When Emma opened her mouth to protest, Penelope turned away, clearly not interested in discussing it further. Which was telling in itself. Penelope always wanted to discuss love.
They were tucked away in Emma’s chambers, preparing for the MacGregor ball. As usual, Penelope looked forward to the flirting and the dancing. Emma hoped to catch a moment alone with Cormac, and Gretchen had already mapped out the location of the library for her escape. After her discussion with Mrs. Sparrow, she was inclined to take her studies more seriously. Nothing on earth could convince her to take her mother’s wedding plans more seriously though.
“Are you sulking again?” Penelope asked her lightly when Gretchen’s wolfhound sat at her feet, looking pathetic. “You enjoy dancing as much as I do.”
“It’s not the dancing, it’s the dancing partners. Mother’s made me a list.” She pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from her reticule and tossed it to the floor, where it belonged. She felt better immediately.
A moth flew past her nose. She reached over to close the window. Below her, the statue of Hecate poked her stern head above the hedges of the school gardens. Intriguing shouts and what looked like a small explosion drifted over the fence. Cormac’s sister Olwen drifted out of the bushes, her long fair hair tangled in knots. Gretchen didn’t see anyone else, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Tobias was out there, waiting for her to come out.
“What do we know about Tobias?” Gretchen slanted Penelope a glance. “And I don’t want to hear about his shoulders again.” She had eyes in her head, didn’t she?
“He’s Cormac’s partner,” Emma offered. “They patrol together for the Order. He was nearly one of the Sisters’ victims that night poor Margaret York was killed. I can try to find out more, if you’d like?”
Gretchen nodded. “Know your enemy and all that. I don’t like the idea of being spied upon.” She drummed her fingers on the windowsill.
“I thought I saw someone lurking at the end of the lane this morning.” Penelope turned away from the mirror, having used up every flower in the room. She’d even tucked a rosebud into her neckline. She grinned. “Cedric chased him off with one of the dogs.”
Gretchen grinned back. “He gets to have all the fun.” She was going to have to get a dog just for the pleasure of setting him upon the very proper Tobias. Then again …
Emma turned to Penelope. “She’s got that look on her face.”
“I just had an idea.” Gretchen unclasped the emerald pendant from around her neck.
Emma groaned. “Told you so.” She tilted her head. “You’re going to teach him a lesson with your jewelry?”
She flicked her an impatient glance. “You must have a map of London in one of those books piled around your bed.”
Emma rifled through them until she found a large map of magical London, with the academies and the goblin markets clearly marked. She and Penelope approached Gretchen warily as she stood over the open book, necklace clutched in her fist.
“What on earth are you doing?” Penelope asked.
“Miss Teasdale taught me about pendulums,” she explained. “Apparently it’s another useful skill for a Whisperer to have. I couldn’t convince her that throwing knives would be even more useful.”
“I can’t imagine why.” Miss Teasdale made kittens look cross. “How does it work?”
Gretchen held the necklace over the map so that it swung in a circle. “We ask it questions and depending on which direction it swings, we get an answer. Clockwise is yes, counterclockwise is no. Only she called the directions ‘sunwise’ and ‘widdershins’ because witches have to complicate everything.”
“And what exactly are you going to ask?”
“I’m going to find out if Tobias is lurking in the bushes.”
“He doesn’t exactly seem the type,” Emma remarked.
Gretchen’s smile was more of a baring of teeth. “Precisely. If he’s going to follow me about, judging everything I do, I see no reason I should make it easy for him. For any of them. Forewarned is forearmed and so forth. And if he’s in the area, I intend to lead him a merry chase.” She stretched her arm out over the map. The emerald drop glittered. “Where is Tobias?” she demanded.
The chain swung vaguely in one direction, then the other.
“Where is Lord Killingsworth?” Gretchen tried again, in case magical divination powers were as obsessed with etiquette as her mother. The chain just hung there, swinging like any ordinary chain. She shook it lightly. “Well, come on,” she said.
A disdainful sigh came from the doorway. “You’re doing it all wrong.”
Gretchen didn’t even look up. “Go away, Daphne.”
Daphne didn’t oblige, which surprised no one at all. She didn’t particularly care for the cousins. Gretchen figured that was fair enough, as they didn’t particularly care for her either. She was bossy and arrogant and convinced she was always right.
“You’re not meant to punch at the air.” She clucked her tongue at Gretchen’s stance. “Give it here.” She tucked the clasp in her palm, looping the chain over her forefinger and letting it dangle. “You hold it like this, and be sure to keep your arm steady.” She glanced at Gretchen. “What is it you’re searching for?”
“Not what,” Gretchen mumbled. “Who.” Her pride urged her to snatch the pendulum back, but logic reminded her that Daphne was far better at spells. “Tobias Lawless.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow. “You and half the girls in this school are wondering the same thing. He’ll be at the ball tonight, I’m sure.”
Gretchen rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about that.”
Daphne smirked. “Of course you don’t.”
“Are you going to help or not?”
“Fine. But you’re still untrained, you should stick to yes and no questions. This is beyond you.” Before Gretchen could make a retort, and she had several, Daphne held up the pendulum. “Lord Killingsworth,” she said clearly. The pendulum swung very slowly, like the ripples created from a pebble dropped in a pond. She moved carefully, holding it over different parts of the map. The circles stayed wide and steady until finally they tightened abruptly, spinning faster and faster. “There,” she said, smugly.
Gretchen’s smile was even more smug. “Excellent.” She raised an eyebrow at Emma. “Don’t you think it feels like rain?”
By the time they hurried through the front door, several of the carriages had already pulled away. Torches lined the lane, leading to the gas lamps on the street. The academy looked like any other finishing school catering to wealthy daughters, with flowers spilling out of urns and rows of immaculately clean window-panes. From the front gate, no one could see the gargoyles on the roof or the scorched walls of the ballroom where they practiced spellwork. They’d never know a girl had been killed in the alley by the spirit of three vengeful warlocks.
The cousins knew, though, and slowed their steps. Daphne stood on the exact spot where she and Emma had discovered the body of Daphne’s childhood friend Lilybeth. They had suspected each other at first, when in fact Daphne’s other best friend, Sophie Truwell, was to blame. Daphne’s hair was coiled with ropes of pearls, making her look more delicate than the cousins knew her to be. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest.
“Daphne?” Emma asked softly.
Daphne wiped her cheek savagely before turning around, her expression haughty. “What?”
“Are you quite well?”
“Of course I am,” she replied. “I’m the daughter of the First Legate. I’m perfectly able to handle anything.”
“All right then,” Gretchen said. She considered it great sympathy on her part that she didn’t roll her eyes. She was quite sure if she heard the other girl bragging about her father’s high position in the Order one more time, her ears would bleed.
Emma stepped on her foot. “Would you like to ride with us?” she asked Daphne.
“Why would I? I have friends, you know.” She flounced away before anyone poin
ted out that of her two best friends, one had been murdered and one was a murderer. It wasn’t as though she needed reminding.
“Oh yes.” Gretchen sighed as they climbed into the last carriage. “Tonight is going to be loads of fun.”
The MacGregor ball was crowded pillar to post with aristocrats in glittering jewels and silk dancing slippers. Lady MacGregor had recently purchased an impressive collection of Greek and Roman marbles and was eager to show them off. Gleaming white, they lined the walls of the ballroom, from Aphrodite to Zeus. Debutantes clustered together in their shadows, like cooing doves in their white dresses. It was so warm and perfumed, fans fluttered briskly and the dessert ices melted in their cups. From the card room, an occasional shout punctuated the music.
It was over an hour later by the time Gretchen finally escaped to the ladies’ parlor set aside for torn hems and discreet chamber pots. Rumor had it the waltz was to be. played next and so the room had cleared down to hairbrushes and half-empty champagne glasses. She found her cousins on a settee, sharing a plate of iced cakes.
“I thought you’d be waiting for the waltz,” she told Penelope as she stole a forkful of her icing.
“And I thought you were in the library.” Penelope raised an eyebrow. “You’re all sweaty. Were you bowling on the back lawn again?”
“I did that once. And no.” Gretchen dropped into a chair. “I may have crumpled up my mother’s dismal list but she clearly hasn’t. Every man on it has sought me out for a dance.” She licked the last of the frosting off silver tines, then swallowed slowly, as though an afterthought. “Emma?”
“Yes?”
“Why are there moths all over your antlers?”
She slumped resignedly against the cushions. “I have no bloody idea.”
There were over a dozen of them, from tiny white moths to mint-green luna moths, gypsy moths, apple sphinx moths, and a giant death-head’s moth, with its skull pattern watching them carefully. They clung to Emma’s honey-hued antlers, like she was the only candle in a dark house.
“They won’t go away.”
Frowning, Gretchen stood up. She waved her fork menacingly. “Shoo!” “Go on!”
“I can’t think why we didn’t try that ourselves,” Emma pointed out drily when the moths shifted slightly but would not fly away.
“That is odd,” Gretchen admitted. “Even for a girl with antlers.”
“It occurs to me that our definition of ‘odd’ has certainly changed in the last few weeks.” Emma snorted. “But now I can’t leave the parlor. When I try, they hover over me, just out of reach of the Fith-Fath glamour.”
“It’s like a crown,” Penelope added. “It’s rather a pretty effect. You know, if you’re fond of insects.”
They watched Emma circle the room, calling up the glamour and letting it slide away. The moths trailed her like the sparks of a falling star.
Penelope stood up so abruptly the plate fell off her lap. “Snake,” she said in a particularly calm voice, pointing to the carpet. A small green grass snake slid over the hand-knotted pattern.
Emma stepped out of its path. It circled around, as though trying to seek her out. “What the devil?”
Two more snakes emerged from under the nearest chair, gliding in her direction. Another slithered down the hall, toward the crowded ballroom. The strains of the promised waltz played prettily, punctuated by a startled shout. Behind them, an insistent tap sounded at the windowpane. They glanced over to see an osprey clicking its beak against the glass. The white feathers of its chest glowed.
“Is that … a giant bird?” Gretchen asked, bewildered. “I don’t remember balls having quite so much wildlife.”
Emma gulped, going pale. “Moth, snake, and osprey.” Thunder growled outside, a direct result of her anxiety. “The Sisters’ familiars,” she said. “The ones I bottled.”
“What does it mean?” Penelope asked, climbing onto a chair to escape the attention of a large snake with viciously colored scales.
“It means we need to get out of here.” Gretchen hazarded a guess. “Now. Before the Order catches wind of this. We’ll have to use the window,” she added, already striding over to the nearest one not currently occupied by a giant bird. She poked her head out gingerly to make sure there weren’t any more ospreys or, worse, couples sneaking kisses in the bushes. Chaperones, in her experience, didn’t make one more virtuous, merely more creative. She popped back inside. “It’s clear.”
Emma nodded, her lips moving as she muttered the Fith-Fath glamour. Her antlers faded, as though they’d been painted over. The moths clung to nothing at all, defying most scientific laws. Gretchen threw a leg over the windowsill and leaped out. Her white gown ballooned around her ankles. She fought her way clear of the daffodils and bounced right off a rather rudely solid shadow.
Tobias.
“Not you again,” she groaned when his hands closed around her upper arms. She knew it wasn’t to steady her, as she wasn’t the least bit wobbly. He was as stern and unyielding as the statues lining the dance floor. “My Lord Killingsworth,” she exclaimed very loudly, warning off her cousins. “I didn’t take you for the type to lurk in bushes. What would the etiquette books say?”
“Where are you going?” he asked her sharply.
She raised her eyebrows. “That’s none of your business.”
“I am your Keeper; therefore, you are my business,” he informed her.
She pulled free of his hold. The imprint of his fingers was warm on her bare arms. “Nothing about me is yours, my lord,” she told him. “So find another occupation.”
“And yet I remain.”
“Yes, and it’s rather rude actually.” Rain began to patter through the garden. His gold buttons gleamed in the faint light spilling out of the open window. He looked over her shoulder. If he looked too carefully would he see Emma? A moth drifted between them.
“The rain will ruin your pretty coat,” Gretchen said hurriedly, seeking to distract him. He peered down at the water stains with irritation. “You should go inside where it’s safe,” she added sweetly. Fog curled through the garden, haloing the lights.
“I must insist you accompany me, Lady Gretchen.”
The fog was rather insistent too. It pushed against them, clinging to the walls of the house. If she let him lead her away, Emma could slip away. The shadow of another large bird passed over, white as hot ashes.
“Oh very well,” she sighed, exasperated. She stalked away, not realizing that Tobias had extended his arm to assist her, like any polite gentleman. Her voice drifted behind her. “Are you coming or what?”
By the time they’d circled the house and crossed the patio to the ballroom doors, the buzzing in Gretchen’s head was incessant, overpowering the violins.
Tobias paused, frowning at her. “Are you ill?”
She shook her head even though she was a little queasy. The vibrations in her head made her feel awful. She swallowed grimly and focused on the annoying sound, trying to hear the voices of dead witches as Mrs. Sparrow had told her. She pressed on her temples, trying to alleviate the pressure. She thought she caught the fragment of a word, then nothing.
She closed her eyes. It was just as loud, but it seemed to be coming from Tobias, and not the strange collection of familiars as she’d assumed. She focused harder, following it to its source. It took a long moment and it made her feel disconcertingly brittle. She pointed to his left pocket. “One of your charms is off.”
“I think not.”
She rolled her eyes, then stopped when it made her head hurt. “I’m a Whisperer, remember?” She stuck her hand in his coat pocket and yanked out the offending charm. It was a cracked wolf’s tooth, leaking magic. “And this thing is like a nail in my skull,” she added, tossing it into the bushes. “Now if you’re very lucky, I might not cast up my accounts on your very shiny shoes.”
“I’d consider it a kindness,” he said mildly, following her inside. She didn’t notice his outstretched hand, waiting t
o steady her if she fainted.
She saw Penelope almost at once, chatting with a muscular young man. She smiled cheerfully, looking just like a happy debutante at a ball and nothing like a girl who had just helped her cousin escape through a window. Emma, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen.
“Gretchen,” Penelope said. “This is Ian Stone, my very own Keeper. He has read all of Shakespeare, so I think I shall keep him. Also, he is going to dance with me.”
“I’d be honored,” he replied, not betraying a flicker of reaction to being ordered to dance. “I’m just glad I’m in your good graces. That poor bloke this morning will limp for a month from that dog bite.”
Penelope sniffed. “Serves him right for lurking.”
“It’s probably for the best.” Ian winked at Gretchen. “I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t have passed your cousin’s literary inquisition.”
“I wonder if you could fetch us some wine before we dance,” Penelope asked. “While my aunt is studiously pretending not to see us.”
“Of course.”
“I like your Keeper much better than mine,” Gretchen remarked once he’d walked away. He was all smiles and amiableness. Nothing like Tobias.
“He can quote Macbeth,” Penelope said. It was all that mattered to her. He could have smelled like an old shoe and she wouldn’t have cared, as long as he had the proper appreciation for Shakespeare and gothic novels.
“What about Emma?” Gretchen whispered.
“She’s gone,” she whispered back. “I had to distract that pestilent, ill-bred canker blossom Virgil.”
“Does he suspect anything?”
“I don’t know. An osprey made a mess on his shoulder.” She grinned over the top of her fan. Her mother had painted it with a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, complete with Oberon, Titania, and Nick Bottom, with his donkey’s head. Gretchen wondered if her aunt would paint Tobias with a donkey’s head. Penelope stood on her tiptoes. “Have you seen Lucius anywhere?”
“I’m afraid not.”
The Whisper Witch Page 6
