Chapter 25 #2
that? Why does it torture us both?”
“Because I hate her,” Emmy hissed, that fire in her chest scalding. “And you hate him.”
But that wasn’t all, was it? Jack kissing Grace would cut like a betrayal. It would wreck Emmy, wreck the alliance they’d
formed. Their lives were linked, whether she liked it or not.
Jack’s eyes grew so dark, they were nearly black. “And now you know how I feel.”
They were far too close. Emmy’s heart was ready to beat right out of her body. He was still shirtless, curse him, his chest
rising and falling as if he was fighting that treacherous pull to be nearer. And there was a pull. Loath as Emmy was to admit
it, her body was attuned to Jack’s. He leaned toward her, and her skin crackled with anticipation. His gaze dropped to her
lips, and she was on fire.
“Fuck it,” he murmured. “You’re already mad at me.”
He kissed her.
For a long moment, she could hardly believe his lips were on hers. They were as soft as she’d imagined, and warm in the way
Jack was always warm, and he was kissing her. Although common sense dictated that she swim away, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His hands found her waist,
bursts of heat in the cool water. He was a flame, burning away her prudence, her very bones, her sense of time and space and
everything outside of Jack Fontaine.
But he turned away abruptly, letting her go.
She gaped at him, her fingers brushing her mouth. “Why did you do that?” The words hardly made it past her lips.
He ran his hands over his face, his expression tortured. “Like you said: I make poor choices.” Without looking at her, he
swam away, the muscles in his back straining to put distance between them.
Humiliation burned her eyes. Was this some sort of game to him? Jack had kissed plenty of girls and was prophesied to kiss
plenty more. But that was the first time she’d kissed anyone, except Oliver, although that hardly counted.
She hardly knew what to do with herself. If she returned to her room, he’d think her heartbroken, but if she stayed, he might
see just how much he’d rattled her.
For a little while, she let the cool water quell her burning cheeks. It hadn’t meant anything. Kissing someone back was an instinct, much like returning a smile. And if they managed to pull this off, she could forget all about Jack and his “poor choices.”
The solitude she desperately needed was coming to an end, for Caleb, Jimmy, and Mary were making a beeline toward her, dragging
Jack along with them. Jack, who’d been swimming away from her as fast as possible.
She dipped under the water again and, far beneath the surface, let out a scream.
“. . . thunder in the distance,” Caleb was saying as she resurfaced, giving her a peculiar look far too suspicious for her
liking. “Should we go in?”
“A little rain never hurt anyone.” Somehow, Jack managed to sound perfectly normal. “Unless you’re worried about ruining your
hair.”
“My hair is just fine, thank you very much.” Caleb glanced at Jimmy. “Tell her.”
Emmy ceased her treading. “Tell me what?”
“The addresses in Grace’s jewelry box.” Jimmy’s face was grim. “I think I know what they are.”
Between Jack nearly dying last night and then kissing her, she hadn’t given enough thought to Grace’s jewelry arsenal. Yet more evidence that, with five days left, she needed
to keep her focus on what mattered. “Tell me.”
“While I was at the Windsors’ with Fontaine, I overheard a debate in the kitchen.” Jimmy’s mouth thinned. “Some of their staff
were saying that, even with Clara out of the picture, conjury still isn’t as strong as it should be. That too many people
are sharing the brume.”
It shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did. Even if conjury were as healthy as ever, people would still find a way
to blame immigrants. “What does this have to do with that list?”
“Apparently,” Jack began, the easiness of his tone infuriating when he’d just kissed her, “while we were in Grimsbane, the chancellor put forth a proposal to limit brume access to Society members. But Keeper Windsor vehemently opposed it.”
They’re taking our brume, Mrs. Stratton had screamed at Keeper Windsor when Henrietta had died. How many of us must die before you finally let my husband do something about it?
“How could he even limit the brume? And what does this have to do with . . . oh no.”
Grace had a list of addresses, alongside jewelry bridged with conjury that no one in the Society possessed.
“She might be helping the chancellor,” Caleb said grimly. “Maybe she bridged something with Oliver’s gift so that it binds
the conjury of anyone who touches it. And now she’s going door to door in the city, conjure-binding every poor soul on the
chancellor’s list.”
Bile rose in Emmy’s throat. “And she keeps any useful conjury for her collection.” No wonder Grace had been sneaking out of
Clarity Hall all summer. Her uncle would be furious that she was doing the chancellor’s hateful bidding. But Grace would risk
his ire to gain Chancellor Stratton’s approval.
We all know who holds the real power at Pinnacle Bluffs, Grace had gloated when she’d claimed she and Oliver would soon be married. At least they’d ruined that plan of hers.
“If we tell her uncle the truth at the masquerade ball,” Jimmy said slowly, “maybe we can bring down both the chancellor and Grace. We can end this. Tomorrow.”
Grace and the chancellor both ruined in a matter of hours. Tomorrow. “She could simply deny it,” Emmy pointed out. “As could he. We need proof.”
“We don’t have time for proof,” Jack grumbled. “There’s only five days left.”
Mary cleared her throat. “Didn’t she give us exactly what we need to make her tell the truth?”
The inhibition-lowering bracelet. Emmy could not help it: she looked at Jack, who was finally looking at her. “It could work,” he admitted. “Maybe if I melt the bangle into something that she won’t recognize, like a hairpin or a chain for her mask . . . we could time it just right.”
“Will the conjury still work, if you melt it?” Emmy’s voice, mercifully, was cool and unaffected as she looked at him.
Jack shrugged. “It should, but there’s no guarantee.”
Another risk. Too many risks and Grace would slither away unscathed, once again.
“It’s time, Ems.” Jimmy clapped her on the back. “Time to clear your name, come back from the dead, and move on with your
life. Have you considered what you want to do next?”
What life? she nearly shot back, but that would only make Jimmy worry. He wanted her to go back to being the naive girl who took for
granted a life with books and dreams and a father who was alive and a best friend who loved her. But that girl was gone. And
Emmy could not picture life after the Society. She couldn’t even picture besting the Society. Not yet.
“Have you?” she asked instead.
He shrugged. “As Zhao Rui, I’ve got two potential projects in the city for the fall. We’re talking million-dollar jobs. If
I can find some way to merge Zhao Rui with Jimmy Li, then I can hire the best workers I know for my own construction company.
And, hopefully, be your neighbor again. All of yours,” he added with a grin.
“You assume I’m not already sick of you,” Caleb sighed, though Emmy glimpsed the smile he was trying to hide.
“So we take down Grace and the chancellor tomorrow.” Mulling it over, Jack nodded to himself. “Speeding things up might be
for the best, given that Oliver saw me.”
It was no small problem. As soon as Oliver was permitted visitors, he’d cry to his parents about Jack Fontaine framing him. If they believed him—a big if, given just what a mess Oliver had gotten himself into—the chancellor would raise hell at Mistfield.
No, time was not on their side.
Mary cleared her throat. “I don’t know if my vote counts, but I’m in.”
“You saved my life yesterday, so yours counts extra.” Jack flashed her one of his easy smiles, but it didn’t meet his eyes.
Oliver had come too close to fulfilling Rose’s prophecy.
“The sooner we’re done, the better,” Caleb agreed. “Let’s finish this.”
Jimmy grinned. “It was my idea, so I’m definitely in.”
They all looked to Emmy.
It was a flawed plan, to say the least. The bracelet could run out of its enchantment. Or Grace might recognize her own conjury
and remove it before revealing the truth. They had to time it perfectly, in front of the right people.
Still, there was something enticing about Grace being brought down by her own words. And if it worked, and Emmy’s name was
cleared alongside Jack’s, Grace would know that Emmy lived. She’d know that Emmy was the one who had ruined her life.
She’d know, once and for all, that Emmy had bested her in the end.
“Tomorrow night,” Emmy agreed.