I groaned. Matt placed a hand on my shoulder and shot Oscar an accusatory glare.

Oscar looked smug. "Good. Let's have it out with Abercrombie. Will you stay, India?"

"No," Matt said before I could decide whether I wanted to or not.

"He'll see us leaving," I said to Matt. "We might as well hear what he says and reassure him I had nothing to do with the article."

His jaw hardened. He didn't look at all pleased with my suggestion but he didn't urge me to go.

Mr. Gibbons, however, wished us well. "I may not be involved in the Mapmaker's Guild anymore," he said to Oscar, "but neither I nor my daughter want a part in this. Do not mention my family's name. Is that understood?"

Oscar nodded. "Of course. Thank you for stopping by."

Mr. Gibbons pushed past Mr. Abercrombie and left. The second gentleman, the reporter named Mr. Force, entered behind Abercrombie but remained near the door and allowed Abercrombie to say his piece first.

Abercrombie only had eyes for me. They were hard and filled with disgust. "I knew you would be behind this, Miss Steele."

"You're mistaken," I said. "I came here to tell Mr. Barratt that I do not approve of his article."

Abercrombie's oiled mustache twitched in glistening outrage. "I am not a fool, Miss Steele. Your words were all through that article."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"India had nothing to do with this," Matt snarled. "We're here for the same reason you are—to warn Barratt against writing anything further." He glanced past Abercrombie to the other journalist and nodded a greeting. I suspected Matt wanted to say more but didn't trust the stranger.

"You are mistaken, Mr. Glass," Mr Abercrombie said. The pinched lips beneath the mustache contorted into an odd smile. "I don't want to warn Mr. Barratt against writing further articles about magic. I want to encourage him to write more.

"More?" I prompted, knowing I was taking the bait he dangled in front of me.

"He's a laughing stock, Miss Steele. This newspaper is already seen as a second rate sensationalist rag, and Barratt's article plunges new depths."

"I say!" Mr. Baggley protested.

"So write more, Mr. Barratt," Mr. Abercrombie said. "Write more of the same and bring your paper into even further disrepute. I dare you."

Was his plan to simply hope the public would dismiss Oscar's claims as ridiculous? It didn't seem like a good plan to me. Londoners believed all sorts of outrageous claims newspapers made purely because they thought if someone published it, it must be true. A recent report of a mermaid sighting in the Thames being a case in point. Many Londoners still swore they could hear mermaids singing on a clear evening down by the river.

"My paper is neither second rate nor sensationalist," Mr. Baggley said, crossing his arms. "Oscar can back up every claim he made in that article. Can't you, Oscar?"

"Indeed," Oscar said.

Mr. Force from The City Review stepped into the room. He was slender and not much taller than me, with an air of confidence and smugness about him that reminded me of Oscar, although they looked nothing alike. Where Oscar had brown hair and eyes, Mr. Force was all fair hair and freckles. "Prove it," he said. "Publish the names of your sources."

"I will not," Oscar shot back.

"Then your story about magic will be seen as a hoax."

"By who? You?"

"By me and every other journalist and member of the public who suspects you made it up to sell more papers."

Mr. Baggley smirked. "We are selling more papers. We've already run out of copies, a Gazette record for this time of day. There'll be more copies of this edition available tomorrow, and in next week's edition, I'll print more copies with Oscar's latest article, and I'll wager we'll sell out of those too. Oscar has hit on something. Londoners saw the truth in his words. They believe it because they've long suspected the guilds were hiding something to make themselves more powerful. So many have suspected, and some even guessed the truth." He picked up a copy of the latest edition from the corner of the desk and waved it in front of Mr. Force's face. "I should have let Oscar print this when he first mentioned the idea to me, but I asked him to wait until he had proof. Well, he has the proof now."

"Then print that proof!" Mr. Abercrombie shouted. "Print the names of your sources!"

Oscar shook his head, unfazed by the man spitting over his desk. "I won't be publishing anything of an identifying nature. My sources asked for anonymity and I'll give it to them. If any are happy for me to print their names then I will gladly do so."

He did not look to me but it didn't matter. Abercrombie knew I was the main source. He just wanted the world to know it and that was why he'd come here—to shame Oscar into revealing it.

"Coward," Abercrombie sneered.

"Any journalist would do the same," Oscar said with a speaking glance at Mr. Force.

Mr. Force merely grunted. "Your cockiness will be your downfall, Barratt."

"And choosing the wrong side will be yours, Mr. Force, and that of your newspaper."

Mr. Force snorted. "The City Review is bigger than this silly story, Barratt."

"Then why are you here? Because you and your investors," he nodded at Abercrombie, "are worried. Aren't you? Otherwise, why bother with my silly little story in the silly little weekly?" I had never seen Oscar so supercilious, so righteous. He believed utterly in his greater cause, his revolution as he called it. There would be no swaying him against it.

Mr. Abercrombie must have realized too. "You sniveling little prick! You're going to cause enormous upset and harm to families and you don't even care."

It was, perhaps, the only time he'd said something that I agreed with.

"Come, Abercrombie," Mr. Force said. "You and I have work to do." Unlike Abercrombie, he didn't look at all worried. He and Oscar had their cocky attitudes in common.

"They're going to write a counter-argument," Mr. Baggley said, watching them leave.

"Let them," Oscar said. "It'll give weight to my story. Those who buy their paper and not ours will now be curious and seek out a copy of the Gazette, and give my article a thorough read."

Mr. Baggley rubbed his hands together. "I'm glad I didn't listen to the naysayers who thought you were a crackpot." He chuckled. "You two," he said to Matt and me, "it's time you left. My best reporter has work to do."

While I wanted to try to talk sense into Oscar again, I knew it was a futile exercise. Matt must have realized too because he took me by the elbow and steered me out.

"India," Oscar called.

"Don't listen to him," Matt said, not stopping.

"I don't hold grudges," Oscar said from the doorway of his office. "When you see that writing the article was the right thing to do, I'd like to talk. My door will always be open to you."

Matt halted in the outer office and rounded on him. "Don't come near India again. Is that understood?"

Oscar saluted him, earning another fierce scowl from Matt. His forehead seemed permanently fixed in that position today.

I withdrew my elbow from Matt's hand and exited the Gazette's building ahead of him. He ordered Cyclops to return home then climbed into the coach behind me. He removed his hat and dragged his hand through his hair. His skin sported the waxy pallor of illness and his eyes the signs of an aching head. It was past time to use his watch.

Should I tell him to use it now or withhold my opinion? Despite his illness weakening him, he still seemed ready to snap my head off. Perhaps I wasn't being fair and it was Oscar's head he'd rather snap off, but I decided to hold my tongue until the situation became desperate.

He ended up retrieving his watch from his pocket without me prompting. He closed the curtains, opened the watchcase, and welcomed the magic into his body.

A minute later, he shut the case. His skin returned to normal and the muscles in his face no longer looked as if they were trying to keep the pain at bay.

"You could not have stopped Oscar from writing that article," he said as he returned the watch to his pocket. "He'd made his mind up before he even met you."

"But I gave him the proof he needed."

He sighed. "India, no. Don't blame yourself."

I didn't respond. I wasn't the only one blaming me. He may be saying all the right things, things I needed to hear, but I knew he blamed me, at least a little.

I turned to the window and, after a moment, opened the curtain again. I no longer wanted to discuss Oscar and the article, or the implications. What happened next was out of our control. We couldn't stop Oscar from writing a second article any more than we could stop Mr. Force from The City Review writing a counter-article. It only remained to be seen which side the public took, or if they even cared at all.

But the main reason I didn't want to talk about it anymore was because I didn't want Matt to realize I agreed with Oscar's idea of a revolution. That didn't mean I wasn't worried. I was. Even more so now after seeing how angry Abercrombie had become when Oscar couldn't be forced into publicly revealing his sources. But the notion of magic being out in the open appealed to me. To walk into a watchmaker's shop and not feel like I carried a contagious disease would be wonderful, liberating. I had grave doubts that we would ever reach that point, yet I had to hope.

Matt would not agree, and I didn't have the heart to argue with him anymore.

* * *

I informed Chronos, Willie, Duke and Cyclops of our encounters at the Gazette office while Matt rested in his rooms. They did not take it well.

"I'll march down there and point my Colt at that low down pig swill until he agrees to stop writing more articles." Willie spoke her piece while pacing the library floor. Fortunately her gun wasn't on her person or she might have marched out of the house.

I kept a close eye on her while the others debated the merits, or not, of Oscar's article. Only Chronos thought it could turn out well, if people kept their heads.

"That's the problem," Duke said. "People don't keep their heads. They can't see the other side, only their own."

"You have more faith in people than I do," Cyclops said to Chronos. "Where common sense gets thrown out and emotions rule, trouble follows."

"Aye," Duke and Willie agreed.

"Abercrombie's worried or he wouldn't have gone to see Barratt in person," Chronos added with a twisted smile. "I wish I'd seen his face when Barratt told him he was writing another article."

"Revenge ain't a good reason to support Barratt," Duke said. "Specially when good people will suffer alongside the bad."

"The Masons will lose business," Cyclops said with a shake of his head. "They're your friends."

"Not mine, Elliot's," Chronos said.

"And mine," I added, once again unsure which side I fell on. I couldn't bear it if the Masons suffered. There was no doubt they'd lose business to magicians if the public believed Oscar. On the other hand, there were no horology magicians in London except Chronos and myself, and neither of us had a shop.

Duke nudged Cyclops with his elbow and winked. "You'll take care of Miss Mason, if it came to that."

"Shut it," Cyclops mumbled.

Duke and Willie both chuckled.

We heard Bristow greet someone out in the entrance hall beyond the closed door but could not hear the responding voice.

"A word of warning," I said quietly to Chronos while the others were distracted by the possibility of a visitor. "Matt is against Barratt's plan. If you want to remain here you'd better not say anything to support it."

"Thanks for the warning," he said. "But you're the one with more to lose by speaking up, so you're wise to stay silent. You could have all this for the rest of your life if you play your cards right, but my presence here is only fleeting. I'll move on again soon."

"Stop it," I hissed. "I work for Matt, that is all. Stop implying otherwise."

He shook his head. "Clearly your parents instilled too much sanctimonious nonsense into you. If I'd brought you up—"

The door opened and Bristow slipped through a gap barely wide enough to fit his frame. "Miss Steele, Mr. Hardacre is here to see you. He says he knows you're here and refuses to leave until you speak with him." His gaze slipped to Chronos. "What shall I tell him?"

"How does he know she's here?" Cyclops asked.

Bristow didn't have an answer for that.

"I'll get rid of him," Willie said, already halfway across the room.

I rose. "I'll go. If he wants to see me, he won't be satisfied until he does."

"Question is, why does your ex-fiancé want to see you?"

"Hardacre?" Chronos asked, understanding dawning. "That's the fellow who stole my shop."

His shop? Well, honestly. "Bristow, please show Mr. Hardacre to the drawing room. Close the door and wait with him until I arrive."

He slipped out again. I could not see Eddie through the gap which meant Eddie could not see in here. Good. If he saw Chronos, it would bring more trouble to our door than we already had.

I turned to Chronos, hands clamped firmly on my hips. "It was not your shop. You gave up the right to it when you left and falsified your own death. It should have been my shop, inherited from my father. Now, stay in here and don't come out until I return. Is that clear?"

He sniffed. "I am your elder. You'll speak to me with some respect."

"I'll give you respect when you prove you've earned it. Until then, I'll treat you like the man who left his wife and family behind to save his own skin."

"They were fine without me. Better off, in fact."

"Stay out of sight," I snapped.

"I am many things, but a fool is not one of them. Of course I'll wait here."

I checked the coast was clear before I emerged from the library. I crossed the hall to the drawing room, glancing up the staircase as I past it. There was no sign of Matt. Hopefully I could send Eddie on his way before he awoke. Matt had enough on his plate without the irritating presence of Eddie to contend with.

My former fiancé did not look at me when I entered, but over my head. I glanced behind me, expecting to see Matt but the hall was empty.

"Thank you, Bristow, that will be all."

The butler took my hint and bowed out. I shut the door.

"No tea?" Eddie asked. "No cake from the lady of the house?"

"You're not staying long enough for tea and cake," I said.

He smiled that oh-so-charming smile that I used to think was dashing but now knew to be false. It made him even more handsome if one liked fine, delicate features topped with wavy blond hair. Coupled with his blue eyes, I could well remember why I once thought myself in love with him. But often he'd revealed his true self to me, his ugly heart blinded me to his good looks. Now I could barely even look at him without my stomach churning.

I wished it hadn't taken me until my father's funeral to see that ugliness. In my defense, Eddie had been very persuasive. His smiles seemed genuine, his concern for me real. I'd desperately wanted to believe he would keep his promise to take care of me. Now, I knew I could take care of myself, but then, I lacked the confidence as well as the means. How things changed in a mere few months.

He sat on an armchair by the fireplace and indicated I should sit on the sofa. I remained standing.

"Where's your master?" he asked.

"Assuming you're referring to my employer, Mr. Glass is not here."

"Is he at home? The butler wouldn't say."

"Why do you ask?"

"Why do you not answer?"

"Eddie, I don't have time for games, and I doubt you can afford to keep the shop closed for any length of time. Get to the point."

His fingers tightened around the chair arm, but that was the only sign that my words had any effect. "How do you know I haven't employed an assistant?"

"I doubt you can afford to. Profits weren't very large when my father operated the shop and he was a better watchmaker than you and a better salesman too."

"What rot! Who is spreading lies about my business? Is it that stupid Mason girl?" He snorted. "Ridiculous creature, batting her eyelashes at every man in her path. She's a hopeless flirt, do you know that?"

"You're mistaking friendliness for flirtation."

"You would defend her."

"Yes, because she's my friend and has been good to me when I needed her. But you wouldn't recognize kindness in others since you don't possess the capacity for it yourself. State your business then leave. I have better things to do with my time than talk to you."

"Like getting into bed with newspaper reporters?" He crossed his legs and clasped his hands in front of him.

My fingers twitched, wanting to wipe that smug smile off his face. "The article in the Gazette had nothing to do with me."

"Don't play me for a fool, India."

"Why not? You are one. You are also Abercrombie's puppet. Did he tell you to come here?"

His smile tightened. "I'm far too clever to be anyone's puppet."

"You? Clever? Hardly." It was a horrid thing to say, but it felt good to say it to him. The sour look on his face was satisfying to see. It would seem his intelligence was a soft spot for him.

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "You're an unnatural woman, India. It's no wonder you're not married yet. Who would want a vicious wasp for a wife?"

I slapped him across the cheek.

His head jerked to the side and a red patch in the shape of my palm bloomed on his face. "You bitch!" He wiped his face and checked his hand as if he expected to see blood. "I should thrash you for that."

I stumbled backward but he did not come after me. Even so, I moved closer to the clock on the mantel. If he tried to harm me, I'd throw it at him and hope that it would swerve to hit him as the clock at the gambling den had once changed course to hit my assailant.

"But you won't because you know Matt and his friends would make you pay." Somehow I kept my voice steady when my heart thundered ferociously. Showing weakness to Eddie now would be humiliating. "You ought to be careful or this wasp will sting you." I stepped forward again and smiled. He sat back slowly. "The thing is, Eddie, you fail to grasp the notion that most women would rather not marry at all if men like you are the only option."

"It seems you also fail to grasp something, India." He tugged on his cuffs and straightened his tie. "A woman like you cannot afford to be without a man forever. Oh, I know you have a little money set aside thanks to the reward, but it won't keep you forever. You have no family and no means to support yourself. We both know you can't rely on Mr. Glass marrying you. A man like that can have any woman he desires—why would he have plain, plump India Steele? A little dalliance, yes, but marriage?" He snorted. "So I'd be careful of that sting, India, or you might find yourself cast out sooner than you think."

"Don't worry about me, Eddie," I said sweetly. "I only reserve my sting for the deserving. Speaking of which, it's time you tell me why you're here."

"Ah, yes, time. It always comes back to that with you. Well, let's see. Why am I here?" He glanced at the door. "I met with Abercrombie this morning. It was quite a long meeting, in fact, as he's taken to sharing the burdens of leadership with me since I joined the guild."

"You met with Abercrombie this morning?" Did he mean before or after Abercrombie came to the office of the Gazette?

"About an hour and a half ago," he said, checking the clock.

An hour and a half ago was the exact time Abercrombie came to Oscar's office. He left with the intention of providing Mr. Force with information for his article. Eddie could not have had a long meeting with the guild master then. Was he lying just so he could make himself look important? Pathetic.

He glanced at the door again. He must be afraid Matt would enter and interrupt us. So that was why he wanted to know where Matt was and whether he had time to talk to me alone.

"I'll ask again," I said. "What do you want, Eddie?"

He sat on the edge of the chair, not deep into it or with his legs crossed as he did before. It was as if he were preparing for another attack from me—preparing to flee. "Mr. Abercrombie has learned of your investigation into Dr. Millroy's death."

"How did he learn of it?" I asked, even though I was quite sure Mrs. Millroy was the culprit.

He merely smiled. "I'm sure you don't expect me to answer that."

I shrugged. "Our investigation is not a secret. The police have asked us to look into Dr. Millroy's murder."

"Why?"

"To find the killer, of course. We're proving to be quite good at detecting." I smiled.

He frowned. "But why now? It was twenty-seven years ago."

"You would have to ask Commissioner Munro for his reasons. I am not privy to them."

"Nonsense," he spat.

My smile widened. It was extremely satisfying to see him riled. "Why do you care about our investigation, Eddie?"

"We're not fools, India. Mr. Abercrombie knows your grandfather and Dr. Millroy experimented with combining their magic and subsequently killed a man when their experiment failed."

"That doesn't explain your reason for being interested. My grandfather is dead and cannot be brought to justice over it. It is not a Watchmaker's Guild matter, anymore."

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and heaved in a breath. "Let me explain it to you. It's likely the murder of Dr. Millroy is linked to the murder of the man they experimented on. That makes it a matter for both guilds."

"Both men are dead! Anyway what makes you think the two events are linked?"

"Even you must be able to see that they are."

I wouldn't be baited into telling him what evidence we did and did not have. I wanted nothing more than to keep Abercrombie in the dark. Besides, I still couldn't fathom why it mattered so much to him.

"It's not murder if the victim knew the risks and agreed to be their subject," I said.

"How do you know he did agreed? Were you there? Has your grandfather's ghost told you?"

"Don't try to be funny, Eddie. You're not very good at jokes. I could ask you the same question—how do you know Mr. Wilson wasn't willing? Even Mrs. Millroy claims the man wanted to be involved and she briefly met him."

He blinked. "Mr. Wilson?"

"The vagrant's name."

"Is it? What's his first name?"

"I don't know. Are you finished now?"

He sat deeper into the chair, tipping his head back. His hands gripped both chair arms and his foot jiggled just enough to be annoying.

"Eddie?"

He suddenly stood and buttoned up his jacket. "You have been warned, India."

"Have I? Remind me, what are you warning me about specifically? To stop speaking with Oscar Barratt or stop our investigation?"

"Both."

"And if I don't?"

He strode to the door and jerked it open. Bristow stood there with Duke and Cyclops hovering nearby. Chronos was nowhere to be seen, thankfully.

"That's up to Mr. Abercrombie to decide," Eddie said.

I grunted a laugh. "You are a pathetic sycophant and coward. I'm sure Mr. Abercrombie is glad to have you shovel dirt for him."

Bristow's eyes widened ever so slightly. Cyclops and Duke moved forward as if to grab Eddie if he lunged at me, but Eddie was too busy spluttering in indignation.

"I'm an important member of the guild now." He tapped his chest and lowered his face so that it was near mine. His breath smelled of the fish he must have eaten at lunch. "You couldn't even get membership, despite your family connections."

"Thanks to the guild's prejudice against magicians and women. Don't pretend otherwise, Eddie, when you know that's the truth. Now go away. I don't like being threatened in my own house."

His hollow laugh bounced off the paneled walls and tiled floor. I bit my tongue, wishing I hadn't used those words and given him ammunition. "Your house? My, my, you are getting ahead of yourself. Be careful, India, it's a big fall from these heights. And believe me, you will fall when he finds himself a lady worthy of marrying."

"You are far too predictable, Eddie," I said with more poise than I felt. My body shook and my heart hammered, but I would not let him see how his words affected me. "Bristow, please see that Mr. Hardacre leaves. I'm sure Cyclops and Duke will help, if necessary."

Matt's sudden appearance at the top of the stairs caught Eddie's attention. He straightened, tugged on his hat brim and let himself out before Bristow could even step forward.

"India?" Matt called to me as he trotted down the stairs. "Was that Hardacre?"

I blew out a ragged breath and exchanged a glance with Cyclops. "Yes," I said.

"What the bloody hell did he want?"

The door to the library cracked open. "Is he gone?" Chronos asked.

"He's gone," I said. "He wanted us to stop investigating Dr. Millroy's murder and also to stop speaking to Oscar Barratt."

"Millroy's murder?" Matt said, placing a hand at my back. Somehow he'd guessed I needed his steadying presence. "Why?"

"Apparently Abercrombie asked him to come here. I think they're scared we'll blacken the guild's name if we delve too deeply into Dr. Millroy's experiment with Chronos."

"Which implies the guild is guilty of something."

"Like the murder of Dr. Millroy, perhaps."

Matt smiled. "Good work, India. Well managed." He rubbed my back and his smile faded. He touched my chin. "You look pale. Did he threaten you?"

"In a way, but not specifically."

"Come and sit down. Bristow, send for tea and see if Cook has something sweet for her. She likes confections."

I had to laugh at that. "Blame my maternal grandparents."

Matt's smile returned but it wasn't convincing.

He led me back into the drawing room, along with the others, and questioned me a little more. I repeated what Eddie had said, omitting the insults we'd both slung, and the slap. By the time I finished, Bristow returned with a tray of tea things and bonbons. Matt made sure I put two on my plate.

"How could you have agreed to marry that fellow?" Chronos asked, studying a bonbon from all angles. "He sounds like a sniveling little weed."

I sighed. "Believe me, I wonder the same thing."

"He wasn't always like that," Matt told him.

"You met him when he and India were engaged?"

"No."

"Then how can you know?"

"Because India is no fool. He played a part when he met her, like an actor at the theater. A part he knew a woman like India would appreciate. He hid his true nature until later."

Chronos bit into his bonbon. "If he managed to do that for months," he said, his mouth full, "then he's cleverer than you all give him credit for."

* * *

I spent what remained of the afternoon with Miss Glass. While she didn't insist on my company, she did hint several times that she'd like to go for a walk and browse the shops on Piccadilly.

The sky was overcast but the clouds not too thick, and we risked leaving the house without umbrellas. We took the long way to Piccadilly, via Hyde Park. Miss Glass maintained a slow walking pace, which I matched, and a rapid pace of conversation. She moved from topic to topic at speed. Just when I was about to interject with an opinion, she moved on to the next. When it came to discussing her nieces, however, I was happy to remain silent.

"Hope will not be a suitable bride for Matthew," she declared. "My sister-in-law is backing the wrong horse if she thinks Patience's wedding will force them together. Beatrice thinks having Matthew staying at Rycroft House will make it easier to throw Hope into his path, but she is forgetting about me. I will not let that little nit wit get her claws into him. They'll try to trick him, you know. Hope and Beatrice. They'll put him in the bedroom nearest hers and somehow manipulate it so that she is caught in flagrante with him. With so many guests, word will quickly spread and Matthew will be forced to propose." She clicked her tongue. "But I'll stop it before it happens. Indeed, Matthew may already have a sweetheart by then. It's very likely, given how handsome and charming he is."

Not to mention his wealth and station. I sighed as I watched two children of about eight years old riding their ponies with a groom seated on a large gray between them. While the ponies looked docile, I eyed them closely in case something startled them. Neither child looked to be in complete control and the groom couldn't manage three horses if it came to it. "Perhaps Matt should stay elsewhere," I said, my mind only half on the conversation now as we drew closer to the riders.

"Nonsense! Rycroft is his house."

"Not yet."

"It will be. He has more of a right to be there than those girls."

I didn't agree with her logic but she'd made her mind up about it; there'd be no swaying her. The children rode by without any cause for alarm and I relaxed a little, until I heard one of them tell the other that magic exists. Her papa said so.

Two brisk walkers overtook us, their heads tilted toward the other so that their hat brims touched. "What a sensation it caused in my household when my son read out the Gazette's article over breakfast," the taller lady said to the other. "He thinks magic's real, but I told him he was being a fool." She laughed. "Can you imagine?"

"Don't be so quick to dismiss it, Frederica," the other woman said. "My George believes magic is not only possible but it explains why our set of crystal Baccarat sherry glasses didn't break when the delivery man dropped the box. Not a single one shattered. He declared it a miracle at the time, but now…"

"One of them did break last summer," the tall woman said. "I recall it quite clearly."

"True," the companion said thoughtfully.

Oscar had not written the fact that magic didn't last forever into his article. I wondered if the omission was deliberate.

Beside me, Miss Glass took my arm in hers. "What a lovely day," she said dreamily. No doubt she too had heard the exchange, but in her addled wisdom decided to pretend she hadn't.

It became harder and harder to ignore, however. Nearly half the people we passed were discussing the article with their friends. Many hadn't read it themselves, since they couldn't get a copy, but that didn't stop them speculating, sometimes wildly. I even overheard one woman say that she assumed the reporter who wrote the article had first hand knowledge of magic and was perhaps a magician himself.

Miss Glass's fingers tightened around my arm. "Do you require anything, India?" she asked.

Her question was quite unexpected and I took a moment to gather her meaning. "I have everything I need," I assured her.

"But I must buy you something."

We exited the park near Hyde Park Corner and waited for a break in traffic. "Please, Miss Glass, there's no need to buy me gifts."

"There is no need, but you've been working so hard lately and had an unfortunate run of luck that I'd like to buy you something you want."

"Is this why you insisted on coming to Piccadilly? I did wonder."

"What about a new hat?"

"I already have three perfectly good ones."

"One can never have enough hats or gloves. Shoes, too, and shawls."

"You bought me a shawl quite recently." I steered her across the road between carriages and carts. She did not look where she was going but at her feet to avoid stepping in muddy puddles.

A newspaper boy stood on the corner, announcing more copies of The Weekly Gazette becoming available. Five passersby stopped to buy a copy and another three backtracked to him.

"It's all nonsense!" shouted the burly shoemaker standing in the doorway to his shop. "The Gazette is making you look like fools." Some shoppers nodded in agreement but the pronouncement did not stop the newspaper boy from being swamped.

"People will believe anything if its in the papers," said a woman passing us.

"The Weekly Gazette's always been sensationalist," said her male companion. "This was orchestrated by its editor to sell more papers, mark my words."

"Gullible fools," muttered a butcher who'd come out of his shop to see what caused the flurry of activity.

"I wonder what a butcher magician's magic achieves." Miss Glass's statement, said quietly enough that only I could hear, had me suppressing a smile.

"I don't think there is any magic in butchery."

She pulled a face. "Probably not."

She picked up her pace and directed me to a haberdasher. "A new reticule! We'll purchase some beads and whatever else you like to make a new one. We'll design the pattern together." She paused before entering the shop. "Do you think it rude if we ask if he's a haberdashery magician?" she whispered.

"Yes!" I cried. "Do not mention the word magic inside the shop. Is that understood, Miss Glass?"

She sighed. "Spoilsport." It would seem she had come to accept the existence of magic in our world faster than I expected. Thank goodness. There was now one less reason for her to have a turn.

* * *

"Talk of it is everywhere," I told Matt when we arrived home with our purchases. Along with beads and ribbon, Miss Glass had bought a hat and hatpin for herself and ordered a new walking dress with three quarter sleeves that I overheard her telling the dressmaker was for me.

"I noticed it too," he said.

"You've been out?" We sat in the library alone. Rather, I sat and he stood by the sideboard, his hands clasped behind him, contemplating the decanter. I hoped talking would distract him from the lure of brandy.

"I also went shopping." He withdrew a paper bag from his inside jacket pocket. "I went out with Chronos, as a matter of fact, but he wanted to go his own way after a while."

"You didn't think he'd run off this time?"

"I trust he'll return."

"He does like it here."

He passed me the bag. "These are for you."

I looked inside and took out a sugar plum. "Thank you, but I'm going to get fat if you keep buying me sweets."

"What if I promise to buy them only on rare occasions?" He watched as I popped the sugar coated comfit into my mouth. "Like when I have something to apologize for."

Unable to speak with any dignity, I arched my brows at him instead.

He hiked up his trousers at the knees and sat on the winged chair by the fireplace. "I am aware of how overbearing I sounded in Barratt's office earlier today, when I ordered him to stay away from you. I had no right to do so. You're free to see whomever you want to see, of course. I should have kept my mouth shut."

"Don't trouble yourself over that remark. It was said in the heat of the moment, and I don't blame you for it. I don't wish to see Oscar again right now, anyway."

"You may change your mind when all this settles down."

"Will it settle down?"

Someone knocked and opened the door without waiting for Matt's order. Peter stood there, looking panicked. "Mr. Glass, sir, there's a constable here. He wants to see you."

Matt and I exchanged glances. The presence of constables at number sixteen Park Street never resulted in anything good. "Is he alone?" Matt asked, rising.

"Yes, sir."

I followed Matt out and greeted the constable too.

"You'd better come with me, sir," the constable said gravely.

"What are you arresting him for?" I demanded. "Who has made an accusation against him this time?"

The constable frowned. "I'm not arresting anyone, ma'am. A patient at the London Hospital asked for him."

"Who?" Matt and I said at the same time.

"I took an injured man to the hospital not long ago. He wouldn't give me his name or the name of his assailant, but he said to come here and fetch Mr. Glass."

"What does he look like?" Matt asked. But I already knew the answer.

"Old, white hair and beard," the constable said.

Chronos.

"He's in a bad way, sir. You better come quick before it's too late."