“Yes, I was—as everyone in town knows,” he said. “Also, just to save Mrs. Price the trouble, I was orphaned and impoverished. It was a shock to all concerned when I additionally turned out to be a wizard.”
“Is it any wonder he cares about fair play and equal rights?” Beatrix said. “Mrs. Price,thatis the way to judge a man. Don’t you think, Mayor?”
He watched with admiration as Beatrix’s words had exactly the right effect. All the reporters swarmed around Croft, who said that yes, indeed, that was a good measure of a man, and the town was very lucky to call Omnimancer Blackwell a native son, etc. etc. Peter didn’t hear the rest because by then, he and Beatrix had slipped away up Main Street.
He went for his car, intending to drive them to her house.
“Wait,” she said, and walked them down the hill and into the woods.
“Do you think it’s safe to talk here?” she murmured.
He hesitated—they certainly needed to talk and had no better place to do it. But: “No,” he said in an equally quiet undertone. “Not yet.”
“Twelve days,” she said, more a lament than a statement, and gazed at the forest stretching out before them, her expression troubled.
The feeling that hehadto say something caught at him and wouldn’t let go. Considering his words carefully so they would not be understood if overheard, he said, “I agree with what you said. About the wedding date.”
She turned her head sharply to look at him. “You do?”
“One hundred percent.”
She nodded, though she appeared no less troubled. She seemed to be considering her own words. She took his hand, lips parting.
Poof-poof!He swung about. A photographer stood ten feet away.
“Er—sorry, I was afraid I hadn’t gotten good images on the platform,” the man said. “Could you do that again before we lose the light—hold hands and look at each other?”
He considered what Miss Dane would say. Would this count as improper? (What did she think of theStarphoto?) But the decision was made for him. Beatrix slipped her hand back into his—as if she wanted to marry him. As if they’d come here to steal a moment of happy intimacy, as if they weren’t progressively losing the ability to live like halfway normal people.
“One way or another,” she said as the photographer hustled back to Main Street, “we’re constantly being watched.”
“At least this part is done,” he said, gesturing to the journalist.
“That’s what I thought this morning.” Her endearing crooked smile flickered to life and just as rapidly died. “Home, I suppose?”
Off they went to the house where eavesdropping was a guarantee, there to sit at a respectable distance from each other and say nothing of substance whatsoever.
CHAPTER 9
The front-page treatment on all the papers that had dispatched reporters to interview them was the first clue that this was not, in fact, the end. Then the calls began pouring in—to her house, to Peter’s, to Gray’s office. Reporters from out of state had seen the wire service write-up about “Washington’s Romeo and Juliet.” They wanted to do their own stories.
By Thursday morning, forty-two news organizations had registered for the press conference Beatrix had so recently feared would draw no one. She moved the event to the Senate auditorium and stood on the stage as the final minutes ticked down, reminding herself of what Rosemarie had written in her crisp cursive the night before:The magiocracy is constrained now—they have to be careful lest they make our case for us. So don’t complain about the attention, for crying out loud.
She was right, of course. The event would probably not go inexplicably wrong, because too many people would assume Washington was behind it. Far better yet, there was now nothing but downside for the magiocracy in an attempt on Lydia’s life, should anyone’s thoughts have tended even nominally in that direction. She was too young for her death to look anything but highly suspicious. Peter would be safer, too, for the same reason. Beatrix appreciated that, she truly did.
She just wished all these newspapers, radio stations and newsreel makers didn’t want to report on her possibly-fake romance.
Peter, trailing Lydia, stepped up on the stage. Camera bulbs popped. He shook Gray’s hand—more pops. He worked his way over, put his hand on her arm, a bit awkwardly, and dropped it. The cameras caught it all. She turned her head to give herself a moment, afraid her own face communicated exactly how she felt, and caught sight of Joan Hamilton, the League’s Baltimore chapter president and her first recruit for Plan B. Joan gave her a sort-of smile and glanced away.
They hadn’t talked since the day she’d been forced to go back to Joan and the other top recruits, listen to her sister tell them the plan was a mistake that must be stopped, and call on their Vows to ensure it. She didn’t know what Joan thought of her, but she could imagine.
No need to imagine what Peter thought of the Plan B mess. He’d told her.Is there any way for me to see this except as a betrayal?
Really, how could he love her? Why would she have expected otherwise?
Gray stepped up to the microphone, blessedly giving her something else to concentrate on.
“Good afternoon, folks.” The senator’s voice echoed around the auditorium. “Thank you for coming—including those of you who aren’t here for me, which is at least ninety percent of you.”
