When Laura reached the Sweeper shop two days later, the shop itself was dark, the street deserted. A few buildings down the street were stained black by infestation and fire, though the wreckage had been towed. Okane teetered on the edge of the roof. Laura stopped her bike in front of the shop and craned her neck to get a better look at him.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Practicing,” Okane replied, far too innocently.
“Practicing what?” Laura said suspiciously. “What can you practice up there that you can’t do in the road?”
“Things.”
“You’ll have to elaborate a little more here.”
“Oh, - - - know.”
Was that “you” lapse on purpose? Laura puzzled over amulet specifications before realizing he meant a different form of magic. She dropped her bike in horror.
“Tell me you’re not going to jump off the roof!”
“I’m not going to do that yet,” said Okane.
“Why would you do it at all?” said Laura. “You’ll break your neck, or your legs at the very least!”
“I didn’t do that last time.”
“Last time,” Okane miraculously fell five stories, landed on his feet, and gained no injuries from it. Clae had proceeded to panic over security blankets and overworked magic, and while Laura hadn’t understood the urgency then, she more than understood it now.
“But we don’t know if it’ll react the same way!” she said. “And even if it does, what if you overdo it? What if you turn out like Clae and Anselm?”
Okane fisted his hands. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Then why risk it?”
“Because I need to understand what I can do,” he said. “As a Sweeper, and even beyond that, no one’s been able to tell me what I can do or how to keep myself safe. Clae tried, but he wasn’t like me. He could—But he wasn’t—” Frustrated, he looked up and down the street for eavesdroppers. “- - - can’t understand the root cause if - - - don’t experience it. I don’t want to live uncertain anymore.”
“I know I’d live a lot more certainly if you could back away from the edge right now,” said Laura.
Okane coughed out a laugh and stepped back.
A bell rang from down the street as the bakery door opened. Mrs. Keedler stepped out with a large basket balanced on her hip. Laura waved at her with one hand, trying to gesture Okane out of sight with the other. Unfortunately Okane had no qualms about being seen.
“Hello, Mrs. Keedler,” he called.
“Good morning, you two.” Mrs. Keedler didn’t seem to know whether to be worried or not as she came alongside Laura. “Okane, dear, what are you doing up there?”
“Checking the chimney,” he lied. “I think I’ll need it cleaned soon.”
“Do be careful up there,” said Mrs. Keedler. “Even with amulets, you’re not safe at that height. That poor apprentice died up there while practicing with them.”
Okane stiffened. “Oh?”
“Poor Alf Jackson,” said Mrs. Keedler. “He was a rude boy, but he didn’t deserve to break his neck.”
Apparently the idea of injury hadn’t crossed Okane’s mind if he had magical assistance; he eyed the roof’s edge with more trepidation. “Did he, now?”
“Yes, a tragedy.”
“How about you go inside?” said Laura. “We’ll meet you in there.”
“Exactly! I brought some food to help welcome your new head Sweeper!” said Mrs. Keedler, lifting her basket. “I’m almost a week late, but—”
Okane perked up again. “Will - - - be staying? Would - - - like some tea?”
“How gracious! I’ll take up that offer if you’re not bothered.”
“Not at all,” said Okane, and vanished from the roof.
“It takes a little while to break through his shell, but he’s very sweet,” Mrs. Keedler chuckled. “Has everything been going well for you so far?”
“As well as can be expected,” Laura sighed, picking up her bike. “You know, I don’t think Clae ever mentioned an Alf, and he was pretty fond of bringing up dead apprentices.”
“That was a little white lie.” Mrs. Keedler winked. “Alf sprained his ankle while fooling around and quit immediately after.”
“You sly fox.”
“A little healthy caution never hurt anyone.”
Laura laughed as she opened the door. She parked her bike in the usual place, pulled over a stool for Mrs. Keedler to sit on, then climbed upstairs to check on Okane. He was already heating up the kettle, and looked up at the sound of her approach.
“Does Mrs. Keedler come over often?” said Laura.
He cracked a smile. “Usually she and her husband try inviting me over for dinner. I think they’re trying to adopt every business owner on the street.”
“Really?”
“The only reason she hasn’t roped - - - into it is because - - - live so far away.”
Laura laughed and turned away. The upper floor looked just as she remembered it from the time Clae had lived here, but she hadn’t investigated it much. Rosemarie’s room she knew from having napped there; the twins’ room she knew from carrying Clae here. The only one she hadn’t looked into was the master bedroom. A folding screen separated this from the rest of the flat, but it had been pulled aside; a little table sat like an island there, and she stepped around it to get a look. Newspaper clippings and photographs were pinned to the wall above a dresser, opposite a metal-framed bed with a patchwork quilt. A dusty-colored coat hung on one of the bedposts, long enough that it brushed the ground.
Laura leaned in to inspect the pictures. She saw photographs of the twins, their grandmother, and their parents; Helen Blair smiled from one of them, an arm around both Clae and Anselm, her expression so out of place on her that Laura was almost unnerved. Dotted in between were faces Laura didn’t recognize, though she spotted her own and Okane’s on the far right. The articles nearby featured Sweepers or random locations in Amicae; most predated Clae’s time as head Sweeper.
Looking at them, Laura felt almost hollow. Someone belonged here, and it certainly wasn’t her. Did Okane feel the same, staying in his home? Or worse, she thought, tracing a finger down newsprint that predated even Clae’s birth, had Clae felt like an intruder in his own home?
Behind her, the kettle whistled. Okane pulled cups from the cupboard and put dark, shriveled leaves in them.
“Could - - - bring these down if I get the kettle?”
“Of course.”
They descended the stairs and set up the tea while Mrs. Keedler set out an arrangement of scones. As they worked, a shuffle and clack announced the arrival of mail through the slot on the door.
“That’s early,” Mrs. Keedler observed. “Doesn’t the postman come in the afternoon?”
Laura picked up the envelopes. There were four: the first two were things Laura had no interest in, what looked like a bill and another clearly addressed “To the New Head Sweeper” (still a fresh wound), but the others had no return address and were written in a semi-familiar script.
“Weird.” She turned the one with her name over to examine the back, as if expecting a wax seal.
“What is it?”
“Letters addressed to us.” She held the second out to Okane, who accepted it with a baffled expression.
“Who’s it from?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Maybe you have secret admirers,” Mrs. Keedler chuckled.
More like not-so-secret critics.
Laura slapped the other mail down and sat to inspect the envelope. Her name and the address of the shop were written in a neat blend of print and cursive. She ripped the envelope open to find multiple pages folded inside. Laura, it started, and she felt a bit resentful that this person addressed her so casually, but upon reading the next sentence, she realized who it was.
Laura, if this is sent, I’m dead. Took me long enough. If you receive this letter you’re still working as a Sweeper, hopefully higher than apprentice status. At the time I’m writing this you’re the only other Sweeper working, so you’re the one I’m leaving instructions to. You should have gotten a key or will soon. It doesn’t look like a master key, but it is. It opens the contents of 684 and the armory. Clear it with the executor first, but 684 will be left to you. The executor will have to look at the armory, but I don’t have many debts so nothing should be seized. Amelia Huxley, an ex-Sweeper, lives nearby. Ask her if you need help with equipment or startup in general. Her number is 3-212-6341-3312. For 684, go to the Central Security Bank in the Second Quarter. The safe-deposit-box key is in the sewing box upstairs. Forewarning, the contents will be heavy. Take care of them—they’re irreplaceable. Also take care of the Kin, and particularly Anselm. I’ve seen you snooping around the curtains, so you’ve probably seen him already. The kid’s name is Anselm Sinclair. He’s my brother. He was reduced to a magic strain several years ago, and functions as a third Gin for Amicae. He’s the only reason we’ve been staying afloat over the past 20 years. DO NOT TELL ANYONE ABOUT HIM. If word gets out, there could be disastrous results. Sweepers are far more ambitious than you realize. People may try to break in to steal him, either to use him or sell him. I don’t want the Council trying to sell him off to pay for some goddamn project. Worse, someone might try to turn people into Gin on a larger scale. By the time I die I hope you’re knowledgeable about the job, but if you don’t know how to do something or if you’re not sure about a procedure, refer to the other pages here. The list may not be lengthy, but it should give you the right idea. If there are other problems, Amelia is well versed in these things. Good luck.
—Clae Sinclair.
Laura gripped the paper so tight the other pages crinkled under her grip.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Keedler looked from Laura to Okane (still engrossed in his own letter, face getting paler by the second), but leaned toward Laura in the end, worry on her face. “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“We got a letter from a ghost.” Laura tipped the letter so she could glimpse the handwriting. “Clae had letters sent to us after he died.”
“He what?” Mrs. Keedler rested a hand on her breast and leaned back in shock. “What did he say?”
“It’s information for the job, mostly.” Laura shuffled through the papers, finding a description of the Kin workings, the Egg production, listings of other Sweeper contacts.
“You too?”
Okane put down his letter quickly. “I—yes. Job things.”
“That man.” Mrs. Keedler put her hand on her cheek now and shook her head. She didn’t seem sure what to say, so just repeated, “That man.”
Another knock pulled them from their reverie. Laura rose again with a groan and pulled the door open. A woman stood on the steps, slim with a close-fitting gray skirt and matching coat. A brassy decorative pin kept her curled hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, and she turned to look at Laura through spectacles that would have made Albright’s glasses seem clunky in comparison. Her very presence exuded authority. Laura straightened unconsciously.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
“My name is Elinor James.” The woman’s tone was formal but not entirely unkind. She pulled a business card from the pocket of her coat and held it out. LYMAN AND JENSEN FIRM, it read, in stark black ink; the format and the insignia of a banking guild on the side gave away her true identity before she finished talking. “I’ve been appointed estate administrator for the will of Clae Sinclair. Is there an Okane Sinclair here?”
Laura stood aside for the woman to enter, mind racing. She hadn’t thought the will would be carried out so soon. Okane stood, face pale.
“You’re Okane?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Elinor walked straight forward and shook his hand. “We talked on the phone. Is this a good time to begin inventorying?”
“I think so,” he said. “What exactly do I have to do?”
“I’ll be recording larger assets left in Mr. Sinclair’s possession. I may have to refer to your knowledge if I can’t identify something, but otherwise I’ll work alone during this process.”
“Do I have to leave?”
“No.”
Relief washed over his face. “Thank goodness.”
“There’s no point in making you leave, in this case,” Elinor told him.
“Why not?”
Elinor glanced at the others. “May I speak with you privately?”
Okane blinked at her, then the other two. Laura shrugged and Mrs. Keedler gestured toward the stairs. He nodded jerkily and stepped toward the door.
“We can talk upstairs? Is that all right?”
“Of course.”
She followed him up, and the first floor went quiet again. Laura sat next to Mrs. Keedler.
“What do you think she needs to talk about privately?” she asked.
“It’s probably to do with the will,” said Mrs. Keedler. “Maybe talking about Okane’s share. I’m sure Clae wanted to support him, after all. She doesn’t know us, so she’s trying to protect them both. Don’t worry, dear. It’ll be fine.”
Fifteen minutes later Okane came back downstairs, unsteady as if in a haze.
“Okane? Are you okay?” Laura called.
Okane turned to face her, stared, then tottered over. A foot away, he whispered, “Everything.”
“What?”
“Everything but a box. He left everything else to me.”
Mrs. Keedler smiled and nodded as if she expected this, but he still looked baffled. Laura laughed.
“What did I tell you?”
Elinor stayed upstairs to begin the inventory process. When he recovered, Okane explained that, since he was the heir, she wasn’t afraid he’d make off with anything (it was his, why bother stealing it?), but otherwise he would’ve had to find somewhere else to live in the meantime. Of course, just because his name was in the will didn’t mean he’d get everything. If Clae had any outstanding debts, some things might need to be sold to settle them. He informed them of this in a mechanical tone. Laura suspected he was regurgitating what Elinor told him. As it was, he’d claimed all things in the twins’ room as his instead of Clae’s, so Elinor had agreed to close the door and ignore everything inside; the crystals would escape notice easily.
“It feels like things are going too well,” he said, actually bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Does that make sense?”
“Sometimes you should just accept the good,” Mrs. Keedler chuckled.
Okane didn’t look convinced. “I feel like I should be making tea for her or something. Is that—But if I give her some now, then I won’t have any tea leaves left for when Juliana and Lester show up.”
“They have been gone awhile,” said Laura, squinting at the windows. “Usually they’re early. Of all the days to be late, they’re missing out on scones.”
She almost wished they wouldn’t come at all. Ever since the Sundown infestation, Juliana had seemed … off. She kept smiling, kept up the motions, but where she’d been encouraging and almost oversharing before, she became abruptly distant. Lester’s graze didn’t impede his movement or personality, so that hadn’t caused it. Was it frustration over the lack of recovered Gin stones? Had Laura somehow caused it? She’d agonized over it to Morgan, who’d told her that any boss with more talented underlings was on the road to success; a jealous boss who punished talent would only get themselves killed in the Sweeping game, and hadn’t Juliana been so eager to do well? Wasn’t she a good boss?
“I’ll get more tea,” said Okane. “The grocery store isn’t far.”
“But isn’t that woman expecting to deal with you?” said Laura.
“She said she’d be upstairs for a while. Just make sure no one else goes up there, and it’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“Think of this as training. I’m going to run really fast.”
So he was still hooked on figuring out magic. Better this than flinging himself off rooftops.
Laura sighed. “Do what you want.”
Okane made for the door. He leapt from the front stoop with enough force that his magic gave an audible pop. Laura hadn’t heard his magic like that except in infestations, so she jumped almost as badly as Mrs. Keedler.
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Keedler blinked down at her teacup. “Did I really hear that?”
“It must’ve come from upstairs,” said Laura.
The MacDanels arrived around ten o’clock, laden with stacks of papers. Almost every day they’d gone in person to appeal to various offices and track down elusive contacts to get things back on track. Juliana’s claim to get going as soon as stores opened had been anything but a lie.
“Good morning!” Juliana beamed. “Good weather, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” Laura agreed.
Mrs. Keedler looked thrilled. “You’re the new Sweepers! I’m Georgia Keedler. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”
Juliana looked pleasantly surprised and shook the other woman’s hand with gusto. “It’s good to meet you too! I’m Juliana MacDanel, the new head Sweeper.”
“You’re the head Sweeper! Good to see another woman in charge,” Mrs. Keedler laughed.
“Oh? What are you in charge of?”
“The bakery just up the street. I suppose we’re neighbors now!”
They seemed to get along well. Laura watched their conversation with mixed feelings. Juliana wormed her way in everywhere, to the point it was almost scary. No, “intimidating” would be the better word. Good social skills. Lester drifted to the side, still holding the papers. Only one stool remained open but he didn’t take it—perhaps he was waiting for Juliana to do so. Mrs. Keedler noticed the seating problem quickly.
“Oh!” She leapt up. “I’ve taken your chair. There aren’t enough in here, I always told him—”
“It’s fine!”
“No, I need to be heading back anyway. You know that husband of mine,” she added to Laura, rolling her eyes.
“Helpless, that one,” Laura drawled.
“Give it another five minutes and he’ll be captain of a sinking ship. I’d best get back before the noon crowd comes in. It was good to see and meet you. Thank you for the tea, dear.”
Juliana hummed as the door closed behind their guest. “She seems nice enough.”
“She’s our most sociable neighbor,” said Laura. “Have you met the others yet?”
“Only in passing,” said Juliana. “Mr. Brecht is … a character. And I’m under the impression that the pawnshop owner doesn’t like me.”
“I get the same impression about myself,” said Laura. “They’re very supportive of Sweepers, though. If you ever need a hand, they’re willing to help.”
“Pardon my saying so, but it’s a miracle they would be, considering Clae Sinclair’s attitude,” said Juliana.
Laura shrugged. “He was a surprising person.”
“I’m sure he was.” Juliana set down her smaller stack of papers and looked around. “Speaking of Sinclairs, where did Okane go?”
“Just down to the grocery store,” said Laura. “He ran out of tea.”
“Hopefully he’ll be back soon. I wanted to check with you two about—Lester, what are you looking at out there?”
Lester started guiltily and looked away from the window. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if it’s caught your attention.” She walked to the window and squinted out of it. “Who is that?”
Curious, Laura joined them. Across the street stood a man in a long coat and bowler hat. The style wasn’t exactly distinctive, but she was sure she’d seen that exact hat somewhere, and it wasn’t Byron’s.
It was the Mad Dogs negotiator, who’d spoken to them after the Falling Infestation. He’d brought his mob’s Sweepers down to help them and left without any other acknowledgment. More than likely he had something to do with the Dead Ringer.
“I’ve seen him before,” said Laura. “I’ll take care of him.”
She left before the MacDanels could protest. The negotiator looked up as she approached. Laura crossed her arms and hoped she looked properly intimidating.
“Are you the one I have to thank for the media attention?” she asked. “Because if you were looking to help me, all you’ve managed to do is tarnish my reputation and land me in trouble with the Silver Kings.”
“We don’t mean to make things difficult for you, Miss Kramer,” said the negotiator. “If involvement with the Silver Kings could’ve been avoided we’d have done it. In fact, I’m not even supposed to be involved here. I’m meant to come and go again rather quickly. If you’d like to chat, you’ll need to make an appointment.”
She raised a brow. “Really? You’re loitering and claiming you’re on a tight schedule, all at once?”
The negotiator smiled. “Think of this as a pre-appointment. I’m here to set up a meeting with Lester MacDanel.”
Oh, hell no. Laura widened her stance.
“Sorry, but whatever nonsense your coworker at the shooting range implied, there’s no connection here. Lester’s got no ties to mobs, and I’m not about to let you sink your claws into him.”
“Such authority, and no title to back it up,” the negotiator chuckled. “Regardless, there’s no attempt at recruitment here. Lester’s the one who requested I come out.”
She faltered. “What?”
“What a mess,” the negotiator sighed, checking his watch. “I’ve been here thirty minutes already. When he walked past earlier he completely ignored me, and now he’s peeking out windows but not coming out. Whatever setup this is, it’s not very well done.”
“What do you mean, Lester set this up?”
“My esteemed colleague came to monitor you at the shooting range. You remember, right? In that ‘payoff,’ Lester passed him a message asking for us to drop by and wait. No explanation why. We thought this might be the bridge to speaking with you.” He looked up and feigned surprise. “Oh, dear. Didn’t Mr. Sinclair leave the building not long ago? I wonder who’s left inside.”
Laura’s insides froze. She’d been so focused on the obvious mobster, she hadn’t thought about what she was leaving behind. She dashed back in, ignoring his call of “We’ll speak with you soon, Miss Kramer!” Juliana wasn’t in the main shop. Lester made a noise and moved as if to block her, but Laura was faster. She raced up the stairs, and stopped short in the flat’s entryway.
Juliana was in the wider area of the kitchen, smiling. Elinor had placed herself to block the hallway, five feet and three inches of determination, unknowingly protecting the man whose estate she was handling. The pair of them looked alien here. This was a place dominated by the past, by Sweepers; the only people who belonged up here were Okane and Clae. Juliana shouldn’t be anywhere near the place where Clae had done headstands and drilled Laura about upcoming jobs, but there she was, usurping his home like she’d done his title. Laura’s blood boiled.
“What’s going on here?”
The sharpness of her tone made them both jump.
“Oh, Laura!” said Juliana. “Just in time! I was just looking to see if there was some tea left after all.”
“And I was asking her to leave,” said Elinor. “I believe I made it clear that I was inventorying Mr. Sinclair’s estate? Okane Sinclair I’ll allow to be here, given that this is his home, but other people coming and going would disrupt the process.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” said Laura, but she was glaring daggers at Juliana. “I believe I made it clear that this isn’t Sweeper property, and that Sweepers aren’t allowed up here.”
Elinor took a step back; she obviously sensed that this was personal territory, and wanted nothing to do with it.
Juliana, on the other hand, looked completely unrepentant. “Sorry! I’m just so used to Puer, I forget Amicae’s so much smaller. We always had extra tea or coffee supplies in the back room, but yours is dedicated to the Kin, so I thought perhaps it would be upstairs. Puer had multiple floors, of course.”
Of course, because Puer was supposedly better in everything. But how could Juliana, who picked up on the smallest details in her meetings with the Council, have possibly missed such a glaring fact about her own office space? The only conclusion was that she hadn’t. Had the MacDanels seriously gone so far as to trick a Mad Dog into playing distraction so they could poke around for whatever Clae left behind?
Laura clenched her hands. She tried to focus all her anger there, leaving her voice calm as she said, “As far as I’m concerned, I should still be head Sweeper, but I think I’ve handled the Council’s decision pretty well. I do appreciate you being here, I recognize you’re talented, and I do recognize you as the new boss, but if you keep on with petty little lies, that respect won’t be around much longer.”
For a moment, absolute loathing flashed over Juliana’s face. It was so different from the usual smiling mask that Laura’s anger wavered. The smile was back so fast, it seemed almost as if it had never changed.
“What a shame!” Juliana said brightly. “And here I thought we’d begun a wonderful partnership.” She kicked the cupboard door closed behind her. “I think it’s obvious that I won’t find what I’m looking for here. I hope Okane brings back that tea quickly.”
She stepped past Laura and headed downstairs.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Laura muttered.
“I’m not involved, and I have no wish to be,” said Elinor. Still, she seemed to relax now that Juliana was gone.
Going back downstairs, Laura found Juliana and Lester bent over their new paperwork. They acted totally normal, as if the whole episode were commonplace. Laura wanted to sit down and start demanding answers. If the negotiator had been so transparent and the Dead Ringer so supportive, surely there was some truth in the mobster’s words, back at the shooting range? What deep dark secrets are you hiding? Oh, yes, MacDanel, we heard about that. In the next moment she scolded herself. Since when did she consider mobsters a trustworthy source of information?
Calm down, she thought, rubbing at her temples. You’re making a bigger deal of this than it needs to be.
So what if Juliana went upstairs? She hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t stolen anything. If she’d truly forgotten once, today would reinforce the fact that the Sweeper shop began and ended on one floor. Lesson learned. Time to move on.
Little changed. Okane returned eventually, some conversation was had, and Juliana remained distant. Okane knew immediately that something had happened, and eyed Laura for most of the day. She told him what had happened when the MacDanels and Elinor finally left. Predictably, he didn’t like the idea of strangers going upstairs. Laura assured him that she’d made it clear Juliana was unwelcome.
“A little too clear,” she grumbled. “I think I overreacted.”
Okane scoffed. “They called in a Mad Dog for a distraction. If they had a day and time scheduled for that, obviously they meant to go up there on purpose. They counted on - - - confronting him, but they didn’t count on him being so agreeable, or on Elinor already being there. It was premeditated, just poorly executed.”
“But that only takes care of me,” said Laura. “They couldn’t have counted on you running to the grocery store on a whim! What would they have done, if you were still—”
“Why would I be in the shop if - - - were outside?”
“What?”
“- - - have to admit, I tend to follow - - - around,” said Okane. “They probably counted on me following - - - to face off with the mobster.”
At least they weren’t outright belligerent. Still, the entire ordeal left Laura with a sour taste in her mouth.
“I don’t even understand why they’d go to such lengths,” she said. “What’s the point of going behind our backs? We’ve kept Clae and Anselm totally secret. No one else but Albright and that Byron Rhodes would know about them. From the MacDanels’ perspective, there’s nothing to chase. Nothing to gain.”
“- - - don’t know that,” said Okane. “Remember what Juliana said that first night? She was positive Clae had a secret weapon. She doesn’t know Anselm’s form, but she knows something like him exists. Depending on how sure she is, and what she plans to do with it, she could go to great lengths. We can’t really guess what she’ll do unless we know what she does, though.”
“I could ask her,” said Laura.
Okane gave her a wary look. “Right after - - - called her out on being a lying, subpar Sweeper?”
Laura flushed. “I’d be worming my way into her good books first, obviously!” Okane remained unconvinced, and she continued, “Give me a chance. Look, tomorrow morning, Elinor will probably show up early, right? And the MacDanels have been late all this week. You stay upstairs with Elinor, and I’ll see what damage I can undo with Juliana.”
Somehow, she got him to agree. The next morning he led Elinor upstairs again, asking questions on what else estate administrators did beyond inventorying. She didn’t seem completely pleased by the distraction, but took it in stride. She likely thought his presence was meant to dissuade any more potential trespassers. It would, of course, but that wasn’t the plan. Laura remained in the shop, eyes trained on the windows. She planned to confront Juliana nonchalantly: start by looking up from the newspaper, move into meaningless conversation to warm her up, then act the part of the contrite apprentice. This plan didn’t happen.
Juliana burst into the shop almost before Laura even saw her. She came out of breath, totally devoid of paperwork and somehow missing Lester’s usual shadow.
“Are they here yet?” she demanded.
“Who?” said Laura.
“The reporters,” said Juliana. “We got a call at our apartment this morning, saying they wanted another spotlight. And it’s—Oh, goodness, I’m not prepared at all.”
She hurried in and tried arranging the stools into a nicer pattern. Laura threw her newspaper in the trash and rushed to clear off the rest of the counter.
“Do you know who? When?”
“The Sun,” said Juliana. “I told them I’d only be available after nine, so that means they could come through at any minute. Do I look all right? Everything in place? Is there a mirror anywhere?”
Laura had been attempting to stow the largest of the extra Kin flasks under the counter, but paused. She scrubbed at the flask with her sleeve until it shone again and said, “Will this work?”
Juliana stooped lower to see it and sighed in relief. “That’ll do nicely. Do you have any experience with the Sun’s reporters?”
“A little,” said Laura. “The reporter I met was supportive of Sweepers even before it was popular. They’ve been here before, back when it was all cluttered, so you don’t have to worry about them accusing you of being unorganized. You’re still in the process of moving in. They can’t expect you to have everything whipped into shape already.”
For a moment Juliana was silent, but then she gave a soft laugh. “Of course. I keep thinking I have to put my best foot forward, but some things just aren’t physically possible.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. The papers already love you,” said Laura. “But I thought you’d already had a spotlight in the Sun. Didn’t you speak with a reporter then?”
“Not directly. The Amicae representative who interviewed me had the list of questions with him, and brought it back to Amicae when he left.”
Still, she seemed to have calmed down significantly. Laura watched her re-pin her hair, debating before finally asking, “Why did you really go upstairs yesterday?”
Juliana’s hands stilled. “Haven’t I said it already? I got a little turned around. Puer’s second floor is a storage area.”
“If this one was Sweeper property, we’d have given you a tour.”
Juliana’s mouth quirked. “Really? Because it sounds as if there’s an armory I haven’t been to.”
Laura winced. “Honestly, not even Clae talked about it. I didn’t know it existed until just yesterday.”
Juliana huffed and went back to smoothing out her hair. “You didn’t expect him to keep all his gear in a tiny office like this, did you?”
“Well.”
Juliana looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Oh my god, you really thought that.”
“I thought he brought equipment here as soon as factories produced it,” Laura admitted. “In retrospect it doesn’t make sense, and he did talk about storage once, but I never put much thought into it.”
“So he didn’t tell you everything,” said Juliana, pensive.
“There wasn’t much time to. I only joined Sinclairs in May.”
At this, Juliana straightened very slowly. “Eight months ago? Not years?”
“You don’t have to sound so scandalized.”
“Eight months,” Juliana repeated, as if in a daze. “I’m … I’m impressed. I’m sure you met some of the apprentices in Puer when you visited. Some of them have come from long-established Sweeper families, and you easily outshine them.”
She fell into contemplative silence. While not in the plan, that exchange served well enough as “small talk.” Laura didn’t have her answer yet, but maybe …
“I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”
Juliana’s head tilted. “What?”
“For accusing you of lying and everything. It was rude and uncalled for. I just get really protective over this place. Amicae practically crushed Sweepers out of existence, and Okane … well. We’ve got good reason not to trust people. It’s not easy to put that behind me, and I didn’t think before I acted. You are a fantastic Sweeper—if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have this position. And I know you’re very intelligent, and dedicated to doing the job right. You’ve already lost someone, so you know the gravity of this work, and it’s easy to tell that you’re dedicated to not letting that happen again. I want to trust you, but I can’t do that if you’re not honest with me and I don’t know what you’re doing.”
For a while they simply looked at each other. The longer time dragged on the more Laura wanted to take back what she’d said. It had come out more honest than anticipated. Juliana sighed. She pushed the glass flask aside and took Laura’s hand in both of hers.
“Tell me, Laura, why did you become a Sweeper? You were old enough not to be wheedled into it, and Amicae is hardly the place to glorify the job.”
“I’ve wanted to be a Sweeper since I was little.” Laura shrugged self-consciously. “It just took a while before I realized it was something I could do.”
Juliana paused again, regarded her solemnly before saying, bluntly, “Clae Sinclair had some kind of secret to his Sweeping. Unless he was literally birthed from the heavens, there’s no other explanation. Before he died, your kin was a hell of a lot stronger, wasn’t it? And once he died, it faded. It was obvious just by your reactions in that fight. Did he ever tell you what that kin secret was?”
Do not tell anyone about him. Disastrous consequences.
“No,” said Laura.
“Was there anything here that he was particularly protective over?”
“Everything,” Laura snorted, but gestured back at the black drapes. “Mainly he obsessed over the storage room, since that’s where the Gin is stored. The setup hasn’t changed since he died, though. Okane walked me through the system and he didn’t think anything was missing.”
Juliana’s eyes glinted. She leaned closer and said, “Perhaps it’s something the family itself keeps close? A Sinclair secret?”
“As far as Clae was concerned, any of his Sweepers were Sinclair enough to be in his good books.”
Juliana waved a hand. “That doesn’t mean much. Some of these well-established guilds are built around families, just like the upper class, and just like the upper class they see their core members as the only real heirs to their secrets. Dea’s Sweeper family won’t even let in-laws handle their kin recipes. If Amicae’s Sweepers go so far as to slap their name over the office, then surely they’re believers in the bloodline?”
“Clae was the last Sinclair left, and he knew it. He wouldn’t jeopardize the city by sitting on that kind of information.”
“Wall,” Juliana said simply.
“That had punishment of death if we talked,” Laura snapped. “Sinclairs tried. Sinclairs failed. Clae did everything he could within his boundaries.”
“I don’t doubt his intentions or yours. But if there were boundaries set by the city, maybe there were boundaries that existed in his mind and not in yours. I thought if there was a family secret, it would be located in a place only the family had access to. That’s why I went upstairs yesterday.”
“I’ve been up there a few times, and Clae was never protective of the house,” said Laura.
Juliana’s eyes flicked up toward the ceiling as a board overhead creaked. “Then perhaps it’s a secret held by a person instead of a page. An oral tradition.”
“Okane’s never mentioned—”
“He’s a Sinclair. Of course he wouldn’t have given that information freely. But if you asked him directly…”
Laura drew back, frowning. “Me?”
“He trusts you, doesn’t he? More than anyone else. If I asked he’d never answer, but you? If you wanted to I’m sure you could make him tell you anything. Could you do that for me?”
A chill ran down Laura’s spine, but she pretended to laugh. “Are you telling me to manipulate Okane?”
“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger! And don’t worry about thinking you’re taking advantage of him. We’re going to use that secret to protect this city, and protect him too. He’s still our teammate. He doesn’t risk losing that by talking.”
Juliana smiled warmly, and Laura did her best to mimic the gesture. She felt sick.
“I’ll ask him,” she said. “But for the record, I’m positive that he has no idea what the secret is either. If he did, he would’ve implemented it already.”
Juliana clapped a hand on her shoulder. “That’s my girl. We’ll get this office in shape, just you watch.”
And now someone was calling her “girl” again. Laura barely had time to feel frustrated before footsteps sounded on the stairs. Juliana drew back as Okane appeared on the landing.
“I just looked out the window,” he said. “Is there a reason Lester’s leading someone with a camera?”
“The reporter!” Juliana gasped. She straightened and patted down her clothes, as if they’d somehow come out of place during that short conversation. “We’re expecting them. Come on out, Okane! They’ll be happy to see other Sweepers.”
The door creaked open. Lester entered first, carrying a paper bag and chatting amiably with the two people behind him.
“Oh!” Laura leapt to her feet. “Annabelle!”
Reporter Annabelle Kilborn paused in the doorway. “Good morning! It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” said Laura. “I knew a reporter was coming, but I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t realize you did spotlights.”
“My coworkers decided I had the most experience with positive Sweeper articles,” said Annabelle.
“Well, we’re glad to have you,” said Juliana. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She and Annabelle shook hands, and Annabelle turned to introduce her cameraman. Lester stepped to the counter. Out of the bag came several bottles of vividly orange Fezziwig soda.
“Sorry for the surprise,” he told Laura and Okane. “It was a last-minute offer and Juliana’s eager to get on the public’s good side right now. It’ll give us more sway in negotiations. I hoped delaying them a little would give you some time to prepare.”
“I appreciate it,” said Laura, taking one of the offered sodas.
She popped off the cap and took a long drink as the others settled themselves. The cameraman snapped a picture of Juliana before pulling back. Annabelle and the MacDanels took the remaining stools, and Annabelle began reading out a prepared list of questions.
“So,” Okane whispered, eyes still fixed on the interview, “did - - - find anything out?”
“Not much beyond what we already knew,” Laura replied. “She knows something’s here, and she thinks you, as the last remaining family member, have the secret. Like an oral tradition. She wants me to trick it out of you.”
“I figured as much. What do - - - want to do from here?”
“Carry on?” Laura shrugged. “I don’t know that there’s anything we can do. I’ll tell her you didn’t know anything, she’ll suck it up, and we’ll move on. Hopefully for the better.”
She refocused on the interview. Annabelle had moved on from the basic introduction, and gone on to ask about Juliana’s previous Sweeping experience. Juliana had laughed through the tale of her and Lester signing up as apprentices at age fifteen, and now went into Amicae’s selection process.
“You know, I wasn’t even the person they were supposed to interview that day. It was totally luck.”
Annabelle paused. “You weren’t Puer’s recommended choice?”
“No, the head Sweeper there was very intent on sending you someone named Joan,” said Juliana. “Joan’s good, but I wouldn’t call her fantastic. If you put her in power she wouldn’t know how to use it. She ran so late for her interview, the Amicae representative almost left, but my brother caught him in time and asked if I could interview instead. They were so eager to talk to me, I was flattered! And when they said my old boss spoke so highly of me, I almost cried. Some men in charge are determined never to compliment you to your face, so hearing that—”
Okane glanced at Laura. “Joseph Blair didn’t strike me as someone who withheld compliments.”
“No,” Laura murmured. “I don’t think I heard him speak badly of anyone, even when he was stuck between the Sinclairs.”
Even at Clae’s wake, Puer’s head Sweeper had admitted his wife’s guilt but tried to defend her at the same time. Laura thought back, trying to match any instance to Juliana’s statement, and something occurred to her. Joseph had said he’d send a Sweeper to help them keep up basic training. Laura had assumed he meant Juliana, but it must’ve been Joan. Laura pulled one of the Dead Ringer pages back from under the counter and uncapped a pen.
Meanwhile, Annabelle had taken this in stride. “So you outshined even your city’s first pick. How does it feel to be the top Sweeper in Amicae?”
“It’s been a whirlwind so far,” Juliana chuckled. “It’s very different here than Puer. Clae Sinclair left little more than a shell of what a proper department should be.”
Blame the goddamn Council, not Clae, Laura wanted to rage, but kept her mouth shut and focused harder on her writing.
“We’re in the process of putting things back together and making improvements, so the citizens of Amicae won’t have to fear anymore. Their safety won’t be determined by a capricious head Sweeper or the whims of the mobs. It will be done professionally, promptly, under the Council’s authority.”
Words couldn’t describe how much Laura wanted to kick over Juliana’s stool. She jabbed her note extra hard at the end and tore the piece off its page. She slid this toward Okane. He squinted down at the message:
To Melody Dearborn—Are MacDanels approved?
“What’s this?” he whispered.
“A telegram I want you to send,” she replied just as quietly. “This whole situation stinks, and I want to understand what’s going on. I trust Melody to give us a straight answer.”
“I suppose if Juliana suspects - - - of sending messages, that wouldn’t go over well.” He slipped the note into his pocket. He paused, and she raised a brow.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just wondered whether she’s really the one to worry about.”
Laura looked back at the others. On the other side of the room Lester sat in silence, a pack of notes resting on one knee. If he’d tried using the Mad Dogs as a harebrained distraction once, there was no telling what else he’d do to support Juliana. Laura hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to involve himself deeper in the mobs, but he was like Juliana’s shadow, almost impossible to get a read on. Even now there was little trace of emotion or individuality on his face. He simply watched, with frightening intensity, as Juliana chatted her way through her next answer.