FOX
FOX
THEY SAY WHEN FACED with impossibly difficult circumstances, people turn to words or actions.
So when Benjy denied Hetty the chance of going after Nathan Payne to prove that the ghost could bleed, she turned angry words on him the moment they were inside their home.
“I’m not being unreasonable—you said you saw him too! Why aren’t we doing anything about him?”
Benjy stepped around her to lock the door, magic wisping from his fingers as he set a number of wards in place. “What would that change?” he said in a measured tone that told her that he’d spent the walk back home preparing a number of arguments.
It made her want to shake him. It made her want to scream and yell at him. But it mostly made her realize she had made the wrong move, that she should have gone after Payne the moment she saw him, consequences be damned.
“Nathan Payne chased after us long before the price on our heads was enough to make it worthwhile. He sent dogs chasing after us! He crossed a battlefield just for a chance to put a knife to our throats! How can you not want to do anything?”
“Well, if you’d killed him when you had the chance, you wouldn’t be worried about him now.” Benjy sat at the foot of the stairs. He pulled out the wad of winnings from the match. He didn’t count them or take them apart, just turned the rolled bills over in his hands as he spoke. “You let Payne live. With any choice comes a stream of consequences.”
“I don’t care. I want him out of our city! Why is he here? Is he after us again?”
“He might not be.” Benjy tucked the money back into his pocket. “A few months ago the Eventide Observer had an article about One-Eyed Jack.”
“I didn’t hear about this.”
Hetty had noticed he’d suddenly gotten interested in purchasing the newspaper when previously he had been content with stealing it from their friends. She figured it was an indulgence that came with the rise of their fortunes, but clearly she was wrong about that.
“He was not mentioned with that name, of course. But reading between the lines, I knew who it was. It wasn’t too exciting, mostly tales of misadventures with the opinions of the reporter peppered through. But then again, I already heard some of the tales with a different ending.”
“Do we need to worry about this ghost, too?” Hetty asked.
“No. I saw a notice for One-Eyed Jack’s funeral this morning. Reports of his death could have brought Payne into town.”
“I doubt it. You should have seen the operation Payne had going on in the alley. He must have been here for a while. When was this article? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Benjy held up his hands as if to shield himself from her words. “You’d only needlessly worry about an old slave catcher living on the outskirts of town.”
“Like I am about Payne?”
“Payne was never a slave catcher. Just someone who cared for nothing but himself.” At Hetty’s huff, Benjy retorted, his patience finally snapping. “Why are you worried about him? Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m around.”
“You can’t promise that.”
His eyes caught hers, and the intensity there stole her breath.
“I’ll make that promise.”
He’d keep it, too. He didn’t have to say that for her to know.
She knew, because that’s what he always did. Looked after her and made sure she was safe. It was the only thing that hadn’t changed in the years she’d known him, and the only thing that never would.
“I’m sorry,” Hetty admitted. “It’s just one more alarming thing to face today, and it’s by far the biggest one. I can handle strange fires set on purpose by Beatty Hose. I can deal with secret tunnels. I can even cope with magical objects being sold in back alleys. But Payne is different. There are a lot of things that want to kill us, but he’s the only thing that wants to do it personally.”
Against these words, Benjy still shook his head. “We can’t do anything about him unless he makes a move first. Anything more is a waste of effort.”
“Everything feels like a waste if we don’t!”
“Then why didn’t you follow him when you had your chance?” Benjy asked.
“Because I learned my lesson about plunging into things without support.”
“Thomas would be upset to hear that,” Benjy said. His words were light, but there was a different story in his eyes. His left hand ran along his right arm, resting right along where the bone had been broken back in May.
And just like that, all of Hetty’s boiling anger vanished.
The case that got his arm broken was extraordinary in one fashion—the victim, the suspects, and the motives were all personal. It showed them the things they were willing to overlook and revealed that they were more vulnerable than they would like to admit.
“You’re right,” Hetty admitted softly. “Going after Payne like this isn’t wise. But we aren’t courting danger. After all, there’s two of us against him, and we have one thing he doesn’t have.”
“What’s that?”
Hetty didn’t even blink. “Everything to protect.”
In answer, Benjy held out his hand to her.
Hetty took it, the calluses on both their hands brushing against each other for just a moment before Benjy pulled her toward him.
She placed her free hand against his face, and let it rest there as she stared down at him.
He captured that hand too, but instead of pulling her down toward him, he stood, slowly and with care.
He kissed one of her hands and let it fall. While still holding the other, he led the way upstairs until it was necessary to let go of that hand as well.
“It doesn’t look like there’s a deeper connection.”
The next morning, Hetty reclined inside her tub, and because she was fully dressed for the day, the fabric of her clothes gave her enough cushion that it was nearly comfortable as long as she didn’t bump her elbow on the water taps nearby.
Hetty jiggled her leg as she flipped through the Eventide Observer, reading once again the obituary for the friend Jay had mentioned the previous night.
“Billy Yates. A former teacher at Olmstead. He taught roughly the same years that Jay did. No mention of the Vigilance Society.”
“There wouldn’t be.” Benjy rolled up his shirtsleeves with care before he lathered shaving cream on his face.
“There would be a hint.” Hetty turned a page. “A mention of a familiar name or two.”
“The pastor just wants us to do something.”
Because he had picked up a blade and had it against his neck to shave, Hetty didn’t say what she really was thinking.
Jay didn’t care about what they did—he just wanted them to share the same impossible hope that he had. A hope that all the strange things around Raimond Duval’s death meant something. There were too many questions that had been neatly given answers, and part of Jay’s anger had been how easy it seemed . . . and that Hetty and Benjy had accepted it.
Hetty understood that anger.
For little over a decade she held a similar impossible hope about her lost sister. A hope of being reunited one day, even as the years went by and the dream became less likely. By the time Hetty had finally gotten news about Esther, every one of her friends had told her to stop looking, except for Benjy.
Even then, it wasn’t enough at times.
“Will you be fine looking after things later today?” Benjy said as he patted his face dry. “I’m going to give Thomas back the fiddle and an earful. I know he didn’t want Oliver to worry about his troubles, but hasn’t he learned, such things always come out in the end? I might be gone for a while.”
“Take your time,” Hetty grumbled. “It’s not like we have any clients anyway.”
Benjy knelt down next to the tub so his face was nearly even with hers.
There was a bit of shaving cream he had missed, and Hetty absently rubbed it off his face.
Benjy caught her hand and held it in place with his own. His skin was slightly damp, and cool to the touch.
“It’s not a bad thing, to not be busy,” he said softly.
“You won’t say that in a few months.”
“In a few months things will have improved.”
Benjy settled gingerly on the stool they kept nearby. Just as easily, he took the newspaper from her and slid on the glasses he’d left near the sink.
The thin wire frames were a new addition and a reluctant purchase—Benjy had insisted he didn’t need them. But oddly enough, a few comments about how much Hetty liked them had quelled any further complaints.
“Did you notice anything interesting in this?” Benjy asked.
Hetty shook her head. “Nothing much today. Although Miss Carole had a particularly cutting response to the fool who asked why there is little support for temperance.”
“I see it.” Benjy cleared his throat. “ ‘I stand against banning alcohol, because the law will be twisted to enforce things that had nothing to do with it. It’ll become an excuse to arrest people and snatch babies from their mothers. But it’s mostly a sneaky way to ban brewed magic. White alchemists can’t replicate even the simplest of potions. If the white man can’t take it or make it, they destroy it.’ ”
“That column is the only reason to buy the paper,” Hetty declared. “Whoever owns it surely knows it.”
“Miss Carole gives sound advice in most cases,” her husband agreed and turned to a different section.
“I’m curious about who she is.”
Benjy shrugged. “That’s easy to guess. It’s someone well connected in the city who wishes to remain anonymous. Which suggests they are someone active in the community. A teacher, an organizer, or even someone prominently placed in church.”
“You know that much,” Hetty exclaimed, “but you can’t tell me a name?”
“The name is just a detail.”
Hetty snorted. “That means you don’t know!”
He looked over the rim of his glasses at her, a smile playing at his lips. “I never said that.”
Hetty huffed and lightly kicked him.
He caught her foot easily, and his fingers tapped against her stocking foot.
She wasn’t ticklish there, but her breath caught all the same as she stilled, images of the previous night washing over her.
“It’s my turn to make breakfast, isn’t it?” Benjy asked as Hetty gently pulled her foot away, sinking into the tub.
Hetty nodded instead of answering aloud, and he left then, allowing her to soak in her thoughts a bit longer.
After breakfast, Benjy disappeared into the study to finish reading the newspaper. But Hetty had other mouths to feed.
“You’re early,” Hetty said as she carried out a bowl of seeds and a boiled egg for the five birds neatly lined up outside the kitchen door. “Or maybe it’s me that’s late.”
The birds only watched her as she walked toward the bench. But the moment she sat down, they flew to rest around her, waiting for her to scatter the seeds.
A crow and her mate had built a nest on the rooftop, which made them neighbors in a sense. Hetty had found the nest when setting up her telescope and crows came rushing at her. Only when Hetty stayed a good distance away from the nest and offered food did the crows leave her alone. Providing these meals slowly gained her their trust, and hopefully their affections. With the eggs hatched and the baby birds fending for themselves, Hetty was seldom bothered these days. She wasn’t sure if they’d taken a liking to her, but they clearly didn’t mind her being around.
Hetty sat there watching the birds until a shadow fell over her.
“Did you want to help—” Hetty stopped midsentence, realizing the shadow had split into two.
She spun around, alert and ready to attack, only to see two of Penelope’s cousins behind her.
Sy and Rosabelle looked at Hetty nervously, and it was only then that she realized her hand was already shaping a spell.
She relaxed and the magic faded as she stood to greet them properly.
Before the war, the Caldwells had been a family with five daughters, scattered forcibly across several states. After the war, the Caldwells had several grandchildren, a newly discovered niece, and four daughters and a son. That son was Sy, who had run away to fight for the Union. He found that what had been a disguise turned into a revelation answering the unease he’d felt about his life before the war. The rest of the Caldwells accepted that change without a hint of fuss, as they saw it as gaining a son instead of losing a daughter, and when someone in their old town tried to make Sy’s past into a scandal and ruin the family’s business, the entire Caldwell clan used the excuse of learning Penelope’s whereabouts to move to Philadelphia.
This move benefited the youngest Caldwell sibling, Rosabelle, the most. The baby of the family, Rosie was a recent graduate of Olmstead Secondary. But her mother’s dream of Rosie’s being the first to attend college in the family was cut short by a mysterious illness that had left Rosie bedridden for several months. Rosie was painfully thin and had a delicate look of spun sugar at times. But there was no sign of illness today. Rosie carried a box of books under one arm, and her eyes danced with mirth as her brother took a hasty step away from the crows, who were watching Sy rather closely.
“It’s fine,” Hetty said to the birds. “They’re friends.”
As if to acknowledge her words, the birds flew onto the roof. The lead crow and her mate peered down, still holding watch as if they doubted Hetty’s judgment.
One raised its wings when Sy stepped forward, and when he stumbled back, the bird’s beak fell open in a way that looked like silent laughter.
“Sorry that we came early, but Penelope told me you wanted to come as soon as possible. She gave me her key in case you were gone,” Sy said. “I came because I started a new job—”
“We started a new job,” Rosie added in a rush. “Sy is working at the Chiron Bookshop and he can’t do it without my help.”
“No wonder you turned down working for us! When did this happen?” Hetty asked.
“Just last week,” Sy said with a tinge of pride. “But it’s mostly inventory. There are so many books to organize.”
“It doesn’t sound like a well-run bookshop.”
“It’s not,” Rosie jumped in. “I never heard about it before Sy got the job, and I know all the best places to get books from.”
“So do I.” Benjy stood in the doorway behind them. “I got a list of books that I want to purchase, and shelves to fill.”
They all froze at his sudden appearance. Even Hetty was at a loss to explain why the siblings were here this early in the day.
“And I’m here to help!” Rosie thrust the box of books at Benjy. Her voice became rather high pitched and breathless as she rattled on like an oncoming train. “I found the book you were talking about since last Christmas! And an older translated copy!”
“In the original Greek?” Benjy took the box from the girl, tilting it toward him as he did. “I see you brought back the copy of Willows at Dawn that you borrowed. Clever sneaking it in with these. Have you read the latest serial?”
“Not yet!” Rosie dashed inside. “Do you think D. R. Vanders survived the plunge off the mountain? I don’t think it’s possible!”
Benjy was already debating this point as they returned to the house, and it wasn’t entirely clear if Rosie was seriously arguing with him or just being a distraction.
“This worked better than I planned,” Sy said with clear pleasure.
“You could have dropped books like breadcrumbs in the house and it would have worked just as well.”
Sy gave her a curious look. “Have you done that?”
“No, but I might one day.”
Sy had left a wagon around the corner, with a restless horse, waiting for them. Both wagon and horse belonged to one of his older sisters, Clarabelle most likely. The horse was certainly distempered like the woman, snapping its teeth as Hetty set a spell of invisibility over the beast.
With the wagon and horse hidden from sight, they brought in and began to unload the equipment and tools that she still didn’t know the names of. But that was what Sy was there for. He hadn’t been present when she bought it, but he had confirmed she made the right choices. With Sy’s help and a bit of magic to lighten the load, they moved everything that was on the wagon into the shack.
Hetty had already put the table that had been in the cellar inside. While she wanted to put hooks in and shelves for the tools, she resisted the urge.
She had gotten one of their previous clients to build the shack. It looked perfectly fine to her, but given Benjy’s exacting standards it’d probably be down and rebuilt within a few weeks. Or days, if they didn’t get any other work soon.
“You should be pleased,” Sy said as he rearranged the last of the tools onto the table. “You got everything in without him knowing.”
“I am.” Hetty patted the table. “Thank you for your help with this.”
“I’m always happy to help. Penelope considers you family, so you’re also my family. Between you and me, I’d take you and Ben over Clara and Adam any day.”
Hetty was laughing over this as they stepped out of the shack. So she was still smiling when she looked back at the house and saw Benjy standing in front of the window in the study, staring right at her.
He had a book in his hand, which meant he had his glasses on. Because he was wearing those glasses, she knew there was no way he’d miss the shack behind her, absent of the many layers of spells that kept it hidden from him the entire time.
The shock that splashed across his face was worth every moment she’d spent planning over the past couple of weeks.
When she borrowed some money from Oliver, he’d teased that Hetty was giving Benjy his own personal forge so he could make things for the house. Which she admitted, to the laughter of her friends. But in private it was a gift. She could spin stories around the drops of starlight and whispers from the moon, but words eluded her when speaking of her true feelings, even to those closest to her.
So she used a gift to say all she wanted to say. That she loved him, that she hoped this would make him happy, and that this gift marked a new beginning for them.
Still smiling, Hetty waved at her husband.
Rosie suddenly jumped into view, thrusting a book in Benjy’s direction, but what would have been a good distraction any other time failed miserably.
Benjy vanished from the window and moments later reappeared at the back door, waving his glasses at the shack.
“This wasn’t here before! It’s too big to come by wagon!”
“It was already here.” Hetty’s face felt like it was going to split into two as he stammered and stared.
“But I checked,” he moaned. “I knew there was something going on back here, but I looked and I didn’t find anything.”
“Benjy, Benjy,” Hetty said, hooking her arm into his. “How many times must I tell you? I’m better at magic than you!”
He swung his head around at her, but said nothing. “What’s inside?”
“A surprise. Close your eyes.” Hetty gestured to Sy to open the shack’s door. The young man sprang to action, and Hetty led Benjy inside.
At her direction, Benjy opened his eyes.
Hetty clasped her hands together, anticipating his reaction as he looked around.
He took in the entire shack and shook his head with a laugh. “I wondered what happened to all the tools! I went around asking Amos about these things, but he just yelled at me.”
“You didn’t realize I bought everything?”
“I didn’t think you would,” he said softly, running his hand along the tools laid out before him. “The cost—”
“Was of no concern.” Hetty assured him. “I haggled with Amos, and Oliver and Thomas provided some funds. As you can guess, Penelope’s work with the garden was an excuse to get all this in place. And Sy insisted on helping once he heard. We all could tell you missed the forge.”
“It’s about creation and transformation.” Benjy’s arm went around her shoulders, squeezing her for a moment. “How did you get the birds to not sit on this?”
“I have my ways.”
With a cough, Sy poked his head in. “We’re off.” His cheeky grin said he wanted to say more but knew better. He and Rosie left, although if they stayed any longer or not, Hetty didn’t really care.
She was reveling in the fruits of her labor as Benjy rearranged things to his liking.
“You hired someone to make this shack,” Benjy said as his magic turned equipment around and sent tools rearranging themselves. “It’s not bad, so you hired someone who wasn’t boasting about their skill. Do I know who they were?”
“Violet Morrow helped me with this. Her brother was the man we found with a glass bottle shoved down his throat.”
Benjy grimaced as they left the shack. “That was a nasty one.”
“The body? We’ve seen worse.”
“No, all the fuss with people afterward. The secret lovers and children. It was messy.”
“You’re going to knock the shack down?”
“No—why would I ruin what was very cleverly done?” Benjy pulled her toward him, so his words were whispered into her hair. “What spells did you use?”
Hetty smiled. “I won’t tell you, but I can show you.”
“Excuse me!” cried a voice on the other side of the fence.
Hetty looked around Benjy to see a familiar pair of eyes glaring at them over the fence.
Blythe Holloway lived next door, having moved there not long after they did due to the small windfall her dead husband had left her. Despite the permanent scowl fixed on her face, she was not an old woman, only a bit older than Oliver and Thomas. Her pronounced disappointment in the world just aged her prematurely. Like a ghost she popped in whenever they least expected it, complaining about issues with her house that only Benjy could fix, chiding Hetty about the magic that went on, and stealing their mail. Blythe even tapped on the shared wall in the dining room whenever the gatherings with their friends got too loud.
Every time Hetty saw those glaring eyes, she was reminded why she was content to keep their bedroom in the attic.
“Mrs. Holloway,” Benjy said politely, “is something the matter?”
“There was too much noise going on yesterday,” Blythe bristled. “I don’t know what you young people get up to, but I could hear it in my house and it’s unacceptable!”
“We’re so sorry about that. We’ll do better.”
“You will! I’d move, but this is the best neighborhood for Colored folks in the city. No strange fires have started here. I suppose it’s the eyes of a finch and sparrow helping to keep it that way.”
Blythe huffed and swept back into her house, slamming the door for good measure.
“How can she be so rude?” Hetty grumbled. “She knows who we are and what we do!”
Benjy pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Some people simply aren’t easily impressed.”
That sentiment, it seemed, extended to their fledgling funeral business.
Having done a few funerals with Oliver in the past with moderate success, Hetty thought running an official business would be easy. They weren’t exactly famous in the city, but most people knew who they were. Yet other than some small amount of interest, some polite smiles, and vague promises, their client list was very short.
It wasn’t because of the location, either.
When people found their loved ones dead due to mysterious circumstances, people knocked away at their door. There had been no shortage of cases, major or minor.
Just no funerals.
Hetty knew they had just opened their doors, yet she spent the bulk of every day within earshot of the door, hoping to hear the doorbell. It was becoming less about the work and more to prove she’d made the right choice.
That giving up sewing dresses and tailoring clothes was the right choice for her future. She could snap her fingers and find work as a dressmaker. She was the best around—few could challenge her skill with the needle.
But she wanted the funeral home to work. She had been sewing nearly all her life. She enjoyed it, yes, but it was a skill she’d learned to survive. And she didn’t want to just survive anymore.
She wanted to live.