VIRGO

38

THE RAIN HAD PAUSED, but the threat of it lingered enough that Hetty pulled on a rain cape and drew up the hood over her head.

Eunice’s home wasn’t far, but it seemed farther and farther with each passing moment, each step compelling Hetty to walk faster.

“I’ll knock on the door alone,” she said. “Eunice is expecting me. If she sees you, she might panic.”

“What if Clarence answers? You want me to wait on the street as he stabs you on his doorstep?”

“I can make excuses and stall him,” Hetty said. “Go around the back. See if you can sneak in through an open door or something. Do not break down the door.”

“Unless I hear screams.”

“I don’t scream.”

“Which is why I’ll break down the door if I hear any.”

At the corner, Hetty grabbed his hand, swinging him around to look at her. “It’ll be fine. We’ve done riskier things than this . . . and when we hardly knew what we were doing.”

“You don’t have a plan.”

“I don’t,” Hetty admitted. “Just a couple of hopes strung together.”

“That’s all we need.” Benjy squeezed her hand.

They parted at the corner. Hetty continued toward the front door. She knocked, pulling on her brightest smile.

But when the door opened, Clarence stood there.

Inwardly, Hetty cursed the stars.

Why was Benjy always right about these things?

“Henrietta,” Clarence said, pushing up his glasses. “What brings you here?”

“I come to see Eunice.” Hetty lowered the hood of the rain cape, wondering how complex of a lie she could spin. Clarence’s eyes narrowed a bit, and disbelief bloomed on his face. “I wanted to thank her for the lovely gift she gave Oliver. He appreciated it very much. If Eunice isn’t here, I’ll just come back another time.”

“Oh,” he said, relaxing. “How nice of you. Eunice is just upstairs. Come in, sit. I’ll go fetch her.”

Hetty thought of following him but decided against it. Last thing she needed to do was raise his suspicions.

Making sure Eunice was safe—that was the most important thing right now, not whatever Clarence had done or might do.

Eunice’s note burned in Hetty’s pocket as if chastising her for the missed opportunity. She should have received this note in person. She should have said something to Eunice earlier. She had noticed something was off but hadn’t done anything because it was Eunice. Eunice, who brushed aside any unhappiness that fell her way. Eunice, who was nothing but perfect, and beautiful, and liked by everyone. Eunice, who was in terrible danger if her husband was a murderer.

But it was still possible Hetty was mistaken. Eunice’s letter could have been about something else. Benjy could be wrong about Clarence. He seldom was, but he wasn’t infallible. The collar wasn’t quite evidence. Meade was a common name, and the collar was unlikely to be the only one. Hetty herself had stolen a broken collar once for a disguise. This could be a chance connection, something they’d forced because they had missed the piece that would have brought the whole case together.

If they were wrong, Eunice would be safe. But if they were right . . .

Moving into the parlor, Hetty chose not to sit on one of the stiff-backed chairs, but rather paced around the room, counting the seconds that it took for Clarence to return. As she waited, something on the mantel caught her eye.

It was one of Eunice’s dreadful lace doilies, oversize and draping like a handkerchief from the ledge.

How odd.

She stepped closer.

There were doilies placed all around, but there was something always placed atop. Without something here, the items on the mantel seemed off-balance. No, there was a gap. Between the oval portrait and crystal figurine, something was missing.

Something that had been a centerpiece. Something she had seen the last time she was here.

Hetty’s eyes traced the remnants of a shadow on the wall. Had it been a clock?

Yes, a clock. When she was here after Charlie’s funeral, it had been resting there.

As she peered closer, she felt the band at her neck suddenly tighten.

Magic.

Without thinking, she swished her fingers through the air, casting an unmasking spell.

The sigil flared and the cursed sigil, the Serpent Bearer, revealed itself.

They were right after all.

Hetty hurried to the window. At this angle she should see Benjy. And she did. But instead of lurking around back as they’d discussed, he was moving toward the front of the house. Not going to the front door, but away, and into the streets, striding after a slender figure wearing a rain cape with the hood drawn up.

Eunice.

But if she was leaving, then what did—

“They say you two look alike,” Clarence whispered into her ear. “Never saw much of a difference myself. You’re both stubborn and dark as sin, but that’s where the resemblance ends.”

Behind her, Clarence stood with a wand pointed at her throat.

Although Hetty had crossed paths with the student of Judith’s, that woman had not an ounce of the confidence Clarence possessed.

Clarence smiled at her. Hetty found herself wishing she’d come in here with a better plan.

“Eunice isn’t here, is she?” Hetty managed to say.

“No,” Clarence said. “And she won’t be back for some time.”

Hetty’s hand moved to the band at her neck, but Clarence was faster. He called out an incantation. The wand’s tip turned bright orange before something shot toward her.

Hetty lunged aside, ignoring the pain at her neck. She felt the band slide away. She mourned the loss only for a moment as she threw up Taurus. The star-speckled bull drew itself up in front of her.

It rattled under the force of Clarence’s magic and then shattered—the flecks of stars flying everywhere like dust.

Hetty picked another sigil, the sturdier Pegasus, but it withstood a blast from Clarence’s wand for only slightly longer than her first cobbled spell. As the next charge of Sorcerous energy came toward her, Hetty threw herself behind the couch. Something burst above her head. Wood chips rained down on her head.

Hetty scrambled to her feet, stumbling, her skirts ripping. She cursed her dress as much as the tight seating arrangements of the room. She had been trapped the moment she’d come in here.

She couldn’t fight Sorcery with Celestial magic. It was too fast, too strong, and she didn’t have time to properly set the spells that could slow it down.

She needed to get out of there.

She couldn’t go toe to toe with a sorcerer.

Sorcery overpowered. It devoured. It put people in chains and destroyed nations in the name of gold. It sucked resources from foreign lands in the name of spices and trade routes and allowed untold horrors to continue unchecked.

But it was an old magic, rigid and unyielding, and unable to cope with newer magic.

Or the unexpected.

She didn’t know how much Sorcery Clarence knew, but she knew one thing. She was the best practitioner of Celestial magic in this city.

Hetty ran a finger along the floor, drawing the first sigil that came to mind. The Crow sigil flashed and the couch nearby slid over, giving her cover. Then she drew another to set off a number of flares.

Clarence yelled something. What it was it didn’t matter. All the other noise faded to a dull roar as he contended with her distraction.

Hetty plucked Eunice’s note out her pocket. As the shields around her began to weaken and crack, she drew the Small Dog sigil in the corner and slid it up under the piano.

The last of the shields shattered. The couch was thrust forcefully aside with a wave of Clarence’s wand.

Hetty spun to face Clarence then, a charm on her fingertips, but instead of magic, he blew dust into her face.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Clarence said as Hetty’s vision began to blur. “Just remember, this isn’t about you. This is all your husband’s fault.”

Hetty reached out toward him. She missed and fell to the ground. Clarence’s glasses twinkling above her was the last thing Hetty saw before the world faded away.