"Wait," Sister Clare called after us. I slowed to allow her to catch up, but Matt did not.

"I'm afraid you can't stop him," I said. "Nor will I allow you to try. We need to speak to Sister Bernadette. It's more important than you can ever imagine."

"I understand." Sister Clare glanced behind her to the mother superior, drumming her fingers on the desk and glaring daggers at her assistant. "You'll find Sister Bernadette in the coach house," Sister Clare whispered. "Promise me you'll tell me what happened to Mother Alfreda if you learn the truth."

I nodded and hurried after Matt. I caught up to him on the staircase where he finally stopped to wait for me. "The coach house," I told him.

Nobody tried to stop us, or even ask us why we did not leave the convent grounds. Not that anyone seemed to trust us either, going by the frowns we received in passing. I suspected the mother superior would soon be informed that we had not departed. We only had a short time.

Thankfully Sister Bernadette was indeed in the coach house. The building also housed the stables, going by the smell of horse. A young nun sweeping out the one and only stall in use directed us to the back of the building where Sister Bernadette knelt beside a cart. She peered up at the cart's underside, one dirty hand resting on the wheel. Her toolbox sat within reach. It was wooden and filled with tools sporting wooden handles that could become weapons if she chose to use her magic against us.

"Sister Bernadette," Matt began, "we need to speak with you."

The fingers tightened on the wheel and for a long moment, she did not move, merely continued to inspect the undercarriage. "I'm busy," she said in her thick Irish accent. "Come back later."

"We know what you are," Matt said quietly.

I glanced back toward the stable area, but the young nun could not be seen from where we stood, nor could the sweep of the broom be heard anymore. "Don't be afraid," I said to Sister Bernadette, who had not moved. "I'm a magician too. That's how we discovered you. I felt the warmth of your magic in—"

"Hush," she whispered, finally emerging. "Be quiet. Don't speak that word here." Her nervous gaze flicked toward the stables.

Matt held out his hand but Sister Bernadette merely scowled at it. His fingers curled up as she stood without assistance.

"Is there somewhere we can speak in private?" I asked.

"No," she snapped. "Leave me alone."

I retraced my steps and informed the nun in the stables that Sister Clare had need of her. I waited until she put away the broom and left the stables before returning to the part of the building where they kept the cart. It appeared to be the only vehicle. I supposed nuns had no need for a second conveyance.

"She's gone," I said. "We can talk freely."

Sister Bernadette snatched up her toolbox and held it in both hands in front of her like a shield. "I will not talk to you about…that. It's foolish to discuss it here. Go away and leave me be." Her cold manner was so different to the friendliness she'd shown us upon meeting her for the first time. That day we'd come to the convent and spoken to her and Sister Margaret she'd been cheerful until we'd asked questions about Mother Alfreda and Phineas Millroy.

"We can't leave without answers," Matt said. "This is too important. Tell us why you buried the babies' records in the woods."

Her lips parted in a silent gasp. "I…I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. The box they were buried in was made using strong magic. The cross on the mother superior's office wall was also infused with strong magic. You made it, Sister Bernadette, and I will not stand for more lies."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Glass?"

Matt looked uncertain, hindered by his own gentlemanly code of honor. He would not use violence against a woman, and coercing a nun to speak against her wishes was a task beyond him. We needed to find another way.

"He isn't," I said. "But I am. If you do not tell us what we want to know, I'll tell Mother Frances that you're a magician."

"She won't believe you. I doubt she believes in magic."

"If she needs convincing then I'll tell her how the cross leapt off the wall in the meeting room and almost killed me."

She clutched the toolbox tighter. "It didn't."

"It came close," I said. "Too close. And you made it fall, just as I can make watches and clocks move with my magic."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. "You can? How do you do it? I can't control it, it just happens all on its own, and only when I'm desperate."

"I can't control it either." If the circumstances were different, I would have liked to compare my magic to hers, but not now. "So you admit you are a magician."

She gave a slight nod of her head. "Don't tell anyone. Do you hear me? They'll send me away, and then what am I supposed to do? This is my home. All my friends are here. I have no family outside these walls, no friends." Her lips trembled and her eyes watered. I suddenly felt ashamed for forcing her to talk to us. "What do you want from me?"

"We want answers," I said gently. "That's all. We are not your enemy. We don't even care if you are responsible for Mother Alfreda's disappearance."

Her face crumpled and a tear fell from each eye. Matt handed her his handkerchief and she set down her toolbox and took it.

"We just want to know what happened to the boy known as Phineas Millroy," I finished. "Is he alive?"

She dabbed at the corner of her eye. "He's alive."

Relief surged through me. I felt light headed, unbalanced. Matt touched my elbow, steadying me. How could he be so calm? Then I felt his fingers tremble.

"I see him in church, from time to time," Sister Bernadette went on. "His parents still live in this parish. Phineas is no longer his name. His parents, the couple I gave him to who brought him up as their own, gave him a new name. I can assure you he is healthy and happy." She smiled sadly. "I remind myself of that every day. Sometimes it helps to banish the guilt, but not always."

"Where can we find him?" I asked.

"I cannot tell you that. I know why you want to see him, and I sympathize, but it is against God's will to use his magic to prolong life."

"You have no right to decide!"

She looked at Matt with sorrow and sympathy. "I know the man you know as Phineas is a healing magician, and I can see that you're ill, Mr. Glass, but I cannot allow you to ask him to cure you. Indeed, he cannot cure you of grave sickness. It's best to succumb to God's will than fight it."

"Listen to me," I said darkly. "Matt was shot in cold blood. That is not God's will. That was the act of a vicious murderer."

She flinched and covered her mouth with Matt's handkerchief.

"He can live longer when a doctor's magic is combined with horology magic," I went on. "We do not have time to go into the specifics, but I urge you most vehemently to tell us where to find Phineas Millroy. Otherwise your secret will be out." I straightened my shoulders and spine. "I'll tell everyone that you killed Mother Alfreda."

She whimpered and tears spilled, but I was beyond caring. We had confirmation that Phineas was alive and also a medical magician. Desperation replaced relief. We were so close, and I refused to be thwarted now that he was within reach.

When she didn't speak, I tried to think of how else to force her to talk. But it was Matt who spoke next. "Tell us what happened," he said. I thought he deliberately gentled his voice to soothe her, but one look at his pinched face made me wonder if he were in pain again. "Tell us why it was necessary to smuggle him out of the convent."

She swallowed. "I…I can't. It's too painful."

"Mother Alfreda was going to do something to him, wasn't she?" She merely blinked at Matt. "Kill him?" he suggested.

She choked on a sob. "I believe so," she said in a small voice. "He was so tiny and helpless, just an innocent baby, yet she thought of him as evil."

"How did she find out about his magic? A baby couldn't perform a spell."

"He didn't need to. His magic is strong, like mine, and simply touching him improved minor ailments. Headaches would disappear, small cuts healed faster and so on. He possessed enough magic that it simply exuded from him without a spell being necessary. But only in a minor way, you understand. He couldn't heal deep cuts or chronic aches, just temporary ones."

"You touched him?" I asked. "Is that how you knew he was a magician?"

She nodded. "I was fixing a cradle in the nursery one day and overheard Sister Francesca—that's Abigail Pilcher—marvel at how warm he felt. Yet when one of the other nuns touched him, she said he felt cool to her. I already knew Sister Francesca was a magician. I'd touched a silk handkerchief she'd fixed and sold in the shop. I never told her that I was a magician too. I thought it best not to tell anyone. But her comment about the warm baby made me curious, so I touched him. I felt his warmth immediately, and I knew it was magical warmth. I didn't know he was a healing magician, however. Not until one of the other nuns complained of a headache before going into the nursery then came out marveling out how better she felt after spending ten minutes with the baby. He was the only one in the nursery at the time, so it had to be him. She thought it was because he was a content baby and his contentment rubbed off on her, but I suspected it was something more. So I snuck into the nursery and experimented on a bruise." She indicated her thumb. "I touched it to his cheek. The bruise instantly went away."

She handed back the handkerchief but Matt refused to take it. "You didn't speak to Abigail Pilcher about what you'd learned and what should be done?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I was too afraid. I knew my magic would be seen as the devil's work. Growing up in Dublin, I'd witnessed first-hand how magicians were treated by the church." Her chin trembled and she struggled to speak. "And she had her own problems at that time."

"Her pregnancy," I said. "So you decided to smuggle Phineas out of the convent alone?"

She nodded. "If I didn't, he would have died, like the other baby."

"The other missing boy?" I said. "The one whose records you also buried in the woods?"

Another nod. "He disappeared from the convent some months before Phineas. Sister Clare brought it to my attention. According to Mother Alfreda, he'd died in the night and she'd taken his body to the morgue herself. Sister Clare thought it odd that she didn't wait for morning. I also had my doubts about the story, but I thought it plausible that he had died. I already knew the baby was a magician, so I was concerned for him. I'd held him once, when I had to relieve one of the sisters in the nursery. Like Phineas, he exuded magical warmth from his skin. I foolishly mentioned it to the Mother Superior. I didn't mention magic, of course, only his warmth. She touched him and said he wasn't. But a look came into her eyes then. A cold, cruel look that frightened me. She directed it at both the baby and me. She must have known somehow that what I'd felt was the baby's magic. I cannot tell you how deeply I regret bringing it to her attention. If I could go back to that day…" She smothered another sob with Matt's handkerchief.

"Did she accuse you?" Matt asked.

"No. She said nothing, but it was that night that the baby apparently died. Yet he was healthy. Despite my doubts, I kept my mouth shut. She no longer trusted me, I could see. Her attitude toward me changed, and I was terrified she'd expose me and send me away. But I couldn't take my mind off the baby, so I visited the morgue. No one had brought in a baby's body that night. I considered all other possibilities—adoption, placing him in an orphanage—but it didn't make sense. Why would she do that in secret? Why not make it official?"

"Hell," Matt said quietly. He seemed to know something I did not.

"What happened to him?" I asked in a rush of breath.

"I had my suspicion, but I needed to be sure," Sister Bernadette went on. "I didn't want to confront the reverend mother without evidence, so I spoke to Father Antonio instead. I asked him what happens if someone is suspected of witchcraft. I made it sound as if I was interested in the subject from a scholarly perspective. He told me about exorcism."

I placed a hand to my throat. "Oh God. That poor baby."

She blinked back tears and nodded. "Father Antonio explained the process, but it seemed too harsh for a baby to endure. I asked him if there was a minimum age for the subject and he said yes. Suffice it to say, a baby is too young. From the way he spoke freely to me, I didn't think he had performed the ritual on this baby. So I only had one option left to me after all."

"You confronted Mother Alfreda?" I asked.

"No. I said nothing. I thought I would but found I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. She already suspected me but hadn't done anything about it. I was afraid if I confronted her, she'd finally act and…" She swallowed.

"Yes, of course. So what happened then?"

"Phineas came to the nursery. Another magical baby. When I learned what he was, I grew instantly afraid for him. I prayed that Mother Alfreda would never find out. But she did. I know she did. To this day, I don't know how."

"Could she have been a magician too?" I said. "Perhaps she'd kept it secret."

"It's possible."

"There's another possibility," Matt said. "Did you confess to Father Antonio?"

"No. I'm no fool."

"Then perhaps Abigail confessed her suspicions about him and he told Mother Alfreda."

"It no longer matters." Sister Bernadette's tears had dried and her eyes took on a glassiness as she dug up painful memories. "I'll never forget when I saw Mother Alfreda leave the nursery one day with a hard gleam in her eyes and a twisted smile on her face. I knew then that she was the one possessed by demons. She was the evil one—not the babies, not me. And she was going to have the so-called devil exorcised from that tiny body too, just like the other one. I couldn't let that happen, not when I had the power to stop it. I suspected the first baby had died during the exorcism, and it was my duty to see that another innocent didn't suffer the same fate. So I stole him. I squirreled him out of the nursery one night when everyone else was asleep."

"And gave him to the childless couple," I said.

She nodded. "I begged them to take him. I already suspected the husband of being a magician, and my suspicion was confirmed when they took the baby in without question after I explained what had happened. The following Sunday, when I didn't see the wife in church, I asked where she was. Her husband said she'd gone on an extended visit to her sister's, to nurse her and her ill infant. A few weeks later, she returned with the baby, claiming her sister couldn't care for him. They raised him as their own, and I've watched him grow up." She drew in a deep breath and gave us a watery smile. "It has been my greatest joy to know that I saved his life. It has made everything worth it."

Matt rested a hand on the cart and leaned into it. "Everything?"

It took her a long time to answer, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn't. But eventually she said, "I've come this far, and perhaps it will ease my conscience to tell you."

"You'll suffer no censure from us," I assured her. "We will not judge you harshly."

"But God may."

"Or he may understand that you did what you could to rescue an innocent baby."

She bit her lower lip. "I killed her. I killed Mother Alfreda." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. I placed my arm around her shoulders and waited for the trembles to stop before letting go.

"You don't have to tell us," I reminded her.

"I want to." She exhaled a shuddery breath. "Mother Alfreda suspected me of taking the baby out of the nursery and demanded I tell her where he was. It wouldn't have been difficult to work out that it was me, since she knew I was a magician. She came to my cell and accused me of being a witch, of being possessed by a demon, and said I needed to have the devil driven out of me. She wouldn't listen to reason. She didn't care that I was born like this, that magic is a God-given talent. I asked her how she would get rid of the devil and she said it would be exorcised from me by a layman she knew. A man with excellent results whose subjects always became meek and mild when he'd driven the demons from their bodies. She described to me how he did it. His methods were much harsher than Father Antonio described. The body was tied up and nails driven into the extremities to mirror the suffering of Christ. It was sickening. Utterly awful. I asked her if she'd taken the first baby there, and she admitted it and then told me he'd not survived." Sister Bernadette closed her eyes, but it didn't stop her tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mother Alfreda was glad he died. She claimed that the devil was too deep within the baby for the exorcism to work, and that death was the best result for such monsters. She smiled as she told me."

She leaned back against the cart as if needing the support. She was pale and shaking, her face red and swollen from crying. "I pushed her. I was so angry and terrified that I pushed her. She fell and hit her head on my bedside table. She bled to death right before my eyes. I watched her die. I did not call anyone for help. I did not try to stop the blood. I simply sat on my bed and waited for her to take her last breath. Sometime after midnight, I wrapped her body in my blanket, carried her to the wheelbarrow stored in the gardening shed, and wheeled her to the river. I found some loose bricks along the way and tied them into her habit. Then I rolled the body into the water. She sank and as far as I know, her body was never recovered. It was easy. There are few people out at that time of night, and those who did see me didn't ask." She huffed out a humorless laugh. "Nobody questions a nun, even one acting strangely."

"And the babies' records?" I said. "You buried them that night too?"

She nodded weakly and slumped against the cart, her shoulders hunched. The strong, fiery Irish nun looked defeated. "There could be no questions asked about either child or the truth might come out. I didn't dare risk it. Sister Clare caused a small stir when she said she couldn't find them, but the convent was a hectic place at that time. Nobody was interested in files when Mother Alfreda was missing."

"You confessed to Father Antonio, didn't you?" Matt asked. "The murder, I mean, not about your magic."

She blinked at him, surprised he knew. "I had to or my soul would bear the stain. I didn't tell him why. He knew nothing about the exorcisms. I simply told him we'd argued, that I'd pushed her and she'd fallen. He said he'd take care of the police and, true to his word, they did not return and ask questions after that first day. Thank God."

"We won't tell them either," I assured her.

While I believed in justice, and I trusted Detective Inspector Brockwell to reach the conclusion of accidental death, Sister Bernadette didn't deserve to go through the traumatic experience and have her reputation damaged. The matter was best left alone now. She believed she would face God's judgment one day, and worrying about that was punishment enough.

"But please, you must tell us where to find Phineas," I urged. "I know you think that we are playing God in keeping someone alive, but you said yourself that magic is a God-given talent, that he made us like this." I took both her hands in mine and dipped my head to meet her gaze. "If he gave us the magic to keep someone alive, isn't it our duty to use it to save the life of someone who is dying from a gunshot wound?"

I could see the moment my reasoning got through to her. Her eyes cleared, the color returned to her cheeks, and she almost smiled. It seemed as if agreeing with me came as a relief.

"Magic has been given to us by God," she said.

"And murder is not God's will," I added.

She swallowed. "The baby known as Phineas was adopted by the Seafords." She spoke quickly, as if she wanted to get the words out before changing her mind. "They named him Gabriel. They can be found at number six Glebe Place although he no longer lives with them."

I threw my arms around her and hugged her. She laughed softly and patted my back. "Thank you," I said, drawing away. "Thank you."

Sister Bernadette picked up her toolbox and straightened. "If that young man can save one worthy life then it means I have saved two. Perhaps God will take that into account when it comes time for me to be judged."

"I'm sure he will." Matt thanked her and took my hand.

He led me outside where the bright light of day stung my eyes. I felt raw from emotion but full of hope. I overflowed with it. A cure was so close I could taste it.

Matt suddenly put his arm around my shoulders and pressed his lips to my forehead, nudging my hat askew. His breaths sounded heavy, labored, and I drew back to study him.

"Are you all right?" I asked. He looked terrible. His skin glistened and his lips were as pale as his face. I removed my glove and touched his cheek. He felt cold. "Matt?" Panic pitched my voice high.

"I'm fine. But let's not delay."

We wordlessly made our way through the convent grounds and back to the carriage. Matt held his hand out to assist me inside then ordered the coachman to the Seafords' house. He tumbled into the cabin and collapsed onto the seat beside me.

"Do you still have the spell with you?" he asked.

"In my reticule." I'd copied the medical spell from Dr. Millroy's diary and kept it with me ever since. It had been the same one Dr. Parsons had used on Matt's watch in Broken Creek five years ago. It had worked for him but not Dr. Millroy. We did not know why the complicated spell had worked for one and not the other, but we would experiment with Gabriel Seaford.

I went to close the curtains as he fumbled with his jacket buttons but paused. We passed another parked conveyance where the passenger suddenly sat up straight, as if he'd been half-asleep and something caught his attention. He looked out the window and straight at me.

Sheriff Payne.

He must have been there for some time, waiting for us, and his driver alerted him to our departure. I looked through the back window as his coach pulled away from the curb and followed us. Hell.

I resumed my seat and watched the faint glow of the magic as it spread through Matt's body. All the hope I'd felt upon leaving the convent's coach house was smashed to pieces. The glow should be brighter.

"Better?" I asked him.

He gave me a small smile and nodded, but I knew it was a lie. Even so I took the watch from him and spoke the extending spell into it. He used the watch again, but the glow was just as faint.

He tucked the watch away, and his hand lingered beneath his jacket at his chest.

I didn't dare ask if his heart pained him again. Instead, I pulled down the window and ordered the driver to go faster. A quick glance behind us proved that Payne still followed. I did not inform Matt. If he knew Payne was on our path, he would bypass the Seafords' house altogether. I wouldn't risk further delay.

Glebe Place wasn't far and we reached number six within minutes. Matt pulled himself up from the corner where he'd slumped, but I gently pushed him back. "Wait here," I said. "I'll find out where their son lives."

"No. They should see me. It'll convince them of my need to see a doctor." It may very well do. He looked like a cadaver. His red-rimmed eyelids drooped, as if too heavy to keep fully open, and the hair at the back of his neck was damp with sweat.

I checked through the windows for Payne's carriage but didn't see it. I didn't doubt that he'd followed us, however. He would be waiting around a corner, watching our every move. I felt sure of that now. He was trying to work out what we were doing so he could use the information against Matt. He had not tried to shoot Matt lately, so that was something at least.

Even so, I kept vigilant and climbed out of the carriage first. Matt sucked in a breath as he alighted and needed a moment to steady himself. Despite wanting to offer a shoulder for him to hold onto, I kept my distance as I knocked on the door of the narrow townhouse. A woman's face appeared at the elegant bay window but it was a different woman who opened the door.

"Are Mr. or Mrs. Seaford in?" I asked the housekeeper. "My name is India Steele and this is Mr. Glass."

She gave Matt an uncertain glance before asking us to wait on the porch.

"Do I look that bad?" Matt asked me as we waited.

"You look fine."

"Fine?" He grunted. "The last time someone told me I looked fine was Willie after Cyclops gave me a black eye."

"Why did Cyclops give you a black eye?"

"I can't recall, which means I probably deserved it."

The elderly woman who'd peered through the window greeted us with as much caution as her housekeeper. I reintroduced ourselves and added, "Sister Bernadette from the Convent of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart sent us. Please may we come in? We have something delicate to discuss with you."

"Sister Bernadette?" she asked in a thin voice. "I…I'm not sure…"

"My friend Mr. Glass is ill from a gunshot wound and requires your son's assistance."

"Gunshot!" She put on the pair of spectacles hanging from a thin chain around her neck and gave Matt a thorough scan. "Oh dear. How awful. But my son cannot offer the assistance you need, Mr. Glass. He cannot perform miracles."

"Yes, ma'am, he can," Matt said quietly.

She chewed on her lower lip but did not try to shut the door in our faces. I took it as an invitation to continue pleading.

"Sister Bernadette assured us your son could help. Please, we need to find him. Mr. Glass will die if we don't, and I think you'll agree he's too young to die, particularly from a gunshot fired by a murderous villain."

Matt pressed a hand to his chest, perhaps in a plea or perhaps because his heart pained him again. Whatever his reason, it seemed to work. Mrs. Seaford didn't immediately send us on our way.

"Sister Bernadette would not have told us about Gabriel if she didn't think Mr. Glass deserved the special treatment your son can give him."

She leaned forward. "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. It's only temporary, you know."

I grasped Matt's hand as hope surged. His fingers curled around mine. "I'll take every extra day with him that I can."

She gave me a sad smile. "You will find Gabriel either at the rooms he rents in Pimlico or at the nearby Belgrave Hospital for Children. He works odd hours there so you may catch him at home now." She gave us the address and wished us well, but it was clear she thought Matt's predicament fatal.

I passed the address on to our coachman and added, "Take the shortest route possible."

Matt settled in the cabin with a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. It was a few hours since he'd woken and he badly needed a proper rest.

I sat on the edge of the seat and calculated how quickly I could unbutton his jacket and waistcoat and remove his magic watch if his condition worsened. Even if I managed it in mere seconds, I doubted it would be enough. The watch's magic had weakened considerably. What if it stopped working altogether? It didn't bear thinking about.

The passing of a speeding carriage caught my eye. It stopped outside the Seafords' house and Sheriff Payne got out. We turned a corner so I did not see what he did next, but I didn't have to. I knew he would question Mrs. Seaford about our visit and demand she tell him what she'd told us. If he learned that Gabriel Seaford was a doctor, he would know what we intended to do.

I studied Matt, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. We could not return to the Seafords' house to confront Payne. There wasn't time. As worried as I was about the sheriff coming after us, I took comfort in Mrs. Seaford's reluctance to give us information about her son. She would not give Payne his address. We'd only convinced her by using Sister Bernadette's name and the evidence of Matt's poor health.

While the distance from Chelsea to Pimlico wasn't much, it felt like it took an age to get there. I breathed a sigh of relief when we turned into Sutherland Row, a short street with few houses and no pedestrians or carriages aside from ours.

And then, through the rear window, I spotted Payne's carriage, taking the corner very fast. How had he got the address from Mrs. Seaford so quickly?

My stomach rolled. I felt sick. Oh God. Please let her be all right.

Our coach slowed but Payne's did not. It came directly for us. Was the driver mad? He was going to get himself killed! It kept coming and coming, much too fast.

I changed seats to sit beside Matt and put my arms around him. I didn't know why, only that I wanted to protect him in his weakened state if we crashed.

"Matt!" I shouted. "Wake up! Brace yourself!"

He stirred. "What—?" He spotted the carriage and threw his arms around me, tucking my head beneath his chin.

Several things happened at once. Our coachman shouted and swerved, sending us slamming against the side of the cabin. My watch chimed, over and over again in warning. I removed it from my reticule and clutched it in my hand. It pulsed with every chime, like a racing heartbeat.

We came to an abrupt stop, half up on the footpath. Matt pushed open the door and went to jump out.

"Don't!" I cried, grasping his arm. "He'll have a gun!"

"That I do." Payne stood on the footpath, his gun pointed at Matt, and a cold smile stretching his mouth.