Faraday smiled.
“Well, then. You haven’t changedthatmuch, have you, dear?”
56
The next morning, the stairs of Ogden Hall were somehow steeper than usual.
Gertie had moved her pod to the east tower, the jewel in the crown that Divya Seth had occupied last year. It had splendid sunrise views—and more rooms for the expanding cult of Gertie.
A girl peeked over the banister at the sound of our approach and thrilled for a moment at the sight of Sebastian. Then she spotted me, gave a look of horror, and vanished.
Sebastian grinned over his shoulder. “Cat-flinger.”
“He put a hole in my good linen trousers.” Later incinerated, along with the rest of Jessica Anderson.
The color of the month was russet.
The kitchen was crowded, six pod members doing paper crafts around the giant farmhouse table. A dozen wreaths of pressed autumn leaves festooned the walls.
They stood when we came in, splaying their orangey-brown aprons as they curtseyed.
“Good morning, Sebastian,” said one of the girls. The pod adored him with an intensity that unsettled even Gertie.
“Lovely to see you, Alix!” His eyes slipped across the rest. “Trixie, Isla, Carter, Ghia, Skeeter.”
This feat of memory having rendered them ecstatic, Sebastian turned back to Alix—Gertie’s freshman roommate and first acolyte, I now recalled.
“What are we up to this morning?”
“Starting on Pumpkin Pageant,” Alix said. “A bit early.”
“Never too soon. Make sure I get an invitation.”
She beamed at him, and I could no longer stand it.
“Is Gertie here?”
Alix didn’t deign to look at me, but dispatched a messenger with a wave of her hand. Scampering steps receded down a hallway.
At another signal, more pod members flew into action. A kettle went under the faucet, cupboards were ransacked.
“Tea?” Alix asked, and was again rewarded with Sebastian’s radiant smile.
Gertie loungedin her favorite wing-backed armchair, wearing an umber prairie dress. Smoke-filtered early morning sun came wanly through the windows, falling on Uncle Max in her lap. With a dropper bottle, Gertie dribbled water into his mouth.
“Both of you at once,” she said, not looking up. “To what does one owe this excess of Mortons?”
“A small favor,” I said.
“How intriguing. One hopes the tea is satisfactory.”
“Faraday’s bank needs another letter. From her mother this time.”
“The tea is lovely,” Sebastian added. His was flecked with rose petals; mine was cold and smelled like socks.
Pointedly, my antique teacup was decorated with Icarus falling, his wings in tatters. I’d thought of Peter when they handed it to me, though the reference was clearly to a certain cat.
“One regrets the lack of cookies—we’ve been busy. This small request required both of you?”
