“And they need to be brave,” Beatrix said. “Brave enough, at least, to be willing to go to Washington and be part of a mass public demonstration of women’s magic skills.”
“And just recruittwowomen,” Ella said. “Each of them should teach just two more, and so on.”
Beatrix tapped the sink to reinforce the point. “That’s very important. Only two.”
“Each recruit should report back up the line if there’s a problem, and if it’s something that can’t wait, you should call us—but remember the phone is bugged, so just say, ‘Ipromised to let you know how my sister is doing, and I’m afraid she’s still ill.’”
Joan’s expression was grave, but she didn’t object. “What if it’s the middle of the day?”
Beatrix bit her lip. “Then call me at Omnimancer Blackwell’s. It’s almost always me who answers the phone anyway. But in that case, say your sister is ill, and could I put her on the omnimancer’s list.”
“Did you get all that?” Ella asked, shooting Joan a sympathetic look.
“Call if there’s a major problem, say my sister is ill. Don’t tell the recruits this has any connection to the League, or who recruited whom. Pick brave women, no more than two.” Joan cocked her head. “But wouldn’t three or four speed things up?”
“No! Imagine the consequences of telling the secret to someone who shouldn’t be trusted.” The hard rock of Peter’s anxiety and dismay twisted in Beatrix’s stomach. “Be very careful.”
“Be paranoid, actually.” Ella’s smile was grim. “Assume you’re being watched, just in case.”
Beatrix was getting so used to being paranoid that it seemed like second nature. And now, as Ella handed Joan the parcel of leaves they’d brought, Beatrix clutched the pomegranate in her pocket and fought against the paranoia that urged her to put Joan under a Vow. Vows closed loose lips, it was true, but they were a corrupt magic. They used you against yourself. The very idea was so distasteful, so easyto abuse, that even the magiocracy thought them beyond the pale. She never wanted to turn to them again.
And yet here she was with a pomegranate. Just in case.
“Any other questions?” she said after they ensured that Joan had sufficiently hidden the leaves.
Joan bit her lip thoughtfully. “No, I … oh, wait, yes: How did you figure all this out?”
Her words hung in the air a moment. Beatrix swallowed convulsively as a warning from her Vows ghosted up her throat.
Ella cleared her own throat. Her Vow prevented her from talking about Peter’s role, too. “Research. Trial and error,” she said.
But Joan, too-quick Joan, was already leaping ahead. She stared at Beatrix. “Your town omnimancer—is he onourside?”
Quick as lightning, the pomegranate was out of the pocket, Beatrix’s lips forming words of persuasion. In three minutes flat, she and Joan were standing in interlocking circles of demarcation stones, Joan looking down at the piece of paper with the neatly penned paragraph that would rob her of a portion of her free will.
“I see,” Joan murmured. “You took one of these, too.”
Then: “Ic gehate,” she said.I vow.
And Beatrix couldn’t tell whether her own Vows had compelled her to do that, or the feelings for Peter that were not hers, or simply her need to protect him—assuming that, too, wasn’t manufactured. She didn’t think it was. But she really couldn’t know.
CHAPTER 2
In the beginning, the linked dreams were impossible to distinguish from reality. Now, Beatrix needed only a few seconds to tell the difference. The colors were brighter. No dust, no dirt, presumably because their subconscious minds saw no reason to fill those details in.
And she was lying on Peter’s bed, hair unpinned. That sort of thing was a dead giveaway.
“Beatrix,” he said, leaning over her, voice serious, brow creased, his queue of magic-silvered hair glinting in the low light. “Are you?—”
He faltered as she began unbuttoning her dress. He said nothing more as she slowly stripped. He reached out a hand for her but snatched it back and shifted his gaze to a point several feet above her head.
“Beatrix. Are you telling women about magic?”
He’d asked every night. Every single night after the one in which he’d nearly died, she’d discovered how much deeper her magical abilities ran and she’d made the mistake of confiding in him. And because it was practically impossible to hold back in here, she couldn’t say, “I’ve changed my mind, I won’t be doing that after all.” Some part of herwantedto tell him. With effort, she’d managed every night to keep her answer to a simple, truthful, “No.”
Now, with an even greater effort, she repeated that answer. Because she hadn’t toldwomen.
Not yet.
