Chapter 10
The next morning was unkindly sharp.
I’d run before going to bed, the night air an ice-rattle in my chest. But a few miles in the dark wasn’t enough to burn off everything I’d drunk.
I went into Faraday’s room and sat down on the bed, tugging her hair till her eyes opened.
“Oh, hi.” She yawned, looked at me in nothing but my shirt, and frowned. “We didn’t…do anything, did we?”
“We drank a lot. A bunch of us Hellions climbed the clifftop path with the dogs. You made a pass at Kumar Seth and threw a bottle at the moon.”
“Missed again, didn’t I?”
“The moon survives.” I handed Faraday the glass of water I’d left at her bedside last night, still full.
She sniffed it. “Do we really have to do this meeting thing? Today seems bright and loud.”
“And cold, but this is why you’re here.”
“I came to pay my respects.”
I tapped her nose, like a puppy’s. “You did not respect Peter.”
“No one did. But I have great respect for your gracious and venerable family and its awesome boss-grandma.”
“Then you must show up when we offer to help.” I stood. “Come on, dear. All you have to do is listen.”
“And make decisions. Daddy never taught us that.” She sat up in bed, tangle-haired and lush. “My parents didn’t teach us anything—not even how to take care of bunny rabbits.”
“You ride better than me. And your first serve is magnificent.”
“Instructors,” she said. “Not the same.”
I considered this. I’d learned everything I knew from family, or at Helshire, an institution we’d helped build. From the day my own curae was complete, I’d been tasked with training younger Mortons. I was a product of teachers who shared my last name.
“That’s why you can trust us,” I said.
“Because you’re homeschooled?”
“Because loyalty is in our bones.”
Faraday reached for a shirt and pulled it over her head, still buttoned. Outside, someone was loading luggage into a car—a somber, practical noise after last night’s frenzies. The assembly of Mortons was preparing to disperse.
When Faraday spoke again, her voice was sad.
“But your loyalty is to this place, this family. All you legacy kids are so cool, with your secret club, and I’ve heard maybe twenty stories about what it really is, but none of them make any sense. It’s all whispers, and I hate not being part of it.”
I took her hands in mine. “What if we could fix that?”
The Sky Room was in the west dome, an octagon with a large window in every facet, the walls and ceiling painted with a cyclorama of clouds.
A small lacquered table sat in the center, framed by a Persian rug. Four chairs surrounded it. Aunt Veronica and Garrett already occupied two.
My mors curae had taken place in this very room. Aunt Veronica had presided, with Sebastian’s mothers and my cousin Arabella witnessing. A white sheet instead of the Persian rug, the whir of a straight razor down a leather strop, Rabbit warm in the crook of my left arm.
Before starting, I’d let him sniff the blade.
Now, I nodded at Veronica and Garrett, filled with the same pride as that night twelve years ago. They returned the bow.
Grandmother occupied an armchair in the corner of the room, regal in her white-haired bob and silver-gray suit. Her metal needles were at work on something intricate in burgundy wool, an echo of her oxblood lipstick.
She’d taught me and Sebastian how to knit—how to throw knives too. Knitting in public, she told us, assures people you are not a threat. Throwing knives, less so.
At Grandmother’s warm smile, Faraday relaxed a little. The two of us sat down and placed our coffees on the table. There hadn’t been time for breakfast.
“We hope you slept well,” Aunt Veronica said.
“My room is lovely.” Faraday brushed a frizzy strand of hair from her eyes. “It was a moving service.”
“Jessica has always spoken highly of you. We’re pleased you’ve come to us for help.”
Faraday gave me a smile, thankful and nervous.
“That’s quite a contract your brother signed,” Veronica said.
“For sure.” A puzzled pause. “Wait. How’d you get hold of it?”
“Opposing counsel’s server is unforgivably insecure.”
Faraday looked impressed, and took a sip of coffee.
In fact, the contract had been retrieved from her phone. I’d known Faraday’s passcode since freshman orientation. Last week, I’d copied every relevant document Marlow had forwarded, and much more.
“Can you get the deal thrown out?” she asked.
“In a just world, perhaps,” Aunt Veronica said. “Your business partners persuaded your brother to accept a radical change in terms, to your family’s disadvantage, weeks after the death of his father. Misrepresentation and abuse of trust.”
“And Marlow being useless.”
“Diminished capacity might be an argument. But your family did make him your business manager.”
“Oh, we’re all useless,” Faraday said. “Marlow told me about those other things. But he says a lawsuit’s going to take too long.”
“Years,” Garrett came in. “The other side will delay at every step. And while the fight is underway, they’ll strip your father’s company for parts. By the time you take back what’s yours, it will be worthless and laden with debt.”
Faraday made a hungover whimper. She didn’t need convincing that things were bad; she needed reassurances that we could fix it.
I placed a hand on her shoulder. “But you’ve come to us, dear. Which means you knew all that.”
Garrett nodded, pleased that I’d set things right again.
He was still testing me for New York.
“The legal system is not your answer,” Veronica said.
“I guess not.” Faraday glanced at Grandmother, who gave her another reassuring smile, needles never pausing. “I don’t know that much about all this, except that Jessica’s my friend.”
“She is,” Veronica said. “And you will continue to know very little.”
“Fine with me. So what happens next, if I agree?”
“You go back to Helshire. Your family lawyers lodge their protests as planned.” Aunt Veronica’s words became solemn and slow, as they had when she’d introduced me at my curae.
“After an appropriate interval, your business partners will concede, declaring the contract null and void. They will express remorse. They will pay court costs. They will relinquish their stake in your father’s firm.
Henceforth, when you arrive at a business function, dinner party, or church service where they are present, they will gather their coats and depart. ”
“Shit,” Faraday said.
“Yes,” my aunt replied.
“Sounds great, if it works.”
“It works,” Garrett said.
“So how do you…get paid?”
Aunt Veronica reached for a leather briefcase next to the table. It opened with a click, and she withdrew a piece of paper and a fountain pen.
She slid the paper across the table to Faraday.
Faraday picked it up, examining both sides.
“It’s blank.”
“Yes.” Veronica handed her the pen.
Faraday marveled at its heft for a moment—aqua celluloid with red flecks, a gold nib. She turned to me. “Am I supposed to write a number?”
“You only have to sign it,” I said.
“But it’s blank.”
“Yes,” Veronica said.
“So…just my name?”
Aunt Veronica smiled. “You can make an X if you prefer. It’s the thought that counts.”
Faraday looked at me again. “What exactly am I thinking?”
I leaned closer. “That your family and ours are on the same side. Our interests are linked. Your success is our success. Your enemies too.”
“And our money?”
“There’s money for everyone,” Garrett said. “Money is the easy part.”
“I have to ask my brothers, and Mom.”
“Their blood is your blood,” Veronica said. “You don’t need permission. You only need to sign.”
Faraday stared at the blank piece of paper for a while, and none of us said anything. We Mortons are patient. The only noise was the snap and rasp of metal needles and wool.
Finally, Faraday picked up the pen and wrote FWS.
“Is that enough?”
“Yes,” said Veronica.
“Can I keep the pen?”
“No.”
Just your houses, horses, tuition, and Paris.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get breakfast.”
Faraday didn’t react. She stared at her initials on the piece of paper.
“Darling girl,” Grandmother said from the corner. “You may keep the pen.”
Faraday smiled, and the spell broke into bright pieces. The morning sun was shining on the Persian rug, and a flock of starlings wheeled outside, level with the windows of the dome. Beyond them were my family’s fields and forests in all directions.
As Faraday and I stood up from the table, Aunt Veronica lifted the piece of paper from the table and put it in the briefcase with a click.