5

WITH THE WIND COMING OFF the river and clouds turning the sky gray, the summer heat receded. Hetty leaned against the railing, watching the landscape shift around her. The ferry to Camden wasn’t her favorite mode of transportation. It was a bit too slow for her taste. But it was the cheapest way to cross, and in the summertime traveling this way could be quite pleasant compared to the train.

While Hetty still had her doubts about seeing a medium, she was willing to do anything to get out of the house for a moment to put all mentions of the Duvals, fires, and the conflict brewing between Benjy and Jay aside. To say Jay had not been happy about the conclusion of Raimond Duval’s case missed a world of nuance in his displeasure. It was a quiet displeasure, less angry heated words and more cool and cutting comments, that caused a strain in their relationship. It was stronger on Benjy’s end, because of his pride when it came to mystery solving. But also because the case was a bit too perfectly closed for their taste. Blaming Beatty Hose was easy, but it didn’t feel right for that case. Yet that was the only answer they landed at.

“I heard all about the secret plot with Benjy’s shack,” Darlene said, leaning along the rail next to Hetty, interrupting her brooding. “I can’t believe you pulled it off!”

“I haven’t quite yet—not all of the tools have arrived,” Hetty said.

“But it’s just in that corner, right?”

There was a level of care in Darlene’s voice that lifted Hetty’s gaze off from the horizon and toward her friend.

Hetty’s mild curiosity only increased as she noted how Penelope, standing on Darlene’s other side, pointedly looked away.

“Why is that of interest?” Hetty asked.

“I’m thinking if I set up a number of lights floating around, it would be a wonderful spot for the next E. W. Harper meeting.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Hetty said. “My neighbor will make it unpleasant.”

Darlene was undeterred. “Then inside. You’re finished with renovations and you can’t say you don’t have the space.”

There was plenty of space. Hetty just refused to get involved as it meant inviting an untold number of strangers into her house.

Her friends were part of the E. W. Harper Literary Club, which met frequently to discuss books and poems, as well as a variety of topics including politics, art, scientific advancements, magic, and even community projects. The group had been started by Eunice Loring, who often played host to such gatherings. Because Hetty did not get on well with Eunice, she made excuses to avoid going to the meetings. However, there was no longer a need to put them off. Eunice, uneasy at the thought of staying around the very people her husband had hurt back in May, left Philadelphia for a fresh start at Fisk University.

“Why do you want to have it at my home?” Hetty asked. “You have plenty of space, especially with the schoolroom below your apartment.”

Darlene swallowed then, suddenly quite stricken. But it was Penelope who answered with a rather flippant air: “They sold the classroom.”

“What!” Hetty cried, loud enough to draw attention from the other passengers on the ferry. She made an effort to lower her voice. “When did this happen?”

“Rather recently,” Darlene said weakly. “We’ll have new neighbors before the end of the summer, and if we’re lucky, we will have moved into a new place as well.”

“You’re moving,” Hetty added, recalling Penelope rented a room nearly for free from Darlene. “You both are.”

“It won’t be for a while,” Darlene said. “Our living above the school was meant to be temporary. George always said he wanted to turn it into a school building when we had enough funds and buy a little house somewhere else. It took a while to realize that wasn’t going to happen. If adopting Lorene wasn’t enough, recent events told us we shouldn’t put off things to a future that might not arrive. And I have to admit, I am a bit jealous of you. All that natural light was enviable enough, but you transformed the rooms on the main floor. I can hardly believe it used to be Oliver and Thomas’s home. All of us can actually sit and rest comfortably.”

“They weren’t inclined to entertain people often,” Hetty said, unmoved by such kind words, stuck on the fact that yet again she was the last to know about important things. “I’m starting to see they had a very good reason. You may flatter me all you like, but I’m not hosting your little club!”

“You can read us the astronomy paper you sent to that magazine,” Penelope coyly suggested.

“Again?” Hetty brightened at this. “Are you sure? I read the earlier version to you, and there weren’t that many changes with what I sent off.”

“Astronomy is a very popular topic with E. W. Harper.” Penelope jabbed Darlene in the arm.

Darlene forced a smile onto her face, so she didn’t quite sound sincere when she said: “I would love to hear it again.”

The idea was tempting, and Hetty found herself reconsidering her stance. Most of her friends’ interest in astronomy went as far as the constellations used for their magic, but beyond that only Benjy would peer through a telescope pointed to the sky—and that was mostly for the pleasure of her company. There were very few people she could discuss astronomy with. Maybe this meeting could change that?

“I don’t want too many people in the house, but if you keep it small—”

“I’ll only invite people you know!” Darlene cried.

“Then it’ll be fine. When’s the next meeting?” Hetty asked.

“Thursday after next.”

“That should work. And while they’re there I can let them know about my funeral home services.”

Darlene started to nod but stopped. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? They’ll be there already,” Hetty asked, rather puzzled.

Darlene hesitated a bit before she said, “You tend to be a bit forceful about—”

“I always forget about that island!” Penelope exclaimed. “I heard they’re putting in a naval yard.”

Hetty glanced at the dot of land passing by. “As long as they leave Stars Haven alone it will be fine.”

“I haven’t been there before. What’s its story?”

Well aware that Penelope was trying to distract her, Hetty took the bait anyway, as she could never pass up telling a story when asked.

“Stars Haven’s story begins when the island was purchased by a Quaker, who turned it into a small settlement. On his deathbed, Friend Matthew returned the land to the few descendants with ties to the Lenape still left in the area. And they, as well as a few runaways, turned it into a haven, a fort, and the site of the grandest escape you’ll ever hear about. But that’s not the most interesting story about it.”

“It’s not?” Penelope wondered.

“It saw the arrival of its most esteemed guests.” Hetty pointed to herself. “Benjy and I stopped there on the way back into Philadelphia a few times during the war. We would take a rowboat and work it through the river to avoid detection of soldiers.”

“But Union soldiers occupied the fort,” Penelope said.

“Didn’t matter.” Hetty shrugged. “Union soldiers thought we were spies for the other side. The Confederates thought the same.”

“But didn’t you act as spies at one point?” Penelope’s eyes were big. “When you spent all that time in Virginia. You and Benjy—”

“Stop interrupting the story,” Hetty chided playfully. “I’m telling you about daring naval escapades. We can save the spy stories for another time.”

“Don’t let her fool you.” Darlene cleaned the lenses of her glasses, her smile full of indulgence as she spoke. “They had help. Mostly from me, because I was always tapped to give aid.”

“You could have refused,” Hetty pointed out.

“I suppose I should have,” Darlene admitted. She attempted to sound stern, but she failed at it. “But in my youth I had bravado and thoughts of adventure.”

“You never lose bravado when adventure isn’t far away,” Hetty said.

“For you, perhaps,” Darlene said.

“It’s true for you, too,” Hetty said. “You count yourself among my friends, don’t you?”

Hetty didn’t finish telling Penelope about Stars Haven, for soon the ferry docked, marking their arrival.

The traveling show wasn’t in Camden proper, but on the outskirts a bit. It was much smaller than Hetty expected, and the paltry showing didn’t quite do justice to the sum she had paid for her entrance. But the air was much like a carnival. A carnival where each attraction was a sideshow and every sideshow was a less interesting delight. Others appeared to take an interest despite the lackluster appeal, but Hetty and her friends weren’t here to take in the sights.

They came for one reason, even if a number of things got in the way first.

Like the man standing on a highly decorated wagon, holding a jar of touted miracles to the passing crowd.

They had missed the short skit that preceded it, and only heard the man talk about a “miracle potion.” The list of cures ran long and perplexing, half being obviously false even without Penelope’s grumbling reminding her otherwise.

“What a disgrace.” Penelope shook her head. “I can’t even sell herbs openly some days, and this flimflam gets sold on the streets without a problem.”

Darlene shook her head in equal disgust. “This is why magic bans are being floated around. Because of people like this. And like that woman who used to be in the streets with her little brews.”

Penelope snapped her fingers. “Geraldine Browne, that’s her name. Only a handful of her potions actually worked.”

“I never liked her much,” Darlene said with some heat. “She used to do things like this. Selling your heart’s desire, leaving you with only pain. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Because she’s in jail.”

Hetty’s voice cut in the conversation, hardly amused at their words. “Her husband was killed and she had no choice but to sell more of her potions. Funny thing, though. The batch that landed her in jail actually worked. Geraldine mixed up something that put people on the edge of death on purpose. Her reasons were sound. She needed the money to take care of her daughter. But she was wrong to trust a white man would give her any sort of protection. Half of the proposed bans on potions are because of her.”

“She was behind the Clover Street Sleep?” Penelope said. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you stop her?”

Hetty blinked. “That’s not what I do. And I only learned she was involved afterward, during another case.”

“Remember,” Darlene said quietly, “this happened at the end of May.”

Penelope’s scowl faded and she turned contrite. “That’s right. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

May had ended in a rush of excitement. They moved, Benjy had been recovering from a broken arm, Hetty learned of her sister’s death, and news reached them that a man who tried to kill them died in jail by apparent suicide. A busy time all around.

And a time that clearly weighed on her friends.

As a wary look passed between her, Penelope, and Darlene, Hetty suddenly found herself wishing she hadn’t insisted on coming along on this jaunt.

“Well, is there something I should know about—” Hetty’s words faltered as she stared at the large green tent in front of her.

A tent that had not been there when they passed moments before, and appeared without the usual fanfare.

“Tell me that you see this too?” Darlene whispered.

“The work of a don’t-notice-me spell,” Hetty attempted to reassure her. None of the usual marks of Celestial magic were clear to her eye. “Nothing to fear.”

“Who said ‘fear’?” Penelope swallowed hard, her lips trembling. “Sweet stars above, what’s wrong with this? Should I be worried?”

“It’s nothing to be worried about,” Hetty protested, but her words held little heat.

Several others drifted toward the tent, their swift movements showing that they, too, were lying in wait.

They fell behind others in a line, where a barrel-chested man stood at the opening. He nodded, pulling aside the curtain flaps.

“You will be the last. In you go.”

Inside the tent was a large round table covered with a delicate lace tablecloth of faded ivory. The lace trim had swirls that were a bit more yellow than the rest of the cloth.

Star sigils sewed into the stitches.

Relief washed over her.

This was magic she was familiar with.

The tent was dimly lit, with tiny lights floating over them casting them in a soft amber glow. Yet despite these lights, a large fat candle sat in the middle of the table, but its flame didn’t bend or move around as it should. Around the table were eight other people. They whispered softly to each other, except for one, a woman who sat stiffly apart from everyone, her arms wrapped around a box. Her hair was pure white, and her neck gleamed with pearls a bit too fine for this outing.

As Hetty took her seat, a woman stepped through a set of curtains that partitioned the tent. Her clothes were more like a costume: loose and flowing, with billowing sleeves common two decades previously, like the castoffs from an old mistress altered and given use. Her hair was covered in a kerchief, and she clutched a lace scarf along her shoulders. She was not young, but not old, either, as the faint wrinkles around her eyes attested. But she moved with care as she sat down in the last chair, beaded necklaces around her neck softly clicking together as she did.

This was clearly Eudora Mason, as the moment she sat down, conversation stopped in the room even before she lifted her hands into the air.

“All who gather in my tent, know this. You expect me to summon a ghost, but ghosts don’t come when they are called—they come when they wish. All you need to do is create a space for them to appear. Breathe deeply and allow the spirits to come in. They will reach out when called.”

Her arms lowered, and she extended a hand out to each of them, swept around the tent. When she faced Hetty, her arm dropped to her side completely as if she’d lost track of what she was doing. Although Eudora’s expression didn’t change, something in her eyes shifted. Not fear, not recognition, but something else that was gone too quickly for Hetty to name.

“You!” Eudora rasped and she turned to the woman holding a box. “What do you bring to me?”

“Something my friend left me.” The woman placed her box onto the table. “A ghost is inside.”

Eudora drifted over to the woman. “How do you know this?”

“Just look at it. It rattles and shakes and when I speak to it—it answers, with raps!”

“Spirits do not communicate like that,” Eudora said. “They do not—” She staggered, a hand darting to her chest. And when she spoke again her voice was higher pitched, with a squeaky quality. “Madeline, you need to tell the truth about what you have done.”

The box shook again, but this time it was from the woman’s shaking hands and not any supposed spirits trapped inside.

This dialogue went on for a bit, and Hetty found herself watching the woman instead of Eudora.

After working with Benjy to make a spectacle at his boxing matches, it was easy to spot the lie in the performance before her. The overperformance, the playing to the crowd, the deliberate sleight of hand that mixed magic with practical effects.

The more Hetty watched this pantomime, the more she moved from annoyance to anger.

It was one thing to trick people, but there was something malicious about using people this way. The woman with the box wasn’t part of a scheme. Hetty could see it in her eyes, that genuine hope there. Hope that the fake medium was cruelly exploiting.

As the farce came to an end, Hetty stole the moment of silence that had fallen. “Madam Eudora. I come seeking someone I lost. Can you help me?” She let her voice tremble, as she pretended to grab a pendant hidden underneath layers of fabric.

Next to her, both Darlene and Penelope shifted forward with great alarm.

“Who is it that you seek?” Eudora demanded. “Who is it that you wish to speak to?”

“Someone very dear to my heart. Someone I didn’t just lose—he lost me.”

Penelope settled back into her chair, relaxing a bit, but Darlene kept twisting a handkerchief between her hands.

“Now you wish to speak to him once more. I think I can feel a presence around you, heavily lined with regret. I see a man standing near you, guilt in his face. Someone dear to you as you say, lost behind when he ran from a plantation. Who left you to your fate?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Hetty exclaimed.

“There was a choice.” Eudora’s voice grew confident. “There is always a choice, back then as there is now. Not as great, but a choice to pick whether to die before you even lived, or live while you die. This man, your brother, he made this choice, and his regrets lie with you. To tell you, he went on so you could live. And he—” Eudora staggered as if a hammer had been dropped on her foot. She grasped the table as she fell forward. When she spoke her voice was a deep growl. “I’m sorry, sister. Forgive me for not taking you with me. No one would notice me missing, but for you they would have sent the dogs after. They would kill you if there was chance enough, and make you an example to the others.”

Eudora hadn’t even finished speaking before Hetty forgot about the ruse entirely.

In fact she forgot everything except for something Benjy had once told her during a case that involved a baseball player they confronted over the murder of his father. Every word out of the man’s mouth had been a lie. Yet despite the lies they were able to figure it out.

“There is truth in lies,” Benjy had said as his magic suspended the frightened man in the air. “Because to make a believable lie, you need to weave enough truth in it. And that truth is the thread you pull to find your answer.”

Then, Hetty thought it a clever way to find out useful information from seasoned crooks, but now she saw how it could be used against her.

As if Hetty had been stripped of her protective spells, Eudora’s words peeled away all the lies to the soft underbelly of truth that lay there. Hetty did not have a missing brother, but she did have a sister she would never see again. Once again all the regrets she pushed back bubbled up to reveal only one thought. Esther would be alive if they hadn’t run. If they’d stayed, if Hetty hadn’t broken her collar, if she hadn’t learned magic—

“It’s all right.” Penelope’s voice was distant, yet soft and assuring. “It’s all in the past.”

She held out a handkerchief and Hetty realized her face was wet.

Embarrassment rose to cover her grief. Hetty had one of two choices.

She could pretend to faint, or flee.

She chose the latter.

With a small squeak, she covered her face with the handkerchief and ran out of the tent.

Hetty got surprisingly far before her friends came after her. But her face was dry by then, and she stood facing an empty tent with a swinging sign inviting guests to come back later.

“I’m sorry,” Darlene sputtered.

“What is there for you to be sorry about? I started all of this when I opened my mouth and started to spin a tale.”

“Did you want to speak to your sister?” Penelope asked.

Hetty stared, thinking it a poor joke. But Penelope never joked about Esther, not in moments like this.

“I’d rather not talk to her through a medium,” Hetty said. This should have settled the matter, but the concerns that filled her friends’ faces had not diminished by even the slightest bit.

Hetty’s face warmed. Her friends meant well, she knew that. But she didn’t like the feeling that they were waiting for her to fall apart.

She was the one that looked after them.

Struggling to find a way to change the conversation, Hetty spotted a young man some distance away, clutching a vial in his hand.

It was uncorked, and judging by the defeat on his face, he knew lies lay inside.

Eager for any distraction, Hetty called, “Do you need help?”

He blinked, nearly dropping the vial, but answered all the same. “I’m looking for a healer.”

“You’ll find no cures here. There’s nothing but charlatans around.”

“I know.” He gripped the vial. “This is just some watered-down ale. This is not going to help my niece. I can’t seem to find anyone willing to go out to Stars Haven. I have my rowboat, and it’s not that far.”

“I am a healer,” Penelope said. “I might be able to help, depending on what ails her.”

The young man’s eyes started to well with tears. “You could? Oh, thank the stars! I don’t know what else to do.”

The rest of his words had gotten choked up in his throat, and while Hetty was inclined to be wary of strangers with tales of woe, his distress appeared genuine enough.

“We can’t pay much in way of money,” he put in before Penelope cut him off: “What you can spare will be fine enough.”

Darlene pulled Penelope aside, not as willing as Hetty to trust the young man. “Are you sure about this? You don’t know how long it will take; it’ll be night before you know it.”

“When people need help it doesn’t matter how long something will take,” Penelope retorted.

“Then I suppose there’s only one option left,” Hetty said. “We’re coming with you.”