Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Despite its wealthy patrons, Emmy had still imagined the Bronze Door as a dilapidated poolroom; she hadn’t expected the splendor
before her. The poker table at which Jack, Oliver, and four other men were playing was polished oak, and it rested on a plush
red carpet that stretched from one richly wallpapered wall to the next. Antique-looking paintings added a touch of opulence.
Authentic treasures from the Italian Renaissance, supposedly.
Oliver rearranged the cards fanned out in his hand. Plucking one, he dropped it on the table, along with a wad of cash equal
to a few years of her and Papa’s rent. From this distance, she couldn’t tell whether the card was enchanted. Judging by Jack’s
frustrated expression at Oliver’s side, he wasn’t certain, either.
The men sipped their whiskeys and puffed their pipes as their stacks grew smaller, one round at a time. Oliver’s, meanwhile,
grew larger. Just like last night. And the night before that.
Six damn nights, and not a pinch of progress.
Once Oliver won yet another round, Emmy sealed the peephole and let out a groan.
Oliver Stratton was either an excellent cheater or not a cheater at all.
“This isn’t working,” Caleb grumbled in a low voice. The walls were so thin, they couldn’t risk speaking above a whisper,
even after Emmy had sealed the hole. “We need to call it a night. The Society is expecting us at Grace’s fundraiser at half
past three.”
Sinking onto the ground, Emmy rested her head between her hands.
All week, she’d snuck off to the city with Jimmy and Caleb, risking the suspicion of their staff.
And all week, they’d huddled in the flat adjacent to the ritziest card room at the Bronze Door, which had been occupied by newlyweds who’d been glad to vacate for the week in exchange for a wad of greenbacks.
It should have been enough time for the other players to catch Oliver in the act.
But for six nights, Oliver had left richer than he’d arrived.
They only had seven days left in the season, yet their three remaining targets walked free. It was enough to make Emmy want
to scream.
“It’s actually impressive,” Jimmy mused. “To avoid getting caught, he has to keep track of all the potential cards in everyone’s
hand. He’s smart.”
Oliver did not deserve a single compliment. Especially after spending all week getting Jack mind-numbingly drunk.
They’d wasted too much time waiting for him to get caught. Even if they hadn’t trekked to the city all damn week, Emmy wouldn’t
have slept a wink, not with so little time until the final ball. They still had nothing on Grace, who’d attended hardly any
events since the pageant. And although Caleb had been dropping hints to the chancellor about Keeper Windsor’s untrustworthiness,
the chancellor was far too cautious to strike against a triumvirate member due to rumors.
No, they needed Oliver arrested so they could pin it on Windsor, stoking the chancellor’s paranoia. “One more round, then
we’ll go.”
“It’s already six in the morning,” Caleb groaned. “Mary will be waiting.”
“Mary’s one of us now, remember?” Emmy could not hide the bitterness in her words. Though, to be fair, Mary had been nothing
but helpful these past few days. She’d searched the Society’s records for someone with the gift of inhibition lowering or
truth telling, but had found no one. She’d also volunteered to search Grace’s things at Clarity Hall, though she’d nearly
hyperventilated before she’d gone invisible. Emmy and Jimmy had waited for her in the woods, counting the seconds until she
returned. But she’d found nothing incriminating there, either.
Grace had to be keeping secrets. And Emmy had very little time to unearth them.
Frowning, Caleb eyed the wall. “Oliver and Jack should have called it quits already, too. We’re all expected at the fundraiser.”
Ah, yes, an entire afternoon during which Grace would be the benevolent hostess, basking in the Society’s adoration. Attending
would have been far more tolerable with news of Oliver’s arrest.
Still, Grace kept a little office at the church, for her charity. While she was busy hosting the fundraiser on the church
lawn, Mary would riffle through her things.
“Fine,” Emmy sighed. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
Two hours there. Two hours home. The Bronze Door was draining the life out of them.
“Try to rest, Ems,” Jimmy said as he settled across from her in the carriage, his lids heavy. Caleb was already snoring quietly,
and despite his declarations that Jimmy was taking up too much space, his head was resting rather comfortably on his shoulder.
“You don’t want to face Grace with circles underneath your eyes.”
“Ah, but you forget, I can hide them.” Emmy swiped her hand over her face, infusing her skin with a tickle of conjury to lighten
the shade. Her gift didn’t penetrate as deeply as Papa’s had, but surface-level adjustments were still within her wheelhouse.
He chuckled silently. “Still, you gotta take care of yourself, yeah?”
His words pierced something inside her. Jimmy cared for her. That ought to have frightened her, because Grace had certainly
pretended to care, right up to the moment Emmy was dragged away. But as Jimmy drifted to sleep, Emmy could not help but feel
glad for his loyalty.
“Don’t drink anything,” Mary warned as she and Emmy passed through the illusion hiding the vast church lawn. “God only knows what Miss Montgomery has in store for you.” She punctuated her words by touching the cross she wore.
Given that Grace had nearly ruined all of Emmy’s schemes with a single bracelet, Emmy would not be drinking a drop today.
“You be careful, too.” As much as they needed to learn more about Grace, if Mary got caught snooping, they’d lose all the
trust they’d built with the Society.
Jimmy squinted at the party sprawled on the lawn before them. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but does a potions fundraiser
strike anyone else as a bit . . . witchy?”
Caleb’s mouth twitched. “They’re not real potions. More like enhanced emotional experiences, ones that last hardly a few seconds. And at the risk of complimenting
Miss Montgomery, we’re lucky she convinced old Mr. Weatherby to donate them. He’s the last known person with the gift of liquid
imbuement. These may be the last potions ever.”
Emmy studied the lawn party in search of something to criticize, but the decor was, unfortunately, enthralling. Attendants
stood behind a long table draped in black, pouring colorful brews into minuscule champagne flutes. Cushioned sofas waited
underneath trees, inviting guests to seek respite from the sun as they sampled the rare concoctions.
It was unnerving, entering a Society event without Jack. Although it was well into the afternoon, he still hadn’t returned
from the Bronze Door. And no matter how much Emmy tried to push the image from her mind, she kept thinking of Rose’s prophecy.
For all they knew, Jack was lying in a New York alley, his throat slit.
“Miss Fairchild!” Hurrying toward them, Mrs. Stratton kissed the air besides Emmy’s cheeks. “Aren’t you thrilled?”
“I suppose. I’ve never had a potion before.”
“Not that.” Mrs. Stratton leaned closer, her eyes alight. “Miss Montgomery isn’t here.”
Emmy glanced around. “But it’s her fundraiser.”
“Which makes it even more scandalous.” After pausing to offer Caleb and Jimmy her hand, Mrs. Stratton linked her arm with
Emmy’s and led her away. “According to my maid, who heard it from Mrs. Windsor’s maid, Grace has been sneaking out of Clarity
Hall. For weeks! Of course, she’s home just in time for whatever party the Windsors are kind enough to allow her to attend,
despite her deplorable behavior.”
It was an effort not to shoot Mary an alarmed look. For all they knew, Grace could be traipsing about Mistfield right now.
“Do you know, precisely, when?”
“Every day, from what I hear!” Mrs. Stratton shook her head. “Imagine the nerve!”
Given that truth bracelet in Emmy’s jewelry box, she could more than imagine it. “Any idea where she goes?”
“Oh, she’s given them some excuse about completing commissions with her conjury. But I know the truth: she’s heartbroken.”
Emmy’s doubts must have shown, for Mrs. Windsor leaned closer and whispered, “After our picnic, Oliver made it clear to her:
they will never, ever marry.”
How Emmy longed to believe her, but she’d seen how Oliver looked at Grace. Was one kiss with Winnie enough to change his heart?
“Ah, there he is!” Mrs. Stratton brightened as Oliver and Jack strolled down the lawn in last night’s suits, their gaits too
crooked to be sober. Though Jack wore the smirk that used to vex her, she could read him better now. He was unraveling—and
quickly.
“Mother.” Oliver embraced Mrs. Stratton, planting a kiss on her cheek that made her positively beam. “And Miss Fairchild.
Just the girl I came to see.”
With his mother watching, Oliver lifted Emmy’s hand to his lips and kissed it chastely.
Jack’s smirk sharpened.
“You’re late,” Mrs. Stratton scolded her son. “Make yourself useful and buy a potion for Miss Fairchild.”
Oliver tucked Emmy’s hand in the crook of his arm. “Let’s see what the fuss is about.”
It was hard to glance at Jack while Oliver walked between them, but Oliver had monopolized his time so thoroughly, she’d hardly
seen him since the kitchen ordeal. He was in one piece, at least, though he looked exhausted.
Jimmy and Caleb excused themselves to mingle elsewhere—and stoke rumors about the Windsor/Stratton feud. Mary, meanwhile,
kept pace with Oliver’s valet. But once Emmy’s gaze met hers, the maid nodded and slipped into the crowd, quite literally
disappearing. With Grace not even here, she ought to be able to search her charity office easily.
Then again, when it came to Grace Montgomery, nothing was ever easy.
“Welcome,” a jovial attendant said as they approached one of the black tables. “Would you care to try a brew?”