Chapter 32 #2
Oh God. Oh God, oh God. “When are you doing it?” she asked, thinking but not adding, is there time to call it off?
“Tomorrow morning.”
It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. Many of the women were probably on their way—or already in the city.
“Have you told Lydia?” she asked the trio.
They shook their heads.
“I have to,” Beatrix said. “And Peter and Rosemarie.”
“All right. But fair warning,” Joan said, voice soft, expression hard, “we’re going ahead with it regardless.”
She thought of what Joan had said at Lydia’s graduation. Joan, frustrated and wanting more.
She felt the same way.
“Lydia and Rosemarie have done a brilliant job,” Joan said, putting a hand on Beatrix’s arm. “It’s just time for some of us to leave the nest. For all their efforts, the Women’s League for the Prohibition of Magic isn’t really a women’s rights organization.”
“We’d love it if you’d join us tomorrow,” Dot murmured, “but we understand that you probably can’t.”
Beatrix laughed under her breath. No “probably” about it. “Well,” she said, “are you going to tell them with me, or are you getting the heck out of here before all hell breaks loose?”
“I’ll come,” Joan said. To Dot and Marilyn, she added, “Go on, there’s so much still to do.”
Five minutes later, they squeezed into the small lavatory in Lydia’s room, Beatrix and Joan helping Lydia while Peter pushed Rosemarie in her wheelchair. He locked the door and switched off the light.
“One, two, three …” Peter whispered in her ear, then called out “scield” as she cast the spell. They repeated the procedure for the spell detector. The only hint of white was in the air between them, where she’d cast, and Peter flipped the light back on.
Joan explained. Beatrix watched her sister’s face shift from confusion to alarm and then, as Joan said she was going through with it, to anger.
Rosemarie listened with a frown, eyes narrowed.
Peter stood behind Beatrix, and she couldn’t bring herself to turn and see the emotions on his face. She could certainly imagine them.
“Joan, think,” Lydia cried. “This will be the end of everything we’ve worked for—the utter end, because instead of wizards vs. typics, we’ll be back to men vs. women. And we always, always lose that fight!”
“Not this time,” Joan said, unruffled. “We’re about to make an unanswerable argument.”
“I can’t let you do this!”
“Respectfully, it’s not your call.”
“You’re in my organization.”
“I resign. Effective immediately.”
Lydia gripped her arm. “Please. Please, Joan, I beg of you—reconsider. What if you’re wrong?”
Peter cleared his throat. The women turned to look at him and, chest aching, Beatrix followed suit.
“All things considered,” he said, face impassive, “I think it’s a good idea.”
She stared at him in utter shock. Someone—Lydia?—gasped.
“Morse—that’s the vice president’s man—discovered that Beatrix can cast. He’s aware she’s quite powerful, in fact, and that’s a terrible thing for him to know.” Peter swallowed. “When he’s found spellcasting women in the past, he’s killed them.”
“He’s not getting out of these charges,” Lydia said. “He’ll be in jail the rest of his life.”
Peter shook his head. “If you think he won’t be able to get a message to other wizards who can do the job for him, you sorely underestimate the man.”
Beatrix’s heart thudded in her ears. She’d been so relieved at their narrow escape, she hadn’t considered the possibility that more dangers loomed.
“You think the way to safeguard her is to have a hundred thousand more women identify themselves as magic users,” Rosemarie said. “Safety in numbers.”
Peter nodded. “And because the best way to stop someone from killing to keep a secret is to very publicly reveal it.”
Lydia looked at her, a stricken expression on her face. Then she turned back to Peter.
“If we do this,” she said quietly, “it can’t be undone.”
He gave a short, sharp laugh. “I know—believe me, I know. I gave it quite a bit of thought when I was desperately trying to stop Beatrix from seeing this plan through in the first place.” His eyes flicked to hers.
He took her hand. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that we would have avoided at least some of the recent disasters if I’d just let Plan B play out. ”
“There was an equally good chance that Plan B itself would have been the disaster,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have gone about it the way I did. I shouldn’t have kept it from you—and Lydia and Rosemarie.”
“And I shouldn’t have made you tear it apart without offering an alternative.” He drew her closer. “Don’t you think we should get some benefit from it now?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “So we’re really doing this?”
“Of course,” Joan said.
“Yes,” Rosemarie said firmly.
Lydia bit her lip. “Will it be enough to keep you safe?”
“I think so,” Beatrix said. “If I’m there, too, and get it on the record what Morse intended to do.”
“Then—yes,” Lydia whispered.
“I can say you didn’t know about my magic use, and now that you do, you don’t approve of me,” Beatrix added.
“No.” Lydia took her hand. “That would be a complete and utter lie.” Her lips flickered into a smile. “But you will wear a dress, won’t you?”
Later, after Miss Hamilton left to prepare and Miss Yamaguchi returned to help with the night watch, they sat together around Lydia’s bed, Peter’s stomach in knots.
The thought of the next seventeen hours filled him with paralyzing anxiety.
The event tomorrow should immunize Beatrix from attempts on her life, but until then …
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t let you in,” said the muffled voice of the police officer outside Lydia’s room.
As Peter turned in that direction, the officer added, “No, sir, I’m not checking with them. I have my orders: Absolutely no wizards except Omnimancer Blackwell.”
Peter leapt to his feet, leaves in his hand before his brain caught up. What exactly could he do? He looked around for Miss Yamaguchi, discovered as he did so that Beatrix was no longer sitting next to him and turned back to the door just in time to watch her open it.
His “no” died on his lips as he saw who was standing behind the officer. Frederick—Marbella—Draden.
“It’s all right, Officer,” Beatrix said. “He’s a friend.”
The policeman looked at Peter, as if this needed confirmation. “Sir?”
He suppressed a sigh.
“Yes,” he said. “A friend.”
Miss Draden gave a start at that. When the officer stepped out of the way, she entered the room and cast a wary glance in his direction, avoiding his eye. “Omnimancer.”
Peter made himself hold out a hand—for Beatrix’s sake, but also because Miss Draden had given up a comfortable life as her father’s son to save them. After what she’d told the Star, there would be no going back.
“Thank you,” he said.
She shook his hand, opening her mouth as if to say something, then biting her lip. To his relief, Rosemarie interceded: “Come sit here so we invalids don’t have to crane our necks.”
Miss Draden pulled a chair toward Lydia’s bed, expression solemn.
“Wizard Draden,” Peter said, purely for the benefit of any listening devices that might have been installed in the room, “may I introduce Lydia Harper, Rosemarie Dane and Dorothy Yamaguchi.”
As he’d informed the women about Miss Draden the previous night, they murmured “hello” as if it were perfectly normal that the vice president’s son was visiting.
“How are you?” Miss Draden winced. “Forgive me, Miss Harper and Miss Dane, that was an idiotic question.”
Rosemarie chuckled. “We’re pretty banged up, both of us, but healing. How are you?”
Miss Draden looked at her hands. “Well enough.”
They sat in silence for a long half-minute, Peter struggling with himself. Then he gave in. “Wizard Draden,” he said quietly, “do you know of a safe place for Beatrix to spend the night?”
That was how he found himself, shortly afterward, sitting awkwardly in a tiny apartment as Beatrix and Miss Draden caught each other up.
Beatrix explained that she’d tried to let Miss Draden know that she wouldn’t be leaving the test site with her.
Miss Draden explained that she’d attempted to get back for a day and a half and finally, out of desperation, went to the Star.
He tried not to think about Miss Draden drugging him, screaming at him, very nearly killing him. Then Beatrix retreated to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his attempted murderer.
She looked him in the eye for the first time that evening. “I’m going to turn myself in. Over Garrett. How long do you think I should wait?”
He stared at her. “What?”
“If I do it now, I’ll throw a wrench into the investigation of my father, but maybe six months from now …?”
“Miss Draden—”
“Knight. Please,” she said, voice cracking, “call me Ella Knight.”
“Miss Knight,” he amended, “what exactly are you proposing?”
“I’ll say I got into a drunken fight with Garrett and killed him.”
“After he went on the run? Presumably staying the heck away from this part of the country?”
“All right, maybe my confession needs work, but the question remains: When?”
“Have you talked to Beatrix about this?”
“No,” she said, “because I have the feeling she’d tell me not to do it at all.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “You figure I would have no such compunctions.”
“I almost killed you.” Her words were soft. She glanced down at her hands. “Were the situation reversed, I would feel just as you do.”
He sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to stave off a headache. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Pity for her was creeping up on him against his will as he considered her situation—and remembered that she almost certainly saved Beatrix’s life twice over.
“It sounds as if it was your Vow that made you act as you did,” he muttered. “Trust me when I say that I know how very hard it is to resist that compulsion.”
Miss Knight looked up at that, blinking. “Are you … trying to absolve me, Omnimancer?”
“Well …”