11
fairmount
Whereas once she relished the weekends, forty-eight glorious hours where she could pretend the world outside of her room didn’t exist, now the prospect of two days without training or investigating was downright depressing. Sera glanced at the clock and gritted her teeth. It was only five minutes later from the last time she’d looked, though it felt like hours.
She thrust her Water-levels book on the bed, strode to the window, and sat. Below, students ambled along the gardens in spite of the cold, chaperones sprinkled throughout the field to monitor all contact. Sera rolled her eyes. If there was one thing she dreaded more than the Solstice Dance, it was the weeks leading up to the blasted celebration. The halls were aflame with the chatter of dresses, hairstyles, and escorts, and classes were no better.
Sera turned away from her window, happy to leave their vanity and nonsense outside. She had more important things to think about, namely why Barrington couldn’t meet her on the weekends. What was he doing anyway? Maybe he was with Gummy, but wasn’t their case more important? He’d told her that in the time it took her to find something in those impressions, a witch could be dying. She was glad no other witches had died, but what of this source of his? Had they found something—anything from the names she’d gathered from the spirits? She gripped her hair as the questions multiplied in her mind. How on earth would she survive two whole days? Maybe a walk would do her good.
She dropped her hands and stood, when she noticed a note at the door. Sera rushed across the room and picked up the letter. She bit her lower lip to stifle the smile that tugged at her mouth and tore open the seal.
8:00 in the evening.
Though only four words, her pulse quickened, faster than any boy or dance invitation could ever make it race.
…
Sera spun away from Barrington’s mantel just as the grandfather clock marked eight. She grinned. Right on time. The room was empty, and she strode to the chairs before his desk and sat. There were, as always, stacks of papers on every surface. Sera shook her head. Poor Rosie. The man was a tempest. She trailed her eyes along the many papers. Was his mind the same, a chaos of ideas clashing with mysteries, murders, and memories of his father and brother?
After Timothy’s revelation, she was certain it was. She inched forward. Alchemical equations marked various sheets, some scribbled and tossed aside. A newspaper was folded in half, his wire spectacles beside it. News of Aetherium Chancellor York’s declining health dominated the headlines, but the rest of the story was shielded by a book. Sera tilted her head to read the spine: Clairvoyance. A sheet was stuffed within the book’s pages, his atrocious handwriting visible on the edge. She neared a finger to open the book. He’d called her a mystery—was he attempting to learn more about her abilities in hopes of solving her? She jerked her hand back. No, no. It was none of her business. Standing, she walked to the door. Heaven forbid she attempted to snoop as he walked in.
She reached for the doorknob but paused. He’d invited her back to his home, but did he mean for her to wait here in his study? She dropped her hand. Damn. She couldn’t once again travel his home uninvited. And then there were other things one simply couldn’t unsee. Remembering Gummy’s breasts and disheveled state—and not to mention the rouge on his collar—Sera scoffed and rolled her eyes. No need to see that again.
She strode to the chair and sat back down. She would remain where she was, even if she had to bind herself to the chair.
A while later, the door slammed open. Sera’s head jerked up, startled. She rubbed her eyes and turned to Barrington at the door—black top hat, black cloak, and hard-set expression.
He set down his walking stick with a tap. “You’re late.”
9:30 p.m.
She had fallen asleep. Still, her eyes widened. “Late? I have been here since eight, as you instructed.”
“If that was the case,” he said, crossing the room to his desk, “why didn’t you come downstairs?”
“Because I thought it improper to roam about the house uninvited.”
He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a velvet maroon bag. The contents clinked and jangled as he secured it in his inner coat pocket. “When has that stopped you before?”
She fisted her skirt. Normally it took long minutes to test her patience, but it seemed Barrington had it down to an art.
“I imagined there was a chance you were otherwise engaged,” she said through clenched teeth. “And what does it matter? Clearly you were out anyway.”
“No, Miss Dovetail, I was not out. I was in, downstairs, waiting for you.” He slammed the drawer shut, his foul mood more than palpable.
Sera glowered. He was an ocean, indeed. One day he was a raging sea, the next calm waters. She shook her head. How Rosie kept up with his moods was beyond her. She made to argue more, when Rosie entered the room, rosy cheeked and out of breath. Silver hairs slipped from beneath her cap and framed her round face. She smiled at Sera, a weary smile.
“Miss Dovetail, so lovely to see you,” she said through labored breaths, her voice whispery. “How are you, dear?”
“Did you find what I asked for?” Barrington interrupted.
Rosie sighed. “Yes, sir. I’ve set it all out in the guest chamber.”
“Perfect. We leave immediately. Help Miss Dovetail change, please, and escort her to the workroom when she’s ready.”
“Ready?” Sera surveyed Barrington and Rosie. “Ready for what?”
“We’re going to Preston, in the Fairmount province.” He grabbed a small notebook and pencil from his desk and slipped it within his cloak.
“Fairmount? But that’s a no-magic province.”
“Indeed, and that is where our investigation leads us. And had you been here earlier, we could have had more time to meet the transporter who will get us in.”
Get us in…
Ever since no-magic provinces were established for those who grew weary of the feuds between Purists and Pragmatics, strict rules were decreed for travel in and out of these jurisdictions. It took days to get the proper paperwork to travel to no-magic provinces. How could Barrington have secured them without a special appointment and surrendering of their wands unless…
She swallowed. “We’re being smuggled in?”
“It is not smuggling; we are merely visiting…after hours.”
Visiting, of course. “And who exactly are we visiting?”
“Portia Rees,” he said plainly, adjusting his cuffs and picking up his walking stick.
“Portia Rees is dead. The spirits spoke her name.”
“Not exactly. After you heard the names, I passed them along to my source, who promised to contact the families once the case has been solved. In searching for their families, he discovered a Portia Rees requested a transfer to Fairmount three weeks ago, just after the last body had been found. She’d also filed a report that she had been kidnapped, but officers failed to corroborate her story. I do not think this is a coincidence. If the dead witches mentioned her name, she must be of importance, and tonight we will find out why. Rosie will help you prepare,” he said from the door and walked out. “Hurry, then. We haven’t much time.”
Sera pressed a hand to her stomach, her nerves tangled. Though she was unsure of the penalty should they get caught, one punishment was certain—her expulsion from the Academy. They’d tolerated more than she’d ever expected—from fires to explosions—but surely even the Academy had its limits. Yet, Barrington would lose his position, too. No way would he allow them to get caught, not without a good fight. Sera sighed. If she didn’t trust him before, for the sake of her dream, she’d have to trust him now.
Rosie motioned down the hall. “If you would follow me, Miss Dovetail.”
Sera didn’t argue and hurried behind the woman. The house became a tangled blur of hallways, stairs, and doors as she struggled to keep up with Rosie, who moved faster than her years should have allowed. The halls were all similar, spells intricately carved upon the exposed beams and gilt-framed artwork on every wall. There were no more portraits. Save for the one in Barrington’s study, she had noticed no other pictures of Filip. Not even one of his father.
“Hopefully the things I’ve found will do. He asked for everything so suddenly.” Rosie flustered over her shoulder, pulling Sera from her thoughts. “I didn’t know where to begin looking. I have some things, but I haven’t been as thin as you for some time, so I doubt they would fit you.” They stopped before a room, and she pushed open the door.
The guest room was quaint, blue damask wallpaper lining the walls and a maroon rug on the floor. Two windows flanked an ivory-colored vanity on the wall opposite her, and upon it, a veiled black hat and a pair of black gloves. On the bed to the left of the door were two gowns spread on the ornate patchwork blanket.
“Thankfully I found some garments amongst the old Mistress’s things.”
“Mistress?” Sera echoed, somewhat breathless after their dash across the house. “The professor was married?”
“Master Barrington, married? Oh, goodness no.” She cupped her mouth and laughed merrily. “I meant his mother, Mrs. Barrington. A lovely, lovely woman, may she rest in peace. I found these gowns that I’m certain will fit. The veil and hat are mine. The Master insisted you wear all black, but mourning dresses were disposed of after the funeral. Heaven knew we didn’t need any more bad luck. These will have to do. Now, which would you prefer?”
Sera stared down at the two gowns spread on the bed and dithered. One was a burgundy dress with beautiful buttons running the length in two rows. The neckline revealed much more than she’d ever dare, but it was a lovely dress. She sighed and instead pointed to the navy-blue dress with full sleeves and a high neck.
“Wonderful choice. Now let’s get you changed.” Rosie picked up the gown, but with heart pounding, Sera reached out and stopped her.
“I can get dressed on my own, thank you. No need to trouble yourself.”
“It’s no trouble at all, dear. You won’t be able to tighten it from behind without some help. No magic for personal gain, as they say.”
Sera froze. There was no way she could lower her dress. Rosie would undoubtedly see her tattered chemise; she hadn’t the funds to secure a new one. And surely she’d see the marks along her body.
But Barrington was waiting downstairs. And this was her dream.
She turned, unable to look at the woman, and accepted Rosie’s help out of her school gown. The dress slid off her shoulders. A chill pricked her skin, her upper back exposed through the scoop in her shift. Rosie’s hands stilled on Sera’s forearms, the healed cuts now visible. If it weren’t for Rosie’s shuddering breath, she would have thought the woman gone.
Rosie recovered quickly and helped her into the new dress and over to the vanity. She had yet to say a word and never once met Sera’s eyes in the reflection as she took the pins from Sera’s hair.
The silence between them too much to bear, she touched the woman’s hand and stopped her. “It happened some time ago… I’m fine. The Aetherium doctors tried to heal me, but…”
“But you’re a seventhborn, and they didn’t try very hard.” Rosie squeezed her shoulders and finally lifted her gaze. Her stare was strong and held no judgment. “I’m sorry for the way your kind are treated. Not all of us are so heartless.”
Sera forced a smile at Rosie’s reflection and shrugged. “I suppose it’s not all bad. The Aetherium wanted to show they didn’t support the abuse of seventhborns, and I was accepted into the Academy soon after.”
“And now you’re here, and I’m glad of it.” She squeezed Sera’s shoulders, and the matter was put to rest. The mood lightened, and though the rest of her night promised gruesome things, it wasn’t every day her hair was done for her and her clothes adjusted to perfection, and so Sera allowed herself to be fussed over this once. The way other girls were fussed over by their mothers, she thought with some hurt. Mothers who, while tending to their daughters’ hair, spoke of magic and their place within that world.
Her heart grew heavy. Even if she found her family, her mother would be forever lost to her. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she slipped on the gloves and forced herself to ignore the black ring at her wrist. A reminder of the reason why she had no mother at all.
Rosie adjusted the hat and veil over her head. “Wonderful. Now let’s get you down to the Master before he comes up here to fetch you himself.”
A strange concoction of nerves and excitement brimmed in Sera’s stomach, mixed with sorrow for the victims. Being an inspector was all she’d ever wanted, and yet witches had lost their lives for her to get closer to achieving it. Caught in this inner debate, she put on the cloak and followed Rosie down to the workroom just as Barrington strode out from the black door.
He gave her a cool once-over and expressed approval with a single nod, then closed the black door behind him. “That will be all, Rosie. Thank you.”
Once Rosie was gone, Barrington faced Sera, his warm presence hovering before her like a shadow. “I will transfer us together, but in order to do so, I must hold your hand and you can’t let go,” he said gently, as though to prepare her for the contact.
Sera swallowed through a thickened throat, excitement and fear fluttering within her like a flock of birds in her stomach. Barrington said his methods were unorthodox, but she’d never imagined that visiting no-magic cities and borrowing crime scene photos factored into the equation. Still, she nodded and slipped her hand into his. Fear would not help her find her family.
Barrington drew closer, his scent of sandalwood and musk enveloping her. He folded his fingers around hers, and though he wore gloves, the pressure and warmth of his touch tamed the torrent in her stomach, and she relaxed.
He aimed his wand at the ground, and his body grew tense, bracing. Unlike transferring to his house where the floor merely felt to vanish beneath her, here the ground rumbled as Barrington fueled their transfer. His magic surrounded her, a potent charge of cool energy swathing her skin. She glanced up and met his eyes, shadowed by the brim of his top hat. He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand, as though to ease her worries. To tell her with no words that she was safe here, with him.
The world around her faded like smears of watercolor until blackness enveloped them. She blinked, and they now stood within another room. She’d barely felt the transfer in her stomach, a testament to Barrington’s control of his magic.
They stood upon a platform of black marble, within a large gold-metallic circle embossed on the floor—a transfer wheel. A series of ciphers were carved along the gold band. Sera recalled learning of them during her Air-level course on transferring. A magician merely needed to rotate the rings to their destination’s coordinates and ignite the spell. The first she’d ever encountered had been two years ago, when transferring into the Aetherium with a guard at either side of her.
Muffled music resounded from outside the cream double doors bordered in ornate gold. Sera spun to the foreign room. There were four more transfer wheels next to hers and five circular red banquettes, one positioned before each wheel. An older man with white hair and a deadpan expression stood at the end of the platform. He moved toward them as they stepped off the transfer wheel and onto the blue Persian carpet spread over polished cherrywood floors.
“Good evening, Professor. Miss,” he said with a curt bow. “Your cloak, madam?”
“We won’t be staying long, Barnaby. Could you tell Miss Mills we’ve arrived.”
Sera grimaced. Though she’d met the woman only once, it was more than she’d cared for.
“Of course, sir.” Barnaby bowed and quickly exited through the only door.
“Gummy is our smuggler?” Sera whispered for Barrington’s ears only. She’d heard smugglers were fugitives who never stayed in one place for long and earned money by transferring clients between provinces. Gummy didn’t seem like a fugitive from what she last remembered.
He motioned to the settee, but she shook her head. The nerves knotting in her stomach would never let her sit. “No, she is our facilitator. She owns a number of these establishments in various provinces with a vast clientele.”
Just then, a transfer wheel activated beside theirs, and a man appeared in the middle. He walked down the stairs and met another butler who promptly took his hat and overcoat, then led him to the double doors.
When he opened them, the stifled music, chatter, and laughter grew louder, as did intermittent giggles and shouts. A woman in a low-cut emerald-green gown appeared at the door, her skirt hitched high and her stockings visible.
The door closed, and Sera spun to Barrington. “You’ve got to be joking. Her network of information is a brothel?”
“Indeed. You wouldn’t believe the number of secrets a man will spill with just the right amount of liquor and…persuasion.”
Sera wrinkled her nose and turned away. Figures. If visiting and borrowing were a part of Barrington’s vocabulary, why wouldn’t this establishment and its facilitator be as well?
The door opened again. Gummy stood on the other side. She looked regal in a red silk gown and nothing like the woman Sera remembered from the other night. With her hair swept up and cascading curls framing her round face, she was youthful and rather lovely.
She strutted to Barrington, smoothed a hand down his chest all the way to his vest pocket, where she drew out his pocket watch. She clicked open the watch, then glanced up at him through thick lashes. “This doesn’t look like eight fifteen to me, does it, Barry?”
“Barrington,” he clipped and drew back the watch, his frame bristled and jaw tight. “Miss Dovetail had to get ready.”
Gummy cast her a side-eyed glance. “Right, Miss Dovetail. A pleasure,” she said, though her small smile told Sera it was anything but. Sera stared back at her but didn’t bother with formalities.
“Now that you’re here, you have only one hour.” Gummy snapped her fingers, and a short man walked into the room, ushered by Barnaby. His coat and pants were stained with soot and patched together with odd scraps. He held a drink in his hand, his eyes glassy and fingernails black.
“This is Crenshaw. He will be your transporter. The Aetherium scries for magic incessantly, and patrol is constant throughout the province. When you arrive, you must move away from the transport location quickly, after which you have an hour. If you don’t get what you need, it doesn’t matter to me; you get back to your return transfer point or you get left behind. Understood?”
“Understood.” Barrington reached into his inner coat pocket and handed her a velvet bag. She gave it a shake. It jingled, but not like coins, rather like glass vials clinking against one another. “A week’s supply.”
Her red lips spread as she pulled open the drawstrings and examined the contents of the bag. “Safe travels, Barry.”
Crenshaw downed his drink and handed the empty tumbler to Barnaby whose frown deepened. Sera glanced at Barrington. Could they trust this man? Alcohol was known to have negative effects on magic, and Crenshaw was most certainly not drinking water.
If Barrington noticed, he didn’t say a word. He walked back onto the platform.
Crenshaw surveyed Sera’s outfit, squinting his eyes as though to see through her veil. “Who died?” he asked, the tangy scent of liquor wafting from his lips.
Sera glanced around and scowled. “My morality, I’m sure.”
She met Barrington on the transfer wheel, and Crenshaw stood before them. Gummy lingered at the foot of the stairs, her eyes focused on the professor.
Crenshaw extended a hand in wait for Sera’s. Sera remained unmoving.
“I’m certain holding one of us is enough,” Barrington said, his eyes never one to miss anything, including her apprehension.
Crenshaw shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Barrington gripped the man’s shoulder firmly, then took hold of Sera’s hand and drew her to his side. He leaned in close to her ear. “Remember what I said, do not let me go.”
Sera met his eyes, bolstered by the strength and safety she found in his stare. “I don’t intend to.”
Gummy pursed her lips and chuckled. “I’ll see you when you return, Barry.”
Sera’s skin prickled with heat, sure Gummy said it to Barrington but meant it for her.
Crenshaw placed his other hand above Barrington’s, and a minty scent overtook Sera’s nose as his magic enclosed them.
The floor gave out, a longer flash of black, and then they landed neatly on their feet. Sera sighed. She had to get better at controlling her magic, which would make for smoother transferring and not the crash landings she was used to when transferring into Barrington’s home. That is if they ever got out of this alive.
A putrid scent met her nose, and Sera stifled a gag, her eyes watering. They were in a small room, tattered and stained rags hanging before them to create a division. Based on the scent alone, she had no desire to know what was on the other side.
“The address is three streets over,” Crenshaw said. “I trust Gummy gave you your return location.”
Barrington nodded, and with a tip of his hat, Crenshaw was gone.
After assuring the coast was clear, Barrington led them quickly into the night. He drew out a small notebook with a hand-drawn map. “It’s this way,” he said with a nod.
Although the narrow road was relatively quiet, uneasiness crept up Sera’s back. Buildings of crumbling brick flanked the winding avenue. Dark alleyways fed off it like black veins. The sky above was an impregnable ocean of black fog and soot, an encroaching heaviness that felt alive. Noxious fumes seemed to flare up from the slick streets. Sera’s stomach tightened, and she pressed a hand to her mouth as if to physically keep herself from vomiting.
Nothing about this place seemed safe, save for Barrington. She couldn’t use magic, she knew this, yet her insides churned and warmth flared within her, ready for release.
They kept a steady pace to create distance from their arrival point, until Barrington stopped before a rundown building, a clothesline tethered to the opposite building with stockings, aprons, and trousers flailing in a passing pungent breeze.
He neared the door and knocked. Sera kept watch, her hand tight at her side. She rubbed her skirt, finding comfort in the feel of her concealed wand beneath the fabric.
A moment later, a latch was released and the door opened. A girl no older than sixteen stood before them, wiping oily hands on her stained white apron. She toured dark eyes between Sera and Barrington, her brow gathered in a scowl.
“Miss Portia Rees?” Barrington asked in the absence of her greeting.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she glanced behind her. Sera attempted to follow her stare, but the girl closed the door to where only she was visible through the seam. “That’s me. What do you want?”
“The Aetherium has secured my services in regards to your ordeal last month.”
She leaned against the doorframe, her full lips pursed. “Is that so? They didn’t care much then. Why should they care now?” She held out her arm, and Sera’s brow rose. A seventhborn tattoo marked her wrist. “When have they ever cared for a seventhborn?”
“They care now, I can assure you,” Barrington replied. “Could we please talk inside?”
She scrutinized him, touring coal-black eyes along his frame. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have nothing to say. Those bastards caught me, and I got away, and I never want to think of it a day again.”
“Please, it will take only a few minutes of your time, and I will make it worth your while.” He reached into his inner coat pocket and drew out a gold coin.
She snatched it from his hand, turning it over in soiled fingers. “Isn’t like an Aetherium guard to bribe a seventhborn. Most would throw me in jail for being hostile,” she said, inspecting the coinage. “You have five minutes. A coin for every answer.” She moved aside and allowed them to pass.
The room inside smelled of mold, though compared to the stench of refuse outside, for Sera it was a welcome relief. The space was much smaller than her tower room at the Academy. She hadn’t imagined anyone could ever live in a lesser space. To the right was a bed, two tattered gray wool blankets on top. A single gas lamp lit the room, but even so the space was cloaked in shadows. To the left was a chimney stove with a small table and two chairs before it. Sera glanced fleetingly at the table and then at Barrington—there were two plates. As usual, Barrington’s stoic expression remained fixed and gave away nothing.
Portia slumped into one of the chairs, stacked the plates together, and motioned to the opposite chair. “So, what do you want to know?”
Sera sat, Barrington towering beside her. Drawing out a few more coins, he handed them to Sera. The gold weighed heavy in her hand. She’d never been in possession of so much and pondered the things she could do with that money. A new cloak, new shoes… But, she conceded, a referral was worth more than all the gold in the world.
“Can you tell us what happened, in detail?” Barrington dug into his inner coat pocket and pulled out his small notepad and gold mechanical pencil. Portia’s eyes roamed to the pencil, and she pursed her lips. Barrington nodded to Sera, and she set a coin on the table.
Portia yanked it away greedily and stuffed it into her pocket. “I was kidnapped, that’s what. They hurt me, kept me in a big house, and drank my magic. The other girls, too.”
Sera’s heart tightened, but she forced herself steady. This was her job, memories be damned.
“Big house where? And what other girls? Did you know them? Can you recall their names?”
Sera put another coin down. Portia swiped it before Sera had a chance to slide it across the table. “Polly, I think. Or was it Martha?” She turned brown eyes up and tapped her chin with a dirtied finger. “I don’t remember. But their names didn’t matter, only that they were seventhborns. The lot of them were.”
Sera’s face burned beneath her veil. After the years of horror experienced by seventhborns, now they were being targeted again by these monsters.
“All of you were seventhborns?” Barrington reiterated.
She nodded. “Some for draining, others for killing, but they were all seventhborns.”
Sera’s brow gathered. They, not we.
Barrington jotted this down. “And by killing, you mean…?”
She glanced at Sera, but Sera’s hand tightened on the coins, a nudging feeling in her belly. Something wasn’t right. Still, she set a coin on the table, then slid it over slowly.
“They took some of the other girls, who never came back,” she said, pocketing the coin. “They must’ve killed them.”
Barrington hummed. “And you say they drank your magic. Can you tell me exactly how this happened?”
Sera let out a shuddering breath, turning her face away.
Sera, Sera in a cage…
She didn’t need to hear how a warlock drank of his victims—drank from her. Of the way he’d invade her mind, searching out her reserves.
Sera, Sera wants to fly…
And if she dared try to block him out, how his beautiful eyes glinted with pleasure as he forced his way into her mind, pushing so hard against her reserves that it felt as though her skull cracked in two. As she screamed, focused on the pain, he tapped into her reserves and absorbed her screams and her magic. He’d drink so much that her lifeline weakened, and cuts and bruises bloomed along her gray and gaunt skin.
But her pretty wings are broken…
Finished, he would then sing that damned song.
See her fall from the sky.
Maybe if she’d stopped fighting, he would have been kinder. Sera’s hand tightened around the coins. She would’ve rather died.
Barrington took a coin from Sera and set it on the table himself, pulling her from the nightmarish daydream.
Portia eyed the coin, then Barrington. She shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. “Well, they, um…they held me down and put their wands on my belly and told me to use my magic so he could absorb it.” She nodded to herself, her face downcast. “Yes, yes, it was terrible.”
Sera’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t how it was done, but before she could speak, Barrington took another coin from her and set it on the table. “What else?”
Portia reached for the coin, but Barrington seized her wrist. The girl gasped and struggled to pull away, but he tightened his grip.
“How about the truth, Miss Rees—if that is even your name? There is only one way to drain a witch of her magic, and what you described is not it. Now, you are in possession of more coin than you’ll see in a lifetime. Tell me the truth, and you will be allowed to keep it. Lie to me, and you will be charged with stealing from an Aetherium officer.” His voice was cool, lethal, his eyes just as cold.
Her frantic gaze swept across the room toward the bed before shifting back to Barrington. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you the truth.”
Sera stood, moving slowly toward the bed.
“What is your name?” Barrington asked.
Portia gulped, staring at Sera approaching the bed. “Fine, I lied. My name is Rowena Rees. Portia is my twin sister, but she isn’t here. Now please leave.”
“Where is Portia?”
Sera reached for the wool blanket—
“Run, Portia!” Rowena screamed.
A gangly girl in a white nightgown darted from under the bed. Sera startled and jumped back, drawing her wand.
“Miss Dovetail, no!” Barrington said.
The girl froze, her chest heaving with juddering breaths. “I can’t leave you, Rowena,” she moaned, glancing at her sister.
Sera’s grip tightened on her wand, her magic a vicious beast clawing at her insides for release. Steady, Sera. Steady…
Rowena pulled away from Barrington, but he jerked her back against his chest. “Go, Portia!” she yelled.
Portia dashed to the door, yanked it open, and ran outside.
Damn it! Sera raced after her.
“Miss Dovetail, wait! You stay here, I will go after her,” Barrington ordered, struggling against Rowena.
Sera stopped at the door. She looked at Rowena scuffling, at Barrington keeping her fixed while gray eyes bored into Sera’s, at Portia running into an adjacent alleyway.
He would fire her for this, she was sure of it. But he would have an easier time holding down Rowena. And Portia didn’t need a man to chase after her, not when it was a man who had hurt her.
Sera ran out into the night. The last she heard was Barrington growl a curse before the door closed behind her.