Her eyes were watchful, her muscles tense. If only he could still feel what she felt, he would have noticed before that she was upset. God damn it, they’d just escaped a relationship built on coercion. He didn’t want to marry her like this.
“Omnimancer,” Miss Dane said impatiently, “do you intend to give that to Beatrix or not?”
What choice did he have? What choice did any of them have at this point?
“Beatrix,” he choked out, “will you marry me?”
She said nothing for a moment, the silence deafening. Then she lifted her chin in precisely the way she had on another night—when she’d looked him in the eye and lied about Plan B.
“I will.”
CHAPTER 7
Beatrix led them up the stairs to the second-floor newsroom, telling herself that there was surely some rational explanation for the way he’d delivered his marriage proposal. He was nervous. Or wracked with stress about going public. Or—or anything except the obvious conclusion.
It hadn’t occurred to her until now that the scandalous photograph wasn’t simply a deadline to do what they would have done regardless. The picture made marriage a requirement rather than a choice. Lydia’s presidency depended on it. But hewantedto marry her, so why would that be a problem now that he actually could?
This was not the time to think about it. She opened the door to the newsroom and looked for Helen Hickok. The reporter’s desk was empty, the typewriter silent. Beatrix’s heart sank, but then she heard a hubbub across the massiveroom and looked over. Hickok stood with one hand on the desk of a scowling man, the other hand making slashing movements in the air.
“No, you will not”—slash—“take out that quote”—slash—“because you are not”—slash—“a completeidiot,” she said, her ringing voice carrying.
The man answered her, though his exact words were eaten up by the distance between them.
“No, more like twenty percent,” she said, giving him a pat. “The longer you work with me, the less idiotic you get.”
The man said something else. Hickok threw back her head and laughed. “All right, then,” she said. She turned, caught sight of who was standing by her desk, and literally ran for them, strands of her bright-orange hair slipping from her updo in her haste.
“Oh—this, I havegotto hear,” she said.
Peter’s solemn expression gave way to a half-smile. Under normal circumstances, Beatrix was sure, he would have laughed.
“Come on, come on,” Hickok demanded, pulling chairs from the desks of less dedicated reporters who took Sunday evening off. “Whatever this is about, it’s a great story. Three League for the Prohibition of Magic leaders and awizard.Sit!” she ordered, whipping a notepad off her desk and a pen from behind her ear. “Talk! You first,” she said, gesturing at Beatrix with her pen.
“This is Peter Blackwell, our town omnimancer.” Beatrix took a breath. Calm, be calm. “You know everyone else, ofcourse. Peter, meet Helen Hickok, theStar’spolitical reporter.”
“Delighted,” Hickok said. “Headline, Harper—why are you here?”
Rosemarie had suggested beginning at the beginning. Beatrix simply handed over the envelope. She knew Hickok well enough to understand which way would be better.
“Ah,” the reporter said, nodding as she assessed the photograph. “Washington sent this to you in hopes of forcing Lydia Harper out?”
“No,” Lydia said. “Washington sent it to League leaders sotheywould force me out.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Hickokhmm’d over the photo for a moment. Peter slipped his hand into Beatrix’s, the warmth of it spreading up her arm. She was being silly, surely—seeing problems that weren’t there. The scandal, on the other hand, was all too real. She needed to focus on defusing it.
Hickok looked up. “All right, now the rest of the story. Your turn, Omnimancer.”
“I’m from Ellicott Mills originally,” he said. “When I came back to town, I hired Beatrix to help.”
Hickok snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”
“That I would hire her?”
“That she’d agree to work for a wizard.”
