Chapter Fifteen
When her one customer had fled, no doubt to tell the rest of Haven that The Rose and Petal was in shambles and its proprietress was sprawled on the floor with Keepers and Iron Crows, Ethan helped Briar to her feet. He turned to the vaguely academic-looking man.
“What the hell are you doing here, Coventry?”
Briar frowned up at him. “You know him?”
“Aye.”
“Aidan Hunt, London Museum of Magic,” the man introduced himself.
Bollocks.
“Lord Coventry,” Ethan elaborated without even a drop of respect for the title. Unsurprisingly.
Aidan stepped over Twyla as though she had ceased to be interesting. “I am in charge of rare antiquities for the museum.”
Bollocks again.
Even if she wanted to run, she could not. Petal was upstairs. And her hip was currently shooting pain down her leg with a vengeance. She would be lucky to remain upright for the remainder of this conversation.
Aidan pulled a piece of parchment from inside his waistcoat and unfolded it.
The sketch was detailed, but also artistic in a way she would not have expected from someone who wore such precise spectacles and whose cravat was still pristine when the rest of them were smudged with dirt and sweat. “Have you seen this?” he asked.
She could honestly say she had not. She had not even known what the moon charm looked like until now.
It was an egg-shaped moonstone set inside a cage of silver filigree studded with pearls.
It was much smaller than she had imagined.
It loomed so large that she supposed she had expected it to be the size of an actual egg. Perhaps from a goose. Or a gryphon.
“I have not,” she said. “Is this why you’re here?”
“Yes. This is the moon egg charm. It was originally found in Suffolk. It dates back to the sixteenth century.”
“And it dropped the shields? What else does it do?” That seemed like something she ought to know. The next time Petal went off on a wild tear, she had better leave detailed and copious notes.
“We don’t know,” Aidan admitted. That was surprising. And considerably unhelpful.
Ethan, however, did not look surprised.
“Likely not much, as it’s been stored in salt and iron over the years when not on display,” Aidan continued. “Just to be safe.”
“Then how did it drop the shields?”
“The tracking spell from the museum was triggered when the charm was stolen by one Miss Petal Foxglove.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. My sister would never.” Except when she would, of course.
He frowned. “The tracking spell led me here. And that spell is never wrong. I devised it myself.” He did not sound particularly arrogant, only very sure. Like one of the professors who had seen too many decades in the academies of Hallow.
“If you cast the spell, can you not uncast it? If it is not working as it should be?”
“Apparently not.”
“That is disappointing.”
“Indeed. Can you tell me, Miss Foxglove, why your sister would steal this particular moon charm from the museum? It might help.”
Briar tilted her chin up. “You claim that she stole it, but I am not convinced. My sister has never been to London before, and she has no need for a moon egg.” She crossed her arms. “And if your spell is misfiring, how do you know this is not all your doing? A misunderstanding laid at my sister’s feet as a convenient scapegoat. ”
Ethan grunted, a low rumble of amusement. She refused to look in his direction.
“I wish I could help you, Lord Coventry,” she added. “But I’m afraid I don’t know anything.”
“She’s lying,” Oliver spat.
“You’re very rude,” she said calmly. And quite correct, unfortunately. She had every intention of continuing to lie her face off if it would help her sister.
“Then you’ll submit to testing,” he added.
She did not know what that might entail exactly, only that the Order was not known for being gentle. Sweat broke out at the nape of her neck.
“The hell she will,” Ethan said with the kind of icy calm that could not be breached. He’d had his dagger to her throat minutes before, and now he seemed to want to protect her.
He really was a very confusing man.
“This is business of the Order, Crow.”
Ethan smiled, and it was sharp and deadly, as sharp and deadly as the dagger in his hand. “That’s Dragon to you.”
Oliver gulped. He tried to hide it, but Briar noticed.
And she did not care how petty it made her—she enjoyed the sight.
He was a pain in her backside in a way that only a Keeper with something to prove could be.
She hoped Bear would arrive soon to keep him in order.
Or better yet, let them decide that Petal had made her way to Hallow or Holdfast. Or the actual moon.
Anywhere but right here, in the room above their heads.
Aidan held up a hand. “The spell led me here. There’s no need to test Miss Foxglove. A simple search of the cottage will do.”
“We’ll take another look in her bedroom.” Oliver smiled, and it made Briar a little sick to her stomach.
She could only follow as they marched up the stairs, helplessness choking her.
Oliver kicked Petal’s bedroom door open.
Briar waited for the shout of triumph, for an iron collar, the suffocation of her familiar trapped in a witch’s bottle. For Bramble to attack with her scissors, her teeth. She didn’t know how she could fight her way to her sister’s side, or even what to do when she got there.
A tree branch knocked loudly on the roof. Warning or comfort? She could not say.
“Nice work,” Ethan said, all sarcasm and boredom as he looked over their heads. “An empty bedroom. Nothing less than I’d expect from a Keeper.”
Oliver sputtered, face reddening. Briar inched closer.
Petal’s bed lay empty, quilt rumpled. Bramble was also gone.
The white roses pressed against the window, thorns dragging like claws.
Oliver stomped around, knocking over books, pulling dresses out of Petal’s armoire. But there was no Petal and no moon egg.
Briar sagged against the doorjamb. She had no idea what was happening, but at least her sister was not being carted away in iron chains soaked in salt water for her familiar to be bottled. That was something. Everything. And neither was Briar.
Yet.
“If you are quite done stomping through my house in your muddy boots,” she said crisply to cover the unease still bubbling through her. “You can all see yourselves out.”
Sometimes all you could do was snap orders like a disappointed governess and hope for the best.
Seeing as most Keepers had been raised by nannies and governesses of one type or another, it was surprisingly effective.
Oliver’s neck mottled even redder. Aidan looked embarrassed.
Ethan just leaned against the back wall of the hall, one eyebrow lifted.
If he had been raised by a governess, the lessons had not taken.
But he was not the one she was trying to get rid of.
Briar looked down her nose at Oliver, which did take some doing, as he was much taller than she. “I will expect the Order to reimburse me for the mess you made. Teacups do not grow on trees.”
He glowered around the room once more. “Are you sure it’s not her?” he demanded of Aidan while pointing at Briar. “The Foxglove sisters are twins.”
“We are not identical,” Briar said drily. “Believe me, it is not hard to tell the difference.”
“I saw Petal Foxglove with my own two eyes.” Aidan was apologetic, clearly mortified to have been impolite in any way, but also not convinced that he was in the wrong.
He was obviously very good at his work as a curator of magical artifacts.
He knew something was amiss, but not what, exactly.
It would have to be good enough for now.
Oliver shoved past them toward the stairs. “We’ll be watching you, Miss Foxglove.”
“I can’t tell you how safe that makes me feel,” Briar said, deliberately misunderstanding his threat. “But as you are the one causing me the most harm, I would prefer it if you found my sister instead,” she added, not preferring any such thing. “She might be in danger.”
“We’re not in the business of protecting thieves.”
Ethan caught her gaze. “But I am.”
Aidan was still frowning. He bowed his head at her. “I do apologize for his behavior.”
“You get what you deserve when you keep company with that lot,” Ethan said.
“It’s protocol,” Aidan’s serious eyes were wry. “Can’t say keeping company with Iron Crows will do you much good either, Miss Foxglove.”
“Probably not,” Briar replied, the spot of blood on her throat stinging in agreement.
She stayed rooted to the spot as the Keepers collected Twyla and Aidan made another circuit of the cottage before leaving. She heard him gently close the front door.
“He’ll be back,” Ethan said, having not moved an inch.
A sound came from the window before Briar could find a reply. She half expected to see the rose vines cracking the glass, but it was the tap of iron scissors. Tap, tap, tap.
Bramble’s iron scissors.
Briar surged forward, pushing her magic at the vines and the thorns hard enough that they parted. Her witch knot burned. Her swan bellowed in pain. Briar kept pushing, sweat beading under her hair.
Petal’s bare feet dangled from the rooftop.
Ethan was suddenly at her side. He reached up, grabbing her sister by the hips and pulling her inside.
Petal unfurled on the floor, as limp and unresponsive as she had been all along.
It must have taken Herculean strength for Bramble to pull her out of the window and onto the roof. Not just strength—panic.
Bramble slipped into the bedroom, snarling and covered in bloody thorn scratches. She crouched over Petal, wielding her scissors, magic biting the air around her. Ethan towered over them, his dagger in hand.
Briar slipped between them, panting with the exhaustion of pushing her magic through whatever spell had fueled the roses, and the honey spell below. Her vision blurred around the edges. “Don’t.” She was speaking to both of them.
Ethan did not move, staring down at her unconscious sister. “The infamous Petal, I presume.”