A Breath of Frost (42 page)

“None taken,” he replied wryly.

She led them out the door to the ordinary London streets and into the first alley on the right. After that it was a confusing warren of shadows, unfortunate smells, and the glint of eyes in
the gathering dark. Cormac held her hand tightly and it helped her stay calm. Moira finally stopped behind a grocer. “Percy leaves the ladder out for the Madcaps,” she explained, scaling it lightly. “And in return we keep his gargoyles happy.” She disappeared over the top.

“I have to check in with the Order,” Cormac murmured, adjusting Emma’s hood so that her antlers were properly hidden. “If they suspect me, I won’t be able to help you.”

“I know.” She smiled wearily. He leaned in to kiss her, slow and deep and soft. When he pulled away she felt warmer. As he left, she stayed hidden behind the ladder and the pile of turnip baskets, watching him tip his hat to the ladies on the street who giggled at him.

“Oi, are you coming or what?” Moira called, peering over the edge of the roof.

Emma climbed up the ladder, knotting her skirts to one side to make it easier. She understood perfectly why Moira only wore breeches. The roof was dusty and uncomfortable but it showed the stars as they glimmered through the darkening sky. A gargoyle perched on each corner but Moira had already left bowls of whiskey and honey for them and they stayed still and watchful.

With nowhere left to run and nothing to do but follow the patterns of the stars, Emma’s thoughts feasted on her, like insects overtaking a ripe melon. They crawled and stung and bit.

So she’d focus on what she knew, start with the crumbs before eating the whole cake.

“We’re going to find out who the Sisters are using to commit
those murders. We’re going to find out who killed Strawberry,” she promised quietly. “Somehow.”

Emma and Moira lay side by side for a long quiet moment as night dropped its last veil. The stars were bright as beads. “I always wondered what the shapes mean,” Moira said. “Strawberry used to make up stories for them.”

“Do you see that one over there? The one like a big spoon?”

“Aye.”

“They call it the Plough.”

“Strawberry always said it was a butter churn knocked over by pixies.” There was a smile in her voice. “Show me another.”

“That star there is the head of the Hydra.” Emma pointed, dragging her finger carefully down. “And that line there is her body and tail. They say if you cut off the Hydra’s head, two more grow back.” She shifted, pointing again. “And that’s Leo. From the story of Hercules.” Moira just shrugged. “It’s ancient Greek. He had twelve labors, one of which was killing the Nemean lion, after which it was put into the sky.”

“You’re lucky, you know,” Moira said.

Emma turned her head to shoot her an incredulous glance. She smiled briefly. “I meant before all of this. I’m not allowed at the academy. And I always wanted to learn the way you can,” she confessed. “And now I can’t even get near the school without my feet prickling like the devil. They hurt to warn me away from danger.”

Emma frowned thoughtfully. “So Rowanstone is dangerous now?”

“Aye,” Moira said. “More so than Ironstone. Though to be fair, most of London isn’t any better these days.”

“You said you saw a white hem.”

“I did.”

“What kind of hem?”

She blinked. “A hem is a hem.”

“Was it beaded?” Emma pressed for details, a hazy pattern forming in her head, unconnected stars suddenly forming a constellation. “Lace? Net overlay? Or was it homespun? Ragged?”

“Fine,” she answered, thinking back. “It was very fine. And I did find some tiny silver beads afterward.”

“So it’s not just any girl,” Emma concluded breathlessly. “It’s a
debutante
.”

“I knew the fancy were more trouble than they’re worth,” Moira said. “A bleedin’ deb? Are you sure?”

Emma thought back to the Pickford ball, and the girl in the tree in Hyde Park. Daphne had been at each of those events, in her fine white gown with her gaggle of friends. And she was constantly throwing suspicion in Emma’s direction.

“It’s Daphne,” she said, sitting straight up. “It has to be. She was there at each of the murders. You saw the hem of a white dress, and she always wears white.”

“All debutantes wear white,” Moira pointed out.

“Exactly!” Emma exclaimed. “That’s why it’s been
girls
getting drained. Not because girls are more vulnerable like the Order thinks.” Moira made a face at that. “But because that’s who
Daphne
would have access to. It’s not about the
murdered
,
it’s about the
murderer
. She was at all those balls and soirees and in the park.”

“You think she climbed a roof?” Moira asked doubtfully, also sitting up. “No offense, but I’ve seen how you and your cousins climb.”

She worked through the scenario in her mind. “Daphne
could
have been there last night,” she said slowly. “There was a masquerade on the same street. I saw the carriages waiting and Penelope was there. She can confirm it.” Something close to excitement simmered in her belly. “I know I’m right about this.”

Moira lay back down on the shingles. “Now all you have to do is prove it.”

“Daphne? Daphne
Kent? Cormac stared at her. “As in the daughter of the First Legate?”

“Yes,” Emma grumbled. She’d been hoping for a different reaction. Gretchen and Penelope stared at her as well.

“Actually, it makes a certain kind of sense,” Gretchen finally allowed, nodding slowly. “I never did like her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to accuse someone of murder,” Cormac pointed out.

“But I
really
don’t like her.”

They were in a cramped bedroom of an inn that smelled like smoke and boiled potatoes. There was a narrow table, two chairs, and a sooty grate piled with the crumbling coals of a dead fire. The bed was lumpy and when Penelope went to sit on it, something scurried in the sheets. She leaped off again and spent the rest of the time pressed to the wall.

It was the best temporary hiding place they could find as it had a window looking out to a maze of steps and landings that could be reached from the roof. Cormac paid for the room and Gretchen and Penelope had followed half an hour later. Moira and Emma came in through the window. Emma and her cousins had hugged so fiercely and for such a long time, Moira dropped into a chair, sighing impatiently.

“You have to admit it all sounds suspicious,” Emma maintained.

Cormac inclined his head. “It does. But then you were at all those places as well and we know
you
didn’t kill anyone.”

She rubbed her face, frustrated. “Cormac, you’re only seeing the side of her she wants you to see.”

“Quite,” Penelope agreed. “She’s vicious with boiled beets.”

“Even so,” he insisted. “You can’t accuse the daughter of the First Legate without serious, irrefutable proof. Especially you, Emma.”

“I know,” she sighed, sinking into the other chair. “I mean to get it.”

“How?”

“I haven’t exactly worked that out yet.”

“We’ll watch her while we’re at the academy,” Gretchen promised.

“They still let you go to lessons?” Moira asked.

“Yes,” Penelope replied. “They probably think we’ll let something slip, and lead them to Emma.”

“What have they told my … father?” She stumbled over the word. She’d managed to give Gretchen and Penelope a very
hurried account of her mother’s secrets. Penelope said it was romantic. Gretchen said turning into a deer sounded itchy. They’d both made her smile.

“Nothing at all,” Gretchen told her. “But they’re watching your house.”

“And ours as well,” Penelope added. “I caught a Keeper staring at me from the bushes last night.” She smiled smugly. “I set the dogs on him.”

“The rumors are ridiculous.” Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Apparently you’ve also gone on a criminal spree and have stolen several heirloom diamonds.”

“Why in the world would I want diamonds?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But the younger girls have set up some sort of spirit board to commune with your spirit.”

“But I’m not dead!”

“Presumably, that’s why it’s not working very well. You instructed them to crawl through the house at midnight bleating like sheep.”

“
You
instructed them to do that.” Penelope laughed. “She hid behind the door and whispered at them until they were terrified.”

Gretchen folded her arms mutinously. “They made me angry.”

Emma hugged her. “Thank you.”

“I’ll do it again when you’re back at lessons so you can see them too,” she promised. “I’ll pretend to be some ghost or another.”

“What did Mrs. Sparrow say?”

“Nothing, actually,” Penelope replied. “And she didn’t punish Gretchen for the sheep thing either.”

“They’ll start using soothsayers and the like to find you,” Cormac said regretfully. “It won’t be long now. So whatever you mean to do, we’d best do it quickly.” He lifted the miniature iron-wheel pendant hooked to his cravat pin as it glowed in warning. “Very quickly.”

He handed out bundles of banishing powder and other assorted amulets. “Take these,” he said grimly. “I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Emma was stretched out
on the roof again counting stars when the breeze kicked up.

And up.

She clutched at the shingles but the wind was too strong.

The Sisters had found another victim.

Emma knew the force of the wind would toss her right over the side if she didn’t get herself firmly planted on the ladder. She finally hit the ladder with her toe and let herself roll sideways until she could get a proper grip on it. It was rickety and not entirely sturdy. The wind didn’t care. She lowered herself slowly, trying not to think about the fact that there was a girl dying somewhere at this very moment.

She finally made it to the ground but there was no moment to stop. The wind kept pushing at her, relentless and inexorable. Her hair whipped into her face, her skirts tangled around her
legs. She let it push her, hoping she might finally catch Daphne in the act, save some poor witch, and exonerate herself in the process.

“Oi,” someone shouted, confused. “What the bleedin’ hell’s going on over there?”

All it would take was for a single witch to see her and summon a Keeper. She’d be chained, her magic stuffed in a bottle, and left to run as mad as her mother. Rain pelted down for a cloud-thickened sky. She fumbled for the Feth-Fiada saltwater-soaked ribbon Cormac had pressed upon her. It was the same kind her Aunt Bethany had used. It felt like a hundred years ago. She could barely recognize herself in the lonely, uncomfortable girl she’d been then. She dropped the ribbon and when it hit the ground, a cloud of fog seeped into the street and over the pavement.

“Allo,” the same voice said, more uncertainly this time.

The fog would cover her for a little while. Even through the haze she realized where she was going.

Rowanstone Academy.

“You can’t be serious,” Emma muttered, wrapping her hands desperately around the fencepost. It didn’t help. The wind would not be denied. Until she plowed right into another person. They both squeaked, grabbing at each other for balance.

“You!” Emma cried out.

“You!” Daphne shot back.

They eyed each other warily and with a great deal of distaste.

“You have some nerve coming back here,” Daphne finally said. “I’m calling for Mrs. Sparrow.”

Before Emma could reply—or turn on her heel and run away—the wind returned. A sudden gust knocked them together. They fell against the side of a carriage, half-hidden in the thickening fog. The door creaked open and a hand fell limply out. The witch knot was bloody and unfurled.

Emma pushed her storm-knotted hair out of her face impatiently. “Who is that?” she whispered.

Daphne darted forward, going so pale so quickly Emma thought she might faint. Daphne yanked the carriage door open fully. There was just enough light falling through the fog to show Lilybeth sprawled on the cushions. Her blue eyes stared blankly. Daphne shook her shoulder desperately. “Wake up!” She shook again. “Wake up, I said!”