Chapter Three
THREE
Milk-soft moonlight lit the way as Vesper descended the terrace’s winding stairs.
She’d anticipated the drop in temperature, but was unprepared for the sudden hush as the noise from the reception upstairs faded. She reached the last step, then hesitated.
“Mr. Kite?”
No answer.
Vesper stared into the dark, waiting for her eyes to adjust and her surroundings to take shape.
Mrs. Oelrich had mentioned a botanical garden and maze on the museum’s grounds in her opening remarks.
This must have been it. A raked gravel path spidered in different directions, cutting through several neat flower beds, and a nearby pond reflected the night sky’s twinkling stars like diamonds scattered across black glass.
Under different circumstances, she might have paused to marvel at its beauty.
Up ahead, a wall of towering green hedges loomed.
That had to be the start of the maze, and she was prepared to bet her next paycheck that that was where Maximilian Kite had gone.
If she wanted her interview, she’d have to go in after him.
Another gust of wind whipped about her, and she shivered.
It was getting later, colder. Really, she should’ve gone back to the terrace to try to find Mr. Gladwell again.
But a pettier thing kept Vesper from turning around.
It was that look, the mocking blue glint she’d seen in Maximilian Kite’s eyes on the terrace.
He’d regarded her with the arrogance of a chess player who’d always known he’d take her queen.
That hit a nerve. Vesper squared her shoulders with new resolve.
Mr. Kite had bested her once tonight. She determined then that there would not be a second time.
Her breath fogged as she entered the maze and thick foliage rose around her.
She’d only taken a few cautious steps before she found herself at a wall of green, and her first decision.
Left or right? Vesper crossed her arms, deliberating.
If she’d had a long piece of string, or a plate of food from the exhibition, she might have created a trail to track her progress, but all she had was her satchel and her notebook.
She squinted at the ground, trying to see if the sorcerer had left any footprints in the dirt.
No luck. Her hand ran along the hedges’ prickly leaves, and she remembered a fail-safe theory she’d once read about called the one-hand rule.
No matter how large or intricate a maze, a person could work their way through it by keeping one hand on the maze’s wall and following it.
The trick was to never take your hand off the wall. Vesper grinned.
This game was still on.
She glanced in both directions, placed her left palm against one of the leafy walls, then headed right.
Near the ground, several tiny floating lights illuminated the path.
At first, she thought of fireflies, but when she peered closer, she saw that the lights were purple.
Even in here, sorcery was at play. Vesper stared at them, reminded of Francis Gladwell and his machine.
She thought of the dragon made of fire, of the triumph she’d seen on the inventor’s face as he’d presented it to an awestruck audience.
He’d called his invention revolutionary, and he’d been right.
With access to Thaumaric incantations, the possibilities felt endless.
The men who worked deep in the mines outside the city could use incantations to access fresh air; the laundresses who spent their days scrubbing and cleaning clothes could use incantations to do the job faster.
Perhaps a family about to lose everything in a house fire could use an incantation and change their fate.
Vesper swallowed. Was this the dawn of a new era, a whole new future?
A sudden rustling of leaves sounded up ahead. Vesper stilled, waiting. Someone was just around the corner, and she thought she knew who.
I’ve got you now, Mr. Kite.
She edged toward the bend in the path, careful to make sure her left hand didn’t leave the maze’s wall, then rounded the corner.
“Well, Mr. Kite, it was an amusing little game, but—”
The young woman she’d come upon was fair-skinned and buxom, with strawberry-blond hair piled atop her head and a smattering of freckles dusted across her pert nose.
She was wearing a beautiful emerald-green dress Vesper suspected had cost a great deal.
She might have been in her early twenties, but the shock on her face made her look younger.
They stared at each other a beat before the young woman spoke.
“Please.” Desperation colored her lilting voice. “Please don’t say anything.”
“Say anything?” Vesper repeated. “About what?”
“About me being here.” The young woman glanced over her shoulder. “If my parents or anyone else found out…”
Vesper was suddenly overcome with pity. She might not have fit the mold of a proper young woman, but she certainly knew the rules proper young women were expected to follow.
This girl was clearly from a respectable family.
The only thing that came from someone like her being found alone and unsupervised in a maze at night was scandal.
“What’s your name?” Vesper asked gently.
The young woman hesitated. “Bess.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Bess,” said Vesper kindly. “You have my word.”
Bess’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
“You should go before someone else sees you though.” Vesper thumbed over her shoulder. “The exit’s that way.”
Bess gave her an appreciative nod before slipping past. As quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone again.
In her absence, Vesper wondered what exactly a high society young woman might be doing alone in a maze at this hour.
She thought then of the girl’s swollen lips, her slightly mussed hair.
A thought crossed Vesper’s mind, then heat crept up her neck.
Maybe Bess hadn’t been in here alone at all.
Maybe she’d been meeting someone here for a romantic moonlit tryst. Vesper had no experience with romance, outside of what she’d learned from a few highly informative novels.
She was certainly curious about it, but the truth was that she’d never felt an attraction to anyone compelling enough to make her want to do something about that curiosity.
Again, the museum guard’s earlier comment echoed in her mind.
Odd girl, that one.
Maybe her lack of romantic experience was just another thing that made her odd. She folded that thought up quickly and tucked it away.
By her estimate, it was half past eight. “Damn it, Kite,” she whispered. “Where are you?”
“Not looking for me, are you?”
Vesper swiveled. Moments ago, she’d been sure she was alone. Now Maximilian Kite was sitting on a stone bench a few feet away, his long legs crossed at the ankle. She frowned.
“Exactly what is this, Mr. Kite?”
Maximilian’s dark brows rose. “Pardon?”
Vesper crossed her arms. “First you lie to me about who you are. Then you lead me into a maze and take me on some wild-goose chase. Now you sneak up on me?”
The sorcerer cocked his head. “Did I lie about who I was, or did you make an assumption?” He examined his fingernails.
“As I recall, I never said I wasn’t the man you were looking for, and you never asked my name.
I even seem to remember offering to let you interview me.
” He looked up and his eyes flashed cobalt. “An offer you declined.”
“Yes, but—”
“Furthermore, I never told you to follow me into this maze,” he continued. “You did that all on your own, love.”
Vesper blinked. Love? She felt a rising urge to smack that pretentious look off the sorcerer’s face, then reminded herself that smacking people was generally considered poor etiquette in polite society.
She also reminded herself that smacking someone as wealthy and well-connected as Maximilian Kite would probably lead to an unfortunate encounter with local authorities.
No, she was a professional. She represented The Basalton Globe, a respectable newspaper.
She’d conducted difficult interviews before. She could do it again now.
“Mr. Kite,” she said calmly. “My editor sent me to this exhibition to interview its host. That appears to be you. I’m a busy woman, and I’m sure you’re a busy man. So, will you answer my questions or not?”
Her sudden change in demeanor seemed to disarm the sorcerer. He looked her over, as though doing a recalculation. Then he nodded.
“Very well, Miss Evans.” He leaned back on the bench. “Fire away.”
Vesper withdrew her notebook and pen from her satchel. In the moonlight, it was almost too dim to see the paper, but she’d make do. “Right,” she began. “First I’d like to confirm the spelling of your given name. Is Maximilian spelled with two Ls or…?”
“One L. But I prefer Max.”
Vesper made a small note. “And how old are you, Mr. Kite?”
The sorcerer grinned. “Old enough for a good time.”
“Your age, Mr. Kite.”
“I turned twenty on the eighth of September,” he said breezily.
I was right. He’s a year older than me. Vesper made another note before looking up. “What led you to host tonight’s exhibition?”
“Technically, my family’s foundation hosted it.” Maximilian sounded bored now. He was holding some of the maze’s tiny purple lights loosely in his hand, letting them dance between his fingers.
“And do you represent your family’s philanthropic interests often?”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “My parents are dead.”
Vesper cringed. Maximilian had used the same too-nonchalant tone that she used when she was asked about her dead parents. It was an odd thing to have in common with him, not that they’d ever bond over it.
“One last thing.” Vesper turned a page in her notebook. “I’d love to get a comment from you about the Gladwell Machine.”
Maximilian looked up. “What kind of comment?”