ERIDANUS

2

HETTY FOLLOWED HER HUSBAND, nudging the river of stars forward, but it helped little. It was a spiral staircase, which meant, light or no light, it was hard to see anything beyond what was in front of her. The staircase wasn’t as tight as Hetty first feared. They couldn’t walk down side by side, but there was room enough that they could walk without feeling like they were being squeezed into a vise. A vast improvement over some of the tunnels Hetty had been in before.

The first tunnels under the city started with the express purpose of smuggling goods out of sight of British eyes during the Revolutionary War. They started at the rivers and linked up with the taverns. As it happens with any good idea, new tunnels were made, and over time they smuggled more than liquor in and out of the city.

The tunnels that Hetty had walked through previously didn’t run from one end of the city to the other. They were merely links between churches and the basements of select houses, allowing people fleeing to safety, and those assisting them, to avoid detection. Some of those tunnels might still be in use, but most of the ones that Hetty knew of ran in unfriendly territories, had collapsed, or had been personally sealed off by Benjy.

This tunnel was something entirely different.

It shouldn’t exist at all.

Hetty had never heard of a tunnel being under Barclay Street before, or anyone using a tunnel in this area. Which wasn’t a bad thing on its own, but that all depended on what they found.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel expanded. Not only did they have a choice of turning left or right, but the tunnel swept upward into an arched ceiling well above their heads.

“This was carved out with care.” Benjy swept his arm toward the ceiling as they took the leftward path first. “Great skill, too. Something important was moved down here. What it was depends on who used this tunnel.”

“You have doubts?” Hetty asked with some surprise.

“I have a few ideas but they rely on people using the staircase back into the house.”

Hetty had an idea of one possibility as she glanced at the ground. The light from the star sigil above them revealed deep wheel ruts cut into the dirt.

A wagon with heavy cargo? Or had countless wagons come through here?

“If only there was a bit of mess. It would have made things easier.” Hetty tapped her boot against the ground. The tunnel was fairly clean. No cobwebs, no musty air, and no signs of debris lying around.

“I disagree.”

Benjy had stopped not far in front of her. At first she thought he was waiting for her to catch up. But as she drew near, she found she was wrong.

They could go no further.

Densely packed rock and rubble blocked the way ahead. The light from the river of stars flowed along it, illuminating the stones that had settled in a fashion that would be impossible to move.

“Interesting,” Benjy said. He leaned forward to study it, but thankfully made no move to touch a single stone. “This is recent.”

“Did any of the neighbors mention something like an earthquake?” Hetty asked.

“No. But we’re deep enough that it might not be a concern.”

“What if those star sigils dampen things?”

“Possibly. The hex bothers me more,” Benjy replied absently. “It nearly caught you​—​and you’re an expert at magical detection. I don’t know if this is connected to the fire, but the possibility is high.”

They retraced their steps, passing the stairwell as they turned their attention to the other side of the tunnel.

It was much the same, although they did manage to walk for a longer period of time before they were stopped by a solid sheet of rock.

This time, Benjy pressed a hand against the wall. He barely touched it before the wall swung outward.

Hetty peered out into a small side street. At first it looked no different than the dozens she’d seen before. Then she heard the bells​—​church bells that she recognized at once.

“This opens next to St. Gregorious.” Craning her head, Hetty recognized the gates of the tiny Greek church that showed up in several of her friend Darlene’s paintings. “This is only a few blocks away. We didn’t travel that far at all.”

“Still close enough for trouble. This is the end of the tunnel. The rest is blocked.”

Hetty turned around, pressing her back against the stone archway to better look up at her husband. “Should we try to get through the blockage?”

“I wouldn’t try it with magic.” Benjy tapped his fingers against the wall. “There’s a risk of tunnel collapse if I do it by hand.”

“You just don’t want to do it,” Hetty said as she poked him in the chest. “Or you can’t.”

“Oh, I certainly can,” he said swiftly, his full attention swinging back to her. “I just see no reason why I should.” Benjy leaned toward her, leaving a playful gap between them. “Unless you can convince me?”

He said the words softly, and for a long moment the idea was tempting, because she was curious about where the tunnel went. And given a few moments, she could be quite persuasive. Yet . . .

“It doesn’t matter where the tunnel leads if we can’t connect it to the fire or hex,” Hetty said.

Benjy nodded, pleased at these words. “The trail of magical residue didn’t flow into here. It stopped midway on the stairs. So I’m more curious if there are other hexes left in the house.”

If there were, they didn’t get a chance to find them.

When they ascended the stairs back into the kitchen, it became very clear that Benjy had been right.

The house was occupied. They had been back in the kitchen for mere moments before the owner appeared in the doorway, the surprise in his face turning to confusion when he saw them in the pantry.

While it was hard to say if Benjy was surprised, Hetty was quite alarmed. They had left spells behind to warn them if someone had entered the house, and those spells had somehow failed when they never had before.

The man stared at them for what felt like a long time before speaking. “What are you doing here?”

He was a bit older, with streaks of gray in his hair that gave him a dignified air. He was handsome, with a squarish face and a neatly trimmed beard. A fact he was well aware of, for there were traces of his vanity about him, such as the tailored cut of his jacket. Although his skin was a warm dark brown, his features hinted at a complicated ancestry. He had an easy grin that only grew as he took notice of Hetty’s study of him.

“We’re looking into reasons for the fire. This house caught our attention since it’s the only one still standing,” Hetty said. “I’m sorry that we just barged in here.”

“What were you doing in my pantry?” he asked. “Although, I won’t complain about finding such a lovely woman in my home.” He turned on the charm with these words, seemingly heedless of Benjy’s presence at her side.

“You live here,” Benjy said rather sternly. “How are you so lucky that the house still stands? Your neighbors’ homes are nothing but dust and ashes.”

Benjy met the man’s gaze with a rather foreboding expression.

He was very good at this. A simple look that was a mixture of disdain, scorn, and impatience was just enough to silence all conversation and to have people reconsidering their choices in life.

While Hetty doubted Benjy took offense to the man’s flirting, he did a good job at playing a jealous husband. It was a ruse they used often to great effect, because playing into expectations was always easier than bucking them.

“A well-placed spell.” The man’s pleasant smile could not hide how vague that answer was. “And a good deal of luck.”

“I heard a candle was the cause of the fire,” Hetty said.

The man snorted. “I don’t believe an ordinary candle did this! I saw splotches of magic around when I checked on my neighbors. If any candle did this, it was etched with star sigils.”

Candles were often carved with star sigils, and like the designs she sewed in her clothes or the etchings Benjy added to various metalworks, they could be used to amplify or ground spells.

It wasn’t unusual magic, but it was unusual for Hetty to talk about it in conversation with a stranger. As long as magic did its job, few people cared to discuss the whys and hows.

“Are you familiar with such things?” Hetty asked.

“Not as much as I could have been,” the man admitted. “My father was a scholar of magic.”

“Of Celestial magic?” Hetty’s surprise got away from her. There were many branches of magic in the world, but Celestial magic wasn’t one that was closely studied. Formed during captivity and enslavement, Celestial magic was a curiosity to some, an abomination to others, and a mystery even to those that claimed it as a birthright. Constellations were the basis for sigils, and the rules on how to use them varied a great deal, as most instructions were passed along in stories and songs. Having become adept in such spells over the years, Hetty was confident in saying she had few equals in spellcasting. But in serious academic study, she wouldn’t know where to begin.

“Yes. My father devoted as much as he could in this study. He’s well known in certain circles about it.”

Hetty wrinkled her nose. “Certain circles” always meant those elite and insular groups that seldom invited the likes of her into their ranks.

“Then I haven’t heard of him.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “My father was Raimond Duval.”

The man held himself ready to face an onslaught of questions. But there was no need to worry. Hetty had none, because that name told her everything she needed to know.

Raimond Duval died in the fire on Powell Street last month. While the fire, the destruction, and his death were recounted in the newspapers, a few details weren’t mentioned.

Such as Raimond was badly burned on the chest and arms, but his clothes were intact enough that what they were able to retrieve showed precise tears in the flesh of his torso that looked like a knife wound. Or that the building rubble had layers of magical residue mixed in the ashes. Or that Duval’s body moved through the coroner’s office at such an alarming pace that the only thing Hetty and Benjy could study was the report file, which was riddled with half truths. Or that the only eyewitness had been a drunk​—​a woman sober enough to recognize the unofficial badge of a Beatty Hose volunteer making the rounds and who ended up floating in the Schuylkill not long after sharing this statement.

Everything pointed to Beatty Hose’s involvement. And everything made sense. So they’d closed the case and moved on.

But nothing felt right about it.

And here she was, standing in front of another Duval.

This couldn’t be by chance.

“Raimond Duval,” Hetty said softly. “I know who he is. I didn’t know he was a scholar of magic.”

“One of the few. The name’s Valentine. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Henrietta Rhodes.”

Valentine grinned at her. “And Miss Rhodes, are you also a scholar in Celestial magic?”

This time, Benjy wasn’t pretending any annoyance as he corrected the older man. “My wife is an extraordinary talent with magic.”

Valentine exclaimed, “No wonder the name Rhodes sounded familiar to my ear! If she’s Henrietta, you must be Ben Rhodes​—​you’re well known in the Seventh, for the murder that often surrounds you.”

“I would hope so,” Benjy replied. “It’s what happens when my wife feeds crows as often as she does. She enjoys seeing a large murder at our door.”

Valentine didn’t even blink. “Ha! This is the sort of wordplay I expect from Winston Smalls. Are you a member of the Edmonstone Club?”

“A sometimes member,” Benjy admitted.

“Sometimes?”

“Yes, I sometimes show up for meetings when there’s a topic of interest.”

Valentine’s laugh was both genuine and endearing. “I wish I could say you were wrong, but you got the right idea of it. These days, though, I’ve been giving my time to another group. Maybe you can join me at a meeting with like-minded individuals, regarding magic rights?”

Hetty coughed into her hand.

“Both of you,” Valentine amended. “Women are not excluded. Some of the brightest people I work with have the moon’s favor.”

His well-meaning words were met with silence, and his smile wavered.

“Brother, who are you talking to?”

A woman poked her head in the doorway, frowning at Valentine and mostly ignoring Hetty and Benjy.

Her dress was dark gray, but made of material light enough for summer. The fine embroidery on her bodice pointed to the work of the Garden Tailors, who were infamous for certain swirls in their stitches. She had the wan look of someone who forgot a meal or two while distracted with other work. Brother and sister weren’t identical, but there were faint echoes of each other in their features. Her long hair was kept back in a single plait that swung between her shoulders, and looking at the two of them, Hetty thought that the siblings likely had Native American relatives.

“Adelaide, this is Benjamin Rhodes, and his wife, Henrietta.”

“Rhodes?” Valentine’s sister echoed with some surprise. “I have heard the most extraordinary stories about you and your husband. My father​—” She stopped for a beat, grasping the glasses that dangled from the delicate chain at her neck. She lifted them to her eyes and peered at Hetty and Benjy with clear fascination. “My father said you’re one of the best practitioners of Celestial magic in the city. Some would say the best, given all the tales about you. I’m Adelaide Duval, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s not the word I would use.” In strolled a man who was some years younger than the siblings, although still much older than Hetty and Benjy. Accented French rolled along his speech, and if that didn’t betray him as a Louisiana Creole, then his light complexion, light eyes, and a casual disdain of everything and everyone around him did that for him.

“Our cousin,” Valentine said without looking back, “Horace, who shouldn’t have come if he was only here to complain.”

“I was curious”​—​Horace’s eyes roved around the kitchen​—​“and I paid dearly for it. Are these your intruders?”

“We just came in to see if there was trouble,” Hetty interjected. “The door was kicked in.”

“Perhaps by the neighbors.” Valentine nodded. “I have been traveling until recently, and since I got back I’ve spent my nights in my father’s home. But I had spells set here, and knew something had gone wrong.”

“Don’t tell them your business, brother dear.” Adelaide wasn’t as rude as their cousin, but there was wary caution about her. Earned, perhaps, as there really wasn’t a good excuse for Hetty and Benjy to be there. But there was something else. Something in the way the woman stuck her hands in the pockets of her skirts to hide the balling of fists.

The presence of strangers was not only a surprise. It was quite unwanted, almost enough to raise a fuss.

“I’m sure the whole street knows my business. I have not been here for a while, and if I had been​—”

“The house would have burned down too,” snorted Horace. “What a loss that would be! The house, I mean, not you.”

“Horace,” Adelaide snapped. “Why don’t you go back to Father’s house. We will talk then.”

Her cousin shook his head. “You know what I came for.”

Adelaide turned to her brother, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Upstairs,” Valentine said. “In the wardrobe in the bedroom.”

She nodded, and then glowered at their cousin. “Follow me.”

When they left the room, all signs of ease in Valentine went away, leaving him tired and worn.

“I apologize for my cousin’s rudeness, but it’s been a trying time since my father’s death. And this little fire is of concern. I know this was no accident. None of these fires have been accidents.”

“That’s why we’re looking into them,” Benjy said.

“Why would you be interested in such things?”

“You know who we are,” Benjy said. “Since you are a sometimes member of the Vigilance Society.”

Valentine smiled and something else in his face changed. Instead of the genial older man with a taste for inappropriate flirting, there stood a man who had seen his fair share of adventures. “The stories are true, then? You are that good.”

“Just a good memory for details,” Benjy said airily.

“I don’t recall hearing anything about your work,” Hetty said.

“I didn’t do anything worth boasting about.”

“Don’t be so humble. Surely you have wonderful stories to tell,” Hetty encouraged. “You must tell me how you got your start!”

“Brought into the family business. My father’s people are from New Orleans. They’ve been free for generations, but unlike his siblings he didn’t turn a blind eye to the slave trading going on. He went down to the auctions, placed bids, and made arrangements to get them their papers. My father freed my sister and myself this way. We were the last ones he had done this ploy with, and we stayed with him as he fled north with the aid of the Vigilance Society, which he joined later. When I grew older I took up the work alongside him. This house ended up in my possession because of the tunnel you can enter through the pantry.” This last pointed remark was said with a small smile, confirming they had never truly fooled him in the first place.

“No regrets about the work?” Benjy asked.

“A few, but whatever you lost can hardly compare to all the lives you helped. Or so Bernice Tanner tells me.”

“She would say so,” Hetty grunted, “after all the assignments we took without question!”

“Such as Sarah Jacobs? Forgive me,” Valentine said when they both looked on with surprise. “I remember that one because I had gotten an urgent message to give assistance, but I missed you by several days.”

“Speed was important in that case,” Hetty said as she turned to old, almost forgotten memories. “Someone was after Sarah Jacobs. We even had to rescue her children first, as she wouldn’t leave without them. Luckily she had marked them.” Hetty lifted her hand and drew a circle along the inside of her wrist. “So we knew who they were. With the children in hand, we returned to Philadelphia, met up with Sarah, and brought them all to safety.”

“Is that the whole story?”

Hetty had heard many rude things in her life, but this ranked high among the worst offenders.

“The whole of what? That was not a proper story! Only a recounting of memories nearly forgotten. If you wanted the true story, I can tell you of a flight taken in haste. Of magic that silenced the wolves at our heels. A story with a villain who had a hundred faces that he slipped on like a mask. They didn’t all fit, but some he wore rather well as he fooled all sorts of people.”

“Tell me the proper story, then. There is more I haven’t heard, it seems.” Valentine smiled at Hetty as he said these words.

But there wasn’t anything genuine about that smile. He wanted something.

That was fine.

Everyone wanted something. Although what he was after was hard to say. Nothing in his manner gave his true aim away.

“Let me start from the beginning.” Hetty dropped her voice into a harsh whisper. “In the weeks before the war broke out, the North Wind blew an assignment into my lap. There was a woman in need of safe passage, but her children were taken from her, and she would not go to safety without them . . .”