LEO MINOR

16

HETTY HAD TO READ that note several times before she understood the full weight of the words.

To check and secure the well seemed sensible enough, but the last bit . . . As far as Hetty knew, only water came out of wells. Anything else, such as a talking frog, was the stuff of stories.

Unless of course the well was not just a well.

In Cora and Jay’s living room there was a very beautiful fireplace that was only there for show. Push back a brick in the right place and it swung open, revealing a tunnel that connected to a street a few blocks away.

Raimond Duval and his son had worked with the Vigilance Society, so there were plenty of reasons for them to have a tunnel near the house. Having it in the well made a great deal of sense, and less of a worry in one way. Intruders would have a much harder time climbing up a well.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be easy to get in.

Hetty headed back downstairs and slipped through the kitchen. The cook, grumbling as she put together refreshments, didn’t even so much as glance up, even when Hetty left through the back door.

The well was still in use. There was an upturned bucket hanging on the side, and the mechanism to draw it up still appeared well oiled.

There was also no magic.

Her touch didn’t stir up any sigils, nor did the protections sewn into her clothing react in any way.

This was good, but also a bit sad. Magic faded for three reasons: interactions from other spells, the natural decay of time, or the death of the practitioner.

Hetty climbed up onto the well’s rim. Once seated, she considered using the rope to help her descent. But then, just as quickly, she put the thought aside.

There was an easier way to get down the well.

Hetty dropped over the side, clinging to the edge. The moment she was inside, she let the concealment charm fade. She ran her finger along the stone in front of her, drawing the Capricorn star sigil. The lights from the lines and vertices pulsed for a moment before a gentle coil of air surrounded Hetty.

It encircled her protectively, one part shield and another a rustling wind tickling against her face.

Then she let go.

In the center of the well Hetty floated slowly down, the light of her magic illuminating the way. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she spotted evenly spaced handholds carved into the well across from her.

She followed those handholds down to a ledge big enough for a grown man to stand on. With a sweep of her hand, Hetty urged the wind to push her forward. She placed one foot on the ledge and then another before gripping the slimy wall. With care, she walked along the ledge, her footsteps becoming farther and farther apart until they became strides and she was no longer hugging a ledge but moving through a passageway.

With her magic turned into a light fluttering above her palm, Hetty walked on.

The passageway widened into a tunnel. As Hetty crept along it, she swept her light about for signs that people had been down here. But there was nothing. Not even a marker.

It was likely she was the first person down here in a very long time. This ruined her theory that a murderer might have come through, but a part of her was glad. This was the last place she wanted to run into trouble.

Why hadn’t the Duvals closed it up? Especially with the entrance on their grounds. Was there no fear of further trouble, or did they expect wards to protect them?

The path widened to a fork. The left-hand path was the only way passable. The other path was a solid wall of packed rocks and dirt. Hoping an exit still remained at the end of the left-hand path, Hetty continued along it.

As she walked, she heard the rumbling of wagon wheels and streetcars on the streets above. There was also scuttling. Rats, by the sound of clicking toes. The sound of dripping water. But nothing that told her where she was or even where she was headed.

Which was a problem since the tunnel stopped at a dead end.

The buzzing of panic filled her ears, but Hetty pushed it firmly down. She could always walk back the way she came, or punch a hole above her. Idly she looked upward, and spotted a worn door handle dangling in arm’s reach.

“Thank the stars,” she muttered, and grabbed it. The first tug opened the door. Sunlight and debris rained on Hetty as she climbed out of the hole.

Catching sight of the grave markers around her and the building nearby, she knew where she was: behind Perdition Baptist. This put her around eight blocks away from the Duval home, although given how long she was walking, the tunnel wasn’t in a straight line.

Not that it mattered.

Her greater concern was if someone came through.

The doorway in the grave marker was already closed. It was also for a person that never existed. The name etched into the stone was Eula Rivers, the code name used in Vigilance Society for various things of importance. Hetty pressed on the stone in an attempt to open a door, only to stop when she saw a crow land on top.

This was no ordinary crow. It was midnight blue and speckled with stars.

Slowly, Hetty turned around. Behind her, Benjy sat on the stone bench, reclined as if he had been sitting there for ages.

Smirking, her husband waved at her.

Words were lost to Hetty for several moments before she managed: “How are you here?”

“I knew about this grave marker being a tunnel entrance. It’s the closest thing around here to the Duval home. I would have told you about it if I’d known you were going to jump down a well.”

Hetty had the grace to be a little chagrined. “I forgot to tell you,” she said. “I found a note in Valentine’s room about the well and I was so curious about it that I rushed to investigate.”

“I know.”

“Wish you’d come with me?” Hetty plopped down on the bench next to him.

“Just a bit. The conversations I had with the relatives proved that most had no motive, no opportunity, or were simply at the house because Horace Duval had brought in a medium. The family’s convinced he’s after an inheritance, although opinion is mixed on whether or not there was really any money. But people were curious about what the medium would say.”

“Lies, perhaps. She’s the one I saw in New Jersey.”

He blinked. “The same one?”

Hetty nodded.

“Well, isn’t that curious,” Benjy remarked. “Did you find the poison?”

“I can’t say for sure. I did find some chalk.” She patted her pocket. “We can test it later for traces. Valentine was writing something before he died. A bunch of numbers. Six, eight, nine, one, two, five . . .” Hetty repeated, only for Benjy to laugh and finish the sequence for her.

“That’s the Clarke Cipher,” he said before Hetty could ask, brimming with delight. “He must have been looking into it before he died.”

“Don’t get too excited. It just means someone knew him enough to know that this would be the best way to deliver the poison. Besides, I thought this wasn’t a case.” She eyed him closely. “I thought Jay just jumped to murder because he wanted us to look at Raimond’s death again.”

“Poison changes that,” Benjy said. “And there are other factors at play.”

“Like what? Valentine’s cousin plotting for an inheritance that might not exist?”

“The timing,” Benjy said softly. “Valentine just returned to the city. It was under ten days according to the cook. Plenty of time for a slow-acting poison.”

Hetty scowled. “It’s almost like the murderer realized the wrong Duval was dead and scrambled to correct the error.”

“That is the most convoluted thing I have ever heard! The wrong Duval killed!” Benjy paused and repeated himself very slowly, as if taken by surprise. “The wrong Duval killed. What if the wrong Duval died first?”

It didn’t seem like a question he meant for her to answer, but she did so anyway. Because while she hadn’t been serious when she’d first said it, this reaction had her reconsidering her words and their implications. “It could mean that Raimond Duval wasn’t killed by someone at Beatty Hose,” Hetty said slowly. “And that the murderer might still be around.”

“And killed Valentine​—​but why?”

“An old enemy?” Hetty suggested. “Someone Valentine clashed with in the past? There was a fire near his home, and it had so much magic in it.”

“And a tunnel underneath,” Benjy said absently. “It’s too bad that the tunnel​—” Mid-thought, he slammed a fist on the bench’s armrest as he started to swear. “Tunnels!” he declared. “They’re connected to places the Duvals were known to have been!”

Hetty stared at him blankly, lost at this abrupt leap. “What do you mean?”

“That’s the pattern. You’ve found multiple tunnels this week, and the Duvals have a history with them! What if there were more? Is it really just chance that Wise Sammy was moving stolen magic under Valentine’s house? Or that there was a fire on Stars Haven?”

“Or that Valentine made a note about closing up the well’s tunnel? At this rate, we’ll have to look at all the tunnels still open in the city just to make sure this is all related.”

Benjy’s enthusiasm dimmed quite a bit. “It’ll take time to look through them​—​not to mention, we don’t know their locations.”

Hetty grinned. “But we do know someone who does!”