“The contract was locked in the safe all this time? No one ever took it out?”
“Yes it was, and no we hadn’t. The safe doesn’t look tampered with.” Lydia, decelerating, let out a scream that echoed in an unsettling way through the trees. “Oh, this waswellexecuted. I don’t see how we could prove the contracts were altered—and even if we did, where could we hold the conference at such late notice? Where will we find enough hotel rooms for all the out-of-town women?”
Beatrix bit back a groan. Ifonlythey’d had the League leaders reserve their rooms directly. The hotel staff couldn’t have claimed dozens of guests asking for a room the night of the 10th had all said the 17th. But instead, she had tallied up the RSVPs and passed them on to the hotel en masse—at the owner’s suggestion.
“Oh, and here’s thecoup de grace,” Lydia said, her grasp on Beatrix’s hand tightening to the point of pain. “Not only does the Key not have to pay us for breaking the terms of the contract, but we’re still on the hook to paythem.Even if we could find another venue, we’ve got no money.”
So this was the end. Of trying to redirect the League. Of the possibility that they could make the country more equal.
She couldn’t dredge up the anger she ought to feel. She was numb.
With effort, she asked, “What does Rosemarie suggest?”
“She took the three o’clock train back to the city to see what she could do. Meg went with her—she nearly fainted when she saw the ‘contract.’” Lydia imbued the word with bitter sarcasm. “And Ella is rounding up the troops in hopes of a bright idea materializing. But what can be done?”
Lydia stopped moving, staring at the bits of Cedarlawn visible through the trees. “This is checkmate, Bee. The conference is ruined.I’mruined. Everything we tried to do ... Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
Beatrix put her arms around Lydia, trying to understand why she was apologizing. Did she think this was somehow her fault?
“There’s nothing you could have done,” she said, tucking a few flyaway strands of hair behind her sister’s ear. “Honestly—no one could have anticipated this.”
Lydia pulled away. When she spoke, the defeat in her voice sent a chill down Beatrix’s spine: “What a fool I was to think I could beat them.”
“No!” The word exploded so forcefully from her lips that her sister fell back a step. “No,” she repeated, certain this was a turning point for Lydia the way their mother’s death had been for her.
Maybe shewastired of the League, maybe it would be easier if all that stopped tonight, but what use were her yearsof efforts to give Lydia a better life if her sister took the fork in the road to bitterness and despair?
“Oh?” Lydia snorted in a half-hearted way. “I’m not a fool?”
“No, you’re a fool if you give up now.” Beatrix grabbed her sister’s arm and dragged her out of the forest. “I don’t know how, but we’re going to fix this. Come on! Rewrite your speech right now—tell everyone the lengths the wizards went to stop you!”
“But we’ve got noproof.”
“I’ll get you some,” Beatrix said grimly. “I promise.”
As Lydia paced in their bedroom and Miss Massey played a desultory sonata on the out-of-tune piano in the sitting room, Beatrix shut the door to what used to be her father’s study and pulled the curtains closed on the bay window. No one could see what she was about to do.
Blackwell never let her out of his house with fuel in her pockets, but fortunately she’d found a few green leaves on the cedars that lined the walkway to the front door. The four onyx stones she did still have, and these she placed around the safe sitting under the desk.
She arranged herself just so. She took a deep breath, thankful she hadn’t already hit her spellcasting limit for the day.
“Lang read leoht,” she whispered as loudly as she dared.
The air around the safe, and all the way up to the ceiling, glowed red.
No white.
She inserted her key, fingers fumbling under the strain, and opened it. Inside lay the contract, oh so innocently, and it too was lit up red without relief. She burned up another leaf to cancel the spell and slumped on the floor, head in her hands. She’d been so certain this was the answer. But perhaps the magic was cast too many weeks ago and had faded into nothing. Or perhaps it had been done without magic, just lock-picking tools and an almost identical replacement contract.
How was she to prove that?
Theo. She picked up the telephone to dial his work number, memorized but never before used, when a disquieting thought struck: What ifheswitched the contracts? He’d been in the house—left alone near the study?—
No, it made no sense. If he’d cast spells here or anywhere in the house, they would have shown up when she and Blackwell checked the next day. And why would Theo have gone out of his waynotto cast spells? Surely he had no reason to expect Blackwell would help her. Of course, he hadn’t known until afterward that she and Blackwell were not on good terms ...
That way lay madness. She trusted Theo—she might never have told him anything that could be used against the League, but shetrustedhim. She pressed on the switchhook, got the dial tone back and called him.
No answer.
