SEA MONSTER

4

HETTY WASN’T SURE WHAT she expected when she poked her head into the dining room, but it wasn’t her friends gathered around the long and ornate table that took center stage in the room. Or that the large chandelier above their heads was fully lit up despite plenty of sunlight trickling through the window.

On the table was an open case for a fiddle. Benjy loomed over the instrument, giving it the full weight of his scrutiny. Nearby, Thomas was in the middle of a rapid-fire explanation about the fiddle’s origins. Oliver sat in one of the straight-back chairs, rubbing at his short beard, his expression much like whenever Hetty and Benjy brought a murder victim for him to study. Disapproving, concerned, and unable to stop himself from getting involved. Although the magnitude of his concern appeared greater than usual. A circumstance that only occurred when Thomas was involved. Watching Oliver for a moment longer, Hetty could only ponder what that expression meant. Oliver always worried about Thomas, and these days he did so with a particular keenness because he and Thomas had spent over half a year apart due to a combination of stubbornness and unwillingness to listen on both sides.

Sitting apart from this set piece, George flipped through the pages of a book, absently moving it away from the baby in his lap, who kept reaching for it. George’s frown only seemed to deepen, and it didn’t seem related to what he was reading. Across from her husband and daughter, Darlene idly sketched what must be the scene before her in her sketchbook. On the other end of the table sat Cora and Jay. Neither appeared too concerned about the fiddle as they spoke softly to the other, their heads bent in a whispered conference. But they were the only ones who noticed Hetty as she slipped inside and quietly shut the door behind her.

Both Cora and her husband, Pastor Jay Evans, had worked with the Vigilance Society as station masters in the years leading up to the war. They housed many runaways like Hetty who were struggling to figure out what it meant to be free. While many had come and gone, only Hetty remained long enough to call their house a home. She had gotten on well with the older couple, becoming a part of their lives outside of the Vigilance Society, living with them until her marriage. Having no children of their own, they often claimed Hetty as their adopted daughter. Hetty once had a mother and father, and held on to the memories through the stories she told. Cora and Jay would never replace them, but they filled the void in her heart.

Hetty was halfway across the room when Benjy asked, without looking up from the fiddle, “Do you think the wood itself could be enchanted, Hetty?”

Heads spun in Hetty’s direction, surprise on the others’ faces. Hetty ignored them all as she stepped to the table, reminded of the times they’d found a dead body in the middle of the night. Up close, the fiddle wasn’t as nice-looking as she’d first thought. A few scratches and worn spots proved it was well used, but not valuable.

“It depends on the method,” Hetty said. “The wood could be soaked in a potion. Or grown from a tree that’s been enchanted.”

Hetty reached out a hand. She didn’t touch the fiddle, but merely held her hand over it.

She could almost feel the magic, but that might be her mind pulling a trick on her.

There was too much ambient spellwork around her in this room to allow her to pinpoint what made this fiddle special. And she wouldn’t risk finding out in a more direct fashion, crowded as she was with her dear friends.

“Where did this come from?” Hetty asked.

“It’s mine,” Thomas said. The right side of his face was a web of old scars, and made his already worried expression hold even greater concern. “Or . . . not mine exactly, but it came into my possession.”

“I told him not to take it,” Oliver grunted. The snarl of his words didn’t hide the glimmer of fear behind his eyes. Of all of their friends, Oliver assisted them the most directly because he was an embalmer. And in the course of looking at dead bodies, he’d witnessed his fair share of magical mishaps. Thomas, despite all he’d seen, didn’t share his partner’s caution. It was a trait that appeared in the number of failed ventures Thomas had started over the years, and explained how he rushed into things with too little information. Including the mail-order business he was running out of his living room.

“I didn’t pick it up off the streets,” Thomas said wearily. “Someone wanted me to mail it for them.”

“Is this about the Pony Post again?” Hetty asked.

“In a roundabout way,” Thomas insisted.

“Did an instrument maker want you to send this?”

Thomas swallowed and carefully avoided Oliver’s eyes. “No, just someone who had it in his possession.”

Together, Hetty and Benjy cried: “It’s stolen!”

Oliver put his head in his hands, groaning about foolishness and foolhardy men. Meanwhile, Thomas looked around for allies.

George was still pretending to read his book. Darlene sniffed and looked away. Jay shook his head with gentle reproof. Which left Cora.

Cora peered at the fiddle for a long moment, but then sat back even more disinterested than she was at the start. “What made you bring this here? It’s not causing trouble.” She waved a hand around the room. “The wards Henrietta and Benjamin placed on their home wouldn’t have let you in if it was dangerous. This fiddle’s been here for hours now, and it’s done nothing to be concerned about.”

“But it could,” Thomas said.

There was an almost stubborn quality to his words. While Hetty was ready to dismiss the fiddle as harmless, Thomas clearly wasn’t ready to do the same.

Benjy shut the instrument’s case. “I could keep it for a while. Take a closer look.”

“You don’t think it’s dangerous?” Darlene asked.

“No, but a closer look will help.” Benjy carried it out of the room. Hetty waited for a moment before she followed him.

“Why the big production?” she asked the moment they were alone in the hallway. “We both know it’s harmless.”

Benjy tapped his fingers against the instrument case. “I know, but Thomas is worried about something. A tricky enchantment is the least annoying thing I can deal with.”

“We,” Hetty corrected. “I’m curious too.”

“And it is worth looking into just to be safe. Think Penelope has a potion that can find something our spells can’t?”

“Penelope always has a potion we can try.”

But when they went back to the kitchen, not only had the table been cleared and the kitchen tidied, but Penelope was nowhere to be seen.

They even went into the study, just in case Penelope had gone in there to restock the jars of healing salve, but she was not there, either.

“She might be upstairs freshening up,” Hetty said, although she made no move to check, choosing instead to perch on one end of the couch. “I’m going to New Jersey in a bit. Penelope and Darlene want to see a medium. The great Eudora Mason. She speaks to ghosts and sends messages to loved ones.”

Her husband’s expression was everything she had imagined and somehow more. The perfect amount of disgust and mild disbelief filled his face.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Benjy declared. “And if they were, why would they speak to the living?”

“To bestow knowledge, give wisdom, maybe even tell people who killed them?”

“If they did that, it’d take all the fun out of mystery solving.” He paused for effect. “If they were real!”

Hetty laughed off his concerns. “I believe the medium is a fraud, but it’s Darlene who wants to go.”

“Who died recently for her to be that interested?”

“Her father’s been dead for the past three years, but he died rather peacefully.”

“Maybe she wanted to introduce him to her baby.”

Hetty rolled her eyes as Benjy chuckled at his own joke. “If you’re that curious, you’re welcome to join us.”

“I have plans for the evening, although I’m just learning about them.”

“I heard Oliver is keen on getting you in the boxing ring tonight.”

Benjy leaned the instrument against the wall. “He’s trying to convince me.”

“Convince you?” Hetty laughed. “Did he bet his house and a great deal of money on you?”

“No, but he was telling me about Wildcat James. The man’s been talking nonsense about being the defending champ, even though the last time we fought it was hardly a match.”

“I know.” Hetty hid a smile as he fumed, clearly bothered by the blatant lies. “I was there.”

In Hetty’s biased opinion, Benjy had no equal in the boxing ring, but even so, no one could deny his superior skills when he sent the Wildcat flying out the ring by the end of the second round.

“Are you doing the match, then?” Hetty asked. “To correct this very wrong opinion?”

“It’s just that I didn’t plan on it,” Benjy began. “I haven’t made up my mind.”

That was a lie.

Benjy may have started taking part in these matches because of the outrageous bets made by an old friend, but he enjoyed it. The money their friends placed on him, the harsh words spat by other opponents, the lure of riches to be made​—​these were of little matter. He did it because he liked it, and that was that.

“You should box,” Hetty said. “I don’t like hearing such tales spread about you. And we could do with the extra money.”

“There are easier ways.”

“No, this is the easiest. You don’t have to put on a grand show. I won’t even engage in the usual antics.”

Benjy chuckled at that. “People are starting to catch on.”

“But that’s what makes it so fun! I just stand there twisting a handkerchief around. It’s not my fault people change their bets based on the quiver of my lip.”

“They aren’t the only ones watching for that,” Benjy said.

“I know, because you’re the primary audience,” Hetty teased. “So yes or no?”

Benjy stood above her, leaning over so the gap between them wasn’t so great. For all his protesting, his brown eyes were alight with amusement. The promise of something else lurked there as well, which was equally exciting to Hetty. “I shall think about it. After all, I should keep busy while you’re away.”

“One would think you would be busy regardless!”

Jay’s voice had cut into the conversation, chilling the warm summer evening. Benjy stepped away from her at once, as Hetty quickly jumped off her own couch as if they were children caught being naughty.

The door swung quietly behind him, and the pastor stood brimming with as much disapproval as he had done a month ago and in the weeks since.

Jay was not here about boxing matches or mediums. Hetty knew what subject brought him to seek them out.

“There was another fire today​—​did you hear about that?” Jay demanded.

“We did,” Hetty began, only to have her words quelled with a stern look.

“Another strange fire,” Jay continued. “Just like the one that Raimond was murdered in.”

“Officially, it was an accident,” Hetty said, as easily and calmly as she could. Benjy had stiffened at this twist of the conversation, forcing his face into a neutral mask. “There is no murderer to bring to justice.”

“That might be true,” Jay grunted. “But to leave it at that when I know you two can and have​—”

“We did all we could.” Benjy’s voice was quiet as he interrupted the pastor, but he was firm and unyielding. “We poked and we prodded. There is nothing more to find.”

“There is always something more.”

“Not this time. There are no more answers. All roads lead to Beatty Hose.” Benjy spat out the name as if he hoped it would shut down all conversation.

Jay just shook his head, far from deterred. “It’s Beatty Hose. They are always behind things. All these fires going on . . .”

“What do you wish for us to do about it?” Benjy asked, even as Hetty tried to hush him. “Perform last rites for the dead?”

Jay didn’t take the bait. “I want you to admit that this is a pattern! These so-called firefighters are standing by and letting homes burn on purpose!”

“I know how terrible they are,” Hetty said.

“No, you do not!” Jay cried, and the pictures on the wall rattled around them as ambient magic swirled in the air. “You were not even alive when the fire companies banded together to stop us from forming a Negro fire company​—​and they didn’t simply refuse to look at our charter. They set buildings on fire and placed hexes to keep us from dousing them. Then they turned around and said we couldn’t handle fighting even the smallest of fires. There’s no magic to divine the future. But I’m seeing the signs of this city once more careening back into a past I thought the war had snuffed out. When I wasn’t much younger than you, I could vote in this city. But they changed the rules when folks upstate started shaking in their boots when word of revolts on plantations reached their ears. I’ve seen it all. The rise of taboos, and cursed sigils, and race laws placed on the books. And it’s happening again. I’m not sure if I’m a fool for thinking it all settled.”

“No one’s a fool for wishing for the best.”

Cora walked into the study, her voice serene and bringing a cool misting rain to the heated tempers in the room. She reached over to place a hand on Jay’s arm. As she did, her touch softened the lines along his jaw.

Jay slumped, the anger directed at the world around them vanishing.

“Another friend of mine died last week in a collision with a wagon,” Jay said, softer this time. “It reminded me of Raimond. Seems like it was an accident, but I can’t be sure. But maybe I’m wrong. I’m sorry to have bothered you with an old man’s worries. You young folk, you deserve an evening of distractions. The chances are so rare these days.”

Jay turned and left the room. Cora looked back at them for a moment and nodded at Hetty in sympathy before she followed after the pastor.

Like a tree, Benjy remained rooted where he stood, his arms folded across his chest and his gaze fixed on the framed photograph across from him.

Last month, a photographer had been at one of the church’s excursions. A nephew of one of the deacons, the young man had set a very cheap price for portraits​—​so cheap that nearly everyone that was interested sat before the camera. Hetty and all of her friends had portraits done in a variety of numbers and configurations. After some serious portraits, they had a bit of fun, attempting to see what spells they cast could be captured in a photo­graph. The best attempt, a star-speckled crow fluttering down to Hetty’s hand, hung in their bedroom. But the portrait in the study featured the four of them arranged in front of a large oak tree. Hetty and Cora sat on the little bench while Benjy and Jay stood behind them. They all managed a bit of a smile, but Hetty was beaming. A family portrait, the young photographer had said, and no one corrected him.

“He can ask for answers,” Benjy said finally, his voice strained and tired. “But he won’t like what he gets.”