Always a Witch (13 page)

Cera's eyes widen. The man from 1899 makes a polite noise in his throat that conveys disbelief, while his brother shakes his head. Only Thom remains still, his gaze anchored on mine. Finally, Cera says to Thom, "Have you seen this? Tell the truth!"

He rubs the bridge of his nose again, sighs, and finally says, "Not yet."

"It won't happen," Cera says. "La Spider and her brood may be bloodthirsty, but they're not fools. For better or for worse, we've agreed to exist with each other's perceived ... shortcomings." Her words are crisp and decisive.

"But it does happen," I say frantically. "Even if Thom here can't see it at the moment. They—"

"Then there is no need to act rashly. What you say may never come to pass." She stands abruptly, and all three men come to their feet, Thom last of all, as he struggles with his cane.

"Please," I beg him, searching his face for some spark of understanding. "People are dying. Children. Girls. You have to do something about it. You can't just ... You must see what is going to happen."

He sighs and seems about to answer me, but before he can, Cera steps in front of him. Folding her hands together as if offering a benediction or a blessing, she says, "Thank you, Tamsin, for coming here. You've Traveled a long way, and we do appreciate your efforts. But it's best if you return to your own time now, as you should know that Traveling is forbidden. We'll consider your warning carefully with all due weight."

Translation:
Go away now and we'll agree to forget that you ever came here.

Eighteen

GABRIEL AND I ARE SILENT
as we walk back down the path. The sky has turned to white-gray and the breeze is now edged with the scent of rain.

"That went well," Gabriel says, his voice bleak.

"What did we do wrong? Why won't they believe us? Why are they so
stupid?
"

"They're afraid," Gabriel says slowly. "They're afraid of you. Afraid to act. Afraid to—"

"Why?"

"It happens all the time, Tam."

I look up at him.

"History," he offers. "You see it all the time in history."

I'm not really in the mood for a history lesson, but Gabriel continues.

"People don't want to believe the worst can happen until it's happening and it's—"

"Too late," I finish grimly.

Slowly, we begin walking back in the direction of the city. Trees tower overhead, lining the path, blocking out the sunlight.

After we've walked in silence for at least a mile, and after the blister on my right foot has turned into a knot of pain, I say, "They don't care. You heard them. It's just humans the Knights are killing.
It doesn't concern us,
" I mimic Cera's voice. "How could she? How could any of them act like that when—how could they know this is happening and still let it happen?" I squeeze my eyes shut, but still I can't shut out the memory of Alistair's voice in his office at NYU.
Is that what you think? That we were murdering people and therefore the Greene family swooped in and saved the day? Lies. Your family cared nothing, nothing about who we took for ourselves as long as it wasn't one of their own.

A wagon splatters past us, sending up a sheet of mud. Gabriel pulls me to the side just in time to avoid adding a whole new layer of dirt to my clothes.

"We should've tried to hitch a ride on that one," he remarks. We walk in silence for another few minutes before he says, "I don't know that they don't care. After all, we know that eventually the Greenes do rise up and defeat the Knights."

The stately apartment building has come back into view. As I stare at it, something unfurls in my mind. I stop walking. "They don't care about humans. But they did start caring really fast when the Knights moved on to experimenting on them. Somehow, the Knights must have gotten one of the Greenes. But that's not going to happen now, is it? Or at least not yet."

"Why not?" Gabriel asks.

"Thom's not seeing that they're going to experiment on the Greenes because they don't need to yet. Now that they have Alistair. They'll learn how to take someone's Talent, and then it'll be too late for the Greenes to resist. Plus, they'll know that the Greenes are going to try to make the Domani because Alistair already told them, I'm sure. The clock," I gasp. "We need to steal that clock and bring it to the Greenes before it's too late. Do you—?" I break off my words to study Gabriel's face. "What? What aren't you telling me?"

He opens his mouth, then looks away from me, apparently focused on a bedraggled group of children as they run through the street, chasing one small boy ahead of them. A soft rain begins to fall. "I can't find anyone right now," he says at last, still not looking at me.

"What?" Now it's my turn to grab his chin and pull it toward me so he has to meet my eyes. "Who?"

"I can't find anyone from your family. Your mom, your sister, your grandmother. I can't even find my mother. I can find my dad."

"Well, that's something," I mutter, but we're both too worried to smile. Gabriel's dad, Phil, is what the rest of my family, past and present, would call a mere human. He's Talentless.

"But it's like the rest of your family and even mine doesn't exist."

I sigh, lean against Gabriel's shoulder, watching a hansom carriage roll past, the horses' heads hanging low. "Okay, so." I hold up the fingers of my left hand and begin folding them down with each pronouncement. "We found my family. They don't currently believe us. Now we'll just have to handle this ourselves."

"They'll have to believe us. At some point."

I nod, scan Gabriel's face anxiously. Raindrops glitter on his cheekbones and fuse his dark eyelashes into spikes. There's a slight flush under his skin. How much time does he have before...? But I can't even finish that thought, so I shake my head and instead say, "Great. Okay. We need to fix this right away. We can't go back home; we can't stay here forever." I'm glad my voice is so steady, because a cold trembling is welling up somewhere from deep inside of me. "Why don't I just go back to the Knights' house and steal the clock, then we head back to my family's doorstep and camp out there until someone else dies and they decide to believe us?"

"That sounds like such a good plan," Gabriel says with a snort.

"So, you've got a better one?"

"Yeah," he says, shielding me from another mud-splattering carriage. "One that involves you not going back to the Knights' house."

"I'm listening."

There's a pause as he scans the gray sky. "Yeah, I'm still working out the rest of it. I only got that part down. The part about you never going near the Knights again."

Digging one foot into the cobblestones, I point out, "Actually, you're in way more danger than I am."

"Explain that?"

I roll my eyes. "Besides the obvious? At some point in time, Liam gets you. That's how he was able to Travel to the future."

Gabriel sighs. "We don't know that for sure. It may not happen—"

"Now you sound like my family," I say.

"Okay, okay. Let's steal the clock tonight. Both of us. We'll head back—"

"Tonight they're having some kind of dinner," I say slowly. "I think all the Knights are coming. So I could go back, pretend I had to visit some dying aunt or something if they ask where I was, and then I'll let you in the side gate at eight? They should all be at dinner, so they'll be occupied. We should be okay."

Gabriel sighs. "I don't like it."

"What else is new?"

"I mean it, Tam. Too many things could go wrong."

"Which is why it'd be safer if I just did it by myself and you—"

But he's glaring at me now.

I hold up my hands in an
I surrender
gesture. "Eight o'clock. Don't be late."

"Wish me luck," I murmur at the statue of the woman in the garden as I slip through the back door and try to climb as quietly as possible. But obviously, the statue has no luck to spare, because no sooner do I get to the kitchen door than it's flung open.

"Where have you been?" Rosie hisses. I'm standing two steps lower than her, so I tilt my head back and study her for a moment, without answering. Contrary to her furious words, her face is burning with some kind of inner glee.

"Visiting my dying aunt," I say, shouldering past her.

She blocks me. "I thought you didn't have any family."

I stop and consider this. "Right." My hair has come loose and is dripping down my neck, rivulets of water running past my shirt collar.

She steps closer, and I swear, she sniffs me. Then, her eyebrows curve up. "You wouldn't have been with a man, would you?" And now her voice is sly, teasing almost.

I shrug, attempt a half smile. "Don't tell anyone, Rosie," I whisper.

"I won't. But you owe me," she says, and gives me a little pinch on one arm as if to indicate that she'll collect.

"Rosie will be helping me to serve tonight," Mr. Tynsdell says in the kitchen after we've all consumed our hasty meal. Except for Cook. She's probably had no time to eat all day, since she's still clattering pots and bustling over the stove, leaning in to check whatever's in there, a sour expression on her face.

But the rest of us have been lined up against the table as Mr. Tynsdell paces in front of us like a scarecrow version of a drill sergeant. "The rest of you," he adds with a jerk of his chin to include me, Lily, Dawn, and Tim, "will be clearing the dumbwaiter, handing up the new dishes, assisting Cook." He stops and sniffs at Tim. "Except for you. You will be in the stables." His nostrils dent and flare for a few seconds. "You smell of horses," he adds finally.

Tim scrubs at the back of his neck with one hand. "I do spend most of my time around them," he mutters, and Dawn gives a little giggle, which she chokes off when Mr. Tynsdell glares at her.

"See that you do not offend any of the Knight relatives with your ... presence." He nods toward the door and Tim scurries out, no doubt considering himself lucky. "The rest of you have half an hour before you will be back here on duty. I expect all of you to look your best, even if you're going to be out of sight for the whole evening." At this he glares at Dawn, who reaches up one had to her hair as if to check that it's behaving. And with that, we're dismissed.

I follow Rosie to our room and divide my attention between watching the darkening street below the window and observing Rosie's last-minute preparations. First she unpins her hair and brushes it with quick, firm strokes. Her lips move as she counts to one hundred. Then with nimble fingers she pulls it all back up in an elegant twist, arranging her pins so that they're all invisible.

"Why bother with your hair, then?" I ask now as she fastens her white cap back in place until all of her hair is covered.

"I'd hardly expect you to know about these things," she says with a pointed glance at my own hair. It's dried from its earlier soaking, but I can feel it frizzing out around my ears. Still, I resist looking in the mirror or attempting to improve myself in any way. Not for the extended Knight family.

"So what are they like? The rest of the family?" I say now, staring out the window again.

At first, Rosie doesn't answer me and I look back at her, about to repeat my question. But she's sucking in her cheeks and applying powder to her cheekbones, so I wait. "Fascinating," she says at last. "All of them. So elegant and refined. The way real nobility should be."

I snort and then pretend to cough several times as Rosie glares at me. "Anyway," she says dreamily, "tonight is going to be very special."

Something about her tone puts me on guard, but I glance casually at her, then out the window again. Lights are flickering on in the brownstones opposite this one. "Really? Why?"

"Oh, just something Liam said. He said he might have something new for them to try." Rosie smiles at herself in the mirror, then dips her pinky finger in a little pot and dabs her lips with something crimson. "And he seems so excited."

The image of Liam filling the goblet with Alistair's blood flashes before my eyes.

I draw a breath.
Stick to the plan, Tam, stick to the stupid plan.

Rosie stands and smoothes down the front of her dress. "Well, how do I look?"

"Beautiful," I say. Then I take three steps away from the window until I am standing directly in front of her. "Oh, wait, there's a little speck of something just above your eyebrow. Here, let me," I say before she can turn back to her mirror. I reach forward, my hand hovering over her eyes until both her eyelids flutter down.

"Hurry up, you—"

I tap my fingers on her forehead.

Please, please, please don't desert me.

Her stream of words chokes off. After a second, I maneuver her still-as-stone body to her bed and tip her in.

Nineteen

"
COOK, MR. TYNSDELL,
" I say, bursting into the kitchen. "Rosie fainted. We were upstairs and she just stood up and fainted. I put her in bed, but she's not feeling well at all." I make my eyes as wide as possible and look from one to the other.

"Lord have mercy," Cook gasps. "What are we—?"

Mr. Tynsdell's nostrils do their usual, predictable dance. "Unreliable. I should have known," he says quietly, and then draws himself upright, his eyes darting here and there as if assessing all his options. Finally, he looks at me. "Cook, see if you can rouse her, get her back on her feet. If you can't ... You, girl"—and here he stabs a long finger at me. "You will assist me tonight."

I widen my eyes even further. "Yes, sir," I murmur. Cook throws one last look at the contents of the pot on the stove, from which a soft steam is wafting, then says sharply to Dawn, "Stir this.
Slowly.
If it starts to boil, you take it off the heat. Is that clear?" Reaching up to the top shelf, she pulls down a large, flat bottle, which she tucks into her apron pocket. Then she looks at Mr. Tynsdell, who nods as if releasing a general into battle, before bustling out of the kitchen. "I'll help her," I say, and dart after her before he can call me back.

Cook takes the stairs two at a time, and then trundles down the servants' hallway at an impressive speed. She's muttering all the while as she bursts into our room. "Rosie," she calls once, her voice sharp. Then she hurries over to the bed and bends over Rosie's still figure, slapping her cheeks softly. I'd tucked the covers over her, but now Cook pulls them back and slaps at Rosie's hands and arms before pulling the bottle from her pocket. She unscrews the cap, and the strong smell of alcohol fills the close air of the room. Tipping the bottle sideways, she angles some of the contents into Rosie's mouth. A thin stream of liquid dribbles right back out.

Cook blots it with her apron, then straightens up and looks at me. "What exactly happened here?" she says, still breathing heavily from climbing the stairs.

"I don't know," I say, circling my arms in the air. "One minute she was standing there and then she just fainted and I—"

"She seems dead," Cook says abruptly.

Carriage wheels creak by on the street below. Shouting and faint laughter drift through the thick windowpanes. We stare at each other. "She's not dead, Cook," I say now. "She'll be all right."

Cook's labored breathing slows, softens. Her right hand darts up and makes the sign of the cross. "What did you do to her?"

I consider lying. But I don't. "Nothing permanent. But something that I had to do. I'll fix it later, I promise."

"Who are you?" Cook whispers. "From the moment you came here, I thought there was something different about you, and now..." She gestures back at Rosie.

"I thought you hated her anyway," I say, then immediately realize that's the wrong thing.

Cook blanches, makes the sign of the cross again. "You're just as bad as the rest of them."

"Who?"

"The Knight family. I can see plain as the eyes on my face that this girl didn't faint. She's under something, some kind of spell, and you ... you..." Her words choke off and she turns, her shoulders stiff, moving toward the door.

"What do you care anyway?" I burst out. I indicate Rosie's body. "
She's helping them.
She brings children to Liam so he can experiment on them, and her uncle, or whoever he is, gets rid of their bodies. She
knew
Liam was killing the maids before me. She's awful."

But Cook knots her hands together around the bottle and says, without meeting my eyes, "It's not right what you did. She's ... powerless against you, whoever you are. You're acting like them now."

"Cook," I say, and my voice rings out in the room. She stops but doesn't turn back to me. "I'm nothing like the Knight family. You have no way of knowing this, but really, I'm not. I'm ... more like you."

Ordinary. Human.

And then again, I'm not.

"I promise Rosie will be okay, and..." I grope wildly for a second. "I'll help you, too. That statue in the backyard. If you tell me what happened maybe I can fix it—"

Cook turns, stares at me. "How do you know about that?"

I dig the tip of my boot into the floor. "I saw you one night. Talking to her. Her name is Mary, right? Who is she?"

Cook shudders, and then almost as an afterthought, she raises the bottle and takes a small swallow herself. "My sister," she says at last. "At one time I threatened to quit, to go to the police. This was after Tessa died—"

"Who's Tessa?" I whisper.

"The girl here before Livie."

"Liam got her too?"

Cook takes another swig, dabs away a drop from her lower lip with two fingers. "Bled her almost dry. She was a husk of a thing. Not even Lady Jessica could save her. Not after the third time. Not that she tried," Cook snorts. "So I said I was going to the police. The next day, Lady Knight brings me into her study. Says she has something special for me. Then she takes me out to the back garden. There's my sister standing there. And then they froze her. Right in front of me." She makes the sign of the cross again.

"La Spider did that?"

Cook stares at me. "Who?"

"Sorry, Lady Knight froze her. I didn't think she could—"

"No." Cook shakes her head. "It was her brother. Calvin Knight." She practically spits the name out. "He did it because she told him to. He just reached up and put his hand right over her heart"—she claps her own hand to her chest—"and then she was a great big stone. And they laughed and laughed while I cried. They told me that they could have done this to me, but that Lady Knight was too fond of my lemon soufflés.
Too fond of my lemon soufflés.
" She takes another swig from the bottle.

I draw in a breath to fight down the nausea surging inside me. And the anger. At the Knights for doing this, at my own family, who still wouldn't care if I told them this new evidence because after all, Cook and her sister are just Talentless humans. "I'm going to fix this," I mutter. "If it's the last thing I do in this stupid century, I'll fix this."

Cook blinks at me and I take the bottle from her outstretched fingers, take a gulp, then nearly choke. "What
is
this?" I gasp. The bridge of my nose feels like it's on fire.

"Not for beginners," she says, taking the bottle back from me. "You really can help me?"

I nod. "It might take some time, but yes."

She gives me a bleak look. "Time is all I have left. She was my only family." She studies my face for a moment. "If you're not like them, then what are you?"

I shrug. I have no way of answering that.

Mr. Tynsdell hisses a last-minute bout of instructions at me as he trims candlewicks and inspects the place settings for the seventeenth time. "Remember to serve on the left and clear from the right," he says while polishing a bone-handled carving knife with a handkerchief. "After the oysters and champagne are served, then..."

But I can barely listen to him. Instead, for probably the tenth time, I reach into my skirt pocket to check the time on the cameo watch that Jessica gave me. Seven o'clock. I have an hour and half before I have to let Gabriel in the side gate. I figure I can at least observe what the Knights are up to and maybe take this information along with the clock back to my family. Then they'll have to believe me.

Smoothing his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, Mr. Tynsdell gives me one last glance, and then says in his heavy voice, "I will make the announcement now." He sweeps from the room, his long narrow back like an exclamation point, and not for the first time do I wonder what keeps him here.

Candlesticks and white linen, crystal goblets and golden plates, all begin to blur before my eyes and for one second I wonder if I can claim that I caught Rosie's fainting disease. Then the door opens, and in this setting, once again, I am struck at how different a family dinner this is.

My family would be piling through the door, pushing and shoving, shouting good-naturedly, with Uncle Morris probably popping in and out of view, stepping on people's toes and apologizing before disappearing again. I could envision Aunt Beatrice darting around looking for an unattended wineglass, while Uncle Chester would be "accidentally" breaking something, much to my mother's annoyance, just so he could "fix" it. My father would be discussing his latest experiment with pea shoot grafting with anyone unlucky enough to be listening. James would be entwined around Rowena, his anchor, and last of all, my grandmother would be surveying everyone and everything so calmly, maybe closing one eye in her trademark wink.

Tomorrow night is Samhain, and I try not to think about how my family would be celebrating it. Then I give up and think about it anyway. Everyone would be gathered around the altar in the backyard and later there would be dancing around the bonfire.
There will be other festivals,
I remind myself fiercely, swallowing hard against the pain in my throat.
Gabriel will be able to find them again, he will.

Then I stop thinking about Samhain and my family as La Spider enters the room, leading the procession of Knights. She is escorted by a tall man with a thin mustache that looks sharp enough to cut. His dark eyes flick over me as if I'm part of the wall, and I wonder if this is Calvin knight. Three more couples file in after them, the women all dressed in silk and taffeta and the men in dark suits with long waistcoats. Then a teenage boy and girl pass me, already looking bored, escorting an elderly woman between them. And finally, Jessica arrives, led in by Liam. Her round face is even paler than usual and her arm looks like it's been bolted to her brother's. Liam doesn't even acknowledge me. I assume he must have been with his mother when Mr. Tynsdell informed them that Rosie would not be assisting him that evening.

But they wouldn't have mentioned something so unimportant to Jessica, because her eyes pass over me, stop, and flicker back. An expression crosses her face briefly before her features resume their normal neutral mask, and so I'm left to puzzle over Jessica's look. A brief flash of what? Hope? But I don't have much time to think about it anyway, as Mr. Tynsdell's now signaling me.

When everyone is seated, he begins to pour the champagne. I cross to the side table with two plates at a time and begin placing the raw oysters, still quivering slightly in their half shells, in front of each person. I serve Lady knight first and then all the women, as he's instructed me, before the men. when everyone is served, I retreat to the sideboard as expected, fold my hands behind my back, and wait.

La Spider holds her glass aloft. "Welcome, dearest family," she says. "It's a pleasure to be gathered here with you all tonight."

Candlelight shimmers and sprays across the crystal as twelve answering glasses are raised. Mr. Tynsdell twitches toward the champagne bottle as if already planning refills, and then the
clink
of forks and knives and conversation fill the room. The dumbwaiter rumbles and dishes appear, and my job is to unload them as fast and as silently as possible so Mr. Tynsdell can carry them off to the diners.

As the third course, what looks like tiny chickens in some sort of creamy-looking sauce, is cleared away, my heart begins to slow down to a normal rate. So far, the talk has been ... ordinary. Ordinary nineteenth-century gossip. Politics, the state of the theater, and how dull the latest offering was at the Promenade. Delmonicos's new location and what it means for the rest of the city. The French singer, Marie Caitlin Amore, who was wearing almost nothing onstage and who apparently has a very rich politician in her pocket.

Tiny silver dishes of lemon ice garnished with curls of lemon peel appear in the dumbwaiter. I'm lifting them two at a time to the sideboard when La Spider raises her glass again and the room stills. All turn expectantly toward her. Except for Jessica, who stares down at her lap. For most of the evening she's pushed her knife and fork across the plate and eaten only air. Now La Spider says, "We've called you here tonight to witness something very special. As you know, my son, Liam, has long been striving to discover ways to deepen our Talents."

An excited murmur breaks across the table like a wave, and La Spider pauses gracefully, inclines her head toward Liam. My hands tremble as I stack the last of the filigreed salvers into the dumbwaiter. The plates sink out of view as either Dawn or Lily pulls the cord two flights below. Mr. Tynsdell appears at my side like a wisp of smoke to hand me a tray of silverware.

"Have you, Liam? Have you done it?" asks the man who escorted La Spider into the room. He leans across the table, his fingers toying with a silver serving spoon, bending and unbending the metal as if it's rubber.

La Spider flashes this man a look, as if annoyed by the interruption, but then she pauses and nods at her son.

"Well," Liam says, leaning back in his chair, "perhaps it's time for a little demonstration. Mother? what do you say?"

"Perhaps you're right," La Spider murmurs. Obviously, this has all been rehearsed between them.

Liam snaps his fingers, then looks at Mr. Tynsdell, who nods expressionlessly and leaves the room. The room swells with anticipation and I allow myself to scan each Knight family member's face. Eagerness, greed, anticipation dominate everyone's expression. Except for Jessica's. She presses her lips together in a bloodless white line.

All too soon, Mr. Tynsdell returns, followed by a small boy. I scan his face as he passes me, but it's not the same boy that I freed from here just last night. It's another child. Another, more unfortunate child. This one has at least the sense to be afraid, although who knows what they told him. His eyes are round and he stares at all of the faces that are turned so eagerly toward him. He is dressed in threadbare brown trousers and a shirt that's clearly too big for him. As the boy pushes his hair out of his eyes, his soiled gray sleeve falls back, revealing a bulky white bandage wrapped around one wrist.

"Come here, child," Liam says in a kind avuncular tone.