Take the compromise.”

  A Lavan groom in a turquoise coat spotted them, and they turned their horses toward the man trying to navigate the crowd. Beatrice lowered her voice and leaned closer to Ysbeta. “But I do not wish to be engaged.”

  Ysbeta puffed out a curt laugh. “I see how you look at each other. Tell me you won’t regret it if you walk away from him.”

  Heat flushed up Beatrice’s cheeks. “My feelings do not have weight in this instance.”

  Ysbeta’s lips thinned. “I am sorry, Beatrice. I know it’s hard. But you’ll have Ianthe.”

  :Why won’t she give it to you, if she’s your friend?:

  :Because she needs it too. As badly as I do.:

  :But the book will teach you how to summon another spirit. You don’t need the book,: Nadi said. :You have Nadi.:

  :I am lucky to have you, Nadi.: Beatrice’s eyes watered. :And I would miss you terribly.:

  The spirit rumbled in pleasure. :Nadi is your friend. We can stay together.:

  :But if I marry Ianthe, we will be separated. He’ll have to put the collar on me for years.:

  :Nadi doesn’t want to leave you.:

  :I know.:

  The groom held Ysbeta’s reins, and she dismounted in a flutter of skirts. Beatrice nodded thanks to the groom as he took Marian. Her scramble out of the saddle, burdened by the luncheon basket, resulted in a landing that jarred her knees. “I want freedom. Like you.”

  “You don’t need it the way I do.” Ysbeta stopped, whirling to face Beatrice. “I must have this, for the sake of the world and its knowledge.”

  She turned her back then, waving at one of the women who wore green ribbons identifying them as the committee in charge of the basket auction. Beatrice made polite murmurs as a number was affixed to her basket, accepting the card with the same number on it. She turned to Ysbeta again, whose charming smile dropped when she laid eyes on Beatrice.

  Beatrice didn’t want to beg. But she would, if she had to. “I need this just as much as you.”

  “But you cannot have it,” Ysbeta said. “Your family has closed in. The only thing that will save you is accepting my brother’s suit. And why not? He adores you.”

  “But my magic—”

  “You want to know what I think? If you really wanted magic, you would not care. But you do care. You want him, and if it hadn’t been for getting caught, you would have led him on until it was too late to have him,” Ysbeta said. “How can I let you do that to my brother?”

  “How can you do this to me?” Beatrice asked. “Do my wants mean nothing to you?”

  “It would be different if you didn’t want him, but you do. He will save your family’s fortune. He will cherish you like a jewel. He will be good to you. He will certainly allow your explorations.”

  “I’m sure he will allow me,” Beatrice said, her teeth gritted. “That is the sum of my objection. My skill and talents are mine. To have them controlled by someone else— It’s abhorrent. I can’t allow it. Even if it’s him.”

  Nadi coiled up inside her, and a pulse of power moved through her body. :Hex.:

  :Nadi, what did you do?:

  :She’s hurting you.:

  What had the spirit done? What? Had it cursed Ysbeta with clumsiness, as it had done to save her from the attentions of Udo Maasten? :What did you do?:

  :She is unlucky,: Nadi said. :So almost nothing.:

  “It’s the best arrangement you will get,” Ysbeta said. “Think, Beatrice! What other man will be so generous, so lenient?”

  Almost nothing? What did that mean? :Take it back, Nadi. Unhex her.:

  :It’s too late,: Nadi said. :Elamin is weak. My luck is strong. Here he comes.:

  Beatrice stared over Ysbeta’s shoulder. “Ysbeta.”
>
  But she folded her arms and went on. “Stop digging your heels in and think.”

  “Ysbeta—”

  “If you must marry, and believe me, Beatrice, you must marry. You cannot save your family any other way.” Ysbeta leaned closer to Beatrice, her expression set in stone. “You cannot do better than my brother, and you know it. I don’t speak of money when I say that.”

  “Ysbeta, we have to leave,” Beatrice said. “Lord Powles is standing right over there.”

  “What?”

  Ysbeta turned around, and at that same moment, one of those billowing, pillowy clouds scudded away from the sun and bathed the cream and gold–clad beauty in sunlight. Lord Powles turned away from his companion and caught sight of Ysbeta standing in the sun.

  His expression transformed as he recognized her. His mouth fell open as he stared at Ysbeta, and then his countenance sprang into a look of joy and adoration as he laid eyes on her.

  Ysbeta covered her mouth with her hand. The whites showed all around her eyes. She backed up a step, another, and then her hand clamped around Beatrice’s wrist like a vise.

  “Run,” Ysbeta breathed. “Run.”

  But it was too late. Lord Powles, a handsome figure in deep blue coat and breeches, had bent over Ysbeta’s hand, his lips hovering just over her knuckles. When he stood, he saw no one in the world but her.

  “Miss Lavan. You are astonishing. I will pay any price for your luncheon basket. I swear it.”

  Any other girl would be overcome by such a man making such a vow. Ysbeta stared at him with wide eyes, transfixed by horror.

  Just at that moment, the chapterhouse bells rang the hour of noon.

  As the bells tolled their last stroke, the first luncheon basket went on the auctioneer’s podium. Gentlemen gathered near the stage, paddles in hand. Lord Powles lifted his own paddle in salute to Ysbeta and joined the throng.

  “He was supposed to want someone else,” Ysbeta said. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Elamin’s gone.”

  :Nadi! How could you?:

  :She was hurting you. No one hurts you when I’m there.:

  :You can’t hex people just because you don’t like what they do,: Beatrice scolded. :Only when I say.: