LEO

19

THE TRAIN TOOK THEM across the river into New Jersey. Though there was a location on the ticket, they did not need it. The wind carried boisterous laughter and familiar tunes, and the path before them bore signs of passage of many feet. Soon enough the tops of tents rose up before them, cheerfully beckoning them towards one of the more popular sites for excursions.

The habit of such excursions may have started as a way to raise money for churches and other organizations, but their main appeal was a small break from daily life. Hetty and Benjy had gone on a few of them in the past, but never for long, and they were often working instead of enjoying the activities.

But this time they were here to answer questions about Charlie and ferret out any connections that might lead to the murderer. Yet as they milled about the booths and makeshift stages that lined the boardwalk, the task’s urgency faded.

After several overcast days with rain threatening to make an appearance, the brilliant blue sky and the fluffy white clouds that greeted Hetty were enough to push aside all but the most indulgent of thoughts.

She never planned to come alone to the excursion but she expected she would have had to twist Benjy’s arm to accompany her. That he agreed without a word was a pleasant surprise. That he appeared contented and at ease was a delight. When he glanced over at her with a smile more relaxed than it had been in days, those pesky temperamental feelings washed over her until she forced herself to look away.

“That looks interesting.” Benjy pointed to the man atop a wagon bed delivering a soliloquy to the onlookers gathered at his feet. Illusions of flowers and vines appeared around him as he spoke. “Although his diction is rather poor.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Hetty chided. “We are here to look for answers.”

“Where do we look first?” Benjy asked. “Or should I say for who?”

“I—” Hetty began looking around: at the stalls that peppered the boardwalk along with families, at couples, and other groups. All were unfamiliar faces, and all, from the first to the last, seemed to have no clear ties to the murders they had uncovered. She thought she might have spotted the arrogant Isaac Baxter in the crowd, working his charms on the small crowd gathered around him, but even if they could manage to talk to him, there were few spaces welcoming to private conversations.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose that’s why you were against coming. It’s a waste of time if we don’t know who or what we’re looking for.”

“That’s an easy puzzle to solve. Amos paid me for the cradle, we can use the money at that booth.” He pointed to a game set up in a nearby stall, where a woman tossed a baseball at milk bottles placed on shelves. “That’s a good central spot. We can take turns playing while the other watches the crowd.”

“Maybe just you.” Hetty absently smoothed her clothes. Her plum-colored dress had been a canceled commission once upon a time. In scattered spare moments she altered it for her figure, adding lace to the cuffs. It suited her just as she hoped, but it came with other worries. “I don’t want to ruin this.”

“I’m not sure why you wore it, then. There’s nothing practical about it.”

“Practical is the last word you give pretty dresses, unless it’s the manner of their removal.” Those words shut him up rather effectively, leaving him so visibly flustered that she couldn’t help but add, “It’s not like I have a maid to help me with them.”

With a laugh she took his arm. “Knocking over milk bottles is not a terrible idea. We’ll attract less attention if we’re seen taking part instead of just shaking answers out of people.”

They did play the milk bottle game, although they quickly learned it was rigged. Benjy managed to hit every bottle except one placed on the highest shelf. He would have gone through all their money to get it, too, if Hetty hadn’t discreetly set about a detecting charm to find the magic at work. She pointed it out, Benjy fumed a bit more, and they moved on playing the other games that caught their attention. There were quite a few of them spread out along the boardwalk—guessing the number of beans in a jar, tossing horseshoes, or spinning wheels to collect prizes.

“You are terrible at this game,” Hetty laughed, as another dart fell outside the colored rings. The children that gathered to watch scrambled across the grass to retrieve the far-flung fallen darts.

“Why don’t you try?” He smirked as he handed the feathered dart to Hetty. “Unless you’re afraid of ruining your pretty dress?”

“I’m not.” Hetty balanced the dart in her hand, smoothing the feathers. She studied the target for a long moment. Then tossed the dart.

It sailed into the center of the dartboard, not dead center, but right on the edge. A mark that Benjy hadn’t been close to meeting.

“Ah,” she said, feigning disappointment, “I missed.”

“Missed!” Benjy exclaimed. “You almost got it!”

There were giggles from the children, which turned into laughter as Benjy exaggerated his shock and surprise for their benefit.

“Would you like to try again?” The man running the booth plucked Hetty’s dart from the ring. “If you hit direct center, you’ll get a prize.” He smiled as he said this, but the smile was as forced as his cheer.

This game wasn’t rigged like the milk bottles, but it was designed to be impossible to win. The board was placed there on an angle, and colors only added to the illusion. Benjy probably would have been able to tell if he stood closer, but he had a harder time than he would admit at seeing things at a distance.

“What sort of prize would that be?” Hetty asked as she picked up a dart.

“Depends if you hit it.”

The dart struck dead center a heartbeat later, still quivering even as Hetty smiled very politely at the man.

“My prize?”

“Provided by me.” A woman from a nearby stall presented a kite painted on one side with the imagined likeness of a griffin. She leaned close to whisper, “I’ve been watching him part people from their money all day. It’s one thing to raise money, but to cheat people out of a good time! Good job on that.”

Hetty held up the kite to Benjy’s appreciative eye. “That’s fine craftsmanship,” he declared. “Did you want me to carry it?”

“No.” Hetty turned to the children. “This deserves a good home.” She knelt down in front of the trio of children and handed the kite to what appeared to be the oldest. “Enjoy.”

They cried out their thanks and skipped off in a cloud of dust.

A hand appeared before her.

“That was kind of you,” Benjy said, “considering they were making fun of me the whole time.”

She took his hand, letting him draw her up onto her feet. “It was probably the best bit of fun they had the whole time,” she said, still holding his hand as she gazed thoughtfully up at him. “Everyone deserves some from time to time. We haven’t found any signs of a murderer, but none of this has been a waste of time.”

“I’m glad we came,” he said quietly.

She was too, but not for the reasons he was.

Hetty let go of his hand but didn’t fully pull away. “We should start asking people questions.”

“Let me indulge in one more game,” Benjy said.

She followed his gaze to a rather abandoned stall. Next to it was a tall vertical pole with a bell set on top, and hand-painted numbers that increased in value as they neared the bell. The person manning the stall sat with a large mallet waiting to be used.

“I’m pretty sure I can win this one.” Benjy removed his jacket and handed it to her. His waistcoat, made from the satin scraps of her dress, caught sunlight as he moved to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

“This one is likely to be rigged as well,” Hetty cautioned as she folded his jacket over her arm.

His grin was more than a bit reckless. “If it is, it won’t be afterwards.”

The man at the stall eagerly took Benjy’s money and handed over the mallet. Benjy flipped it in his hand, gave the strength tester a single look, and struck.

The bell rang like a church’s bell calling all to its side.

The man at the stall jumped up. Loudly he protested it wasn’t set up properly, that its settings had been for kids. He made his voice carry to the gathering crowd as he pulled at levers. Benjy just smiled as he watched this activity.

“Your husband is the first person I’ve seen to get that thing to ring.”

Eunice stood next to Hetty, holding a basket filled with socks. Her pale pink dress had a festive air that suited her quite well, although the roses embroidered along her collar were too large for Hetty’s taste.

Of their list of suspects, Eunice was last, just below Clarence. Eunice was too nice, too quiet, too eager to please. But that might only seem true because Hetty didn’t know her that well. Nor did she know enough of Eunice’s movements to know her whereabouts the night Charlie died.

“What’s the basket for?” Hetty asked.

“This? I’m just collecting money for veterans of the USCT. Though I only have a few donations.” Eunice shook her head. “There’s so much enthusiasm when there’s fighting, but no one cares when soldiers come back injured. The government promised pensions for soldiers who fought for the Union, but the Colored Troops got left behind. None of our boys have seen any money. Which is expected, but I had hoped for more from the community. You can’t say ‘support soldiers’ and then turn a blind eye to those that come back injured beyond words.”

“I think you might do better some other time. It looks like people are saving their coins for fun.”

“That might be true. Are you here to enjoy the day?” There was a bit of a pause even though her words were still quite plea­sant. “I didn’t even know you two were coming.”

“Didn’t decide until quite recently,” Hetty said as the bell rang clearly over the crowd once again. “I hope we haven’t missed anything.”

“Nothing much yet. Have you heard they’re having a ladies’ race on bicycles? With the new bicycles that have become all the rage.”

“How exciting!” Hetty did not have to fake her enthusiasm this time. Her interest in bicycles had gone from curiosity to fascination since the new versions arrived from Europe. Where a bicycle had once been this monstrous thing with a giant wheel that was impossible for most to ride, this new bicycle was much more reasonable in every way. The front wheel was only somewhat larger than the rear wheel, and the frame had a nice sloping angle that was suitable even for skirts. With the pedals moved to the center, and gently curving handlebars, it rode like a dream. Which it very much was. The English inventor had woken up in the middle of the night and declared he had seen the future.

Hetty had ridden a bicycle a handful of times before, encouraged by Penelope, who was both frightened and intrigued by the newfangled machine. They had borrowed it from Penelope’s snotty cousin Clarabelle, who had only bought it because it was a growing fashion among the luminary ladies in town. Penelope had fallen off a few times, but Hetty had taken to it like a bird stretching its wings.

Sadly, the bicycle ended up being sold when Clarabelle decided not to chase that particular fashion, so Hetty had few chances to ride one since.

“What’s this about a race?” Benjy asked as he joined them. He couldn’t quite hide the smug smile on his face as he took back his jacket.

“There’s a ladies’ bicycle race,” Eunice said. “There’s a prize of fifty dollars to the winner.”

“That much!” Hetty exclaimed. “Where can I sign up?”

“I’m not sure,” Eunice laughed. “You’ll have to talk to my husband. He’s the best person to speak to about, well, about everything, it seems. He arranged all this, you know, down to the last detail. He’s been so busy. I know he hasn’t had a chance to enjoy himself.”

Hetty doubted Clarence could do a simple thing such as that, but kept that observation to herself.

“I’ll take you to him,” Eunice went on. “I wanted to take part as well, but if you do it, I don’t think he’ll disapprove. Let me put this down and we’ll head off.”

As Eunice went to get rid of the basket, Hetty turned to her husband.

“Did you break the game?”

“It still works,” Benjy said rather innocently. “The piece he used to keep the test at a certain level is most certainly broken, though.”

Which explained the crowd that swarmed the booth now. “You just helped him make money.”

“Money he can’t keep,” Benjy reminded her. “Is there a fee to join the race? I don’t think we have much left.”

“Eunice didn’t mention it.”

“Rather odd, isn’t that? Eunice said Clarence wouldn’t let her take part in the race. He’s always glad to show off how indulgent he is.”

Hetty knew this of course—it was evident from Eunice’s fine clothing and lovely home. But it was also evident from Clarence’s monetary support of all the committees and good causes Eunice championed throughout town.

“Maybe he thought it was dangerous.” Hetty shrugged. “It’s hardly odd. Some treat their spouses like delicately spun glass.”

“And not everyone likes such behavior.”

This was all the observation he was able to give. Eunice returned and cheerfully led the way.

When they reached the end of the boardwalk and found Clarence, he looked no more bothered than when he was dealing with a catering job for regular customers. He stood aside tallying notes in a small book, and when there was something disagreeable, he yanked the paper right out. Instead of crumpling it, he drew a finger along the page and a sigil flared up on it before flames sprouted from the mark. He held on to it until the orange tongues of the flames tickled his fingertips.

“Clarence,” Eunice called, “is the bicycle race still open? Henrietta wants to join and will only do it if I take part as well.”

He looked up and blinked as his eyes fell on them. “I didn’t know you two would be here.”

“Neither did we,” Hetty remarked. “We got tickets just this morning.”

“After I joined the club,” Benjy added unnecessarily.

“Then,” Clarence replied, “you should know your dues will need to be paid fairly soon.”

“Dues?”

Clarence’s eyes didn’t leave Benjy’s face. “Were you not informed that every member has to pay twenty dollars for the year? Of course,” he added, as Hetty and Benjy both started at the princely sum, “if your wife wins the race, that won’t be the case.” He gave them a lopsided grin. “It’s not just you. We had such problems recently with a few of our members. They had fallen on the wayside of paying the proper fees, sad as I am to speak ill of the dead.”

“You mean Charlie?” Benjy asked. “That’s quite odd, since he was the one that first told me about this club.”

“Yes, yes,” Clarence said before sparing a glance at Eunice. She hadn’t said a word, but Clarence’s brow had furrowed with the concerns of a man who didn’t want his wife to hear terrible things.

Clarence knew something, if his vague words were any indication. Charlie had gambling debts—this they knew—but they were hearing of debts to the club for the first time. Hetty wanted to learn more, but they wouldn’t get a candid answer with Eunice present. Clarence was not the sort of husband who talked easily and openly in front of his wife.

Hetty met Benjy’s eyes and nodded ever so slightly. They needed to split up, although she would let him choose which of the Lorings he would lure away.

“I heard piano music on our way in.” Benjy turned to Eunice, favoring her with a smile. “Think I can trouble someone to play a few reels?”

“I’m not sure they would let you,” Eunice chuckled.

“I think they might,” he said easily, “especially if you help me convince them.”

With another laugh, Benjy all but swept Eunice away, leaving the woman little chance to ask why Hetty wasn’t coming along.

Not that the thought appeared to cross Eunice’s mind for a moment. Eunice was so used to carrying people away in her enthusiasm that she probably didn’t know how to cope when the opposite occurred.

While Hetty was amused at the sight of their respective spouses disappearing into the crowd, Clarence went stiffer than a dead piece of wood with trouble brewing in his eyes.

Before he could go after them and ruin everything, Hetty stepped into his path.

“I heard from my husband,” Hetty said, forcing Clarence to pay her attention, “that Charlie was quite insistent that he join the club.”

Clarence’s eyes rolled back to her. “He was, but not without purpose. Isaac Baxter likes playing the benevolent god. He promised to forget about some of Charlie’s gambling fees if he increased membership numbers. Benjy was just another body to add.”

Hetty didn’t have to pretend surprise. This was far more than what she expected to learn.

“Would Isaac Baxter send someone around to collect money?” Hetty asked. “Marianne mentioned strange men showing up on her doorstep.”

“Of course not.” Clarence frowned. “It would be improper so soon. Though I must admit that if he had, I might not have been informed. I’ve been busy with the final arrangements for all this. I had to make do with what I can manage. If I hadn’t, I’m afraid there would have been a light show.”

“Fireworks?”

“No, magic. Isaac Baxter wanted to light up the night, but I had to put my foot down. It was already difficult enough reserving the area. Anything more would mean we would lose it. And with it, the chance to escape the city for a bit of fun. I think we need that, after all that has happened—with last month’s elections, with Charlie, and more.” Clarence absently rubbed his thumb around his neck, where his scars, old and faded as they were, remained.

“Some things are as hard to escape,” Hetty said, “as they are to forget.”

“Much like people. Sometimes you think them lost and then they show up when least expected. I can’t stop thinking about Charlie’s mother. If only the first telegrams hadn’t gone to the wrong place, they would have met months earlier.”

“Wrong place?” Hetty asked.

“The wrong names were used. Charlie used the name of his old master and didn’t realize there were two Wilsons in the same area. The Freedmen’s Bureau isn’t much help, but you know that better than I do after all your visits.”

“I cannot say they are well run,” Hetty said softly. “I rely on my own means these days.”

“Then maybe if you consider . . .” Clarence trailed off.

“Consider what?”

“Consider that maybe your sister is already in Philadelphia. She might not know you have taken on a different name.”

“I only added a last name.”

“She might not be aware of that.”

Hetty had used a combination of names to search for her sister, but never considered the last name she adopted to be confusing. She kept the name her mother had given her, for she had gotten great use of it, and Esther would know it. Names. Could that have been the problem?

“How about you?” Hetty said, remembering the small kindness he had shown her once, waiting in that long line. “Were you able to find something about— I’m sorry, I forgot the name.”

“Sofia.” The single word melted his usually stern features, leaving only the pain of an old wound.

“Your sister?” Hetty asked, even as she knew the question was wrong. She remembered, at the funeral, how quiet he became when George was making a fool of himself asking about old husbands and wives left behind in slavery.

“My wife.” He grunted. “We were fond of each other and got permission to wed. But then her master got wind that I had some skill with magic. I was sold off to a man who gave me my freedom some years later, but before then, I was happy. She had the sweetest voice.” Quick as the breach came, he pulled himself back together and became stone once more. “Don’t worry. There will be no grand scene to embarrass Eunice. Sofia is dead.”

“Dead? You know for certain?”

“I received a response some time ago. Back in ’sixty-three, Sofia and a few others decided to make a break for freedom, going forth on their own without any conductors to guide them. They were caught and chose to fight. It did not end well.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Hetty said, hearing his sorrows even as he tried to suppress them.

“You should be sorry for those that let it happen,” Clarence growled. “Those that do evil things always get their just rewards.”

“The past is past,” Hetty said.

“If that’s true, then why are you still searching?”

“I don’t give up easily.”

Clarence grunted. “Then I wish you luck for both your search and the race. I’ll let the person in charge know you’re entering before it’s too late. Until then, enjoy the day.”

Hetty pushed her way through the crowd, jostling others who flooded the area in every direction. Bits of conversation flitted past her, filled with merriment and an overall bliss that made her feel as if she were an intruder.

People around her spoke about competitions, games, and how many pennies they had to spend on food, and all she could think about was how many people had suffered as Sofia had. Esther could have died in the intervening years and the news would be slow to travel. It was certainly possible. Just as it was possible, as Clarence suggested, that Esther could be in the city already, and it was only their names and the passing of time that left her and Hetty from being unable to find each other.

A man in a poorly cut suit abruptly walked into her path, and she turned to let him pass. As she did, she caught sight of the booths scattered along the way ahead, and on the other side of the flat green where people milled about in clusters, Hetty spied a face she had not expected to see.

Alain Browne was not as nervous and trembling as he’d been the night he had banged on Hetty’s door saying he’d found a dead body. He carefully chewed on a steaming hand pie, but he held himself too much like a lightning-struck cat to make it seem like he was actually enjoying it.

What was he doing here?

This was a members-only event. While Hetty tried not to judge people and their circumstances, she highly doubted Alain would have the means to afford a membership to this exclusive club. However, neither did they. She had stolen tickets after all, and relied on charm to help smooth their entry. Perhaps Alain had managed the same, or maybe he was an invited guest of another member.

What was it that Geraldine had said? That Alain had lied, but that he had not meant to.

That could mean so many things. It could merely be the prattle about forcing Charlie to fix the pump. Or it could change everything they knew about their investigation.

Alain shoved the last corner of the fried dough into his mouth and Hetty made her decision. She moved through the crowd, skipping past the booths to catch up with him.

But she wasn’t the only one making moves across the field.

“Henrietta, I didn’t realize you’d be here. Charlie got Ben to join in the end, did he?”

Hetty spun around to face George.

If Eunice had been resplendent, Clarence unbothered by the festive air, George was flushed and sweating like he had just run through the woods with dogs at his heels.

“In a way, I guess he did.”

“Surprised by that,” George said, puffing up, “given the nasty argument they had before Charlie died.”

This wasn’t a complete surprise to Hetty.

Her last conversation with Charlie had been because he wanted to use her as a buffer to speak to Benjy. She suspected an argument between the pair, but George’s words danced on something that was a bit more than a mere disagreement. She just didn’t know what.

At the moment it didn’t matter.

George delivered these words as if he meant them to be a surprise, so Hetty gasped, a hand going to her throat as she made her eyes grow wide. “I didn’t hear about this!”

For a moment, she thought she overdid it. But then, George’s prejudices were easy to take advantage of.

“I suppose he wouldn’t tell you,” George blustered on. “It was alarming all around. Your husband has quite a temper when pushed past his limits. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Charlie never did know when to stop.” George’s face twisted. “Especially when he knew better.”

Charlie might have known that there was only so far he could push Benjy, but did he know the same of George?

Anger pinched George’s face, with a bleakness that reminded Hetty that, of all her friends, he was the only one who saw the war through the eyes of a soldier. Unlike some who rode it out digging trenches for latrines, George had shot several men dead, and proudly, too. It was easy to forget that underneath his schoolteacher’s mannerisms, that part was still there, buried deep inside him.

“What did Charlie do?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” George replied. “The man’s dead, after all. His big dreams will never come to light now.”

“A good thing,” Hetty said, drawing out her words with care. “His dreams and schemes always led to trouble.”

“You’ll find no argument from me.”

“I saw Eunice earlier,” Hetty said, figuring if George wasn’t going to leave her alone, she should at least get some use out of him. “I’ll be in the bicycle race later on. Is Darlene here? Is she taking part?”

“I don’t think so.” George’s face filled with worry. “The baby has been rather fussy all day. We probably shouldn’t have brought her with us, but Darlene was working a booth and the baby would be in the shade all day. Do you think Lorene might be sick?”

This was a topic of some concern to him, and he stayed on it despite Hetty’s efforts to shift things back.

She left George then, her grumbling stomach leading her to a stall with hand pies. Coins exchanged hands. As she took a bite, something bumped her legs. Instead of the table or small child she’d assumed, Hetty looked down and saw a hound made of stars wagging its tail and barking soundlessly at her.

“He sent you?” Hetty asked, and the dog just turned and dashed off toward Benjy. Hetty followed.

She found Benjy standing near the small raised platform at the start of the boardwalk. He turned his head toward her as she approached, and the dog vanished by the time she stepped up next to him.

“No one would let you touch a piano?” Hetty held out the remaining hand pies to him.

He took them eagerly, and barely finished swallowing the first before reaching for the second.

“Only at the dance tent, but if I touched the keys I’d be charmed to that seat until the dancing stops at dawn.”

“The excursion runs that late?”

“Would you like to find out? They’re having a prize dance.”

“A cakewalk would be fun. Think we could win without Penelope and Thomas?”

His answering smile left little doubt of the affirmative.

The cakewalk Hetty remembered as a child had high kicks, jumps, and perfect spins, with couples doing their best to outshine the others. While the gatherings were always fun, the best ones were when Master and Mistress came to watch. Not only was there a chance of a prize, but some people in the quarters got a little bold in their steps. The cakewalk was always about making fun of the bobbing waltzes that went on in the Big House. Over time it became more about what they could get away with without catching notice.

These days it was popular because of the prizes won at the end, which were more often money than cake. With that change, the dance became a fierce competition, and in order to win you had to outshine the other couples with a display of graceful turns and elegant kicks in rhythm to the music.

When Hetty took on a round of the cakewalk with Benjy, illusions danced alongside them, sometimes small things as birds fluttering about, and others elaborate visions drawn from her stories. This was how he persuaded her to dance with him in the first place, and it was how they won the first competition they entered in.

“I went around asking a few questions about the setup of the excursion,” Benjy said, with his gaze focused along the boardwalk. “The booths are run by Degray members, usually the more junior members to help pay off the fees. It wasn’t by choice, which might have explained some of the rigged games. I chatted with a few of them—not many knew Charlie that well. It doesn’t seem like he was an active member.”

“Then why did he join?”

“E.C. Degray skews to the well-established. It’s a social club mostly. If he didn’t join for prestige, he joined to make connections.”

“Or something else.”

“Or something else,” Benjy echoed, “but that’s hard to tell. I also asked the junior members if there was anyone who was meant to be at the excursion but they had not seen since yesterday.”

“Was there?”

Benjy shook his head. “No suspicious absences. I don’t think our unknown man was part of Degray.” Benjy brushed away the crumbs from the hand pies. “What did you learn from Clarence?”

“Not much, but he did say Isaac Baxter had him keep an eye on Charlie regarding his debts. If Charlie’s debts were large enough to be of concern, why wouldn’t there be others?”

“A worthy theory, but it’s missing one piece. Dead men can’t pay back their debts.”

“Unless they were after something bigger. I saw George, and he hinted that there were bigger dreams that Charlie had.” Hetty tapped her foot against the ground, considering her next words carefully. “He said a number of other things, too. Including that you had argued with Charlie.”

“I did.” Benjy eyed the next hand pie. “I told you about it.”

“Not the details.”

“Did George tell you something?”

“George told me nothing. I think he wanted to distract me. I asked a few questions, then he started talking about his daughter. It would have taken a thunderstorm to change the subject.”

Benjy didn’t answer right away. “He was trying to distract you. There’s nothing to worry—the argument was about nothing you don’t know already.”

“You found out about the dresses Charlie tricked me into making?”

“Something else,” he said.

They were interrupted before he could explain.

“Henrietta!” Eunice called as she ran up to them. “You’re going to miss the race if you dally!”

“Go,” Benjy urged. “A bit of fun won’t hurt anything.”

“I shouldn’t,” Hetty began, but Eunice reached them and grabbed on to Hetty’s wrist.

She beamed up at her. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

Hetty opened her mouth to protest, and Benjy pushed her forward. “Yes, she is. Good luck to you both!”

With no good reasons for further protest, Hetty let herself be hauled off into the crowd.

Standing elbow to elbow with other overeager women mounted on bicycles, she noticed a few faces that were somewhat familiar—likely members of the Stars of Hope, the ladies’ bicycling group that always made sure to wear the most flamboyant hats as they rode.

Hetty carefully mounted her bicycle, smoothing her skirts. Eunice followed, but less gracefully.

Hoping that Eunice would stay safely in the back, Hetty asked, “How far will we have to travel without knocking into one another?”

“That far.” Eunice pointed out in the distance. Clarence stood on the end of the field waving a bright yellow scarf. “We are to ride out to him and hopefully not into him.”

“I do hope your husband knows a few spells to fly.”

Cheers drowned out Eunice’s next words, as Isaac Baxter entered the crowd. He moved between the racers, smiling at a few and waving at others as he made his way to the front.

“At my mark, we’ll begin!”

Baxter threw his arm into the air. A phoenix burst from his fingertips, leaving behind a trail of bright blue flames.

A few women screamed while others stared like Hetty did.

Only the rattle of wheels brought Hetty back to her senses.

Hetty pedaled forward, as fast as she could. She did want to win. Not just for the money, but because she disliked coming in last in anything. As she passed more of the other racers, she could see her desire becoming a reality. The hats of racing ladies came into view, the gap between them narrowing.

Hetty sped onward, readying to overtake them—

And then the ground burst into the air.

Hetty veered her bicycle away from the initial blast, but the dust and swerving racers made it difficult. Yanking her bicycle handles, Hetty rolled off the path, shrieks filling her ears. Just as she was ready to come to a halt, a second explosion sent her flying in the opposite direction.

She tried to stop the bicycle, but her shoes slipped along the slick grass. Quicker than she expected, quicker than she feared, the grass gave way to the river.

Water suddenly surrounded Hetty. It pulled her into its icy depths. Bone-chilling cold took what air remained in her lungs. She flayed, struggling to reach the surface. But it was out of her grasp. Her skirts tangled with the bicycle and it pulled her under like a sinking stone.

She was going to drown.

The thought swirled in her head.

It had taken just a few years for fate to catch up to her. This was how she was going to die. Water roaring in her ears, cold seeping to her bones, her view obscured, her sister slipping away from her . . .

No. Not today.

She was not going to die like this.

Sweeping her free hand in the water, she ran her finger along the sigils stitched into the cloth band at her neck and focused every bit of her attention to separate herself from the river.

Light from her magic flowed around her, and suddenly, instead of pulling her down, the water began rushing around in a swirling spiral. Hetty found herself rising out of the water, her skirt nearly ripping as the bicycle fell away beneath her. Hovering in the air, quite some distance from the river, Hetty caught sight of the world of dust and smoke below. The figures moving on the ground appeared much like ants. Their faces were hard to tell apart, but she spotted some she knew.

Eunice in the tangle of bicycles. Darlene and George staring, aghast, in the crowd. Clarence on the fringes. Benjy running toward the river.

All this was the last thing she saw before the sigils keeping her in the air faded away and she crashed back into the water.