Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
“Help me make sense of this,” Mary whispered to Emmy. “We celebrate by jumping off a cliff?”
“They celebrate by jumping.” Emmy nodded to Jack and Jimmy, who were trying to cajole Caleb into joining them. “We can walk down.”
By the time they’d returned from the Bronze Door, it was already midmorning, far too late for a cliff jump. In truth, Emmy
was hoping they’d forget all about it. Flirting with death had lost its appeal, given that Jack had barely escaped it a few
hours ago.
All day, Emmy had been haunted by that close call. As she’d approved the floral arrangements for tomorrow’s masquerade ball,
she’d seen Jack on his knees every time she blinked. When the chef had asked her to approve last-minute adjustments to the
menu, she’d seen Oliver’s knife in every metal surface in the kitchen. Even when she’d been alone in her room, studying Grace’s
jewelry box for the umpteenth time, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the inhibition-lowering bracelet she’d worn.
How Jack’s warm hands had torn open her laces.
How she’d wrapped herself around him while he desperately tried to get away.
The pressure was finally getting to her. They had five days to ruin both the chancellor and Grace. An impossible feat, yet
her brain was stuck on a torturous loop of Jack Henrick Fontaine.
As Jimmy opened the champagne, the popped cork echoed across the valley like a shot fired. Once the fizz ceased streaming
from the bottle, he thrust it into Caleb’s hands.
“I hope you’re watching, Rosie.” After a long swig, Caleb handed the bottle back to Jimmy and, with a white face and a whispered prayer, sprinted off the edge, letting out a high-pitched shriek that was cut short by his splash far below.
Mary gripped Emmy’s arm as they inched closer to the edge, waiting for him to resurface.
With a wild yell, he emerged, throwing both hands in the air. He’d hardly had a chance to swim out of the way before Jimmy
somersaulted after him, disappearing into the night.
“They’re insane,” Mary hissed, clutching her cross.
A few weeks ago, cliff jumping had seemed reckless, but it hadn’t physically hurt to watch them. Now Emmy’s hand was fisted
against her chest, and she could not release it, not even as Jimmy and Caleb splashed away, having a grand old time.
She’d let down her guard. Although she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, she’d begun to care for all of them. And now she could
hardly watch them jump.
“Worried about me, Vallillo?” Jack was standing precariously close to the edge, backlit by the wild glow of the overcast night.
“Not at all,” she lied. “If you want to jump off a cliff, that’s your business.”
With a shrug, he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his broad shoulders. His collarbone. The ripples of lean muscle she
hadn’t even known might exist between a man’s chest and his waistband.
Her skin prickled with a sudden heat, her relic the only spot of coolness.
This was ridiculous. She did not need to watch him undress, and she certainly didn’t need to watch him jump to his death.
“C’mon, Mary.”
They began the trek down the winding path along the cliff. Though jagged trees blocked much of their view of the Hudson, Jack’s
whoop pierced the quiet of the night, and Emmy stiffened, waiting for the thunderous crash.
It was several seconds before Jimmy and Caleb cheered. Unclenching her fists, Emmy continued down the path. “What is it, Mary? I can feel your gaze burning into me.”
“The chain around your neck. It’s Rose’s relic, isn’t it? The one you were talking about at the Bronze Door?”
Yet another consequence of letting her guard down: they’d discussed Rose’s relic in front of Mary. Her stomach in knots, Emmy
managed a shrug. “My relic is perfectly ordinary.”
Mary nearly snorted. “Last night, you transformed your face and dress on a whim. No ordinary relic could make you that strong.
But you needn’t say anything. As long as you know you can talk to me, should you choose. Not just about that, but about anything.”
Her tentative smile only worsened the knots in Emmy’s stomach. She liked Mary. Had Emmy not sworn off friendship, she could almost picture pulling Mary deeper into the trees, out of earshot of the
river. Confessing how much Jack exasperated her. How she found herself staring at his lips while he rambled on. How his brush
with death had rattled her to the bone and she was furious for caring at all. How she’d do anything to free her mind of thoughts
of him.
And she could almost picture how Mary would hound her for details, just like Grace would have done. How they’d bond over such
confessions.
Female friendship was a wonderful elixir, one brewed with secrets and laughter and an intimacy that buried itself deep in
the marrow. And Emmy missed it. Terribly.
But that elixir could morph to poison without warning. The deeper the bond, the graver the sickness. And Emmy would not survive
another dose.
Still, Emmy was racked with guilt for keeping quiet the rest of their hike. As they reached the water’s edge, she asked, “Should
we jump in together?”
Mary blinked up in surprise, her smile pleased. “As long as you make me a new dress.”
Taking Mary’s hand, Emmy tried not to think of Grace—and how this was the sort of thing they would have done together—as they jumped.
The cool river separated them the moment they sank beneath its surface, but when Emmy emerged, Mary was already laughing.
The boys cheered, and Emmy let herself laugh, too, although it felt like tempting fate.
The five of them were a team. Nothing more, nothing less. So long as Emmy remembered that, she could avoid the mistakes she’d
made with Grace.
“Let’s race to the middle,” Jimmy said, tousling Caleb’s hair. “Ems? Mary?”
“I’ll join!” How different Mary looked in the water, with her scarlet hair dark and matted, her smile wide and uninhibited.
They waited for Emmy, and part of her longed to go, but her mood still felt leaden while theirs seemed featherlight. “I’ll
watch.”
Jimmy’s smile dimmed, but Jack gave him a nudge. “Go ahead. Vallillo and I will catch up.”
She gave Jack a look, one he pointedly ignored as he counted down for their race. And then the others were off, splashing
toward the middle, nearly drowning each other to get ahead.
“All right, Vallillo.” Jack followed her as she waded over to the thick branch of a weeping willow jutting over the riverbank.
“You first.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re in a mood. Don’t try to deny it,” he added over her protests. “There’s been a cloud hovering over you since Oliver
was dragged away in handcuffs.”
“I’m just . . . preoccupied. Tomorrow night, we’re supposed to throw a ball and ensure the chancellor snaps in a very public matter.”
They’d planted the seeds all day. While Emmy had been bogged down by last-minute masquerade preparations, Caleb had visited the Strattons, telling them that Nathaniel had seen Keeper Windsor at the Bronze Door while Oliver was arrested.
He’d also offered to go to the Tombs with them, to communicate with Oliver through the prison’s walls, even though Oliver wasn’t permitted visitors.
But Caleb would only pretend to contact Oliver, instead feeding the chancellor a tall tale about Keeper Windsor framing him.
Jack, meanwhile, had told the Windsors the truth about what had transpired: that Oliver used his conjury on a dozen ordinaries,
including police officers—and that he’d drunkenly confessed to killing their daughter. Keeper Windsor had headed straight
for the city to speak with the police.
They were playing both sides of the war they’d started. And Mistfield’s ball needed to be the final battlefield. Tomorrow
night.
“You’re lying.” His gray eyes narrowed. “I know you well enough to know that.”
You almost died, she nearly screamed at him, but of course, she kept it to herself. Danger was par for the course. Emmy giving a damn was
the problem.
“Is this about Oliver?”
“What about him?”
“Are you upset that he’s in jail?”
She could only blink for a moment, absorbing his impossible words. “Are you drunk?”
“For your information, I didn’t have a lick of alcohol between our dress shop break-in and my first gambling escapade with
Oliver. And now that he’s gone, I won’t have a sip again.”
Emmy was about to protest that he’d had champagne in the river a few weeks ago, but—had Jack taken a turn? Each night at dinner,
he’d accepted the wine the steward poured for him, but she couldn’t recall him touching his glass. “Why?”
“Because someone pointed out to me that I make poor choices.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But back to Oliver.”
Shocked as she was that her words had impacted him, she still couldn’t make sense of what he’d said. “Why would I give a damn
about Oliver?”
“Because you’ve been in a sour mood all day.” Jack shrugged, water cascading down his bare shoulders. “And from what I saw,
he was quite the kisser.”
Her jaw nearly unhinged. “Have you gone mad?”
“So you didn’t enjoy it?” His teeth practically pierced his bottom lip. “Help me make sense of what I saw.”
“I owe you no explanation.” She punctuated her words by splashing him, but that wasn’t enough, so she slid off the branch, swimming away.
But he caught her by the arm. “I’m sorry, all right? I just . . .” His words trailed off, his expression tortured. “Put yourself
in my shoes: Would it bother you if I kissed Grace?”
She jerked back as if he’d struck her. “You want to kiss her?”
“Of course not.” His lips curled. “But imagine you watched me do it. That her lips trailed down my neck, and you saw me lean
in for more. That you replayed it in your mind every time you closed your eyes.”
She glared at him, but his terrible words had already infected her. Grace in Jack’s arms. Grace pressing onto her tippy-toes,
Jack’s hands tangled in her blonde curls—
“You don’t like it, either.” Jack leaned closer, his eyes downright wild as they pinned her in place. “Now tell me: Why is