I pressed a hand to my chest but my heart continued to rampage. I had to read the article twice to take it in, but even then I couldn't quite fathom it. I understood the words but not the betrayal. How could Oscar do this? We'd decided against writing such an article. Hadn't we? Or had I decided and assumed he agreed?

"Matt," I began. I shook my head and continued to stare at the newspaper in his hands, my mind numb.

What did it mean? What would happen now?

I read the article a third time. I concentrated hard, but still failed to grasp why Oscar would do this to me, to other magicians, and even to himself and his family. He'd invited suspicion to the door of every craftsman or woman with superior skill.

His article spoke about magic being kept hidden to keep the magicians safe from jealous guild members. He wrote about the way it was inherited, like blue eyes or black hair. He described what magicians do with their spells, using examples of carpenters, boat builders, jewelers, paper manufacturers and countless others. He wrote about mapmakers, goldsmiths and watchmakers but did not mention names. There was no mention of ink magicians or doctors.

My legs wobbled. My vision blurred. My heart raced too fast, too hard. I went to sit down on the step, but found Matt's arm around me, supporting me. He walked me inside, Duke and Willie in his wake.

"India?" Miss Glass's voice had never sounded so clear and strong. "India, what's happened? Are you ill?"

I sat on the sofa in the drawing room. Miss Glass fussed around me, plumping cushions, giving orders. I couldn't see past her. I couldn't see Matt. I needed to see him. Needed him to know I did not sanction that article.

"Matt." My voice rasped. "Matt." Miss Glass tried to get me to lie down but I shooed her away.

She frowned. "Lie there until the doctor comes, India."

"I don't need a doctor."

"You had a turn."

"My corset is too tight."

Her eyes widened. "You are not undressing here in the drawing room!"

"Aunt," Matt's firm voice chided. "India simply needs air."

I needed to read that article again and catalogue everything Oscar had written. And then I would march to his office and demand he print a retraction.

How could he do this?

"Matt," I said again. "Can we speak alone?"

"No," Miss Glass said before he could answer. She moved out of the way, allowing me to see him.

He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, every muscle taut. His gaze raked down my length. Then he turned and walked out.

I refrained from calling after him. I closed my eyes to block out the vision of Willie and Duke, glaring at me as if my name was in the byline, not Oscar's. I sank back into the sofa and groaned.

"How could you?" Willie whined. "Is there something loose in your brain, India?"

"What are you talking about?" Miss Glass asked.

No one answered.

"Duke, give me that newspaper," she said.

He sighed and handed it to her. She skimmed the newspaper, pausing on the article in question. She quickly read it and lowered the paper. "Oscar Barratt is your friend, India."

"Acquaintance," I said into my chest. "How could he do this to me? We agreed not to publish anything."

"But you discussed it," Duke said with a shake of his head.

"You dang fool," Willie snapped. "Do you know what'll happen now?"

"Every member of every guild will turn against those who are better, more skillful than they are," I said. "Yes, Willie, I am well aware of what will happen now. That's why Oscar and I agreed not to do anything about it."

"Seems he didn't agree," Duke said.

Miss Glass scoffed. "Come now. No one will believe this."

"Let's hope not."

I pushed up from the sofa. "I have to see Matt. I have to explain."

"Explain what?" Willie growled. "That you and Oscar conspired to do this behind his back?"

"You're being ridiculous, Willie. Nobody conspired. We discussed the pros and cons, that's all, then decided it would be a bad idea to bring magic into the open."

She snatched the newspaper from Miss Glass. "If you didn't talk to Barratt about it, he wouldn't have written this!" She slapped the paper down on the table.

"Miss Glass is right," I said. "No one will believe it."

"Those who suspect something will! Those who've seen things they can't explain will! Those who've ever lost business to a craftsman better than themselves will!"

"What if this is just the beginning?" Duke said. "What if this leads to more investigations? More vendettas and vigilante attacks? Christ, India, watchmakers are mentioned in here."

That was the worst part. I thought Oscar was my friend. I thought he'd liked me for me. Apparently he only liked me for what I could tell him about magic. Yet another man I got very, very wrong.

I lowered my head into my hands and closed my eyes against the well of tears. I was such a fool. Such an utter, pathetic fool.

"That's why Matt's angry," Duke said, gentler. "He's worried someone will link you to being—"

I looked up to see why he'd stopped mid-sentence. He and Willie stared at Miss Glass, their mouths tightly shut. Miss Glass, however, stared at me, her eyes like saucers.

"You're a…a magician, India?" she whispered.

Oh hell. Not now.

But it was too late. We'd forgotten she didn't know about magic, and now I had to tell her the truth. I couldn't back away from it. "Yes, I am."

"Oh." Her eyes lost focus, her features slackened. "I do like the seaside, don't you? Perhaps Harry will take me when he comes home. Do you know when he'll come home, Veronica?"

I sighed, suddenly wanting to take her to her room and hide there with her. "Duke, fetch Polly."

"Who's Polly?" Miss Glass asked in a thin voice.

"Your maid."

"No." She shook her head. "You are my maid, Veronica. Silly girl."

Polly arrived with Mrs. Bristow in tow. Miss Glass went meekly with them. Her exit left me even more deflated, yet more determined to speak to Matt.

With a fortifying breath, I stood, only to see Chronos enter. "The house is in some sort of commotion," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "What happened?"

Duke tossed him the newspaper. I thought it a good time to leave.

I got no further than the entrance hall. Matt stood there, accepting his hat from Bristow. Peter rushed in from the back of the house. "Mr. Cyclops is returning now with the conveyance, sir."

"I'm coming with you," I told Matt.

He shot me a flinty glare. "You don't know where I'm going."

"Of course I do. Believe me, I have as much to say to Oscar Barratt as you do. Perhaps more."

His frown only deepened.

Bristow opened the front door just as Cyclops stopped the coach by the steps. Matt had a quick word with him and Cyclops's gaze met mine over Matt's head. I didn't wait to be assisted into the cabin.

"I know you don't believe me," I said to Matt when he sat opposite, "but I did not ask Oscar to write that article. We discussed it but came to the conclusion that the risks were too great to reveal magic to the world. At least, I thought we both came to the same conclusion."

"I believe you, India."

"You do? Then why the scowl?"

"Can I not scowl and still believe you?"

"No! Save it for Oscar. I want only your smiles, clear eyes and charms." I sniffed, aware of how silly I sounded and how unfair I was being but unable to stave off the melancholia. "You are angry with me, Matt. I know you are."

"Not angry," he said, his clipped tone implying otherwise.

He turned to stare out one window and I looked through the other. The minutes passed in excruciating silence. Instead of focusing on Matt, I considered what I'd say to Oscar instead. It was much easier to come up with words to berate him, although they also brought tears to my eyes. He'd betrayed me. I'd given him information in confidence and he'd splashed it across his newspaper without a care. He'd tricked me into liking him so he could get what he needed. I'd been such a fool.

The coach slowed as the traffic increased near Fleet Street. When it stopped altogether at the Ludgate intersection, Matt moved to sit beside me. He placed his hand over mine, resting on my thigh. Despite both of us wearing gloves, the gesture was as intimate as any of our kisses had been. My tears welled again and I couldn't look at him.

"Don't," he said simply.

"Don't what?"

"You're blaming yourself. You shouldn't. I know you well enough to know you wouldn't sanction that article. This is all Barratt's fault."

"We did discuss it together."

He removed his hand from mine. "You're defending him."

"If I hadn't gone there with the purpose of discussing such an article, he wouldn't have gone ahead and written it. It's only fair that I take part of the blame."

He didn't answer immediately, forcing me to look up at him. He blinked back at me. "You went there to discuss the idea of an article?"

I cringed. It had been such a foolish notion. "Yes."

"No other reason?"

"I did think it polite to see how his recovery progressed, but that wasn't foremost on my mind at the time." It sounded so heartless now that I said it out loud.

"I see," he said.

"See what?"

He studied his hands, fanned out on each thigh. "I see now that my idea for you two to become…more than acquaintances won't work."

I managed a laugh. "That was never going to work." I did not tell him why and he didn't ask. The topic was forgotten and we arrived a few minutes later at the office of The Weekly Gazette.

We did not wait in the front reception room for a staff member to attend us but barged through into the larger room where three men stood around a long table, studying the papers laid out there. They all looked up. I recognized the elderly editor, Mr. Baggley, who'd been present when Mr. Pitt had shot at Oscar a mere few days ago.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Where's Barratt?" Matt demanded.

Mr. Baggley came around the table to greet us. "Not here."

But Oscar was already filling the doorway to his office. "It's all right," he told his editor. "I've been expecting them." He stood aside and invited us in.

Matt squared up to him. For a moment, I thought he'd thump Oscar, but his gaze shifted to his arm in the sling. Matt would not hit an injured man who couldn't fight back. He huffed out a frustrated grunt.

Oscar shut the office door and invited us to sit. Neither of us did. "How dare you!" I spat at him. "We agreed not to publish an article revealing magic."

He moved to the other side of his desk, perhaps to remain out of Matt's reach. Matt did look very fierce. "I had to do it, India."

"Don't call me India. You have no right to anymore, Mr. Barratt. We are no longer friends."

He gave me a sad smile. "So you won't go to the theater with me now?"

I didn't even bother answering him. I merely sat in one of the chairs and rubbed my forehead. How could he joke at a time like this?

"You fool, Barratt," Matt said in that quiet steely voice of his. "You didn't think it through."

"Of course I did." Oscar sat too and cradled his injured arm. "I know you're both concerned about the repercussions the article will cause, but I strongly believe any of the repercussions we discussed, Miss Steele, will be short-lived."

"A lot of harm can be done in a short time," Matt growled. "Do you honestly think magicians won't be hurt by this exposure?"

Oscar bristled. "I did not name anyone."

"It doesn't matter. Anyone who has ever been the subject of jealousy from his fellow guild members will become the focus of suspicion. It's only a small step from there to outright resentment and hatred. For God's sake, India has already suffered at the hands of the Watchmaker's Guild."

"Not just me," I reminded him. "Or that guild." But Matt didn't seem to hear me. He remained standing, using his full height to best advantage as he leaned his knuckles on the desk and glared at Oscar.

Oscar didn't flinch. "Miss Steele is not a member of the guild. She doesn't have a shop, create timepieces or practice her magic. She's no threat to anyone and will be quite safe."

"You're naive if you believe that."

"What about your own family, Mr. Barratt?" I said. "They are involved in the ink making industry and by your own admission, your brother's company makes the finest ink in the country because he's a magician. Your article will expose him most of all since you wrote it."

He held up his hand. "I've already had a telegram from my brother. Let him fight his own battles with me. He doesn't need you to fight them on his behalf."

I sat back. Was this an elaborate way to anger his brother? Was there a rivalry there that I'd not been privy to? "Have our investigations taught you nothing?" I said. "I know you are aware of the details. A young mapmaker was kidnapped and killed because of his magical ability. Because of jealousy, Mr. Barratt."

"And Mr. Pitt killed Dr. Hale," he shot back, "yet both were magicians. You're coming down very strongly against me and yet I know you liked the idea to a certain degree. You must have or you wouldn't have come here to discuss it. Just because you changed your mind—"

Matt slammed his hand on the desk, making me jump. It earned Oscar's silence and undivided attention. "Do not blame India. She came to her senses. You did not."

The office door opened and Mr. Baggley poked his head through. "You have another visitor, Oscar. He's refusing to leave."

"Show him in."

The door wrenched open wider to reveal the newcomer. "Mr. Gibbons!" I said, rising. I hadn't seen the grandfather of the mapmaker's apprentice since his grandson's death at the hands of his rival. The elderly cartography magician had taught me some valuable lessons about my own magic, but he ultimately believed as Matt did—that the artless should not be made aware of our magic. With valid reason, as it turned out—his grandson had lost his life because the artless became jealous of his prodigious talent.

"You?" Mr. Gibbons pointed a finger first at me then Matt. "You are behind this?"

"No," Matt said. "Barratt wrote that all on his own. We're here for the same reason I think you are. To tell him what an utter fool he is."

The snowy haired Mr. Gibbons looked ancient as he stood in the middle of the office, the extra lines on his face a record of his recent suffering. I took his arm and directed him to the other chair and sat again myself.

"This is madness," he said, his voice frail. "Do you know what you've started by writing that article, Mr. Barratt?"

Oscar's lips stretched into a hard, satisfied smile. "I have started a revolution."

Perhaps Mr. Gibbons was right and Oscar was mad. He certainly looked it in that moment, with his angry smile and the fierce gleam in his eyes.

"People die in revolutions," Matt said.

"Oppressors are overthrown," Oscar countered.

"And the innocent on both sides become victims."

"This is absurd," I said. "You haven't started a revolution, Mr. Barratt, you've planted the seeds of suspicion and jealousy at the least, and retaliation at the worst. We are not oppressed by the guilds, for goodness’ sake!"

He spluttered a laugh. "You said yourself they've persecuted you. I've heard of dozens of cases where magicians had to hide their talent from their guilds because they worried they'd be thrown out. Indeed, being banished from the guild was the least of their worries in some cases. I spoke to you, Mr. Gibbons, after your grandson's death, and you told me how you had to hide your magic for your entire life. You even made deliberate errors in your maps so that the guild wouldn't suspect."

"I told you that in confidence," Mr. Gibbons said through a clenched jaw.

"And your name does not appear in my article. Indeed, no names do. The world is not ready for that, but when it is, I'll be the first one on the list of magicians." Oscar stabbed his finger on his desk. "I'll be at the very top. I'll show them that they can't bully me."

"You'll risk your life," Matt said with a shake of his head.

"It's a risk I'm prepared to take."

"You might change your mind after you see the hatred and fear your article spawns."

"I have no fear for myself, Mr. Glass."

"No fear for your family either, or for India, or Mr. Gibbons." Matt tapped the side of his head. "You are not thinking, Mr. Barratt."

"My head is clearer than it has been in years. Your recent investigations helped me see how important this is to future generations of magicians. I wrote glowingly about all the good magic can do—all the possibilities. The artless will flock to us and praise us, and the guilds wouldn't dare retaliate. If they do, it'll be seen for what it is—jealousy. People will no longer believe the guild members are the best craftsmen because they'll know the best have been locked out for generations. The guilds will lose their power and then the system will fall by the wayside altogether. It's an archaic system anyway. They deserve to be eradicated."

"If you think the guilds will disappear quietly, you're even more naive than I thought," Matt said with a shake of his head. "They'll fight with every weapon they have."

"They have no weapons against public opinion, Mr. Glass. And it's public opinion that matters in the end, nothing else. That's what changes behavior and opinions, and ultimately changes laws."

He really was talking about a revolution. Could this indeed be the beginning of one? Could he be doing the right thing?

Even if he was, I couldn't see the future he described without a lot of people getting caught in the middle. My friends the Masons would be forced to choose sides, and since they were artless, it was easy to know which side they'd choose. Mr. Abercrombie and others had also proved how unscrupulous the guilds could be to save themselves. The cost wasn't worth a revolution. Was it?

"You won't get many supporters," Mr. Gibbons said. "Not from magicians."

Oscar picked up a pile of papers from his desk. There must have been at least ten sheets. "These are messages of support that were slipped under the Gazette's door since the article appeared in this morning's edition. Each one of them thanks me for bringing magic into the open."

"Are they anonymous?" Matt asked.

Oscar put the papers down but did not answer.

"A revolution requires its army to come out of the shadows to fight, Mr. Barratt. You'll need more than anonymous supporters."

"They will come. They'll grow in confidence once I print more articles. I plan on creating a conversation about magic through my pieces, and when that conversation gathers momentum, that's when magicians will declare themselves. They just need to see that a movement exists. When they do, they'll join it. I hope you will join me, Mr. Gibbons. And you, India." His voice gentled, and his gaze softened, drawing me in. He'd used my first name again, a tactic that wasn't lost on me. And yet, part of me hoped he was right, and that he had started a revolution. But dear lord, I prayed it would be a bloodless one.

"Leave India out of this," Matt snapped. "She's much too clever to fall for your propaganda. So is Mr. Gibbons."

"Quite right," Mr. Gibbons said.

"Perhaps Miss Gibbons will be more amenable. She certainly seemed keen to discuss her son's—"

Mr. Gibbons lunged across the desk but Oscar leaned out of the way. "Leave my daughter out of this. She's vulnerable since Daniel died, and she's not a magician anyway."

Oscar held up his hand in surrender. "If you don't mind, I have another article to write for next week's edition. My editor is pleased with the response of the first one and wants me to write a quarter page piece outlining specific cases of the wonderful work magicians have done, and the way their guilds have stifled them. Don't fear, it won't mention names."

"But it will mention events I've shared with you," I said. "How can you betray me like this, Oscar? I thought we were friends."

"I still consider you my friend, India. I always will. But on this, we will have to disagree. I must see it through."

I shook my head and sighed. There would be no convincing him. "Be careful. You've just become a very big target."

He indicated his sling. "I'm used to it."

Mr. Baggley peered around the door again. "There are two gentlemen here to see you, Oscar." He smirked. "One is Mr. Force, a reporter from The City Review."

"The Review!" Oscar gave a gruff laugh. "What does he want with me?"

Mr. Baggley shrugged but Matt said, "Your article impacts businesses and guilds. No doubt he wants to find out what you know about magic, who your sources are, and whether you believe what you wrote or are just trying to stir up trouble."

The City Review was a newspaper that came out every morning Monday to Friday and concentrated wholly on business matters. It was read by bankers, lawyers and others in the financial and government sectors on their commute to work. The editorial staff would find Oscar's article very relevant as it impacted the guilds enormously, and that in turn impacted the country's finances. Businesses large and small were tied together in countless ways, not all of them clear to an outsider. As Matt said, a reporter from the The City Review would want to know if Oscar knew something in particular or was simply being sensationalist to sell newspapers.

"And the other gentleman?" Oscar asked, ignoring Matt's points.

"A Mr. Abercrombie, master of the Watchmaker's Guild."