“She isn’t dying, not yet, but I do think I know what’s wrong with your mother,” he said slowly, hoping he wouldn’t sound like a charlatan or a fool. “Do you know if she has anything on her person that she doesn’t usually carry? A charm, a letter, a small book, perhaps.”
Her daughter looked at him as if he had spoken in tongues before raking her gaze over her mother’s form. “No, she wears a locket with my father and youngest brother’s pictures in it, but she always does. Her gloves and clothes aren’t new either. Why?”
“Because I think someone gave her something imbued with magic, and that’s what’s hurting her.”
“Someone poisoned her?” the older woman asked.
“In a way.”
Oliver begged the Mrs. Cutler’s forgiveness before rooting through her pockets, but all that was in them was a piece of paper with an outline of her speech, a to-do list, and a receipt. He tore all of them in half just in case, and while he didn’t expect it to cure her, he didn’t sense any change in her. He was about to tell the salt and pepper-haired women to help him carry Mrs. Cutler outside when his attention snagged on the rose pinned to her breast. The longer he stared at it, the more wrong it looked. It was subtle, but the rose looked too red and almost too perfect.Hidden beneath the leaves and thorns, was a halo of blood that had soaked into the green wool of her dress. She had pulled at her dress as if the pin had stuck her when the coughing fit first started.
Leaning closer, Oliver eyed the paper that bound the roses’ heads together. He had expected to see some sort of tape or even newspaper, but it appeared to be handwritten. “Where did she get this?”
Her daughter stared at the flower as if seeing it for the first time. “I— I don’t know. She wasn’t wearing it at home.”
“Someone at the bazaar gave it to her,” the other woman said. “I didn’t recognize the fellow, but Minerva might know his name. If she—”
“She will,” Oliver said, hoping he could believe it himself. “Hopefully, this will help.”
Oliver knew the boutonniere probably had a pin of some sort, but he didn’t know if the curse could transfer from being pricked by the pin or thorns and he wasn’t willing to find out. Wadding up his handkerchief, Oliver yanked the flower off as he would a tick. Mrs. Cutler’s gown tore as she let out a pained cry.
Pulling out his back-up handkerchief, Oliver pressed it over the wound. “Hold pressure, please, Miss Cutler, while I dispose of this.”
Before she could protest, Oliver took the boutonniere to the other side of the stage and stomped it. The flowers flashed red and crunched like bone beneath his heel, but Oliver didn’t stop until the boards were slick with blood and brown pulp. The bent pin and wire stuck up dangerously, but when Oliver squatted beside it and let his powers brush against what was left of it, the magic felt present but broken, as if someone had dragged their foot through a spiderweb. Oliver carefully scooped it back into his handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. He wasn’t sure if Mr. Turpin could glean anything from it, but at least theywouldn’t have to worry about it hurting anyone else or falling into the wrong hands.
Returning to Mrs. Cutler’s side, Oliver said, “It shouldn’t hurt her further.”
Though the damage may already be done, he wanted to add but didn’t. He hoped Mrs. Cutler’s daughter and companion didn’t catch the flash of panic on his face when he drew closer to check her pulse and snatched his hand back when the tether strained to catch her. Oliver eyed the door in hopes that one of Mrs. Cutler’s companions had found a healer, but no one had come in. He looked through the clusters of people left behind as they helped the other wounded and found Felipe calf-deep in the middle of the inky fountain water. A rush of fear crested over him, but he quickly stuffed it down and averted his gaze back to his patient. He had to trust that Felipe knew what he was doing and not distract him with his fear. Besides, Mrs. Cutler needed him; now was not the time to panic.
Oliver’s hand shook as he checked her pulse again. She wasn’t any better. If anything, she was worse. Her breathing had become quicker and shallower, and the handkerchief her daughter held over the wound was already soaked through. Somehow, he expected that she would rally a little when he removed the source of the curse, but whatever poison or injury the flower imparted had already taken its toll. Oliver chewed his lip. How did he stop the bleeding on something that couldn’t be staunched with a tourniquet? Her blood vessels were leaking from death by a thousand internal papercuts or magic-induced hemophilia, and while Oliver wished he had his medical bag, he doubted it would do any good. Most people in her condition would die even in the most well-appointed hospitals because no medication could fix it, but a healer could. He could guide them on exactly what to heal. He just needed to keep her alive long enough for them to arrive.
As if sensing his thoughts, Mrs. Cutler’s opened her eyes.
“Mama?” her daughter said hopefully. “Mama, hang on. Margerite and Ellen are getting healers. Mrs. Burns is here too. We need you to hang on.”
When she looked to Oliver for confirmation, he couldn’t move. His heart kept thundering in his ears in time with the tether’s magnetic pull. All it wanted was permission to hook her, to save her, but Oliver wouldn’t let it. It was too dangerous. The blood haloing Mrs. Cutler’s blue eyes gave them an uncanny brightness as she looked past her daughter to meet Oliver’s gaze. Oliver recognized with sinking clarity the resolute acceptance in the set of her features. He knew that look from his nights spent pacing the hospital ward trying to stop people from dying. Oliver opened his mouth to beg her daughter to go find a healer when Mrs. Cutler’s heart gave a fitful stutter that yanked the tether at its root. Oliver threw up his walls and looked for Felipe, but he was too far away. Mrs. Cutler was dying, and he had no way to stop it, even if he had an idea of how someone else could.
No one was coming, Oliver realized with horrible certainty.
By the time the healers arrived, she would be another body for him to autopsy, and he didn’t want to know if her body hid a message like Enoch’s did. He didn’t want the curse-maker to succeed this time. Oliver forced himself to breathe. There was one way to save her or at least keep her from dying until help arrived. He would have to tether her, even if it meant straining his powers. He had only ever tethered someone living with Felipe knocked out to conserve energy, but it was too dangerous to do that now when he didn’t know what Felipe was doing. Oliver had to trust his body could handle it. He was about to tell Mrs. Cutler’s daughter what he was going to do to help her mother when she stiffened and jerked beneath his hand. Mrs. Cutler drew in a congested, rattling breath that seemed to go on forever, but when it stopped, so did her heart. The flame withinher wavered as if caught in a windstorm, reaching for him to save her, to keep her whole.
No one was coming to save her. The moment Oliver dropped his walls and called to Mrs. Cutler’s soul the tether surged forward to catch her, dragging Oliver and Felipe with it.
***
As soon as Ivy parted the tide, Felipe sprinted across the stone. Newly tainted water spilled over the fountain’s lip in an angry froth, eating away at the soles of Felipe’s shoes with every step. By the time he reached the stone basin, his sinuses and eyes burned from the smell and his shoes stuck to the stone if he stood still too long. Felipe bit back a hiss of pain and leapt back as a surge of black water boiled over the side of the fountain and doused his leg in spray. It burned through his trousers and bit into the flesh of his legs, but Felipe quickly stuffed the pain down. The first flush of pain was always the worst; his family had, thankfully, never prepared him the sting for acid burns, but he would be prepared when it happened again. He had to be. He couldn’t let Oliver get distracted. Felipe let the pain wash over him until clarifying numbness sharpened his senses. Whatever pain he took upon himself would be nothing compared to the others getting hurt.
Stepping up onto the lip of the fountain, Felipe tightened the fabric wrapped around his arm and searched for whatever had caused the burning water. Felipe tried not to think about the tide only inches behind him lapping at his feet as he stood on tiptoe to check inside the upper tiers of the fountain before turning to the giant basin. His eyes darted over each ripple and bubble. If whatever was causing the magic was a carving or tucked into the plumbing, they were fucked. Ivy or Sophia might be strong enough to rip the fountain apart but not if they had to hold thewater back too. No, it made more sense for whoever did this to drop it into the fountain during the bazaar when everyone was distracted. It was probably something small.
“Galvan, hurry up! I can’t hold it much longer!” Ivy called as the water behind him churned and lapped tempestuously at the invisible dams surrounding his path.
Thirty seconds. Felipe would give himself thirty seconds before he gave up looking. He walked along the edge of the fountain, ignoring the spray that had settled into a constant wasp sting itch down his legs. It had to be there. There had to be something—There. As the water bubbled and streamed black, he caught a glint of bobbing metal. Forcing his body still and calm, Felipe knelt against the wet stones. Water rushed against his knees, tearing at his trousers and flesh with an angry hiss. He stared down at the abyss, but before his mind could fill in the blanks, he plunged his wrapped hand beneath the inky surface. Felipe swallowed the torrent of pain engulfing his arm and hand. Water flooded through the fabric of his coat, instantly saturating his arm and burning into his flesh. Acid coated his lips and face like angry sea spray as he forced his body to unlock and leaned against the wet, scalding stone. If he stuck his hand in the vat of frying oil, it might have hurt less, he thought, locking his legs around the stone lip and reaching as far as he safely could. Should he fall in, there was no way even the best healer could put him back together again.
“Galvan!”
“I almost have it,” Felipe gritted.
He swept his hand across the bottom, frantically searching for whatever magical device the assassins had left behind, and came up with nothing. His fingers burned so brightly they were incandescent with pain. He could barely feel what they touched; all that was left was screaming nerves and pressure. His stomach clenched and his mouth watered as he sunk his arm up to theshoulder into the fountain. Any moment now Ivy would have to release the tide, and he would be swept away in it. A few more seconds. A few more seconds, and would find it. Felipe was about stick his other arm in when his hand brushed against something round and metal. His useless fingers fumbled against it, but he managed to drag it out of the water. Dropping it on the lip of the fountain, Felipe threw what remained of his coat around it, scooped it up, and ran.
