Chapter 12
Twelve
For the second time in her life, Emmy rode in an opulent carriage destined for the Society of the Charmed, only this time,
she was not imagining her dreams coming true while sitting beside the girl conspiring to ruin them. This time, she would not
trust a soul.
At Jack’s insistence, Emmy had spent the day conjuring their formal wear to match the theme. He, Caleb, and Jimmy wore black
tailcoats and vests, with their cuffs and ascots checkered like game boards. For her part, Emmy had drawn inspiration from
the queen of hearts: playing cards hemmed her full onyx skirt, which fell in waves from the tight bodice. Magenta silk folds
draped over her hips, held in place by heart-shaped opal pins. Rose’s relic hung from its new chain, hidden deep in the gown’s
bodice. Safely out of sight.
Jack flexed and unflexed his hands. No gloves, so he could flaunt his Fontaine flames. “Almost there. Let’s review the plan.”
Caleb drummed his fingers on the top hat in his lap. “After our meeting in the city, the chancellor knows I’m a mind reader.
Given that he registered me as a nugat, he’s willing to lie about my gift. But I need him to want me to be his mind reader, so tonight I’ll try to earn his trust by helping him win in cards or something.”
A nugat, the magicless offspring of a charmed bloodline. Jimmy was posing as one too. If Emmy tripped on Society slang all
night, they’d sniff her out as a fraud in no time.
Jack glanced out the window for the umpteenth time. “And your goal, Vallillo?”
“Not making a fool of myself.” Again, she nearly added.
“Your other goal?”
She felt rather silly, saying it aloud. “Oliver Stratton.”
Jack leaned forward. “You will use your looks and, more importantly, your wealth, to catch his eye. The more Grace feels like
you might ruin her hopes of Oliver proposing this summer, the more reckless she’ll become.”
It would never work, but she’d agreed to try, at least tonight.
“And I’ll keep my ear to the ground. You’d be surprised what people will say when they assume I don’t speak English.” Jimmy
tugged at his suit as he glanced out the window, his perennial smile tensing.
The carriage turned off the main road, and Caleb’s lips thinned. “We’re here.”
With a pit in her stomach, Emmy pressed her forehead against the glass. Trees, trees, and more trees. The driver was racing
toward them, a head-on collision with the thick trunks—
Her ears popped. The carriage slowed. The woods disappeared.
A nervous laugh burst from Emmy as they passed through the illusion, the temperature dropping with magic’s signature coolness.
Caleb and Jimmy exchanged tight smiles. Only Jack managed to look unaffected as he grinned at the distant Clarity Hall.
Grace’s aunt and uncle had built a mansion hugging the edge of the Hudson. The lowermost rooms were cradled by the rugged
cliffs, framed by sprawling terraces with panoramic views of the river below. But the mansion stretched high above the bluffs,
higher even than the stately oak trees lining the long driveway, which was filled with waiting carriages.
Someone shouted, and the carriage came to an abrupt stop.
“A routine check,” Jack murmured, though his knuckles whitened as Society guards surrounded the carriage. Their eyes met,
and somehow Emmy knew that he was also thinking of Grimsbane.
They could not return there. Ever.
Lanterns lifted, the guards peered in their windows. Emmy tried her best to not look rattled. She had a relic of unfathomable
strength. If they tried to lock her away again, she’d make herself into a weapon.
After an eternity, the guards waved them forward, and Emmy could once again breathe.
“Stay close,” Jack murmured as they disembarked in front of the celestial mansion. She took his waiting arm, Jimmy and Caleb
close behind. More guards were stationed here, and Emmy’s skin prickled with their unabashed stares.
They followed the other guests down a walkway covered with a fuchsia runner, its edges also checkered like a game board—but
the black squares flickered to white, and the white to black. Clara’s fabric enchantment, yet again. The surrounding hedges
were cut like chess pieces, their needles as black as night or as white as snow. Earth conjury, perhaps. As they walked past
them, the little pawns shot water in high arcs over their heads. Water conjury, bridged by Grace.
“They expect us to look impressed,” Jack whispered. “Since this is the only known community for charmed folks, most newcomers
have never seen conjury out in the open.”
Emmy wasn’t simply impressed; she was enthralled. How she longed to examine each bit of conjury, to puzzle out what sort of
gift made it work. But she continued along the path, descending the torchlit staircase that hugged the cliffs without a railing
in sight.
“Do the Windsors have a death wish?” she murmured, tightening her grip on Jack’s arm.
“Miss Montgomery probably imbued the edge with air conjury. Anyone who falls will be pushed back.” He stopped walking. “Should
we test it?”
Before she could stop him, Jack dipped her over the edge.
Her scream was ear-piercing, and she clung to him, digging her nails into his back. But the devil only grinned. “Good. Now you look alive.”
She glared at him. Once again, she’d let her guard down. And once again, she’d paid the price for it. “You’re a real bastard,
you know that?”
“And you’re a beautiful, confident heiress. Act like it.”
“Way to make a scene,” Caleb muttered. “All eyes are on us now.”
Judging by Jack’s smug smile, that had been his plan.
“Mr. Nathaniel Fontaine and Miss Winifred Fairchild,” the butler announced as they stepped onto the terrace. “Mr. Paxton Fairchild
and Mr. Rui Zhao.”
One hundred pairs of eyes burned into them as they greeted the hosts: Mrs. Windsor, a round-faced man who had to be Keeper
Windsor, and, looking positively radiant, Grace.
She was hardly three feet away, and she was staring directly at Emmy. Dipping into a deep curtsy, Emmy cast her gaze to the
ground.
“We’re honored by your hospitality,” Jack began in his flawless Nathaniel accent, and Emmy had to swallow her surprise at
how different he sounded. “Thank you for having us.”
“The Society sets the guest list, not us.” Keeper Windsor shook his hand brusquely. “Though, out of respect for the ladies,
might I ask you to refrain from conjuring this evening?”
“Of course.” Jack’s easy smile deflected the insult.
“He’s worried I’ll faint again,” Mrs. Windsor said softly, squeezing Emmy’s hand. “I feel terrible about the other day.”
It was easy to return her sincere smile. “I feel terrible, too, after the shock I gave you.”
“Still, it was not right that Miss Claremont asked you to leave. My niece has spoken to her about that. Isn’t that right,
Grace?”
Perhaps one day Emmy might be able to look at Grace without hurting, but not tonight.
If Emmy was the queen of hearts, then Grace was the ace of spades.
Black lace floated over her orchid-pink gown, with spade appliqués dancing across the enchanted skirt.
The lace continued over her arms, hinting at the creamy skin underneath, before gathering into ruffles at her wrists.
The ace was pinned to her hair along with a glittering headpiece of diamonds and a black veil.
A minuscule pink heart had been painted on her cheek like a birthmark.
Though her aunt had addressed her, Grace was smiling at Jack as he reverently kissed her hand. Jack claimed to hate Grace,
yet his eyes lingered on her pretty face after he released her. Emmy swallowed her frustration. Even he was not impervious
to her charms.
“Grace?” Mrs. Windsor repeated, and finally, her niece’s eyes slid back to Emmy.
“Oh, Miss Fairchild!” Grace kissed the air between them. “How glad I am to see you.”
“I, ah, was very glad to have been invited.” Spoken like a nervous, blithering fool. Emmy could hardly glance at Grace’s familiar
face without that sledgehammer taking aim at her chest again.
“I do hope you’ll forgive me for my outburst the other day. My grief can be heavy at times, but I should not have let it get
the best of me.” Grace let her gaze fall to the floor, her expression so sorrowful that Mrs. Windsor wrapped an arm around
her.
Did Grace truly grieve her cousin, who she’d known a year—whose death she’d caused, or at least been complicit in? Did she
even know Emmy was supposedly dead?
“Consider it forgiven.” Emmy managed a smile, one far too weak for Winnie Fairchild.
Dismissed, Emmy stole a look at Jimmy, but if seeing Grace in her new life ruffled him, his face betrayed nothing.
“Well, this is nice,” Caleb muttered, eyeing the uninterrupted views of the Hudson.
Over their heads, silver candelabras floated just out of reach, bathing the terrace in golden light.
Guests meandered between game tables draped in black and fuchsia.
Carnival games. Board games. Card games.
Games Emmy had never seen. The guests drifted between them, dressed on theme: checkered gowns, playing cards sewn to top hats, even a swirling skirt of glittering carousel horses.
But the patterns on their gowns shifted playfully. Enchanted fabric. Scores of it.
The sheer quantity of Clara’s creations was infuriating. According to Grace, each cloud on Emmy’s debutante gown had taken
hours to properly enchant. Either Grace had been exaggerating, or Clara had help somehow.
As the Society stared at Emmy, she stared back. A few people had relics exposed on their necks, their shapes and sizes varying,
though the gold and silver swirls were the same. Gilded bone fragments from deceased family members, worn like prized pieces
of jewelry.
With Emmy’s arm tucked in his, Jack changed direction suddenly, weaving through the tables. Even those immersed in their games
paused to watch them pass.
He came to a stop in front of a regal-looking couple dressed like the white king and queen pieces of a chess set. “Chancellor