“Well?” she asked, stomach tying itself into knots.
“We were afraid you weren’t coming back, you see,” Marilyn said.
“We had to do something,” Dot said.
They fell silent. Beatrix, in terrible suspense, said, “What? What did you do?”
Joan leaned in. “We put out a call to come to Washington.”
Beatrix sucked in a breath as she put two and two together. “You mean you called your recruits, and they calledtheirrecruits, and …?”
“Yes, and so on. Just as you originally planned.”
It was hardly the most salient response, but all Beatrix could think to whisper back was, “The Vow didn’t stop you?”
Joan shook her head. And really—how could Beatrix expect a Vow to be predictable, after all her experience to the contrary? It didn’t stop Ella from setting off the weapon. Whatever ersatz brain the Vows operated with must have considered Plan B more protective of Lydia than no Plan B, even though the Vow she made to Peter judged it dangerous for him.
Joan leaned in even closer. “Also, the recruiting kept going.”
“How—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “How many women are coming here?”
“Well, not everyone wanted to show up when push came to shove, which I suppose is to be expected, and?—”
“Joan!How many?”
“Almost a hundred thousand.”
Oh God. Oh God, oh God. “When are you doing it?” she asked, thinking but not adding,is there time to call it off?
“Tomorrow morning.”
It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. Many of the women were probably on their way—or already in the city.
“Have you told Lydia?” she asked the trio.
They shook their heads.
“I have to,” Beatrix said. “And Peter and Rosemarie.”
“All right. But fair warning,” Joan said, voice soft, expression hard, “we’re going ahead with it regardless.”
She thought of what Joan had said at Lydia’s graduation. Joan, frustrated and wanting more.
She felt the same way.
“Lydia and Rosemarie have done a brilliant job,” Joan said, putting a hand on Beatrix’s arm. “It’s just time for some of us to leave the nest. For all their efforts, the Women’s League for the Prohibition of Magic isn’t really a women’s rights organization.”
“We’d love it if you’d join us tomorrow,” Dot murmured, “but we understand that you probably can’t.”
Beatrix laughed under her breath. No “probably” about it. “Well,” she said, “are you going to tell them with me, or are you getting the heck out of here before all hell breaks loose?”
“I’ll come,” Joan said. To Dot and Marilyn, she added, “Go on, there’s so much still to do.”
Five minutes later, they squeezed into the small lavatory in Lydia’s room, Beatrix and Joan helping Lydia while Peter pushed Rosemarie in her wheelchair. He locked the door and switched off the light.
“One, two, three …” Peter whispered in her ear, then called out“scield”as she cast the spell. They repeated the procedure for the spell detector. The only hint of white was in the air between them, where she’d cast, and Peter flipped the light back on.
Joan explained. Beatrix watched her sister’s face shift from confusion to alarm and then, as Joan said she was goingthrough with it, to anger. Rosemarie listened with a frown, eyes narrowed. Peter stood behind Beatrix, and she couldn’t bring herself to turn and see the emotions on his face. She could certainly imagine them.
