Chapter 9
Nine
Jack held open the attic window proudly. “Welcome to my favorite corner of Mistfield.”
He’d brought them to the roof atop the ballroom, at least five stories from the ground. As she crawled out the window, she
tried to keep her eyes on the roof tiles—and not on the sunset staining the sky or the ground far below. One misstep, and
gravity would yank her to her demise.
“There’s chimney smoke over there.” Caleb squinted into the fading light. “Clarity Hall?”
Emmy’s head whipped toward the distant plume. Clarity Hall was the Windsors’ summer estate. Grace might already be in town.
Here, in Avalon-on-Hudson.
After their successful break-in at Society headquarters last week, Jack had insisted Emmy begin to learn ballroom dancing.
All week, Jimmy had driven her to private lessons north of Avalon-on-Hudson, their carriage the only one in sight. But this
afternoon, they’d seen several.
“The servants are readying the estates for the arrival of the Society families.” Jumping to his feet, Jack meandered toward
the edge. “From now on, we must be extraordinarily cautious. Curtains drawn. Voices low. The Strattons have a footman with
augmented hearing who eavesdrops on their supposed friends. And Grace has a lady’s maid with the gift of invisibility.”
A girl with invisibility conjury had debuted with her and Grace. When she’d disappeared, Emmy had been awestruck while Grace
had only shrugged. The magic of a spy, she’d said, not a lady. Yet Grace had, apparently, been impressed enough to hire her.
Such a tiny deceit should not have stung as much as it did.
“So are you finally ready to tell us this plan of yours?” Jimmy asked.
Settling onto the roof, Jack stretched his long legs in front of him. “First thing tomorrow, Alton and I will go to the city
to request an appointment with the triumvirate. If we make a strong enough impression, they might not ask to interview Vallillo.”
Ladies who are referred to the Society require a male relative to vouch for their character, the Society pamphlet had said. Fine by Emmy. She was not ready to play nice with Papa’s killer.
Stiffly, Caleb lowered himself to sit beside Jimmy. “And who referred us?”
“My dead father.” Jack proudly held up a piece of thick paper. “With Vallillo’s help, I have a letter in his precise handwriting
that he sent to Nathaniel before his death. Society members aren’t supposed to reveal anything to the charmed people they
refer until after they’re in, but they can’t exactly punish the dead. It should at least earn us interviews.”
She’d written the letter with him earlier, encouraging Nathaniel to forgo his world travels for a summer to experience a season
with the Society of the Charmed.
“And while we’re gone, Vallillo will continue to learn ballroom dancing.” Jack grinned at her. “You’re booked for every day
until the ball, six hours a day.”
The ball was ten days away. He was waiting for her to point out that her feet were going to fall off, but—Grace believed that
a lady’s character could be inferred from her dancing. That was her excuse for paying that exorbitant fee for lessons at the
Society’s favorite finishing school. To be taken seriously, protégés need more than strong magic. They need to be flawless.
Emmy, as Winnie Fairchild, also needed to be flawless.
“Assuming the triumvirate grants us trial membership,” Jack continued, “we’ll be on the guest lists from the first ball, the Inaugural Splendor, to the last one, the Golden Gala.
We only have a month to get chummy with our targets, learning as much as we can about them.
Starting with Oliver. Based on his display at Society headquarters, he still loves to gamble. ”
“He said he quit the pool halls,” Emmy reminded him.
But Jack waved a dismissive hand. “That won’t last a week. He lives for cards. And he’s a rotten cheater. If I can befriend him, as Nathaniel, we’ll make sure he’s caught.”
“So he gets roughed up by card sharks?” Caleb scoffed. “That’s hardly enough.”
For once, Emmy agreed with him.
“We’ll get him arrested and thrown in ordinary jail, where his conjury will be useless.”
“But his father’s money won’t. He’ll be out in no time.”
“Unless the Stratton name is already ruined, and his father is already in Grimsbane.” The corner of Jack’s mouth lifted. “And
while they’re both in jail, with their reputations shattered, we’ll bring their true crimes to light, clearing my and Emmy’s
names.”
“But you haven’t said how we’ll ruin the chancellor,” Caleb pointed out.
Or Clara. Or, most importantly, Grace.
“I’m getting there.” Jack leaned back on his hands, so close to the edge, even Jimmy winced. “Clara Claremont is obsessed
with her business. Despite misgivings about a young woman owning a modiste instead of furthering her family’s bloodline, the
Society adores her enchanted gowns. If we ruin her business, we ruin her.”
Emmy’s temperature rose at the mere thought of Clara’s dreams coming true. “How?”
“To be determined. But I made you an appointment in her shop for next week.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Emmy was far from ready to face the conniving heiress.
“Surely the great Emilia Vallillo can handle one charmed girl.” He lifted a casual shoulder. “You need enchanted gowns—and we need to learn more about her business.”
Against her better judgment, Emmy managed a tight nod. At some point between forging the Society’s records and running for
her life, Jack’s obsession had begun to infect her. She’d fallen asleep picturing Grace’s perfect new life in ruins, and she’d
woken to visions of Grace’s tear-stained face as she expressed how deeply she regretted turning on her one true friend.
Emmy wanted it, too. Vengeance.
“And next, of course, is Grace.”
Emmy felt Jimmy studying her but she kept her eyes trained on Jack. Waiting.
“First, Emmy’s going to befriend Grace, as Winnie.”
“She’ll see right through me.” Grace possessed many flaws, but gullibility was not among them. In no time, she’d know that
Winnie Fairchild was not who she claimed.
“Give yourself some credit. You’re far cleverer than her.” Jumping to his feet, Jack balanced on the steep pitch as he walked
closer to Emmy. “All season, you’ll push her buttons. Starting with Oliver.”
“You can’t be serious.” It was laughable, really, that the Stratton heir would pay her any mind. Most of the time when boys
had spoken to Emmy, it was to ask about Grace.
“It’ll work—if you stop bristling every time a man is near.” He squatted in front of her, invading her space to prove his
point.
And damn him, she could not help but blush at his nearness. “So this is your big plan for Grace? We’ll aggravate her?”
“Grace will do anything—anything—to be the Society’s darling.
In the year before my arrest, I watched her rise quicker than any protégé ever had.
The Society commissions her conjury for all sorts of purposes.
The Windsors practically consider her a daughter.
And in her first season, she had three marriage proposals, all of which she graciously turned down. ”
Each detail was a stick of dynamite inside her, ready to explode.
“Talk about rags to riches,” Jimmy murmured. “Why did she turn them down?”
“Because she has her sights set on the richest bachelor of all: Oliver Stratton.”
Out of love? Or because she wanted his fortune to be hers one day?
“Grace didn’t get this far by virtue alone. If we expose one of her secrets, the Society will spit her out like the trash
she is.” He kept his gaze on Emmy, waiting for her approval, for once.
“I’m glad she climbed so high.” Emmy’s voice remained even, for once. “Because now she has quite the distance to fall.”
They stared at each other, Jack’s slow grin practically glowing in the dying light. For better or for worse, Jack understood
what it was like to hate someone with his whole heart.
“Fontaine?” Caleb cleared his throat. “The chancellor?”
“Yes, right. The chancellor.” Jack stepped away from Emmy, and she sucked in a much-needed breath. “Given that the greedy
bastard managed to get his son appointed to my position as commander, the Strattons now control two of the three triumvirate positions.”
Commander Stratton. That was how the guard had referred to Oliver.
“I have no doubt the third member, Keeper Windsor, is a thorn in the chancellor’s side. If we convince the chancellor that
Windsor is conspiring against him, he’ll go after Windsor in his usual vile, underhanded way. And we’ll catch him.”
Jimmy lifted a brow. “He’ll risk it all on rumors started by folks he only just met?”
“No,” Jack agreed. “If he’s going to trust us, we need to give him good reason.”
Emmy was learning to dread this particular smile of Jack’s, but fortunately, it was aimed at Caleb.
“Oh no.” Caleb rose, shaking his head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“When he interviews us, we’ll ask to keep your gift a secret so others are comfortable in your presence. He’ll be thrilled to have a mind reader all to himself. And when you help him—”
“Help him!” Caleb’s face turned a furious shade of maroon. “The man did not so much as investigate Rose’s death—”
“We need him to trust you.” Jack shrugged. “It’s the only way to get close to him.”
“He threw you in jail! No trial, no sentencing, nothing. All to protect his rotten son.”
Emmy froze. Jack still had not told her what had happened to get him arrested in the first place, but she was beginning to
gather the pieces.
A fire. His sister’s untimely death. And now: the chancellor jailing Jack to protect Oliver.
Caleb folded his arms. “You’re supposed to keep my family’s gift a secret. Just like your parents did, and their parents before
them.”
“It’ll still be a secret.” Jack looked entirely nonplussed. “He’ll think you’re Paxton Fairchild, affluent college student
visiting the States for the summer.”
“I can’t believe how selfish you’re being!”
“Is it selfish to want my sister’s murderers to pay for what they’ve done?”