The Timeseer's Gambit (The Faraday Files Book 2) (34 page)

Sunset had come and gone. Olivia had kept him until past dark, reviewing and expanding their notes. They’d acquired a frequency for each and every Maiden’s or Youth’s family. They’d questioned all forty of them on the mirror. Chris’s back was aching and his eyes were dry. Four separate victims certainly involved four times the work. He’d hoped the walk home would wake him up and let him stretch, but the heat seemed as intense as ever. He was sweaty and miserable, in addition to being exhausted.

At least tomorrow, he’d get some rest.

In the midst of their investigations, Maris had interrupted their mirror frequency with her usual demand that Olivia fill out all of her paperwork for an ongoing case, which she hadn’t heard a thing about since it had been assigned.

For once, Olivia hadn’t seemed so frustrated. She’d tapped herself on the temple and grimaced. “This is a tough one,” she’d said. “But I think we’re finally getting somewhere. I think writing it all down for Maris will help me make some sense of it. I’m
sure
we’ve met the person responsible already.”

“Grandmother Eugenia?” Chris had asked.

Olivia had winced. “Absolutely,” she’d agreed, but looked as if she’d tasted something sour.

“I thought she seemed―”

“She did,” Olivia had agreed, her mouth twisting into an ugly line. “But I’ve made something of a resolution to stop setting my sights too strong too early after the val Daren affair.”

“But who else―”

“Theresa Edison and her unfortunate circle of budget ‘binders, for one,” Olivia had mused, then made a face. “But I highly doubt it. That’s nothing. More likely, it’s one of the other Maidens or Youths. That Calum Rowe fellow has the air of someone always about to snap, and his new Maiden certainly is overprotective. And too-pretty Sister Patricia with her handsome Youth? They’re hiding a secret between them, that’s for certain. Or even Sister Elisabeth herself. The mess with her Youth
was
the biggest deviation from pattern, and she’s certainly a bit unhinged.”

Chris’s jaw had clenched. Despite how he avoided the girl, he’d felt… “That’s hardly fair, Olivia. She―”

Olivia had waved him off. “I’m not
saying
anything, Christopher, honestly. They’re all a bit unhinged, I think. Who can blame them? A flock of youngsters who have been tortured and then thrown aside by society. So damned
many
of them, and any could be involved. Even the new ones. The easiest way to get a job in this day and age is to keep killing the person with the one you want until you get it.”

That wasn’t facetious. They’d seen it together already.

“So,” Olivia had concluded, “I am trying quite
determinedly
to not go after Granny until I know more.”

“But Grandmother Eugenia was Timothy Lane’s Crone,” Chris had pointed out. To him, she seemed the only person who could even be
considered
as a suspect. “And not only was he the first killed, he seems to have been the one everyone agreed deserved it most. Not to mention, she just―well, she seems like the only person there with any real
power
. How could the Maidens and Youths get the services of a spiritbinder who would do murder for them? Grandmother Eugenia might actually, you know. Be owed favours, or…”

The line of Olivia’s mouth had turned into an outright frown. “Stop that!” She’d swatted at him. “Yes, yes, I know, I know. I just―” And she’d turned her face up to glower at him stormily. “You made me feel quite bad about it,” she’d finally admitted.

“About what?”

“About the Duchess,” Olivia had said. She’d turned away. “And her daughter, too, I suppose. I met Ethan Grey the first day on that damned case. If I hadn’t been so blinded by what I
thought
had happened, maybe they’d both still be living.”

“Olivia…” Chris had murmured. He’d never heard her say anything more human.

Apparently, she’d agreed, because she had pointed at the front door. “Get the bloody hell out of my office,” she’d snapped, and he had complied. He would have taken it personally, once, but he’d actually smiled as he stepped out into the dark mist that surrounded the office of O. Faraday, Deathsniffer.

Twenty sweltering minutes later, he stopped on the walk outside his empty home, and he stared across the street. Once again, the bench was empty. He could see no peanut shells, no birdseed, and no old newspaper. Had his watchful eyes really been gone another day? Miss Albany’s explanation came back to his mind. Only three days remained until the Livingstone trial. Every political camp in Darrington would be up to their necks ensuring it went their way.

Would it be so impossible for Rosemary to visit?

He stared at the bench for a long moment, and then he sighed and turned away. He reminded himself of the risk, sighing with pleasure as the wind from the soundshield touched his face. If this was all a ploy and he brought Rosemary home and something happened―no, he couldn’t. Absolutely not.

But just the thought of wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight…

He whistled the code for the salamander alarm, and the radiating heat receded. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he shed his topcoat and waistcoat, crossing the floor to stand on his toes and tap the crystal that dangled from the chandelier above. Instantly, the fixture frosted over and cool air began to float down. He sighed in relief.

The heat
had
to break soon. Darrington couldn’t stand it much longer.

He deposited his hat on the rack and noticed a pulse to the glow of the mirror. He frowned, tapping it as he hung his hat and folded his overclothes. The gnome bound to the mirror emitted a series of notes, the frequency of the connection he’d missed. A slow smile spread across his face. He recognized the frequency immediately. He tapped it out on the chimes, and moments later, the face he wanted to see most in the world swirled through the mirror’s mists and into view.

“Chris!” Rosemary gasped, and she leaned over her own chimes and kissed the mirror excitedly.

Chris laughed, wishing he could reach in, gather her up, and swing her around in his arms. “Don’t smudge your nice mirror!” he scolded, and Rosemary jumped back, beaming.

“I don’t care!” she cried. “Oh, Chris, it’s so late! You said that you were going to mirror us today, but I didn’t think that you’d get in touch!”

“Olivia kept me until all hours,” Chris said. He held up a hand to forestall the words already bubbling up out of his sister’s mouth. “Just one moment, Rosie.”

“Oh, but Chris! Chris, wait, you need to hear about how Missus Faraday helped me pick out my cosmetics, and Lillian Witherspoon has been just flaunting her beautiful horned pony in front of me every time I see her lately and―oh! My pony isn’t going to be named Autumn Star anymore, because I don’t think you’ll wait until Autumn to get her for me, so now she’s going to be named Sweet Abigail, after those novels you sent me, and…”

Rosemary’s voice faded behind him as Chris took the stairs two at a time, hurrying past the worldcaught sternly nodding visage of his great-grandfather. He couldn’t hear her at all by the time he slipped into his study and slid behind the desk. The small, portable mirror rested before him, and Chris took a moment to smile and settle back and let her wait before he reached out and tapped the gnome inside awake. The mirror misted as the elemental reached out, entwined itself with the one down in the foyer, which was connected to the one so far away in Summergrove…

His sister’s face snapped into focus all at once. “―and there’s going to be another country ball next week where I can wear my fine new cosmetics and Missus Faraday says she’ll help me put my hair up like a lady and not like such a girl, and Lillian Witherspoon is going to be
so
jealous!” She had been looking off into the distance, counting on her fingers―she appeared to be on number nine―and so she started a bit when she glanced back at her mirror. “Oh! There you are!”

Chris laughed. “You knew I wasn’t listening? Who were you talking to, then?” he asked.

Rosemary no longer pouted. Instead, she stuck her nose into the air and sniffed it imperiously. “You were listening!” she declared.

“Why ‘Sweet’ Abigail?” Chris asked, proving that he had been. “Why not just Abigail?”

“Only the low-class girls here name ponies things with one word,” Rosemary explained. “The stablemaster’s daughter has her own pony. It’s a fat old thing named Daisy. I definitely need a finer pony than Daisy.”

Chris cupped his chin with his hand and he smiled. Rosemary was energy and sweetness and light. He found it so very easy to forget how often she’d driven him around the bend in their life together. So far away, all he remembered was how much he loved her. “I suppose that makes sense,” he allowed.

Rosemary glanced about and she leaned in close. “I have to tell you something,” she said quietly. Her animated manner dropped.

Chris’s stomach curled into knots. “Who saw?”

Rosemary looked away. The colour rushed into her face again, and Chris couldn’t help but note again that Miss Albany was right. His sister did not flush prettily. “It was an accident, I
promise
,” she said. “I’ve been so careful. I really have!”

“I believe you,” Chris said. He did. Miss Albany had made it very clear to him that Rosie
was
trying, and that, from what she could read of her emotions, she actually wanted to remain anonymous. It seemed that in the end, Chris had managed to impress on his sister that there was a risk after all.

Of all the people in Summergrove, only Miss Albany and Missus Faraday knew his sister was a wizard. They intended to keep it that way. The knowledge of a powerful spiritbinder at your fingers could be temptation enough for even the Faradays’ loyal staff to stray.

Or, Chris thought, with a lancing pain right through his heart, for a girl’s own brother to use her as a bargaining chip.

He couldn’t think about that. He just couldn’t. If he did, he’d…

“It’s just, it hasn’t rained in weeks!” Rosemary said, not meeting his eyes. She twirled one of her thick black ringlets around her finger. “I heard two of the harvesters in the barn saying that if it keeps up, there might not be enough life in the trees for a yield in the autumn! And that would be so awful for Missus Faraday, so I thought… I just wanted to help.”

“Who saw?” Chris asked gently. He couldn’t be upset with her, not when he’d done so, so much worse today.

Rosemary gave a tiny shrug. “Some of the children,” she said. “Well,” she amended, “not children. They’re my age. But they’re not my station! The undines that were bound to the water lines were so weak they were barely putting off a spray! I unbound them and sent them back and found much, much better undines to replace them. But the labourers’ children, they all wear canvas trousers, even the girls! They play in the apple trees there, and they heard me sing, and I didn’t notice that they were climbing toward me, I swear! Not until they were right above me and… and they saw me call her.”

“Rosemary,” Chris said, trying not to worry, trying his best. “Have they told anyone?”

“Not yet. It only just happened this afternoon. I haven’t told Missus Faraday or Miss Albany or anyone. You were supposed to mirror today and I thought I should just wait and tell
you
, and I started to panic, and…” Rosemary made a sound like she was choking.

“Rosie?” Chris demanded, leaning forward and gripping both sides of the small mirror in his hands. “Are you all right? What’s happening?” Poison? Miss Albany had been given some sort of paralytic when Avery Combs had arrived to steal his sister from her home, and Chris himself… had that been real? Was this―

But she made that sound again, and Chris realized she wasn’t choking at all. She was… crying. Her shoulders shook as she swallowed a hiccupping sob.

“Rosie…” Chris murmured. He released the mirror and reached for her. She seemed so close and so real that he should be able to wipe her tears, but his fingers only touched cool glass.

“I miss home,” she said, her voice barely above a squeak.

“Rosie,” Chris said again. Gods, what could he say? “Rosie, you can’t… you can’t
come
home.”

“If I hadn’t bound those cloudlings at White Clover, Chris―”

“Then I’d be
dead
,” Chris reminded her. “And so would you! Rosie… Rosie, none of us are to blame for what’s happened. It all just…
happened
.”

Rosemary took in a shaking breath. Her head snapped up and she huffed out air, nostrils flaring. “I hate Olivia Faraday,” she proclaimed. “She’s the one who makes us be apart.”

He would have agreed, months ago. Now… “That isn’t fair. Olivia’s done nothing but help us.” And Chris almost laughed. He really did. This was his life, now. Sitting alone in a massive house on an Eadday evening, and jumping out of his seat to defend Olivia sodding Faraday.

They sat in silence for a moment. Chris didn’t know what to tell her about the local children learning about her gifts. It might amount to nothing. It might ruin everything. He didn’t feel worthy of explaining all of these things Rosemary seemed to already know, not when he’d bartered her services to a murderer today. “You’ll be fourteen in a month,” Chris said eventually.

“In three and a half weeks.” Rosemary was quick to correct him.

“In three and a half weeks,” Chris agreed, a smile touching his lips. She really was the light of his life. “That means that it’s only four years until you’re officially categorized.”

Rosemary looked down and shrugged one shoulder, a gesture that Chris found strangely adult. “Everyone will still be after me,” she said. “What’s so different when I’m categorized?” And her face crumpled a bit. “And Chris―oh, Chris, that’s just so
long
. I miss you. Forget about home! Home is just a place, and I love Summergrove, I do, but I miss
you
, Chris!”

Miss Albany’s offer came back to mind. Chris closed his eyes. No. No, it was just too much of a risk.

He tried something completely different. “Do you remember Georgie?”

Rosemary’s brow furrowed. She’d only been seven years old when the Floating Castle had fallen. But he watched her clever little mind work. “Georgie, and Benji, and Bea,” she said slowly. “Bea was closest to my age. Father would make you and Georgie let Bea and Benji and I play cards with you. You were always so mad! You wanted to play cribbage, but mother said we were too young, so we had to play noddy, instead.”