CAPRICORN

20

THE ACRID ODOR of smelling salts had Hetty gagging.

“Get those away from me,” she coughed, uselessly waving a hand at the source of the stench. “Get them away!”

“You certainly wake in a cheerful mood.”

The source of the vile odor was a vial held in the hand of a neatly dressed woman sitting in a chair next to Hetty. Her hair was streaked with gray, braided into a large plait. She appeared neither friendly nor unfriendly, merely resigned to the task at hand.

Beyond the woman, Hetty could see the canvas of a tent, and other women lying on nearby cots, their faces scratched and their limbs bandaged. Some heavily so, some less. As her eyes focused on them, it dawned on her that they were the other bicycle racers.

“You had quite a nasty fall,” the nurse went on. “You’re lucky you didn’t break any bones. Although the true luck of it is that that no one died.”

“How many . . .” Hetty forced herself into a seated position. “How many were injured?”

“A half dozen or so. Minor scrapes and bruises. A few broken bones. Though there was one lady who insisted on finishing the race even if there was no one to race against.”

“Have you seen—”

“Your husband was sent elsewhere so he could be useful instead of hovering over my shoulder.” The nurse drew the sigil for the Arrow into the air. It glowed, and a pitcher fluttered over to her, tipping its contents into a glass. “Drink, and don’t fret. You remained unconscious for the better part of an hour.” The nurse glanced at the vial of smelling salts. “I did that as a last resort. Drink,” she said pointedly.

Hetty sipped the water.

As she did, the nurse reached over and slapped a bandage across Hetty’s collarbone. It burned her skin at once, and Hetty half choked on the water even as the heat faded to a cooling mist.

“All better. Can’t have your skin marred by that mark.”

The nurse snatched the now empty cup away from Hetty as the tent flap was thrown open.

Benjy walked in.

He had misplaced his jacket and he held a basket of laundry the nurse had presumably given him to occupy his time.

His eyes found Hetty’s, and before she could even blink, he was already halfway across the room.

“You’re awake!” Heedless of the nurse’s clucking tongue, Benjy dropped the basket onto the floor and settled on the edge of the cot. All this attracted attention from other eyes around the room, and Hetty wasn’t sure if it played any part in his reaching for her hand. As if he was playing up the role many—including the nurse—had placed him in. However, as he held her hand in his, Hetty wasn’t sure he noticed anyone else in the tent. It was almost, she thought idly, worth her little dip into the river.

“How bad?” she asked.

“Terrible—you lost the race. In a rather spectacular fashion, I might add.” His words were airy, but his grip had tightened around hers. “Next time save the show for when your feet are firmly planted on the ground.”

“I’ll try,” she said, matching his tone. “Tell me what happened.”

“The explosion erupted right in the middle. A lot of people were hurt, even some who were only watching the race.”

“That is quite unfortunate. Do you know what happened?”

“Only a few things.” His pause was long, and likely due to the nurse, who was giving only a portion of her attention to the sleeping patient one cot over. “The excursion is over. They called off all the other events, including the cakewalk.”

A moan filled the air at his words.

“Oh, I was so looking forward to it!” a young woman cried, before she turned to sob into her pillow.

“What have I told you about upsetting my patients?” the nurse demanded.

“That was not my fault.”

“Off with you,” the nurse said, shooing him, “if you’re going to make trouble!”

“If he leaves, I’m going with him,” Hetty said.

“Are you well enough to leave?” Benjy asked Hetty.

“I feel fine,” she replied, even as the nurse rounded on her.

“You just had a nasty fall into a river. You almost drowned! I can’t let you walk out of here—”

“Sara!” another nurse called. Whatever else the nurse had to say was lost as she tried to restrain a convulsing woman whose fingers were aglow with scarlet light. With naught but a glance back at Hetty and Benjy, the nurse hurried across the tent to assist with the other patient.

No sooner had the train of the nurse’s dress disappeared than Hetty pushed off her blankets.

“Let’s hurry while she’s distracted.”

“I don’t think she’s going to chase us. And she might be right—you should rest.”

“I want to know what happened since you don’t have the details . . . or your jacket.”

“I ripped it,” he said rather vaguely.

The basket on the floor held her clothes, cleaned and neatly folded. Such prompt laundry service meant only that magic was used. And rather poorly formed spells, at that. Her lips pursed into disapproval at the faded color.

“I didn’t wash them,” Benjy said, pulling out his own jacket from the basket.

“It might have been better if you did,” Hetty said. “My dress is ruined.”

“What a pity—you looked rather nice.”

He meant the color, Hetty told herself, even as her stomach gave an odd lurch. He never spoke about her clothes unless it was about the color, and the dress had been a rather vivid plum. Why would she care anyway? It wasn’t like she picked her clothes with the purpose of being complimented on them. Although this time she had hoped . . .

Attempting to abandon her spiraling thoughts, Hetty forced herself off the cot.

Despite Benjy hovering around her, her knees did not buckle. Her fingers did slip along the buttons and fastenings more than she liked. Her slower movement spurred Benjy to ask if he could help, but a few moments of that showed he was better in helping her remove clothing than pulling it on. As she attempted to smooth the wrinkles, Benjy handed her the cloth band.

All the magic was gone from the band, leaving only her stitch-work. Hetty tied it on anyway. Even without magic, it brought a small measure of comfort.

With Hetty leaning heavily on Benjy’s arm, they walked out of the tent. Outside, she realized this tent was pitched near the end of the boardwalk, and it was among the only things still standing. In the distance, Hetty could see scurrying figures dismantling tents and stalls. The pieces flew under the power of various enchantments cast by those eager to leave as soon as they could.

Hetty watched them work for a bit, then tugged on Benjy’s arm.

“What did you find that you couldn’t mention in front of the nurse?”

“That I couldn’t get near the explosion.”

“Which one? There were two.”

“Two,” Benjy echoed, as if repeating himself would make it less true. “Two explosions?”

“You didn’t see them?”

“I couldn’t get close enough. It’s blocked off a bit, I’m not sure we can get close enough to check.”

“Don’t you forget”—Hetty traced a finger in the air, slowly forming the Gemini star sigil. It flashed for a single moment before the magic cloaked them from sight—“this time I’m here.”

Hidden from sight, they walked through the remnants of the excursion until they reached the grassy plain where the race had taken place.

Several people swarmed the site like ants. Some were cleaning, and some were clearly there to stare and gawk.

The line of defense between the cleaners and the gawkers was George.

“George?” Hetty nearly exclaimed. “You couldn’t get past him?”

“Wait a moment,” Benjy muttered.

He’d barely spoken before a man strode up to George. Angry words were exchanged. The man tried to push past him. George’s fingers moved to form a star sigil. In the flash of light, the ground rippled under the man’s feet and sent him flying back to the ground with stunning force.

The man picked himself up. Hetty didn’t catch what was said, but it ended with George looking on smugly as the other man retreated.

She could see why Benjy had little success on his own. For someone who didn’t like magic, George was quick to cast spells.

Too quick, possibly.

“His spells are employed one by one,” Benjy said. “There’s no spell lying in wait.”

“Then sneaking past should be easy.”

Benjy didn’t answer her.

Isaac Baxter had just stormed up to George, scattering the lingering crowd. With a bruise and a slightly swollen right eye, he looked far from the polished hustler who sought attention from crowds.

“Where is he?” he demanded. “Where’s Loring!”

George pointed. “He’s near the river—”

Snarling, Baxter pushed past him.

And like Baxter’s shadow, Hetty and Benjy followed. They couldn’t get as close as Hetty would have liked. The glamour might have kept them from sight, but the effort to cast it took more out of her than she’d expected. Their slower pace kept them some distance from Baxter, but allowed Hetty to take full note of their surroundings.

The first blast site was a crater, and the burn marks made it appear the work of a fallen star. Around it, the ground was lumpy and deeply gouged from bicycle wheels and boot heels. Chunks of grass and dirt were strewn about, and in the distance, Hetty spied a mound of the twisted metal of broken bicycles.

It was a sad sight.

But it didn’t hold her attention for long.

Baxter nearly pounced on poor defenseless Clarence, who barely had time to flee.

“You moonstruck fool!” Baxter hollered. “If you checked every­thing, why am I staring at a hole in the ground?”

“I did! I checked—”

“Not well enough. People could have died and it would have been on my head! It’s my name that people will remember, not yours! How could this have happened?”

“Someone must have slipped in when I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Stop giving me excuses,” Baxter snapped. “I need answers, solutions. Give me something! Your own wife was in there. Surely you care about her?”

At this point in the conversation, Clarence turned away. Hetty could see only a portion of his face. That sliver was not enough for her to tell what emotion flickered across his face. Whatever it was, it didn’t appease Baxter at all.

He did some more yelling, but Clarence said nothing more.

In the end, Baxter stormed off, but not to join the men cleaning up. He went in a different direction.

“He’s going where the second one was,” Hetty whispered.

“Then we keep following him.”

They got closer to Baxter this time. He had stopped, and as he reached into his jacket he looked around. His eyes darted in their direction and a ripple of panic crossed his features. Whatever was in his hand was shoved back, and he smoothed out his clothes, grinning broadly at them.

Stars, her spell had worn off !

Though that was alarming, she found herself more curious about his reaction.

Baxter should have started in surprise, but when he greeted them, he acted as if they hadn’t popped out of the ground like mushrooms.

“Are you feeling better, Mrs. Rhodes?” Baxter said, locking his gaze on Hetty. “I feared the worst.”

“Much better,” Hetty said.

“Good.” Baxter’s smile was thinly stretched and seemed ready to unravel. “Will you be leaving soon? The next train leaves fairly shortly. I’d be happy to buy tickets for you. There’s no need for you to linger here. People might think something is wrong.”

“Something is wrong,” Hetty insisted. “There was an explosion! I saw it with my own eyes—”

“An explosion that was fueled by nothing but hate.” Baxter found his footing with these words, easing himself into this lurch of conversation. “A trap set by someone who doesn’t want us to have our fun. There’s no need for poking or prodding.”

“Or asking questions?” Benjy asked.

“Or demanding answers,” Baxter snapped. He seemed to be ready to say more, but with one look at Benjy’s face, Baxter pivoted. “Surely after everything that occurred you don’t want to linger on this side of the river?”

Baxter was being too forceful. He already offered to pay their train fare, and now he was trying to convince them nothing of note happened when the opposite was clearly true. Hetty wasn’t sure how much Baxter knew about them. But he obviously knew enough to know he didn’t want them poking around.

Very interesting, considering the angry words he had thrown in Clarence’s face.

Surely he wanted answers?

That he didn’t was a question worth looking into, but one thing at a time.

They needed to look at the blast site. But Baxter was dead set on leading them to the train station.

She had to do something. But what?

Hetty sagged against Benjy’s arm, playing up her exhaustion. “We can’t leave.” Hetty’s lip trembled as she looked up at Benjy. “I dropped my locket. I won’t leave without it. You promised we’ll find it.”

“The crew here will find it,” Baxter said. “It probably got swept up in the river—”

“It won’t take much time to find, as long as people stay out of the way,” Benjy interrupted.

Baxter had more sense than Hetty credited to him. Instead of contesting Benjy’s words, he just nodded and stepped aside.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Hetty said as soon as Baxter was out of earshot, “I would say he was trying to get rid of us.”

“Just me,” Benjy corrected softly. “For the bruise forming on his face.”

“You did that?” Hetty echoed. While that explained Baxter’s odd behavior, she had other concerns. Namely how such a detail went missing in Benjy’s recounting of events following the explosion. “Why?”

“He got in the way.” Benjy’s voice was flat and expressionless, as if he was reading from a newspaper. “After the blast happened Baxter raised a magical barrier to keep people back, and wouldn’t lower it. I suppose I could have used magic to shatter it, but punching him saved time. You were going to drown.” He added that part as if he expected her to complain.

“When did the barrier go up? Before or after I fell into the water?”

“I don’t know.”

Hetty blinked, stunned at these words.

“There was dust and people, and I was further back in the crowd.”

Hetty waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. How strange of him to miss stating an obvious detail. If she didn’t know otherwise, it seemed as if he had been the one half drowned in the river.

“Don’t you think it strange that he put up a barrier?” Hetty suggested. “He could have put it up in the midst of well-­intentioned panic. But if you couldn’t break through it without resorting to breaking his focus, it means the spell was firmly set up. If that’s true, him trying to get rid of us is less about the punch he deserved and more about reasons he doesn’t want us to find out.”

“That does make sense,” Benjy muttered. “Why didn’t that occur to me?”

“Do you wish for me to answer that?” Hetty asked. “Because you won’t like my opinion.”

“No.” Benjy smiled down at her. “I always want to hear your opinion.”

He might, but she wasn’t about to let him know her thoughts at the moment.

“Good thinking with the locket,” Benjy continued. “Now there won’t be any questions about me casting spells.”

“Or me.”

“No spellcasting for you.” Benjy turned his eyes to the grass. “You once held a disillusionment charm for half an afternoon while dogs were sniffing around the trees next to us. This one lasted for how long?”

Hetty grunted, her only admission that he had made his point. “Why don’t we start looking before Baxter comes back?” she said.

Benjy stepped away from her then, small steps at first as if afraid she’d topple over. When she didn’t, he strode further away. “Tell me more about the second blast.”

“It was smaller,” Hetty said as she followed with care across the ground. “It didn’t make as much of an impact.”

“It certainly didn’t leave a mark.” Benjy’s eyes roved across the ground.

Compared to the blast site, the area they stood in was unblemished. You couldn’t even tell that a bicycle had rolled across it.

“Was your bicycle enchanted?” Benjy drew Capricorn into the air. The form of a goat with a fish tail floated before him, waiting patiently to be set to work.

“It would be a clever trick if it was,” Hetty remarked. Off his raised eyebrow she added, “I don’t think it was. The protections in my clothes would have reacted.”

“Not that dress.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment. “You don’t wear a dress like that when expecting trouble. Your usual spells aren’t stitched in.”

“Maybe I should change that habit.”

“Maybe.” He flicked his hand and Capricorn dove toward the ground. It skimmed along the grass, circling around them. At first the men over by the blast site turned, but none moved toward them. She supposed it did look like Benjy was searching for a missing locket. Only, she knew he was seeking magical residue that might have been left from the second explosion.

As if conducting an orchestra, he guided the star sigil across the ground, leaving no blade of grass unturned. Just when Hetty was starting to think there was nothing to be found, the sea-goat suddenly leapt into the air, then dove back into the ground. The spot where it disappeared shone with a red tinge of magical residue no bigger than a dinner plate.

At once, Benjy bent over as if digging for a fallen object.

“What could this have been,” Hetty asked, as he ran his fingers through the grass, “besides explosive?”

“Anything,” Benjy remarked. “A reversed summoning spell, a trigger for the explosion, but those are just details.”

He stood up holding out a cupped hand. With exaggerated care he took her hand, and made it seem as if he dropped something into her palm.

He didn’t let go, but held on to her hand.

“I suppose the details don’t matter,” Benjy added, “since either way, I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.”

She squeezed his hand. “Neither could I.”

Everything had happened so quickly that her memories could have been jumbled up in more ways than one. Yet she could correctly recall the events of her perilous ride—the veering of her bicycle under her, the rush of wind, the blast appearing right in front of her.

She could see it clearly.

The first blast was planned, but the second was not, even though it was equally deliberate. Deliberate . . . and focused on her.

They were right to speculate that someone with the answers they were seeking was here.

And so was the murderer.