Chapter 35 #2
It was a new form of torment, bearing her soul to an indifferent audience. If she hadn’t promised Caleb she’d try, she would have quit already.
But she kept going. She spoke of Jack’s escape, how he’d freed her, too, leaving out Jimmy’s and Caleb’s help. She described
Jack’s own injustices. How Grace had enchanted blankets with Stratton conjury so that Rose and Elizabeth could not move while
Mistfield burned. How Emmy had transformed their appearances so they could pursue their own form of justice because they did
not trust that the Society, under the Strattons, would be impartial.
And perhaps it was because she’d left out Rose’s relic—she refused to trust the Society with the knowledge of that sort of
power—or perhaps it was because they’d never been interested in the truth, but before she was finished, she could see her
fate in their hateful eyes. The only person not casting a venomous stare her way was Mrs. Windsor, who watched Emmy from beside
the stage, her face full of pity, as if Emmy belonged in a sanitorium.
No one believed her. With every sentence, they grew more impatient for blood to be shed.
Jack rested his head against the column. For so long, he’d thought they’d believe him. That they’d welcome him back. But they
did not deserve his loyalty.
At least now she could tell Caleb that she’d tried.
“I can see you do not care for the truth.” Emmy was unable to keep the bite from her voice. “But perhaps you care for your
reputations.”
Still, they stared at her impatiently. In their eyes, she was a nobody. A nuisance.
She heaved a breath. This was it. “Last night, I snuck into the headquarters of the Society of the Charmed and I stole your
trophies. The ones from the summer pageants.”
Surprise erupted through the ballroom—that she’d admitted to such a crime, that she’d dare touch their beloved displays of wealth and conjury.
“Arrest her!” someone yelled, and Emmy reached into the folds of her dress, producing a trophy engraved Windsor, 1879. With a saccharine smile, she held it high.
“At my signal,” Emmy continued, satisfaction surging through her as panic began to spread, “my friend outside will deliver
them to Manhattan’s most respected newspapers, along with detailed descriptions of what sort of conjury each of your families
has used to obtain your wealth. By morning, the entire city will know not only of magic’s existence, but who wields it.”
Emmy could not help it; she stole a glance at Grace, who was seething, her perfect mask cracking.
Guards moved in Emmy’s periphery, climbing the stage, and Emmy planted her feet. “Don’t you dare touch me. If I don’t walk
out of here in three minutes with both of my friends, everyone in New York will know that you’re all lying, cheating witches.”
When Emmy had described the crimes committed against her and Jack, no one had batted an eye. But now that their secret might
be released? A goddamn uproar.
People yelled over one another. Plenty moved toward the exits, while others clutched their diamonds, gaping at the stage.
Keeper Windsor stalked toward her, his eyes aflame. “Do you realize what you’ve done? The lives you’re putting at stake?”
“The lives that matter to me are already at stake.”
“This affects you, too! They’ll carve us all up like science experiments.”
“Not all of us.” Emmy smiled innocently at him. “Only the most elite Society members compete for trophies. The staff, the nonmembers—we’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Wait!” Grace yelled as people streamed from the ballroom. “She’s bluffing!”
“I suppose they’ll freeze your assets, too,” Emmy mused. “People won’t take kindly to doing business with bona fide witches. Two minutes now.”
Keeper Windsor glared at her, his chest rising and falling in quick, angry breaths.
“Don’t believe her, Uncle. She’s lying!”
But Keeper Windsor’s gaze remained fixed on Emmy. “Unbind them,” he ordered the guards. “Do it quickly.”
“Uncle, no!”
Two guards began to untie Jimmy. Another pair still flocked Emmy, but she tucked the trophy underneath her arm and strode
ahead of them, stopping in front of Mrs. Windsor. Taking the frightened woman’s gloved hands before she could yank them away,
Emmy pressed Grace’s invisibility ring into her palm. “If you don’t believe me, see for yourself what your niece does when
you’re not around. You owe that to Elizabeth.”
It was the only way Grace would ever be caught. But Mrs. Windsor staggered back. “Don’t you dare speak of my daughter.”
How maddening, that they all believed Grace’s lies so thoroughly, even after Emmy had told them the truth. But Emmy was going
to have to learn not to care.
As Emmy turned around, familiar arms lifted her into a bear hug. “You’re out of your damn mind,” Jimmy breathed against her
hair, “you know that?”
She allowed herself to smile for a moment as she squeezed him—but only for a moment. They still needed to get the hell out
of this ballroom.
“Nicely done, Vallillo.” Jack stood before them, rubbing at his wrists. Their eyes met, and he glanced about the ballroom.
Of course he couldn’t look at her, after what she’d said.
But now was not the time to find the right words.
“Out of the way, out of the way,” Jimmy called as he cleared a path. Even the guards did not react as Jack plucked a pistol from a man’s holster. “I’ll be taking this.”
Grace stood by the door, her hand pressed nervously against her father’s relic, but the more powerful one remained hidden.
And Emmy ought to have let it go—she’d promised Caleb that she’d let it go—but she locked eyes with Grace. “Keeper Windsor,
there’s one more condition.”
“You’re lucky we have not shot you on the spot,” Keeper Windsor snapped. “Now leave.”
But Emmy did not look away from Grace. “Your niece stole my relic.”
A vase burst off a table, heading straight toward them. With a grunt, Jimmy pulled Jack and Emmy to the ground, and it sailed
over their heads, shattering against the ballroom wall.
The guards glanced at each other, but none of them had broken Windsor’s order not to attack. No, that was Grace’s doing. She
could steal anyone’s conjury in the ballroom, perhaps even farther. They would never be safe as long as she had it.
As long as she had it, she’d won.
“Are you strong enough to conjure?” Emmy murmured to Jack. Reaching into her hidden pocket, she removed the long, thin stick,
the other item they’d purchased in good old Five Points.
A firework.
“Just leave,” Keeper Windsor ordered.
“Not without my relic.” Emmy stared at Grace as Jack’s flame flickered in his palm, igniting the wick. Grace was practically
seething.
“Leave us!” Keeper Windsor bellowed.
Not taking her eyes off Grace, Emmy handed the trophy to Keeper Windsor and shrugged. “I don’t bluff.”
The firework exploded across the ballroom, its high-pitched shriek drowning out the Society’s screams.