Abigail Pilcher and her supervisor weren't keen for her to take a short break when Matt and I showed up at the workroom of Peter Robinson’s Oxford Street shop. Matt had to slip the supervisor some money and use all his charm on Abigail before she agreed.

We left the workroom and its dozen seamstresses bent over their noisy sewing machines, making our way out through the shop and into the street. The day had already begun to warm, and the dense early morning traffic had thinned to the usual mid-morning bustle.

"You're the American what asked about me yesterday," Abigail said, a wary eye on Matt.

"That was my friend. I'm Matthew Glass, and this is Miss Steele, my…friend."

My face heated, despite the innocuous description. Matt and I had not spoken of the previous evening's conversation. There was simply nothing more to say. But it made the walk to Oxford Street a little awkward.

"What do you want?" Abigail asked. She was a sturdy woman, like me, although her girth was wider and her cheeks as round and rosy as apples. The rosiness began to fade the longer we remained out of the stuffy workroom. Despite the ravages of a difficult life imprinted on her face, she wasn't old. She must have been quite young when she left the convent.

"I want to buy you and Miss Steele gelati." Matt indicated the brightly painted cart where a man with a heavy Italian accent was trying to drum up business to little avail.

"I can't be gone too long," Abigail said, glancing back at the shop as a customer left, a parcel under her arm.

"Then you'll have to eat your ice cream quickly." Matt spoke to the seller in a language I assumed was Italian. The seller beamed and the two of them fell into a genial conversation as the seller filled two glasses with the confection stored in the iced depths of his cart.

Matt returned and handed a glass and spoon to each of us. Abigail accepted hers with an even warier gaze. I didn't blame her for her caution; I knew how odd it felt to have a gentleman suddenly pay you a lot of attention.

"We have some questions for you about your time at the Convent of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart," Matt said.

Abigail stopped licking her spoon and stared wide-eyed at Matt. She removed the spoon slowly from her mouth. "How do you know I was there?"

"Sister Margaret told us. She says you were friends."

Abigail's shoulders relaxed and a wistful smile touched her lips. "She remembers me?"

"She not only remembers you but she misses you," I said. "She was sorry you left."

"I never told her why." Abigail toyed with her ice cream. "I couldn't."

"We know why," I said gently. "We know all about Antony."

Her head snapped up. "How?"

"We're investigators. Finding out things is what we do. For example, we know you're very proud of your son." It was a guess but not a very difficult one. Most women would be proud of a son who'd been born in a filthy Bermondsey tenement and risen to become an importer for a growing business enterprise.

She smiled. "I am. I miss him when he's away, but he's got to make his own way in the world." She scooped up a spoonful of ice cream and popped it into her mouth. "So that's what you want? To know who Antony's father is?"

"We already know," Matt said.

She went very still. "He told you?"

"Not in so many words. But it was easy to put the pieces together and see Father Antonio's reaction when we spoke to him about it."

She lowered her gaze. "So you know my shame."

"It's not yours," I said quickly. "He took advantage of your naivety and his position."

"It wasn't like that. I was naive, yes, but he and I…" She huffed out a half-laugh. "I like to think he loved me but loved God more."

"I think he did love you," I said gently. "Perhaps still does. We won't tell anyone your secret, Miss Pilcher. That's not why we're here. We want to ask if you know why Mother Alfreda disappeared."

She shrugged. "No. Why would I?"

"Did she leave the convent before or after you?" Matt asked.

"About a week before."

"Do you think she left of her own accord or did something happen to her?"

She licked ice cream off her lower lip as she thought. "I don't rightly know. Her disappearance came as a shock, I'll tell you. None of us knew what to think. Seems strange she'd just up and leave without a word, but if she didn't…well, it means something happened to her, don't it. Something happened to her right inside those convent walls." She smirked as she scooped out more ice cream. "Maybe one of them done her in. Can't blame 'em. She was a dragon."

"Any ideas who might have…done her in?"

"Could be anyone. I had good reason, but it weren't me, if that's what you're thinking."

"We weren't," I assured her. "Was she cruel to you after learning of your plight?"

She nodded. "Not just after. She hated me all along. Sister Margaret said it was because I was too pretty and spirited. I don't rightly know, but Mother Alfreda didn't like me before, and she thought even less of me when she learned I was with child. She called me all sorts of terrible things. I didn't think I'd hear words like that inside those walls. It got worse because I wouldn't give her the father's name."

"She asked you to leave?"

"No, that were the new mother superior what done that. Mother Frances."

"She took over the role immediately?" I asked.

"She couldn't wait. She'd been eyeing off that office for years, so the older nuns said. Apparently she'd wanted to become mother superior before but missed out and they gave it to Mother Alfreda. Once she was gone, the next in line was Sister Frances. She was a bitter, nasty old thing too. Don't s'pose she's dead now?"

"No," I said.

"Pity."

"What about the other nuns?" Matt asked. "Did any of them have reason to dislike Mother Alfreda?"

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "There was always something. One sister complains of working too hard, another thinks she should be allowed to keep a book given to her by her family, that sort of thing. Just petty problems."

No reason to "do her in," as Abigail put it. Only Mother Frances had reason enough—if a power struggle could be considered a good reason. It may have been the motive for countless murders of political rivals over the centuries but not within convents.

"What do you know about the missing babies?" Matt asked.

She slowly lowered the spoon she'd been licking to the empty bowl and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You know about them?"

"Yes. As do you."

She nodded. "Sister Clare told me. She's the mother superior's assistant and kept the records. She told me one day that a baby had disappeared and then another a short time later. Their records were also missing."

"Was one of the babies named Phineas Millroy?"

"I don't know."

"Did you ever see either of the babies?" I asked. "Touch them?"

She frowned. "Why?"

I drew in a deep breath to steel myself then stepped closer to her. "Because you're a magician," I said quietly, "and so was—is—Phineas Millroy. We thought perhaps you might be able to somehow identify the magic in him."

She looked from me to Matt then back to me again. "I don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, you do. I'm also a magician, Miss Pilcher."

"Don't be scared," Matt assured her. "We just want answers, nothing more. We don't care about your magical connection to silk."

Her throat jumped with her hard swallow. "What kind of magic do you do, Miss Steele?"

"Watches," I said. "I can make them run on time. You can work silk easily, can't you?"

"Quick and easy," she said with a hint of pride. "I can make a dress in half the time it takes two girls. I can make the prettiest, most delicate flowers and decorations. I even made a dress for a princess, last year. It were the loveliest thing you ever saw, all golden yellow with butterflies flitting between flowers on the skirt. Mr. Robinson himself says I might get another royal commission soon. Imagine that, eh? Me, thrown out of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart for being a bad girl, making dresses for princesses. I bet Sister Margeret'll be tickled. You'll tell her for me, won't you?"

"Of course," I said with a smile, "but I thought you were friends."

"We were, in a way. Friends but rivals too." She leaned forward and whispered, "She had an eye for Father Antonio too. We used to make up silly stories about him admiring our bright eyes and taking a fancy to us. They started as just girlish fantasy but when he took notice of me for real, she stopped being so friendly to me."

Matt cleared his throat. "Back to the missing babies," he said. "You say Sister Clare told you they'd disappeared."

She nodded. "I used to help her in the office, sometimes. She was new to the assistant position then, and the records were in poor order. I worked with her to get them right, and that's when she told me. I saw one of the babies in the nursery but I can't recall if I touched him. Anyway, you can't feel magic in another magician, Miss Steele, only in what they work on. You should know that."

"I do," I said on a sigh. "I suppose I was just clutching at straws, wondering if perhaps the baby had touched someone and—" I cut myself off before revealing that Phineas potentially had the power to heal. "Anyway, he was just a baby. If he did possess magic, he couldn't have practiced it without speaking a spell."

"And babies don't talk." She handed the empty glass and spoon to Matt. "I better get back."

"Of course," Matt said, taking my glass too.

"One last question," I said. "Did anyone at the convent know about your magic?"

"No. I kept that part of me hidden. The church don't look kindly on magic, Miss Steele. Mark my words, some of 'em think the devil's in us magicians. Be sure and keep it a secret from any religious folk."

"I will," I assured her. "But are you saying that you never worked with silk while you were a nun?"

"Silk ain't common in a convent, but there was one time. A silk handkerchief were donated by a toff lady. We got donations from time to time that we sold in our little shop for extra money. Well, the handkerchief were a bit frayed so I offered to fix it up all nice to sell." Her face took on a glowing reverence, as if recalling a divine experience. "It were a fine piece and I loved feeling it. It had been an age since I'd touched silk. I knew about my magic but I didn't think I'd miss silk until I could no longer feel it. I missed it so much that I wasn't all that upset when the reverend mother threw me out. I just wanted to work with silk again, see. But no one at the convent knew about my magic. No one saw me fix that handkerchief, and no one there could even recognize magic heat since they were all artless."

"Are you quite sure?" Matt asked.

"Y-es. I think so."

She didn't sound all that sure to me. "You don't think that's why Mother Alfreda disliked you?" I asked. "You say she hated you for no reason, but perhaps she knew, somehow, and thought you did the devil's work."

"Then why didn't she say? Why didn't she throw me out? It was Mother Frances who threw me out, not Mother Alfreda, and because of "my mistake," as she called it, not my magic. No, I don't think she knew. I don't think anyone knew."

But she didn't sound positive.

We thanked her and she re-entered the shop while Matt returned the glasses and spoons to the ice cream seller. They were in the midst of a conversation in Italian when Matt paused. He stood on his toes and peered over the heads of passersby. Then he suddenly ran off.

I lifted my skirts and followed. Or tried to, but he was too fast. I caught a glimpse of him through the crowd ahead before he vanished. Had he gone into a shop? Or into the side street? I was about to enter the nearest shop, a millinery, when I heard him call my name.

He hurried toward me from the side street, caught my arm and walked me briskly back past the ice cream seller.

"You saw Payne?" I asked.

"I saw a fellow lounging against the wall," he said. "I can't be sure, but his stature reminded me of Payne. His hat was pulled low over his face so I couldn't see it. You shouldn't have followed me."

"You shouldn't have tried to confront him."

He wisely kept his mouth shut.

We avoided narrow back streets and kept to the busier thoroughfare as we walked home. I wondered if Matt would have been as cautious if he were alone. I didn't ask, not wanting to stoke the embers of our argument.

Instead, I steered clear of sensitive topics altogether. "Do you think it odd that Sister Margaret drew our attention to Abigail Pilcher in the first place, considering they were such good friends?"

"In what way?"

"She mentioned Abigail's departure out of the blue when we spoke to her at the convent. She didn't have to, and if they were friends, I'd expect her to protect Abigail from our prying questions. Yet she set us down the path of seeking Abigail out. Why?"

"Perhaps she was genuinely interested in her friend's welfare and couldn't check on her herself."

"There's no reason Sister Margaret couldn't visit Abigail."

"Visiting a disgraced former nun is probably strongly discouraged by the mother superior. Putting that aside, what are you suggesting? What would be Sister Margaret's purpose in setting us on Abigail's trail? To find answers that she couldn't give us? If so, it wasn't a successful strategy. We didn't learn anything about Phineas's disappearance, or that of Mother Alfreda."

"Or was Sister Margaret's intention to send us on a wild goose chase, perhaps to throw suspicion onto Abigail and away from the guilty party?"

He frowned at me. "So…they weren't friends?"

"It seems you don't know as much about women as I thought you did."

"I'm hardly the expert, India. The female of the species manages to constantly surprise me, and you in particular. So explain what I've missed."

I wasn't entirely sure if he'd paid me a compliment or not. I decided not to dwell on it. "Women are not always kind to those who've broken the bonds of friendship, and I do believe the bond that existed between Sister Margaret and Abigail was broken when Father Antonio began to take notice of one and not the other."

"Ah, jealousy. That I understand. But you think Sister Margaret would set aside their friendship out of jealousy? Jealousy over a man who could not belong to either of them, I might add."

I sighed. "I don't know. Perhaps. But it does feel a little as if Sister Margaret deliberately steered us toward Abigail to put us off."

"Or to help us. She didn't know Abigail was pregnant. She may have thought she left for a reason related to Mother Alfreda and the babies' disappearances."

I wasn't convinced that Sister Margaret and the other nuns were oblivious to Abigail's condition. With very little else to do in the convent except gossip and observe, it seemed likely the more observant of them would have guessed.

"The real question is," I said, "did anyone at the convent know Abigail was a magician? She didn't think so, but perhaps she was wrong."

"In particular, did Mother Alfreda know? Was that why she hated Abigail?"

"And if she did know," I added, "how did she find out? Because she was a magician too? Or because someone else was and told her?"

Matt's pace slowed and I glanced at him. He appeared lost in thought, his gaze unfocused.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm trying to work out what connection there might be between Abigail's magical ability and the disappearances from the convent. I can't think of one. If Abigail knew Phineas was magical, then perhaps she let it slip to someone who then squirreled him out of the convent, but she says she didn't know."

"She may have lied to us."

---

We decided to visit the convent after lunch and yet another rest for Matt. I no longer had to order him to retire to his room in the middle of the day; he simply went after using his watch's magic. That meant he must be exhausted. The others noticed too, and a heavy silence weighed us down as we waited for Matt to wake and rejoin us. I couldn't settle and found no joy in reading. Cyclops, Willie and Duke, being more active, also couldn't sit still. The men finally left to go to the stables, where they could at least do something, but Willie remained in the house. She paced into the entrance hall and back up to the sitting room again, over and over. I realized after half an hour that she was waiting for the mail.

"Have you heard from your grandfather, India?" Miss Glass asked while Willie was out of the room.

"No, nor do I expect to. It's too much of a risk for him to write. While I don't expect the police to monitor my correspondence, it's something Chronos would expect them to do."

The clearing of a throat behind me had me spinning around and my face heating. Police Commissioner Munro stood there with Willie. He regarded me through narrowed eyes.

"Commissioner!" I said. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Willie looked like she would argue with me about it being a pleasure but thankfully kept her mouth shut. She occupied a position by the mantel, as Matt often did when he was in the sitting room, and regarded the commissioner with cool indifference.

"I must discuss a matter with Mr. Glass," he said.

"You remember Mr. Glass's aunt, Miss Glass," I said.

"Of course." The commissioner bowed with great formality. He was a stickler for the proper order of things and for order in all things around him. His office was the neatest I'd ever seen, and his uniform never had a thread out of place or a dull button. Even his curled mustache was always trimmed and his white hair oiled into place.

That's why it had always seemed so odd that he would do something quite out of the ordinary for a policeman of high standing and have a child with his mistress. His son had died at the hands of an apprentice mapmaker out of jealousy, but I had not seen the commissioner show emotion over the loss. Indeed, it was hard for me to reconcile this man with the sweet natured mother of his son, Miss Gibbons. They just didn't seem suited. Perhaps they were no longer together and their relationship had ended years ago.

"Is Mr. Glass here?" The commissioner addressed Miss Glass.

"I told you," Willie said. "He's indisposed."

"When will he be available?"

"Soon," I said. "Is there something I can help you with? Is it regarding our investigation?"

"That's what you call it? An investigation?" He grunted. "I've had complaints about the two of you, Miss Steele. You must cease your questioning. It's simply not right to pester members of our community whose reputations are beyond reproach."

"Are you referring to the nuns?" I asked.

His mustache wiggled with the pursing of his lips. "Father Antonio says your harassment of the good sisters is interfering with their peace and prayer."

"Good lord," Miss Glass muttered. "If they have done something wrong, they ought to be held accountable."

"What have they done wrong?"

I tried to signal to Miss Glass to keep quiet, but she paid me no attention. "Cavorted with the priest, for one thing."

His bushy brows inched ever so slightly up his forehead. "Is that a crime?"

"No, but it is immoral. Honestly, they consider themselves higher than the rest of us, yet they're no better." She placed a hand to her chest. "Now, I don't mind what they get up to. But I can't abide them looking down their noses at those who try to be good and fail on occasion when they themselves are not perfect. Can't abide it at all."

"I see your point, Miss Glass."

I'm sure he did. He wasn't exactly a moral member of society, and no doubt he'd felt guilty for his indiscretions, particularly in church, even if it wasn't known that he'd had a child by his mistress.

"Won't you sit down, Commissioner?" I asked.

"I haven't the time. Please inform Mr. Glass that I was here and asked him not to bother Inspector Brockwell again with matters that do not involve the police. And tell him that I'm watching him. I'm not satisfied that he has the public's best interests at heart on this matter. Not satisfied at all. If I find out it has something to do with the madness for magic that's sweeping the city, he can expect to hear from me and perhaps endure another stint in the lockup."

"The lockup!" I cried.

Willie pushed off from the mantel. "What the blazes for?"

Miss Glass clutched the lace collar at her throat. "Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear."

I marched past the commissioner, hoping he would follow me out. Fortunately he did. "Please do not upset Miss Glass like that," I hissed. "She has a delicate constitution."

"My apologies." He did not look apologetic. He looked somewhat triumphant at ruffling our feathers. "But consider yourselves warned. No more upsetting the church, no more wasting my men's time, and no more magic nonsense. I won't have you and Mr. Glass inflaming the situation." He leaned closer. "Magic must be kept quiet. It's dangerous for the public to know about it. You ought to understand why, Miss Steele."

My anger suddenly faded. His visit was fueled by worry about magic becoming public knowledge—worry for Miss Gibbons and her father. It was too late for his son, but he could protect the rest of his mistress's family. Or he could try.

"I do understand," I said gently. "Thank you for stopping by."

I walked him down the stairs and watched him leave. The mail had arrived and Bristow handed me a letter to pass to Willie. The handwriting was distinctly feminine. I returned to the sitting room where Willie sat alone in a chair by the window.

"Where's Miss Glass?" I asked.

"Went to her room."

"This arrived for you."

She snatched the envelope and tore it open. She quickly scanned the contents and folded the letter up again. She slumped into the chair.

"Is it bad news?" I asked.

"No," she said with a sullen pout.

"It must be. You look upset."

"I ain't upset. I'm…disappointed." She waved the letter. "My friend won't see me no more."

I almost asked her if she meant to say her lover, not friend, but held my tongue. This was the most I'd learned from her, and I didn't want to frighten her back into her shell. "Tell me about her."

She gave me a sharp look but did not correct my usage of "her." So I was right. Willie had been seeing a woman, not a man. As to what their relationship entailed, I could only guess. I'd heard about women being in a romantic relationship but had never actually known any.

"She's a nurse at the hospital," she said. "That's how we met, when I was there looking for answers into Dr. Hale's death. We liked each other straight away. There was a connection between us and she was—is—special. But when I tried to…advance our friendship to something more, she wouldn't do it. She acted all shocked and said she couldn't." She held up the letter. "She can't take that step. That's what she says in here. She's too afraid to see me anymore. Seeing me makes her want to let her true nature free, and that scares her. She thinks it ain't right."

"It is a large step to take, Willie, particularly if she hasn't experienced a relationship with a woman before." I squeezed her shoulder. "So Duke really never had a chance with you, did he? Does he know?"

"Aye, he knows. Don't worry about Duke. We tried to be together years ago and it didn't work. He won't try again. We're better as friends."

"You were together? Even though you're not…interested in men?"

"I was interested then. Still am, for the right man."

"Now I'm really confused."

She huffed out a humorless laugh. "Don't try and understand it, India. I've tried and failed. The thing is, me and Duke didn't work then and we won't work now. He was good to me when I needed it after…after a bad experience with a man. He helped me feel better about myself again, helped me trust men again. I needed him then, but I moved on. He knows it, but he just don't always accept it." She elbowed me. "He likes to think he's the most important person in my life. Came as a shock when Matt arrived in California and we got close, but Duke adjusted eventually. But I don't think he'd like getting put down another rung on the ladder."

"Do Matt and Cyclops also know that your lover from the hospital is a woman?"

"They might. They know I sometimes like women."

"I can't believe Matt didn't tell me."

She smiled sadly. "He wouldn't tell a secret, not even if you and he were married."

"So let’s see if I have this right. You've been seeing a woman and you'd like your relationship to be something more than friendship, but you're not entirely averse to a romantic relationship with a man either."

"You got it." She gave a sheepish shrug and chewed on her lower lip. I'd never seen her quite so uncertain before. Perhaps she was worried about my reaction. "The thing is, India, I just like people I like. It don't matter what sex they are. I don't understand it, but that's how I feel."

I smiled at her, trying to reassure her this revelation didn't change anything between us. "Thank you for confiding in me. I suspected I was missing something but I couldn't think what. I'm glad you cleared it up for me."

"Wish it would become clearer for me. Being like this, liking both men and women, it gets complicated, sometimes."

A bubble of laughter escaped. "I'm sure it does. But it's not easier liking just men. Take it from me, I've made quite a mess of things, and I've only had one paramour."

"That's because you're a bad judge of character. I'm good at it. I know a good person when I see one." Again, she held up the letter.

I leaned down and hugged her. "Then you must not give up on her. Turn on that Johnson charm and make her see what she's missing."

Finally I got a genuine laugh out of her. "The Johnson charm only works on cowboys and criminals. But I won't give up. Not yet."

---

Matt and I waited at the school gate instead of the convent, hoping to catch Sister Margaret as she saw the children off at the end of the day. I felt rather conspicuous, standing beneath the shade of a tree on the footpath, when Sister Bernadette spotted us. The nun marched toward us, her toolbox swinging with each long stride.

"You two again," she said in her thick Irish accent. "What is it you want now?"

"We wish to speak with Sister Margaret," Matt said.

The school bell tolled and girls began spilling out of the classrooms in chatty groups. We searched for Sister Margaret but couldn't see her.

"What do you want with her?" Sister Bernadette asked.

"That's not something we can divulge," I told her.

"We have no secrets here."

I merely smiled. She was quite hostile; she had been ever since we'd asked prying questions of her and Sister Margaret on our first visit. It seemed ungrateful, considering Matt was responsible for sending Duke and Cyclops to mend the convent roof.

"How is the roof?" I asked.

Matt's gaze slid to me and a small smile touched his lips.

"It stopped leaking," Sister Bernadette said, her tone damper. "I suppose I have you to thank for that, Mr. Glass. But don't expect me to answer your impertinent questions now. It changes nothing."

"I'll keep that in mind," Matt said, "for when we have impertinent questions for you."

Her mouth clamped shut but she was in no hurry to leave. She followed Matt's sharpened gaze to the school. Sister Margaret emerged and, seeing us, joined us at the gate. Her cautious smile quickly faded as Sister Bernadette intercepted her.

"You don't have to speak to them," Sister Bernadette said.

"We only have a few quick questions," Matt said. "It won't take long but they are a little sensitive. Perhaps we can go somewhere quieter where there are no children."

Sister Margaret exchanged a glance with her fellow nun then looked toward the convent. "I…I…don't know."

Sister Bernadette sighed. "They won't give up. Come to the school hall." She headed off, clearly determined to be part of the conversation whether we wanted her there or not.

Sister Margaret tucked her hands into the sleeves of her habit and followed.

The hall was situated behind the school building. The scent of oiled wood came from the large cross hanging on the wall, and several children's drawings of Christ hung on the opposite wall. We sat on chairs arranged in a circle beneath the cross. Both nuns regarded us levelly, if somewhat nervously. Neither looked comfortable meeting us like this, but I took it as a good sign that they were willing to speak with us at all.

"We found Abigail Pilcher," Matt began.

Sister Margaret gasped then covered her mouth with her hand.

"Who?" Sister Bernadette asked.

"Sister Francesca," Sister Margaret told her. "You remember her. She left when…" Her face flushed and she returned her hands to the sleeves of her habit.

"Sister Francesca!" Sister Bernadette blurted out. "But what does Mother Alfreda's disappearance have to do with her? Are you saying she knew something?"

Sister Margaret made a small sound of protest.

"That's what we wanted to know," Matt said. "Her leaving at the same time seemed too coincidental, but after speaking to her, we don't think she had anything to do with it."

"Are you sure?" Sister Bernadette shook her head. "She wasn't a good girl, if I remember rightly. Don't you agree, Sister Margaret?"

Sister Margaret looked like she would burst into tears.

"Why did you mention her to us?" I asked gently. The nun looked troubled and not at all like she had cruel intentions toward Abigail. "Did you suspect she knew something? Or were you motivated for a different reason?"

Sister Margaret's lower lip wobbled. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together, holding her emotions in check.

I leaned forward and touched her arm. "Tell us what you know about Abigail Pilcher," I urged her. When she didn't speak, I added, "Did you know she was with child?"

She nodded. Neither she nor Sister Bernadette seemed surprised. If they both knew, perhaps the entire convent did.

Something black fluttered just outside the door. It could have been a bird, but was more likely a nun's habit. Someone was eavesdropping.

I sat back and glanced at Matt, lifting my eyebrow. He nodded, encouraging me to go on. I drew in a deep breath. "Did you know that Abigail is a magician?"

Sister Margaret's eyes flew open and she crossed herself. Sister Bernadette pressed the crucifix hanging around her neck to her lips. Her face turned as pale as her wimple.

Behind and above me, something cracked and wood grated against wood. I turned and looked up just in time to see the large cross plunging toward me.