Evergreen

by Marissa Doyle

  A heavy mist settled in as they finished packing their canvas rucksacks and re-lacing their boots; combined with the rain, it reduced visibility to a matter of feet. But Mr. Lacasse was unconcerned. “I know the way,” he assured the dubious Robinson boys. “You won’t fall off the mountain while I’m with you.”

  Grace was pleased when Alice fell into step beside her, rather than with her entourage. She’d been oddly silent all morning, but that had suited Grace’s own mood. She was still thinking about Kit, wondering what it meant…but underneath the thought ran a quiver of uncertain elation. He loved her. Did that elation mean she loved him too? Tom’s declarations had never made her feel anything but a little sad—

  “Ow!” Next to her, Alice had stumbled.

  Grace caught her arm. “What happened?”

  “My ankle. It hurts.”

  Her ankle! Of course it must hurt after walking five miles yesterday. “Oh Alice, I forgot! We probably should have stayed with your mother. Do you want to go back? I’m sure your father will underst—”

  “No,” Alice said shortly. She shook off Grace’s hand and they continued walking in silence, while Colonel Roosevelt and the others chatted cheerfully ahead of them despite the rain and gloom.

  Grace adjusted the brim of her hat so that it didn’t drip down the back of her neck and squinted up at the clouds covering them, wondering if she could risk sending them off elsewhere so they could have a more pleasant walk up the mountain. But that would take time and concentration, which she wasn’t sure she had enough of. The trail was steeper and more difficult than yesterday’s, with rocks and roots and fallen branches and thick, sucking mud puddles slowing progress—hard enough for her but worse for Alice, and she had to be alert to help if Alice needed it.

  Then there was the nagging memory of Kit’s words—his “something” that might happen. Had he meant that it would happen now, today, or when they got back to the club? Why couldn’t he just have told her what it was?

  Finally, there was the worry that somewhere out there, the Shadows might be lurking, hating this human intrusion onto their mountaintop. But with the rain and fog, it was even harder to watch for them. Why hadn’t she tried to dissuade them all from this trip after all, instead of blithely coming along? Alice’s pace was slowing; already it was getting harder to see the rest of their party through the water-filled air.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked Alice after another half mile.

  Alice didn’t speak for a moment. “Oh, I’m dandy,” she finally said. “Even though it appears I’ve lost something. Or maybe it was stolen from me.” She looked sideways at Grace.

  Grace frowned. “What are you missing?”

  “For one thing, I missed some sleep last night. Someone woke me up. Someone putting on her clothes and sneaking outside, who left the cabin door ajar.” Alice’s voice was full of barely contained fury.

  Oh. Grace stood still as understanding swept over her.

  “So now I know why Kit’s barely looked at me. When did it start? Here or Newport? Maybe at Mrs. Rennell’s party when I was too sick to notice? Did you plan his coming here then?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Grace said desperately. How could she explain about her and Kit to Alice when she couldn’t even explain it to herself? “I had no idea the Rookwoods would follow us up here. And I did not steal him from you. I did hate him. I don’t anymore, but I still don’t know what I feel about him—”

  “Oh, I see. Is that why you were kissing him? To see if it would help you decide?”

  “I didn’t kiss him,” Grace protested. “He kissed me.”

  Alice looked at her bleakly. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” To her horror, Grace saw that she was crying—Alice Roosevelt, eldest daughter of the hero of San Juan Hill and one half of the Trouble Twins of Chestnut Hill, was crying.

  “It just keeps happening. Everyone shuts me out—first my family, and now my best friend and the boy I loved. I should be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?” She started to sob. “I’ve been holding it in all morning. Every time I looked at you, I wanted to hit you.”

  Grace watched her helplessly, standing in the rain with her face buried in her hands and shoulders shaking. Oh, Alice. The flirtatious, brash young sophisticate she’d tried to be in Newport was gone, leaving a sad, angry girl. A tendril of mist drifted by, making her look ghostly and distant though they stood only a few feet apart—

  “Where are the others?” she said, lifting her head.

  “I don’t care.” Alice’s voice was muffled against her hands.

  “I can’t hear your father or Mr. LaCasse or the boys anymore.”

  They both stood still, straining to hear. But the only sounds were those of the rain and a faint breeze rustling the leaves.

  “They’ve left us!” Alice said, clutching her arm. “We’re lost!”

  “We’re no such thing,” Grace said bracingly. “Hush and let me listen some more. I thought I heard them just now.”

  She hadn’t, but it suddenly seemed that pushing this rain and fog away might be a good idea after all. She took a deep breath and reached up to push the fog back up and the clouds and rain faster along their easterly path—

  —and hit something. Something was blocking it, holding the bad weather here over them as firmly as if it had been nailed down. And the only thing that could do that was magic. But it was like no magic she’d felt before. There was a menacing edge to it that made her recoil and half raise her hands to ward it off.

  “What are you doing?” Alice demanded.

  “N-nothing.” Grace made her voice sound as ordinary as possible. “Look, I know it’s foggy, but I’m sure we can catch up if we hurry. The trail isn’t too hard to follow.” Something was wrong, and she didn’t want to be alone out here with that layer of malevolent magic over them.

  “I can’t hurry. My ankle hurts.”

  “Don’t you want to find your father? Can’t you please at least try?”

  “Why should I do anything for someone who steals her best friend’s boyfriend?”

  “This has nothing to do with me. Alice, please—”

  “Hello!” a voice called. “Who’s there?”

  Grace whirled around and peered into the fog. That had sounded remarkably like— But it couldn’t be. “Hello?” she shouted. “Here! We’re here!”

  Two shapes emerged from the dense whiteness behind them, from the direction of Lake Colson and their camp—two familiar shapes.

  “Well, well,” John Rookwood said. “What have we here?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Mr. Rookwood!” Grace felt limp with relief. Of all the people who might have appeared, he was by far the most welcome, except maybe for Kit. She hurried to him, then stopped. “I thought you’d gone to Lake Schroon?”

  He took her outstretched hands and gripped them reassuringly. “We had to postpone our trip. But what about you? Where is the rest of your party?”

  Grace looked at John Rookwood and Alice. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” She pulled Mr. Rookwood a short distance away. “We got separated from Colonel Roosevelt and I’m worried,” she murmured to him.

  “So I gathered. What troubles you, my dear?”

  “That.” She gestured up at the sky. “There’s something not right about it. Something is holding this weather in place over the mountain. It…” she took a deep breath. “It doesn’t feel as if it means anyone well.”

  He stood with his hands behind his back, gazing down at the ground as she spoke, so that she could not see his face. Now he looked up. “You can feel that? How interesting. To what do you ascribe this…ill will?”

  “I don’t know. I worry that it has something to do with the Shadows.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “Have you felt any of them this morning?”

  “No. And maybe that’s a good thing. It—”

  “It certainly is!” John Rookwood had come up behind them. “We worked damned ha
rd all night to put as many of them as we could find up there. You didn’t give us much time.”

  Mr. Rookwood closed his eyes and winced. “John, I wish you would let me deal with this.”

  “And I wish you’d left it to me. We’d probably have been done by now and cozily back in civilization again.” His eyes flicked over Grace.

  Grace’s body suddenly felt detached from her mind. Only her ears seemed to be capable of working as usual, but they had to be wrong. They had to be. “Mr. Rookwood?” she whispered, fighting down rising panic.

  He glared at his brother before turning to her. “My dear Miss Boisvert.” His voice was calm and soothing. “I see it is time I did some explaining.”

  “Y-you did this?” She gestured at the sky.

  He gave a small cough. “Yes, we, er…did.”

  “But—how? Unless you’re—”

  John Rookwood made her an ironic bow. “We are Isham and Rookwood, Inc. at your service, magical consultants at large, offering our unique expertise to businesses and individuals alike who require—”

  “Be quiet, John.” Mr. Rookwood did not raise his voice, but his brother stopped speaking at once.

  “Excuse me,” Alice said loudly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m here too, and I’m getting wetter by the minute while you’re standing there yammering.”

  “My apologies.” Mr. Rookwood raised one hand and made a short, sweeping gesture, and suddenly it was not raining where they stood, though it continued to fall all around them. Alice’s mouth fell open.

  “Now then,” he continued. “We are wizards, as I believe you were going to say. And as my brother said, we are business consultants who perform services for those who require them.”

  “For a thumping good fee,” John Rookwood put in. Mr. Rookwood sighed.

  “Services…with your magic,” Grace said as calmly as she could. Mr. Rookwood—the Rookwoods—wizards!

  “That is correct.”

  “Are you performing a service for someone right now?”

  “We are completing one. The primary part has already been accomplished.”

  “Primary part?” John Rookwood said derisively. “Not if you ask me—”

  “I didn’t, John. We are not paid to have opinions. How many times do I have to remind you of that?” His expression remained unperturbed, but his tone had sharpened. “You will please escort Miss Roosevelt back to the cabins by the lake.”

  “But we were climbing up the mountain,” Alice protested. “And anyway, we have to find my father. He’ll be worried. Grace, tell him. He listens to you.”

  “He’ll worry less if you’re somewhere comfortable and dry with the rest of your family. After you’re safe at the cabins, I promise that we will find him and let him know,” Mr. Rookwood said kindly—too kindly. Grace heard the command in his voice and saw Alice’s brow smooth and the tension in her shoulders release.

  “All right,” she said and docilely accepted John Rookwood’s arm. A piece of whatever sheltered them all from the rain broke off and followed them.

  Grace took a deep breath. “I heard what you did to her.”

  “I’m merely sparing her some anxiety and taking her out of harm’s way. I wish to speak with you alone, and neither my brother nor your friend would have contributed to the conversation.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall we start down as well? Mount Marcy is no place for a young lady today. Even if she is rather an unusual one.” He raised one eyebrow at her and smiled.

  Grace didn’t move; indeed, it took all her will to remain standing. “You know what I am?” she asked in a small voice. No one—no one who wasn’t another dryad, anyway—had ever known what she was.

  He looked at her with concern. “Please don’t distress yourself, my dear! You did nothing to compromise your secret—in fact, you are to be commended for your discretion. It’s part of my business to be as well-informed as possible, which includes knowing that the Boisverts are one of the few remaining pure dryad families in the United States. No, I haven’t actually met your father—you will, I hope, forgive me that small prevarication.”

  Grace remembered the night of Mrs. Rennell’s party and how he’d examined her under the light of the torch…and remembered something else too. “Kit,” she whispered. “He’s… Is he…?”

  “Yes, he is a wizard as well—and an excellent one.” For a moment, a father’s pride in his son shone in his face. “You don’t know how pleased I am that he’s old enough to join us as junior partner. He’s a far better wizard—and far more level-headed—than my brother.” He opened his mouth to say something more, then seemed to think better of it, instead taking her arm and gently guiding her back down the mountain path.

  Grace let him because she was busy trying to readjust her view of the world…but mostly, she was thinking about Kit. “Does he know what I am?”

  “Yes, though he didn’t until I told him, that night in Newport before we all left.” His voice was kind. “And no, he’s never been affected by your dryad allure. He’s too advanced for that, though my brother is not. I must apologize for his behavior at times around you.”

  Grace barely heard him. Kit knew! A surge of emotion welled up in her—excitement and something else. If he knew what she was and still loved her, then… “Where is Kit?”

  “Around.” Mr. Rookwood made a vague gesture. “As I said, we are at work right now. This is his first undertaking for us. He’s keeping watch.”

  The glow dimmed. “You’re working with the—the Shadows?”

  “I’ve been studying them ever since we arrived. My ‘fishing’ forays on Lake Henderson provided me time for that, just as your sketchbook gave you time with the trees.”

  Grace remembered Crow telling her how the Shadows had been gathering at the lake. “I can’t imagine what you’d want to do with them. They terrify me.”

  “I can’t say I enjoy their company either.” He smiled wryly. “But they will prove to be remarkably helpful, I think. They were quite interested in you, you know.”

  “In me?” She shuddered. “Why?”

  “They were drawn to you from the first. They’re always attracted by power, though they had never seen your particular type before. I, too, find it interesting. Very interesting.”

  Grace shook her head. “I have no power to speak of. You must know that if you know dryads. We look after our trees. That’s all.”

  “Ah, I beg to differ, Miss Boisvert. You possess many useful magical skills. You have power over plant life. You can control the weather and hide in the shadows of trees, and—ahem!—you possess a certain attractiveness to human men that renders them easily swayed. You may have noticed my brother’s reaction to you; I don’t believe he’s aware of it, but I noticed it immediately on your meeting. These are all qualities that would be of use in my line of work—and that list does not include the power of your own intelligence and personality, my dear. I’ve observed that you’ve got a Changer quite tamed.”

  “What? Oh, Crow? He’s not tamed. He just likes to talk to me. Mostly I think he likes the food I bring him.”

  “Changers almost never interact with anyone else, including their own kind. To call them loners is vastly understating the case.” He smiled at her astonished expression. “Furthermore, they don’t need to eat. Yours has convinced you that it does so that you’ll keep coming back.”

  “Good heavens!” So Crow liked her, did he? But that wasn’t what was important right now. “Um…Mr. Rookwood, are you offering me a job?”

  “Why be so surprised? I’m a successful businessman, as you might have gathered from your time in Newport. I know a good thing when I see it. In addition to your other attributes, you’re level-headed and certainly know how to keep a secret.” He gazed into the fog and added, “I’m sure Kit would be pleased if you joined us. You are young yet, but in time… Yes, I want you to join me, Miss Boisvert. I want you to become part of Isham and Rookwood—as a full partner, someday, if you so choose, along with Kit.”
<
br />   Full partner, with Kit. She bowed her head to conceal her expression. “May I ask, sir, what business it is you perform? Who hires you, anyway?”

  “It varies, of course. Our current client is a repeat customer. You would certainly recognize his name if I said it. He takes a strong interest in current national and international affairs—it’s his job, you might say.” He smiled. “Others of our clients are less well known. They come to us and ask us to perform certain tasks. We decide if we can perform the required actions without compromising ourselves and our business and if they can be done to the clients’ satisfaction. If so, we agree upon a price and a timetable. Our greatest asset is our discretion. We have never yet failed to complete a commission to a customer’s satisfaction. If we feel we cannot successfully do our job, we won’t accept the commission.”

  Something about his careful phrasing made her uneasy. “That’s impressive, I’m sure…but what sort of things do you do?”

  “Many things.” He looked at her sideways and seemed to reach a decision, “For an example, there was an occurrence in Havana Harbor a few years ago that you might have heard about. That was one of ours.”

  An occurrence in Havana Harbor… She gasped. “You blew up the Maine?”

  “My brother did. He enjoys travel and likes to take on our commissions in exotic locales. I’m more of a homebody, though in my defense it can be said that I’m some years older than he is, and besides, Mrs. Rookwood does not like me to be away from home for long,” Mr. Rookwood explained apologetically, then gave a small laugh. “Not that Buffalo is a particularly exotic locale. John was not pleased with having to stay there as long as he did after we left to see the job done, but one does what one must do.”

  Buffalo? And then an icy shower, far colder than the rain around them, seemed to run down her back, and she stopped walking. “The president,” she said. “You got that man to shoot him.”

  “Not quite. Czolgosz had already planned to shoot the president. We merely made sure he succeeded. That is how we work; we find a suitable tool at hand and use it. We rarely, if ever, find it necessary to intervene directly.”