"What did you eat?" Duke asked the moment Matt and I set foot in the drawing room. He, Willie and Cyclops had waited up for us, although Cyclops looked drowsy.

Willie set down her cards. "That's your first question?"

Duke shrugged. "I'm hungry."

"The food was delicious and plentiful," I told him. "The wine superb, although there was rather too much of it for me."

Willie gave a knowing nod. "You don't hold your liquor well, India, it's true. Ain't your fault. You just need more experience."

"What did Coyle want?" Cyclops asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," I said. "Perhaps just to introduce us to his friends."

Matt offered to pour me a drink but I declined. He sat down without pouring himself one either. "I think he wanted to gauge our reactions to Professor Nash's claims," he said.

We told them about the other guests, the collectors' club, and the professor's interest in the history of magic. Twice I had to explain the lost language of magic and how spell casters used it to create new spells.

"But you know the language, India," Willie said. "So do other magicians."

"We only know a few words. There are probably thousands more. According to Nash, those magicians knew how to string the words together to make new spells, just like writers and storytellers have done for centuries with the English language."

"Nash also thinks they were powerful magicians with unbroken lineages," Matt said.

They all looked at me.

"I am not a spell caster," I said. "I'm doubtful they even existed. Nash is only guessing, after all. He has no proof, only his own interpretations of some old texts. He said so himself." I picked up Willie's cards and pushed her entire stack of matchsticks into the middle.

"Not that much!" She pulled them back again.

"They're matchsticks, Willie," Duke said with a roll of his eyes. "We ain't playing for diamonds."

"I don't like losing to you."

I sat again and looked at Matt. I was so used to seeing him exhausted at this time of the evening that I almost ordered him to bed. Instead, I smiled, although my mood wasn't as buoyant as it had been before dinner. The news about poor Mr. Baggley unnerved me. I told the others what Coyle's butler had reported just before we left.

"Murdered!" Cyclops's one eye squinted. "How?"

"Shot from behind," Matt said.

"Shot!" Willie cried. "From what distance?"

"The butler didn't know," Matt said wryly.

"Then how'd he know Baggley was shot?"

It was a good question. According to the butler, Baggley had died mere hours earlier from a gunshot wound to the head. He'd been working late at the Gazette's office on Lower Mire Lane but the butler couldn't say if anyone else had been present or if someone had been arrested. But how had he known about the murder in the first place?

"Coyle must have spies," Matt said.

"At the Gazette?" I asked.

"All over the city, but particularly at the Gazette's offices now. You heard him tonight, India. He and his friends don't like Barratt's articles. I wouldn't put it past him to have paid an employee to report who meets with Barratt, what he and Baggley discuss, that sort of thing. Coyle will be looking for any way to sabotage Barratt and the paper."

"Like murder the editor?" Duke said.

"You think him capable?" Cyclops asked.

Matt looked to me. "India?"

He was allowing me to express my opinion before him, in an attempt to boost my confidence. I'd been quite hopeless at judging character in the past, having made some terrible choices in my friendships, but I liked to think I was getting better. For instance, I trusted the people in that room implicitly.

"Yes," I said. "I think he is capable."

"So do I. He has the resources to pay someone to do it, so he can look innocent, and he's ruthless enough to want to protect his collection's value."

I shivered. Lord Coyle could have orchestrated a murder while dining with us. Surely his ruthlessness didn't extend that far. Yet I couldn't shake the thought.

"To be fair," Matt went on, "any number of people must want the articles to end. The other guests there tonight, for example, Abercrombie and the guild masters, and even a few magicians who want to remain anonymous."

"That's the thing, though," I said. "They wanted the articles to end, so why not kill Barratt? Killing Baggley probably won't change anything. The newspaper will still go out weekly, and Barratt's articles will still be included. They are popular enough that a new editor won't stop them."

It was the conclusion we had all come to over dinner, and I saw no reason to alter my opinion. To end the articles, one had to stop Oscar Barratt, not Baggley.

"Maybe it has nothing to do with the paper," Duke said. "Maybe it were personal."

"I'll see what I can learn tomorrow," Matt said. "Cyclops, you look done in. You haven't stopped yawning since we got home."

"I've been fixing the convent roof," he said, turning a flinty glare onto Duke and Willie. "Without help."

"We helped," Willie protested. "Holding the ladder requires two of us on account of you being so heavy."

"We thought it would be good for you to work alone up there," Duke added. "Physical work tires you so you don't have time to think about Catherine Mason."

"What does she have to do with anything?" Cyclops growled.

"You have been thinking about her a lot lately," Willie told him. "And it's making you sad that you can't be together."

"We're doing you a favor," Duke added.

Cyclops pushed to his feet. "You can't talk, Willie. You been thinking a lot about your lover lately, too. Your face has been as long as an old nag's."

"She ain't my lover no more." Willie slid all of her matchsticks into the middle of the table. "Let's get this game over. I want to go to bed."

She and Cyclops glared at one another while Duke showed his hand then gleefully raked in all the matchsticks.

"The three of you need to blow off some steam," Matt said, clamping a hand on Cyclops's shoulder. "The convent roof is finished, isn't it? Why not go out tomorrow? See the sights of London. Visit a museum. Have a picnic in Hyde Park."

The three of them looked at him as if he were mad.

"Or enjoy a drink at a pub," I said.

They agreed on that and went to bed in happier spirits.

I thought we should visit Oscar Barratt to find out more about Mr. Baggley's death, but Matt disagreed. He claimed it was because Detective Inspector Brockwell would know more, but I suspected it was simply because he didn't like Oscar. I doubted Brockwell would tell us anything. He was a stickler for following protocol.

I was both right and wrong. He was more informative than I expected when he finally invited us into his office after making us wait for twenty-three minutes. His willingness probably had a lot to do with experiencing danger together the day Sheriff Payne was arrested. It was surprising how life and death situations could bring people closer.

"I don't think his murder has anything to do with the articles about magic that have appeared in The Weekly Gazette," he said in his precise, clipped manner of speaking. "Tea, Miss Steele?"

"Oh, er, no, thank you," I said.

"Nor for me," Matt added. He smiled one of his charming smiles.

It only made Brockwell shift uncomfortably in his chair and concentrate on the papers spread before him. I rolled my eyes at Matt. He glowered and crossed his arms. I knew he thought Brockwell was interested in me in that way, but I'd dispelled that notion. Or so I thought. It would seem he was still jealous. I found I couldn't be disappointed about that.

"Why don't you think his murder has anything to do with magic?" I asked.

Brockwell flipped through some papers. When he found the one he wanted, he drew it out and placed it on top of the pile. He shaped the pile until it was a perfect stack again. "If I wanted to stop the articles, I'd kill Barratt, not Baggley."

"That seems to be a common opinion," Matt said. "I'm not entirely sure it's a good enough reason to dismiss the theory based on the little we know, however."

"Was he alone in the office at the time?" I asked.

"Barratt was with him," Brockwell said. "They were discussing story ideas. Barratt had got up to retrieve notes from the desk, leaving Baggley alone. He heard a gunshot and ran out, only to find Baggley slumped over his desk and the killer nowhere to be seen. The front door was not locked. Anyone could have walked in off the street."

"Is Barratt under suspicion?" Matt asked.

"Matt!" I cried.

He shrugged. "He was alone with Baggley, and there are no other witnesses. He'd be my prime suspect."

"He is a suspect," Brockwell said.

Matt seemed satisfied, but I got the feeling Brockwell was keeping something from us.

"Who else?" I asked.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Miss Steele. I am sorry." He smiled gently. I smiled back, hoping it would soften his stance a little. But I wasn't a charmer and Brockwell wasn't the sort of man who could be charmed.

"Did you find the murder weapon?" Matt asked, breaking the silence.

"No," Brockwell said.

"Any witnesses?"

"I am not at liberty to say."

"Did the killer leave behind any evidence?"

"Again, I am not at liberty to say."

"Don't make me go over your head, Inspector."

Brockwell clasped his hands on the paper stack. "Since this case does not involve you, Commissioner Munro is unlikely to give you the answers you seek."

Matt stood and buttoned up his jacket. "Are you quite sure it doesn't involve us?" He offered me his arm and went to escort me out.

"Before you go," Brockwell said, once again searching through his papers. "I have an update on Sheriff Payne's trial. The prosecutor wants it to go ahead soon."

"The sooner the better," I said.

"Quite. Payne has been telling the other inmates that he saw you and Mr. Seaford bring Mr. Glass back to life using magic. In light of the public's interest in magic, it won't take long for the newspapermen to get wind of it. The sooner the trial is, the less opportunity for them to hear him spout his maliciousness."

Again, Matt went to escort me out. We thanked Brockwell as he walked us to the door.

He touched my elbow. "Good day, Miss Steele. My door will remain open to you during this difficult time of Payne's trial."

"And to me?" Matt asked.

Brockwell merely huffed.

"You shouldn't tease him," I said as we headed back through the Scotland Yard building. "He could have made life far more difficult for us. Besides, I thought you liked him. You like how methodical and thorough he is."

"True," Matt said. "But I don't like him flirting with you."

"That was hardly flirting. He was merely being a good policeman, offering me support. He probably assumed you didn't need it, since you're big and strong and quite capable of looking after yourself, now that you're healthy."

"Trust me, India, that was flirting."

"I suppose I should trust you since you are the expert."

His eyes narrowed and I grinned.

"And you can't blame him for flirting when he thinks our relationship is purely a working one," I added.

"As soon as I am free, he'll be the first I tell. Until then, I will exercise my right to scowl, glower and glare at him when he flirts with you."

Matt deposited me at home but climbed back into the carriage after assisting me out. He refused to tell me where he was going but promised to inform me later. It was most infuriating.

Miss Glass was the only one at home and she was glad to see me. "It's been so dull here all morning," she said with a pout. "Come and read to me, India."

I read a few pages of her book aloud but stopped when I realized she wasn't listening. She stared out the window, her neck craned to see the street.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked.

"Just Beatrice."

"Alone or with her daughters?" I could manage one of the Glass women, but all four would be a trial. I suspected they would welcome my excuses anyway and prefer that I wasn't around. Patience in particular would feel awkward. She knew how Matt and I felt about one another.

Miss Glass turned back to me. "We're going to discuss wedding arrangements."

I closed the book and put it down. "I see."

"She wants to put an announcement in the papers, but I asked her to wait. It hasn't been all that long since the announcement of Patience's marriage to Lord Cox, and another so soon would be vulgar."

"I see," I said again.

"Matthew has also asked that we wait."

I lifted my gaze to hers. "Did he say why?"

"There's no need for him to explain. I know why. He plans on convincing Lord Cox to take her back."

"Lord Cox won't give in," I told her.

"No. He won't. He's far too proud." She rested her hand over mine. "This will be a difficult time for you, my dear, but I will help you through it. One day, you will thank me. You both will. You and Matthew are not right for one another—"

I surged to my feet. "How do you know?"

Her fingers recoiled. "I have experience in matters of the heart."

I wanted to tell her that she couldn't possibly have the same sort of experience, since she was alone, without love. But I did not. I couldn't stoop that low, not even in the heat of the moment.

"You may look at me and think of me only as a spinster," she said, guessing my thoughts. "But I was in love, once, and he was terribly unsuitable. I didn't know it at the time, but I later learned he was trying to trap me into marriage. Penelope saved me by stealing him from me."

It took me a moment to piece together the threads of her story. Penelope had once been her friend, but they'd become bitter enemies many years ago. This must be why. "Then shouldn't you thank Penelope for stealing him if he was that type of character?"

"She still stole him, India. Friends do not do that to one another. Besides, she didn't know he was a rogue at the time. She got rid of him almost as soon as she'd won him. She was never in love with him. She simply wanted to see if she could take him from me."

"That's hardly the same as our situation. I am not trying to trap Matt. I love him. I'd marry him if he were a pauper. I would hope you knew me well enough to believe that."

She sighed and turned to the window again but her gaze became dreamy. "I do miss him. I miss him very much."

For a moment I thought she was talking about the man who'd tried to trap her, but realized she was probably talking about Matt's father, her brother, Harry. Her mind often slipped into the past when confronted with conflict in the present, and her beloved brother featured regularly.

I sat again and picked up the book. Whether she listened or not, it didn't matter. Reading passed the time until the mail arrived. A letter came for me from Patience, of all people.

I set it aside and read the message from Lady Rycroft to Miss Glass first. "She says she won't be coming today after all."

"Good." Miss Glass declared. "It means she agrees to delay the announcement."

That was something, at least. A delay meant more time to convince Lord Cox. Although I hadn't a clue how we were going to do that.

"What is in your letter?" Miss Glass asked, picking it up. "It's from Patience. You can't ignore her forever."

I rather thought I could, but I took it anyway. "She apologizes," I said, scanning the page. "She hopes I will one day be able to forgive her."

"If it's forgiveness she wants, she ought to marry someone else."

I shook my head. "You are so contrary, Miss Glass. You want her to marry Matt. I thought you'd be telling me I ought to forgive her, or that there is nothing to forgive."

"Of course there's something to forgive. She's taking away my nephew. The household will never be the same again."

I blinked at her, not quite sure if I understood correctly. She thought she was the injured party in this arrangement, not me. I’d always assumed the upper classes were a selfish lot, and now I had confirmation. I wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or call her out. In the end, I said nothing. She was an elderly woman, used to thinking of no one but herself. Pointing out her selfishness would achieve nothing but discord between us, and despite everything, I was fond of her.

She patted my knee. "I don't think he should marry you, India, but that doesn't mean I want him to marry Patience. She'll do, I suppose. She's not as nasty or vacuous as her sisters. Anyway, you and I will still have one another, so something good will come of this. We'll muddle along well enough. Once we move into the big house on the estate, we can have the entire west wing to ourselves. We won't even have to see Patience if we don't want to."

It was impossible to tell if she was joking, serious, or had lost her mind. "I think you need to rest."

She touched the white curls at her temple. "Am I rambling again?"

I steered her up the stairs and settled her for a nap on the bed. I asked Bristow to serve me a light luncheon in the sitting room, since I was alone, but Duke, Cyclops and Willie returned in time. He brought in enough ribbon sandwiches for all of us.

Duke devoured two before my second bite.

"Slow down," Willie scolded him. "You'll give yourself a belly ache."

"I need to build my strength," he said around a mouthful.

"Are you doing more work at the convent after all?" I asked him.

"We ain't been to the convent," Cyclops said, picking up a sandwich in each hand. He inspected them both before deciding on the right one. He shoved the entire thing in his mouth.

"For his strength," Duke told me with a wink.

I set my sandwich down on the plate. "Will someone tell me what's going on?"

Willie and Cyclops exchanged glances. Duke ignored me in favor of his next sandwich.

"Tell me now or I'll fling that clock at you."

"All right," Willie said with a glance at the door. "But you got to promise not to tell Matt."

"I can't do that."

"Then we ain't telling you."

Clearly they were up to something that Matt wouldn't approve of, and I probably wouldn't either. It only piqued my curiosity more. "Very well," I said. "I won't tell him, but don't expect me to lie for you, either."

They all nodded. "We're going to a fight tonight," Willie said. "Bare knuckles. Last man standing is the winner."

"Go on," I hedged.

"Duke and Cyclops are contenders."

"Are you mad?" I cried. "You'll be hurt."

None of them seemed to think that a problem. "A few bruises," Cyclops said.

"A cut lip, maybe," Duke added with a shrug.

Willie grinned. "It'll be an improvement."

Both men grinned back.

They were definitely mad. This seemed to constitute entertainment for them. "I know you're from the Wild West, where things are, well, wild, but this is barbaric. No wonder you don't want Matt to know. He'll insist you stay home."

"He ain't our keeper," Willie shot back. "We can tell him if we want to, and he can't do nothing about it."

We both knew she wouldn't tell him. None of them would. Matt may not be able to stop them, but he could certainly spoil their evening by going with them and watching over them like a mother hen.

"We've been spoiling for a fight," Duke said. "You heard us last night. We're at each other all the time. Nothing exciting's happened for a whole week and we're bored. We need to release our frustration."

"By getting pounded?"

"We don't plan on getting pounded as much as our opponents," Cyclops said, his eye gleaming.

"I expected better from you, Cyclops. You have a gentle nature. These two are ruffians at heart."

Cyclops's face fell.

"He's a man, India," Duke said, not offended by my comment. "A man who's denied the woman he wants. This is the best thing for him, right now."

Cyclops looked away. I couldn't argue with him; I knew all about that kind of frustration.

"And what about your frustrations, Willie?" I asked. "Or are you going to tell me you've thrown your hat in the ring too?"

"Don't worry about me," she said. "I'll be ringside. Watching a fight is just as good for relieving frustrations as throwing the punches. Besides, they'll need me to make sure it's a fair fight. You should come, India."

"No," Duke and Cyclops both said. "Matt won't like it," Duke added.

"It ain't Matt's choice. It's India's. She's a free woman."

"A respectable woman," Cyclops said. "She don't want to see blood spilled, do you, India?"

"Not in the name of sport," I said. "Thank you for the invitation, Willie, but I decline."

"Fine, but you'll miss seeing a lot of bare, masculine chests." She winked.

Matt arrived home for a late luncheon, and finally informed us where he'd been. "I visited Payne in prison. That's why I didn't want you to come, India."

"You could have told me beforehand," I said.

"You would have insisted on coming."

He had a point. "Why did you want to see him?"

"Aye, why did you?" Cyclops asked. "I thought you'd never want to see his face again."

"Lord Coyle knew about India and Gabe Seaford saving my life," Matt said. "His other dinner guests also knew. I wanted to find out if someone had been to see Payne or if Payne was talking too much. If the former, then the information is relatively contained. If the latter, we might have a problem if the newspapers get wind of it before the trial."

"And?" Duke prompted. "Which was it?"

"According to the guard at the front desk, Payne had one visitor last week. The same guard was on duty at the time but couldn't remember the visitor's appearance. He said the man's toff accent stood out, however. The visitor register listed the man's name as Smith. The signature was unreadable."

"Smith?" Willie snorted.

"And what about Payne?" I asked. "What did he tell you?"

"I wasn't allowed to see him, being a key witness and an injured party. Speaking with him wasn't my primary intention anyway. I got the information I needed from the register and guard."

"Do you think Lord Coyle was his visitor?"

"Most likely."

"You going to confront him?" Cyclops asked.

"Want me to bring my Colt?" Willie added.

"There's no need to confront anyone," Matt said. "Coyle is allowed to visit Payne. At least he has an interest in keeping the information to his own circle of friends.”

"But why did he want to know what happened that day?" I asked. "Why did he need to know about my magic and Gabe's?"

No one had a good answer to those questions.

I noticed Cyclops, Duke and Willie sneak away from the house after lunch and followed them to the mews. Cyclops was already in the process of rolling up his sleeves when I confronted them in the stables.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Willie wheeled around. "What are you doing here? Go back to the house or Matt will come looking for you."

"We're just practicing," Duke told me, hanging his waistcoat on a hook.

"Keep Matt away." Willie shooed me and I retraced my steps back to the house.

A visitor had arrived in my short absence, one whom I wasn't sure I was pleased to see. Oscar Barratt always seemed to bring bad news with him. He'd tricked me in the past, telling me he'd be careful not to divulge too much about magic in his articles, yet he'd crossed that line anyway. The problem was, he thought the line was in one place and I thought it in another. Both of us being magicians, however, meant we also had a certain understanding of the other and the same wish—to see magicians openly able to practice their magic.

This duality made our relationship complicated.

He sat on the sofa with Matt opposite. Neither looked like they wanted to be in the same room as the other. My entry was met with expressions of relief.

"India," Oscar said. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to speak to you both." He sat again and wiped the palm of his hand on his trouser leg. The uncertain smile he'd given me upon entry withered beneath Matt's glare.

"This saves us a journey," Matt said to Oscar. "We wanted to ask you about Mr. Baggley's murder."

"It's a terrible business." Oscar leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His dragged a shaking hand through his hair.

This called for tea. I tugged the bell pull and asked Bristow for refreshments.

"Are you all right, Oscar?" I asked as I sat again.

Oscar nodded and leaned back with a heavy sigh. "I'm still coming to terms with what happened. Baggley was a good man and a fine editor. He leaves behind a wife and two adult children. He'll be missed."

"We heard you were there when he was shot," Matt said.

"You've been speaking to the police? I'm not surprised. Yes, I was there."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"No, but I thought I heard the front door shut as someone left. I ran out but saw no one on the street."

It was a narrow lane and the office was close to Fleet Street, with a number of lanes coming off it. Fleeing the scene would be easy if the killer was fleet of foot.

"Do you know who may have wanted Baggley dead?" Matt asked. "Has he enemies or been threatened lately?"

"That's the thing." Oscar scrubbed a hand over his goatee beard. "He hadn't been threatened, but I have. By a magician"