Mrs. McTavet's sobs were the only sound echoing through the hallway for what felt like an agonizing eternity. I couldn't take my eyes off that outstretched hand.
It wasn't like she was reaching towards me for help. It was like, even broken and bloody; she wanted me to admire her rock.
Sometimes I hate the thoughts that run through my own head.
Then I heard a stomping noise and looked up to see Mr. McTavet racing down the stairs at what seemed an unwise speed, reeling and stumbling and barely catching himself on the banister.
"John!" he cried. "John, help me!"
I looked around to see who John was. The butler, perhaps? But the butler was leaning against the doorway that led to the foyer, a shaking hand pressed over his eyes, not reacting to Mr. McTavet's cries.
"Let me through," someone said from within the ballroom, and the crowd parted to let one of the tuxedoed men past. He pulled off his top hat and handed it to the younger man following close on his heels before kneeling down beside Ivy's outstretched hand.
"Did she fall?" the man named John asked as Mr. McTavet huffed and puffed down the last flight of stairs.
"I don't know," he said, out of breath. But his voice also had a wavery quality to it, like he'd gladly sink down into hysterical sobs as his wife was still doing up at the top of the stairs.
"You were right beside her," John said.
"Not just then," he said. "I had turned to speak to my wife. Ivy was behind me. I didn't see."
I looked up the stairs. Thomas Weingarten was standing there as if he didn't know what to do or where to go. His face was ashen, and I suspected whatever was going through his head was more primal than actual thoughts.
He was quite close to the balcony railing, though. It was higher than his waist, and Ivy had been quite a bit shorter than he. I doubted very much she could have fallen over that railing by mistake.
The crowd around me had been intense and frightening for the brief time when everyone had been moving at once, but there had only been a few people up on that balcony with her. Her parents, Thomas, and whoever Thomas had been attempting to speak to.
"We should get up there," I said to Otto. Otto nodded, and we tried to slip along the wall, circling around the men standing around Ivy's body, but the third unnamed man noticed us just as we reached the bottom of the stairs and rushed to block our way.
"Stop right there," he said, putting a hand on Otto's chest. Otto narrowed his eyes.
"What's that, Stuart?” John asked, still examining the floor around the body.
"We need to take control of the crime scene, chief," Stuart said, not taking his eyes off the three of us. John, apparently the chief of police, looked up.
"Quite right," he said. He looked towards the ballroom at some of the young men lingering in the doorway. "McConnell, Ricci, get the rest of the boys. We need men on every door. No one comes or goes until we know what happened here."
"It wasn't an accident, sir?" one of the young men asked.
"That's to be determined," the chief said, but his frown said he knew the answer would be no. "McTavet, how many doors are there?"
He had to ask twice before Mr. McTavet heard him. When he answered his voice sounded odd, like someone speaking while in a hypnotic trance. "Four. Front door, two back doors that open out onto the patio, and the kitchen door."
"Two men on each door, and two more at each end of the upstairs corridor," the chief said to the men in the doorway. "And keep everyone else in the ballroom for now."
"That includes you three," Stuart said to us.
"Our friend is still upstairs," I said, although I didn't know if that was true.
"If that's so, we'll have some questions for your friend," Stuart said. "What's her name?"
“His name is Edward Scott," Otto said.
"Edward?" Mr. McTavet said, as if the name awoke him from his trance. Then his face went through a series of transformations as if a dozen emotions were warring for prominence.
"Is Edward upstairs, Jim?" the chief asked. The blustery command voice he had used on the men in the doorway was now the soft tone of a man speaking to a grieving friend.
"He was," Mr. McTavet said. "Not just now, no. But earlier. Ivy… had to… have words… to explain…" But the words were lost in racking sobs.
"Yes, of course," the chief said. He rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Jim, you should see to your wife. She needs you."
"My Ivy," Mr. McTavet sobbed. His hands fluttered around her as if he longed to gather her up in his arms but was also afraid to touch her.
"I'll see to Ivy, Jim," the chief said. He looked around until his eyes found the butler. As if he felt that gaze on him, the butler lowered his hand and pulled himself back into a formal posture. "Tompkins, isn't it? Tompkins, bring Mr. McTavet to the library and get him something to drink. And send someone to see to Mrs. McTavet.”
"Of course," Tompkins said. He discreetly wiped at his eyes as he brushed past us to reach Mr. McTavet's side and help him to his feet.
"You three. Where were you when she fell?" the chief asked us.
"Just there, against the wall," Otto said, pointing out the spot.
"Can anyone confirm that?"
"Yes," I said. "We were with Brianna Collins and Mary Taylor."
"Mary," the chief said, the bluster falling out of his voice again as he looked down at Ivy's body. He seemed to be a close friend of her father's. He had probably known her since she was a baby. I couldn't imagine what he was feeling now, still trying to do his job.
But when he looked back to us, his face was all sternly professional once more. "Is someone with Mary now?"
"Brianna," I said. Not that the name would mean anything to the chief. But he nodded.
"It's going to be a while before you can go upstairs or see your friend. For now, I'll ask you to join the others in the ballroom and be as much comfort to Mary as you can."
"Of course," I said. Sophie was also nodding. Otto said nothing at all, although he appeared to be having some sort of staring contest with the policeman named Stuart. Sophie had to drag him away, back to the ballroom.
"I don't like this," Otto said as soon as we were past the young men guarding the door between the ballroom and the hall.
"It's positively horrid," Sophie said.
"I don't mean the murder," Otto said. "I mean what's going to happen next."
"What's going to happen next?" I asked.
"They're going to catch a killer," Otto said. "And if they can't find one, they'll make one."
"Edward?" I said. "But he wasn't even up there."
"You don't really believe the facts are going to matter?" Otto sneered.
"They will if I have anything to say about it," I said.
"Do you have anything to say about it?" He was looking at me quite intently, and I knew the question had not been rhetorical.
"We need to find a place to talk," Sophie said. "Just the three of us." Otto was nodding and looking around, but Sophie put a hand on his arm until he looked down at her again. "Not you. The two of us and Brianna."
"Oh. Of course," he said and tapped the side of his nose.
"Can you find her and tell her we're in the parlor?" I asked.
"Will it be quiet there?" Sophie asked.
"If it isn't filled with women overcome with shock or recovering from a light trampling from that crowd," I said. Then more seriously, "It’s in the back of the house. If it's occupied, we can find another room there."
"I see red hair," Otto said. "I'll send her after you."
"Thank you, Otto," Sophie said. He nodded then used his dispersal powers to clear a way through the crowd towards the stage for the band at the far end of the room.
Sophie and I slipped out the unguarded doors between the ballroom and the back of the house then down the semi-dark corridor to the parlor. I was surprised to find it empty, but then the people standing in the ballroom were largely in such a deep state of shock and numbness they looked like they'd only move about if led by others.
"I'm here," Brianna said as she came in the door, also looking around to be sure we were alone. "Are we leaving?"
"We can't," I said.
"We can evade a police guard, surely," Sophie said. Brianna lifted her eyebrows at that comment.
"We have to stay," I said. "If Otto is right and they try to pin this on Edward, we're going to have to intervene. Or, I guess, I will."
"We," Sophie said, crossing her arms. "Whatever we decide, we do together."
"It wasn't an accident, then? Brianna asked. "I didn't see exactly what happened."
"I didn't either," I said. We both looked at Sophie, who shook her head.
"But even if it was murder, surely that's a matter for the police," Brianna said. "Isn't it?"
"I would tend to agree with that assessment," Sophie said, looking to me.
"I would too," I said, although it almost hurt getting the words out. "As corrupt as Otto says they are, surely that's just in matters dealing with prohibition and the gangs and that. The murder of the daughter of a prominent family is surely another thing altogether."
"So what are we doing?" Brianna asked.
"We're being sure," I said, "that magic wasn't involved."
"Each in our own way?" Sophie asked. "Like before?"
"Yes, but I guess we can't really all go to separate rooms this time," I said.
"I can tune you out," Sophie said, then turned to move one of the little tea tables out of the way so she could have enough room to dance.
"I'll be over here," Brianna said, moving towards a little nook lined with bookcases. They didn't really look like Brianna's sort of books, but I guessed she was just drawn to the smell of ink and paper and binding glue.
I dropped to the floor with my back against the wall, the skirts of my sapphire gown ballooning around me then slowly sinking to the floor. I closed my eyes and switched my awareness to the other place, to the world of threads.
I had never done this with so many minds in such close proximity to mine. I had spread my awareness over city blocks before, but that had been a different experience. This was more concentrated. I could feel everyone's shock and grief, a wave of emotion that nearly staggered me. I was only vaguely aware of my physical form, but I could feel the tickle of tears running down my cheeks.
Then I left my body behind entirely, moving past the knots of souls in the ballroom to the hall itself. I could see the dying light from the threads that made Ivy. Her story was coming to an end, although it was continuing on a bit past her last breath. She was connected to everything around her. To her father at the back of the house. To her mother in a room at the front of the house on the second floor. To Thomas still standing at the top of the staircase as if he had become petrified.
To Edward, alone in a tiny room at the end of the third-floor corridor. I passed my mind over the threads that formed Edward, feeling his confusion and fear and sadness and anger.
I wished there was a way to make him feel me, to know that I was there, to lend him some measure of comfort.
But if there were, it was a magic I didn't yet know.
I went back to my body and opened my eyes. Brianna and Sophie were both sitting on the floor in front of me, waiting.
"Nothing," I said.
"Nothing," Sophie said.
"No, nothing at all," Brianna said. "Not Evanora, not any sort of enchanted object or remnant of a spell. Not even some rogue energy flowing out from one of us."
"You checked for that?" I asked. "I didn't even know that was a thing."
"It's rare, but definitely a thing," she said. "But it didn't happen here. Despite our presence, and the fact that at least one witch is in this time period looking to make trouble, whatever happened to Ivy was, if not an accident, still a perfectly natural event."
"So we stay out of it," Sophie said, looking at me. Not a question.
"We stay out of it," I said.
But to myself, I added, "for now."