“Of course.”
“And I want to put thescieldspell on her before we go. No one will be able to tell she has it on her, so Rosemarie can’t object.”
“Right.”
“And I’d like to hide some leaves in my dress. I have an interior pocket.”
He hesitated at that. There was risk in being found with magically preserved leaves and having to explain why. But no, he ought not overthink this.
“Yes,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, wishing he could jump them forward in time and have the march be done with. “Yes, absolutely.”
CHAPTER 24
“Attention, everyone!”
Peter stopped staring at his sash—purple with “Justice” embroidered in gold letters—and focused on Lydia. She could pass for the Statue of Liberty’s avenging cousin, draped in a dramatic white dress with a bullhorn in place of a torch. Her sash was gold, purple letters spelling out “Democracy.” Beatrix, standing between them in a less flashy but new dress he’d persuaded her to buy, was tying on a sash that said “Fair Play.” Behind them, women and far more men than they’d anticipated were milling about with signs, banners and in some cases babies.
“Are we ready?” Lydia asked.
“Ready,” Rosemarie said, steel in her voice and a glint in her eye.
“Ready,” a dozen or more League leaders chorused.
“Soready,” said Joan Hamilton, whose apartment he once ransacked as he closed in on Plan B. (A sudden flash of morbid curiosity: Did she miss spellcasting, too? Did she feel its absence in her bones? Was it right to make her stop?)
“Peter?”
He blinked and looked back at Lydia. “Yes. Ready.”
“Bee?” she murmured.
Beatrix gave an almost imperceptible shudder, lifted her chin and nodded.
“Right, then.” Lydia lifted the bullhorn to her mouth. “Time for Washington to see what America wants!Forward!”
The march was deafening, exhilarating, nerve-wracking. They processed through downtown, along streets the D.C. police had agreed to close to vehicular traffic, with onlookers darting toward them at a rate of what seemed like one every thirty seconds. Some wanted to shake Lydia’s hand. Some wanted to shakehishand, or Beatrix’s. Many were aiming to join the parade, though a few were doing it to jeer and catcall. And two men tried to forcibly kiss Lydia, somethingscieldunfortunately could not protect against. He ejected the pair without having to resort to borrowed magic. Then he spent the remaining five minutes of the procession—on Constitution Avenue, fittingly—soaked in adrenaline and on the verge of snapping.
When they finally reached their podium on the National Mall, he sank into one of the seats reserved for speakers, reassuring himself that the worst was over. Lydia was safely up on the platform. The crowds settled in for the comingspeeches; no one was charging at her. It hadn’t rained, it wasn’t miserably hot, the turnout was breathtaking and if he could just get through his speech without screwing it up…
He pushed to his feet and stationed himself next to Beatrix. She was standing a yard behind Lydia, shifting as her sister moved about. “OK?” he murmured.
Beatrix nodded without taking her eyes off her sister. “I’ll be even better in a few hours.”
He snorted. “Because the event will be done, or because our speech will be over?”
“Wait, we have to give aspeech?”Her tone and expression were so earnest that only the sardonic twist of her lips the next moment saved him from blind panic.
“Hilarious, wife mine.”
She gave him a thin but genuine smile, squeezing his hand. He sipped his coffee, feeling better. Well—somewhat better. They did, after all, have a speech they couldn’t get out of delivering.
He recited the opening lines in his head.Wizard and typic, we’re all Americans. And all Americans should agree that fair rules make our country stronger.Beatrix had written those words, and he liked them. But they’d sounded far better coming from Lydia than in any of his many attempts.
Beatrix had argued to Lydia and Rosemarie that the speech should touch on rights for women, not just typics writ large. She’d lost that battle. Afterward she’d laid in bed with him, staring at the ceiling, and said she was very tired of the whole thing.
Now she sat next to him, neck muscles so tight he could see the strain.
Miss Hamilton gave the opening speech. She was every bit as rousing as Lydia. (Why oh why had Lydia insisted that he and Beatrix golast?) She was followed by the national president of the Sugarworkers. After him came the West Virginia senator whose legislation was undone by behind-the-scenes trickery. Then Lydia stepped up to the microphone, which meant they were next.
