LYRA

21

FOOL’S MOON HAD NOT changed since Hetty had last been there. The smell of tobacco hung in the air even when the only smoke tendrils were tinged with blue, green, or orange. Tables were sparse and were moved often to allow for dancing, fighting, and more. Several webs of fine netting hung from the ceiling to keep magic to a minimum in the saloon. Hetty suspected a previous fight or two was the reason for their presence. It vexed Hetty to see them. If there was trouble, she couldn’t fully rely on her magic to face it head-on.

Penelope suggested they wait until nightfall before arriving, and the three of them queued behind another group made up of folks a bit younger than them in body, but older in spirit.

Because it was below Eighth Street it was easy to imagine that no one but hardened criminals, gamblers, and two-bit thieves frequented the tables. There was some of that, including people selling star-dusted herbs that were banned in seven different states. But the caliber of most of the people here was the sort you can find in any saloon uptown. As long as you didn’t poke your nose in their business, you’d be left alone.

Piano music and laughter grew louder the deeper they went into the saloon. Though judging by Benjy’s scowl, the piano player was not very good.

They found the piano in the center of the room placed back to back with a second one, although only one was being played at the moment. The sloppy playing was likely due to a lack of skill as much as the empty whiskey bottles lined up on the piano’s top.

“They let anyone play, don’t they?” Benjy growled.

“Sometimes, but it’s a way to get entry to the back of the house.” Penelope pointed to the piano. “See those glasses on top of the piano? When one’s turned over like that it means the player is trying to get an audience with the Magnolias.”

“Why go through all that trouble?” Benjy asked.

“It’s mostly because of all the magic ban talk and the fires. People want either to help or to get answers,” Penelope said.

“Is that man trying to get answers?” Hetty asked as the drunk man was finally pulled away from the piano by jeering spectators. A woman took his place and began to play.

“They have competitions, too. Anyone who can make the keys sing goes home with a heavy purse,” Penelope said.

“Penelope,” Benjy said, his eyes locked on the pianos, “you’re saying a lot of things, but not telling me what I need to know. Who do I have to talk to to play?”

Penelope laughed. “I’ll introduce you.” She grabbed his arm. “Hetty, mind if I steal your husband?”

“As long as you bring him back in one piece.”

Penelope winked. “Oh, I can’t promise that!”

Hetty watched them make their way through the crowd. Penelope was not shy or one to linger in the corner by any means, but she seemed positively effervescent as she interacted with the people here. Stopping every few steps to talk to someone for a few moments and introducing Benjy as if this was the thing that came most naturally to her. Benjy, like the great actor he was, echoed Penelope’s energy.

“What shall you be drinking tonight?” a voice asked.

Hetty spun around on the stool to face the bartender. The only thing interesting about him was an impressive handlebar mustache and beard. While he wasn’t exactly looking at her all friendly-like, the lines of his face did a downward turn the more he looked at her.

“I’ve seen you before,” he grumbled. “You order drinks you don’t touch, and your husband does an impressive job of becoming drunk on watered-down whiskey.”

“Who says it’s watered down?” Hetty asked.

“I do,” the bartender said, “because I don’t sell the good stuff to people who aren’t looking for a drink.”

“Then let’s forget all about drinks. I’m looking for someone. Lou Notts. Know anything?”

The bartender grunted. “Can’t say if Lou is around, but playing some music usually settles the matter. Looks like your husband has the right idea.”

He pointed back into the saloon, and Hetty obligingly turned her head. The woman was still playing, but the attention in the room had shifted a bit as Benjy sat down in front of the other piano.

“You should give your man a kiss for luck.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t need luck.”

The bartender grunted and moved to fill the glass of a patron looking to wet their lips with drink.

Someone from the crowd got up and turned over a glass, saying something that Hetty couldn’t make out, but the watching crowd cheered.

The music that the woman was playing suddenly changed, veering into a popular piece that people were humming at the last carnival in town. The sort of music that got toes tapping.

Then Benjy began to play​—​simple notes at first to test the instrument, then easing into a song. He took what his opponent already played and turned it on its head.

This was what Benjy did while he played, because that’s how he’d learned the piano in the first place. By listening and repeating it, and then changing what parts he could. It was very good so far, but Hetty suspected he’d have to make more of a showing if he was going to draw Lou Notts out.

Hetty leaned back on her stool, looking at the faces visible to her in the crowd. She imagined Lou as someone like Benjy, who was very quick to pass judgment and very slow to show approval. So far the faces scattered around seemed quite pleased with what they were hearing.

Benjy played a little faster, making the music a little more up-tempo, and creating a sound unlike anything Hetty had ever heard. The entire room was paying attention to Benjy then. Even his opponent had long since stopped playing.

There was magic in music.

Hetty had seen it with her own eyes, as a very small child watching her father play the fiddle. He would play, and things happened around them. A little gust of wind that tugged at her clothes, stirring the dangling dried herbs in their cabin. Magic that made her mother laugh, and made her sister frown as she tried to figure where the wind came from.

Magic was the world, and the world was magic.

While Hetty knew there were many ways to channel magic, she was reminded every time Benjy played how music really could be the perfect conduit for it.

Sometimes she saw flashes of spells when he played. A few were on purpose, usually spells to draw attention or distract. Every­thing else was just the product of his playing and where his thoughts were at the moment.

Which was now becoming a big problem.

The net overhead, designed to hold back magic, had that bright look that reminded Hetty of the last time one of Penelope’s experiments had blown up in Hetty’s kitchen. A dangerously bright light that had Hetty concerned. But the net held.

Or it did until a knife skimmed across the surface, ripping the net in half.

At first nothing happened.

Just tendrils of magic falling like stars.

But these were not clumps of meteorite​—​they were magic, and when they struck, the mark they left created chaos.

First through the gathered crowd, who reacted to the impending danger. And second when the magic hit and rattled the saloon to its very foundation. A mote fell near her and Hetty was thrown backwards off her stool into the bar. The bartender broke her fall. He clearly intended to catch her but failed as the shaking threw him back as well. She scrambled up with a quick mutter of thanks, and surveyed the damage.

The people who could manage it were hurrying out of the saloon, survival instincts kicking in. With big magic it was best to get out of sight before the police showed up.

Benjy had climbed up onto a table, manipulating the magic flying about the room to counter some of the harmful effects. Others did the same, and Hetty saw someone attempting to regain command of the magic net. In all of the chaos, Hetty was having trouble finding Penelope in the crowd. But as she surveyed the scene, she caught a flash of purple similar to the dress that Penelope wore that evening. But it wasn’t Penelope. Not only was the figure slenderer, but the woman was older, too, with a fair amount of gray in her hair. And when she turned, Hetty realized it was someone she knew.

Adelaide Duval.

What was Adelaide doing here? Had she simply come for a drink, or was she one of the many petitioners looking to talk to the Magnolias? It didn’t seem likely. Hetty was still considering other possibilities when Adelaide suddenly darted out of sight. Not toward the exit, as many folk were doing, but deeper inside the saloon, toward the back room.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hetty followed Adelaide.

The bright-colored dress made it easy to keep track of Adelaide, and the many obstacles​—​overturned tables, chairs, and the still-fleeing crowd​—​allowed Hetty to quickly catch up to the older woman while remaining out of sight.

That is, until a boom crackled in the air.

Hetty spun back, fearing the worst. But no disaster lurked behind her. Nor in front, though Adelaide had managed to disappear in those brief seconds Hetty had turned away. Figuring that the woman could have only gone through the hallway, Hetty hurried on before she stopped at the threshold.

Unwillingly stopped.

Something had shifted in the air, pressing her back.

A ward to keep people away.

If it was meant to block passage, it would need to be much stronger. At the moment, it functioned as a camouflaging charm, to keep eyes turned away from it. Which would work on most folks . . .

Not so much on Hetty.

Drawing out the Arrow star sigil, she hurled it forward, sending it ripping through the spell. When the effect was dispelled, a burst of pressure pushed Hetty back as the spell faded away. A bit of grit blew into her eye as the air swirled around her. She wiped it out of the corner of her eye and continued down the hall.

At the very end of the hall she saw what the ward must have been set against. The wall at the end of the corridor was black with soot. Hard to say what caused the charring, but Hetty’s first guess was some spell gone awry.

Hetty tapped her boots along the floorboards, looking for any sort of resistance. Knowing there was likely magic residue nearby, she ran a finger along her choker, drawing the Herdsman from her stitches.

The star-speckled woman appeared and swung her staff around the hallway. Dazzling splotches of different colors highlighted the remnant magical energies left in the small space. While it covered most surfaces, the largest concentration was not far from Hetty’s feet.

She stepped around the splotch of pink. She held her foot in the air for a moment before she stomped down hard on the mark.

Nothing happened at first, but then the floor under her foot buckled and swung open, revealing itself to be a trapdoor. Through that trapdoor was a set of stairs leading down into yet another tunnel.

How many did that make so far? Hetty hadn’t brought Darlene’s map with her, but she knew that this tunnel certainly wasn’t on it.

Of the tunnels she walked through just this week, this one was the least surprising find. Given what she’d learned about the Magnolias, it would have been more surprising if they hadn’t had a secret tunnel. Her only question was if they’d known about it before they moved into this location or if its being on-site was a happy accident. What she did know was that it was in constant use. Glass orbs were placed at regular intervals and light flickered on as she came near and turned off once she passed. The air was fresh, the dirt under her feet hard packed, and wooden beams supported the tunnel here and there.

These were all such pleasant things to see that when Hetty turned the bend and found her way blocked by an angry red ball of magic, she was greatly disappointed.

Encased in glass, the magic pulsed like a barely contained storm, lightning flashing inside, sending a soft glow in all directions.

“I wouldn’t mess with that if I were you.”

With the floating orb between them, the haze of magic steaming off it left the stranger looking like he had walked through a cloud of rouge. A short but round man, he would have appeared intimidating even without the star sigils glimmering at his side.

“Nothing but poison in there. So you stay right there if you got any sense left to you, unless you can pay the toll to pass.”

Of course there’s a toll. “How much?” Hetty asked.

“Not in coin,” the man said. “Music is the traditional fare.”

“I don’t think you want me to sing to you,” Hetty said. “I’m awfully terrible at it.”

“Then tell me a story. Any would do.”

“Ah,” Hetty laughed, “that’s the sort of thinking that got an old man to lose everything he had of value and gain nothing in return. You see, he was traveling after the war ended with a surrender. The old man wasn’t sure what it meant for him, since talk of war wasn’t for the likes of him. But it changed things. Changed things so much that he and a few others thought it was best to leave, before change turned into something bad. Lots of people went up north, seeing and doing things that aren’t important to tell right now. But the old man in this story went west, looking for gold. Not because anybody told him about it, but because he had a dream.

“Now see here,” Hetty continued, watching the star sigils fade around the guard as the man grew enthralled by her tale. She slowly edged herself around the man and the floating orb of poison. “Dreams are curious things. Usually they can give warning of the things to come, but most times they can drag you to your doom. And this was the case for the old man of this story. The person who told him of the treasure was a ghost eager to lure a fresh sacrifice to the grave. Soon the man learned the lesson, though a bit too late,” Hetty added as she discreetly let loose a spell of her own. “Don’t trust people telling you tales.”

The guard blinked, but he moved too slowly. Hetty had already dropped a veil of magic between them. It solidified as he rushed toward her, and he slammed into the magical barrier Hetty had thrown up. Soundlessly, the man yelled at her, striking at it with his fists, but Hetty just waved at him before dashing off.

Ahead, the tunnel slowly widened, the space growing to the size of a small room.

It had seen better days. As if a giant had rampaged about, glass, stone, and wood were strewn all around, much of it stacked in an untidy heap.

And Hetty could sense the magic left there.

She was still pondering what it might be when a baseball bat swung in her direction.

Lightning fast, she pivoted, catching and yanking both the bat and the person wielding it forward. Sticking out her boot, Hetty sent her attacker stumbling to the ground. By the time the young man staggered back to his feet, Hetty had the bat in her hands and swung it over her shoulder.

“Are you going to be trouble?” she asked.

In lieu of a proper answer, a star-speckled lion lunged forth from the boy, crashing right into Hetty’s protective spells. The clash filled the tunnel with dazzling light for a brief moment.

When it faded, the boy, instead of doing the reasonable thing and giving up, simply started a new spell.

Hetty sighed. Why couldn’t this tunnel be empty like the others?

Swinging the bat around with only a fraction of the force she could muster, she tapped the boy’s arm, aiming to distract instead of harm.

She shouldn’t have bothered.

He deftly jumped aside and started drawing the Arrow star sigil, targeting another spell at her.

Hetty tapped the band at her neck. Sagittarius leapt forward, snatching those magical arrows out of the air and loading them in her own bow. With a smooth gesture the centaur fired back at the boy’s poorly drawn spells, before vanishing in a pop of light.

This should have been enough to deter him from attacking further. But he was stubborn. He grabbed a loose rock and flung it at Hetty.

Hetty didn’t bother with magic this time.

The bat cracked as Hetty struck the rock and it whizzed through the air with such speed, it sent the boy lunging to the ground.

Hetty drew her own arrows now. And by the time the boy was on his feet once again, dozens of arrows made of stars floated in the air between them.

The arrows dove at him before he could even work his next spell. They lifted him up as they hit, pinning him to the wall.

“You should have done that from the start.”

Still wielding the bat, Hetty turned to find her husband and her best friend watching her from the doorway on the other side of the room.

Both were uninjured, unconcerned, and more bemused than anything. Benjy even clutched a book in his hand, while Penelope sipped from a cup of tea.

“Did you come to rescue us?” Penelope asked rather cheerfully. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

“She didn’t know we were down here,” Benjy said as he struggled to keep a straight face. “Did you follow​—​ Ah, you hanging up there, what’s your name again?”

“Peter,” called the young man. He had stopped struggling against the arrows as he gaped down at them all.

“Oh yes,” Benjy continued with a nod. “Did you follow Peter down here?”

“No,” Hetty said, her hand tightening on the baseball bat. “I didn’t know you were down here, because I thought you were caught up in the chaos you created when your magic piano playing ripped apart the net! If I knew you were having a tea party, I wouldn’t have come all this way. I was chasing after a murder suspect!”

Benjy’s amusement vanished at these words, but Penelope was unmoved.

“No murderers down here,” she said. “As for chaos, the Magnolias brought us here. We’re waiting for Lou Notts now. Come in and wait with us, and let poor Peter down. Gently,” Penelope added as Hetty lifted a clenched hand.

Hetty released the young man with great reluctance. He slid down the wall. Not meeting anyone’s eye, he said, “I’ll go tell them you’re here, if they don’t know already. Can I have my bat back?”

Hetty handed it to him and the boy ran as quick as he could to get away from her.

The room in which Benjy and Penelope waited was everything Hetty expected of the hidden headquarters of a magic rights group. Several chairs around a circular table covered with papers, and a tea tray. A bookshelf stuffed with books both magical and mundane. There were quite a few lanterns scattered about; some were lit while others remained unused. And on the wall was a painting brought in to brighten things up.

It was a painting of the Delaware River. The sort of painting that tourists bought all the time because it depicted ships. But this was from no market stall. Hetty had seen it as it was sketched, seen it in various stages being painted, and Hetty herself had picked out the wooden frame so she could give it as a gift.

And so when the door opened once again and someone entered the room, Hetty was the only one unsurprised to see Cora Evans standing in the doorway.

“I had wondered,” Hetty said, pointing to the painting, “why this wasn’t in your home.”

“No space there,” Cora said easily, as if they had planned to meet all along, instead of this being an unexpected turn of events.

Benjy was clearly shocked, speechless for a change. But Penelope wasn’t just shocked​—​her face showed betrayal at the sight of the older woman.

“You’re Lou Notts?” Penelope’s voice shook, caught as it was between two very different emotions. “No wonder we never met! No wonder nobody questioned my knowledge in plants or potions. You told them about me?”

“Just a few things to get their interest,” Cora said serenely. “Sit down, you three. This day has been tiring enough without all the ruckus you caused upstairs.”

“An easily avoidable ruckus at that,” Benjy retorted.

Cora glanced his way, but Benjy said no more.

They all sat at the round table, Hetty sandwiched between Benjy and Penelope. Cora took a seat on the opposite side, and she sat there alone, without Peter or any other Magnolias at her side.

“I heard you were looking for me, so why don’t we start there. Since you went through all this trouble.”

It was all too reasonable a tone to take, and it jabbed at the wound of betrayal even more. While it was only Hetty’s own preconceived notions that led her to believe Cora’s activities these days were limited to charity work and being a pastor’s wife, there had been plenty of chances for Cora to inform her otherwise. And not once had Cora taken them.

After the silence had gone on long enough, Benjy spoke: “We’re looking for a spellbook on Celestial magic. We heard you might have a copy.”

“Why would you care for something like that?” Cora asked.

“You’ve seen it?” Hetty asked.

“We have it. Why should I give it to you? Don’t you have a case you should be working on?”

Benjy’s expression, already carefully neutral, turned to stone. “Not you too.”

“Raimond was my friend as well, and the death of his son is devastating to me. But that’s beside the point,” Cora replied. “You handle murders and strange deaths. This false spellbook is not something you should concern yourselves with right now.”

“It could be tied to Valentine’s death,” Hetty said. “Both he and his father were concerned about issues of magic rights.”

“All the more reason the spellbook will be safest with me.” Before Hetty could say more, Cora added, “You’re not the first to ask about this. A stranger already came here earlier this evening asking for the book.”

“What sort of stranger?” Hetty asked.

“I don’t know exactly. My guard outside, the one you bamboozled with a ghost story, told me this. Roberts saw a strange woman at the mill next door. She asked all about the book. Although why she wanted it she wouldn’t say. The whole thing is grotesque. Trust me when I tell you the fake spells aren’t the worst part. There are illustrations that are practically minstrel show advertisements. No one should see such a thing. I shouldn’t have even looked at it, because all it did was make me wonder why we’re even bothering with any of this if someone could make something so hateful.”

“We don’t run,” Hetty said softly, repeating words told to her a long time ago. “We don’t run, because there are much worse options.”

Cora’s voice regained its earlier crispness. “You wanted to know about the book. Now you do. And I daresay you’ve learned more than what you came to find to begin with.”

“Still, I could stand to learn a great deal more,” Benjy started.

The door flung open and Peter ran in, shaking and trembling and trying to hold back tears. “Lou,” he cried. “Come quick, it’s horrible! You have to see!”

Words delivered in such a way only meant one thing.

So Hetty knew what to expect as they followed Peter back through the tunnel.

The barrier Hetty had thrown up was gone. The orb of poisoned smoke was still there. But the guard who had demanded a story from Hetty for safe passage was lying on the ground in a way that did not look natural.

The bartender from upstairs was crouched by his side, and moved to speak to Cora the moment he saw her. As he passed her, Hetty stepped toward the guard and bent down to press her fingers against his pulse that she knew would not be there.

Benjy knelt next to her. He did not touch the body, but his eyes traveled along the dead man’s still form.

“This just happened,” Hetty said. “I just saw him, spoke to him. Do you think he was poisoned by the gas?”

“No.” Benjy pulled back the dead man’s collar. A jagged cut ran along the man’s neck, with a trail of slowly drying blood alongside it. “He wasn’t surprised. His features were too neutral. This happened quick. Might even be magic.”

“Any residue would be hard to see. I cast some spells earlier, it’ll mess with whatever we find,” Hetty said.

“And you were not the only one to do so.”

Cora stood behind them, looking very tired and sad at the man on the ground.

“Does he have family?” Benjy asked.

Cora shook her head. “Only us. We’ll have to figure out what to do with him.”

“Let us help,” Hetty said, and for the benefit of Peter and the bartender, she added, “We own a funeral home.”

Cora smiled, as if she knew these words were coming. “As generous as that offer is, that won’t be necessary. He was part of the Southgate Mutual Aid Society. Arrangements for his funeral and last rites have long been in place. He will be buried at Lebanon. Though we will need help to get the body to the cemetery.”

“That we can help with. We’ll come with a wagon to meet you,” Benjy said.

This settled the matter.

With care, the men brought the body up to the main level, where the dead man could rest in peace for the night. Penelope went with them, one of the vials she had to test for poison cupped in her hand.

Hetty and Cora took their time following, mostly because Hetty was dealing with the poison ball. With care, she spun and turned the orb of foul magic, shrinking it down to size as she led it out of the tunnel and into a bottle Cora had found for her.

Hetty squeezed it inside, releasing the magic once the gas was sealed in the bottle.

“I forget sometimes that you do not exaggerate all the stories you tell,” Cora said as she locked the bottle away.

“All stories have some truth to them. It just depends on what people say.”

Cora sighed. “I would have told you eventually.”

“I doubt that. You had plenty of time to do so earlier!”

“You were too preoccupied with the death of your sister to be of any help. And quite frankly, you’d have been a distraction to this work. What you do is small, individual efforts. I’m working toward something bigger, and you’re not ready for it.”

“I have a great interest in magic. Doesn’t my skill grant me entrance?”

Cora looked at her sharply, with a gaze that usually sent Hetty crawling from the disappointment that radiated from her. “And who taught you magic?”

“My mother. My father taught me some before he was taken from us, but she taught me everything else I know.”

“Not everything,” Cora said.

“Maybe not, but what I learned from her can never be overshadowed by anything else.”

They weren’t talking about magic anymore. And Cora knew it. Hetty could see the moment that realization occurred, because the serene air that Cora had been projecting withered away, and only hurt filled her features.

“I don’t think we’ll be over for dinner this week,” Hetty said rather stiffly. “We’re looking to be quite busy.”

Cora nodded. “I understand. Maybe next week.”

“We’ll see.”

Hetty went in search of her husband. Surprisingly, he wasn’t in the back room with Peter, the bartender, and the dead man. Penelope was there, though, studying the odd coloring of the vapor that hovered over the body.

The vapor turned the color of limes when poison was around, but because the vapor was still yellow, Hetty didn’t even step into the room like she would have done otherwise, and kept on with her search.

She found Benjy in the main room of the saloon. It was still being cleaned up. Diligent workers put tables back into place while someone restored the magical net.

“Who was the murder suspect you ran after?” Benjy asked as Hetty stopped at his side.

“Adelaide Duval,” Hetty whispered. “I saw her when the chaos broke lose.”

“I figured it was her.”

“Do you think she was the woman after the spellbook?”

“It’s possible. But if it was her, I wonder why she wanted it so badly.”

“Why do you say that?”

Benjy pointed at the net. “That net can withstand a lot of magic. I didn’t break it when I was playing the piano. Any magic that occurs when I play are merely illusions. They wouldn’t have ever overwhelmed the net. Whoever did it, did it with a lot of force. The question is, why go through all the effort.”

“To cause confusion to steal the spellbook,” Hetty said, thinking of the poison orb, the guards, and even the spell that forced her back from the tunnel’s entrance.

Benjy grimaced. “Or to get rid of a witness.”