Page 163 of Immortal Rose

Anything I might have said was preempted by the slam of the front door and a hurried set of steps.

“Young William?” Reddy sang out. “Is that you?”

It was. He had forgone his footman’s livery, instead donning a simple suit of clothes. His eyes were overbright as he gave me a pleased little bow. “My lady.”

“See?” Reddy told his protégé.

Theo, for his part, sat with his back as straight as a board, his eyes wide and his mouth opened. He looked as if he had met God himself.

“Is your hall boy all right, Red?” Willie asked, noticing himself.

“Minion,” Reddy corrected. “And yes, give him a moment to allow his soul to return to his body. Did you procure the goods?”

Willie brandished a slim envelope, waving it victoriously.

“I never doubted you for a moment,” Reddy said. “You still have the slyest fingers in all of Linden.”

Theo made a noise of utter worship.

Willie beamed. “Is Tommy about? His lordship’s going to want—”

Tommy’s excited essence joined us as he did. When I saw the painter’s smock he wore, I understood the heavier-than-usual presence of oil paints in it. “I was working in the attic and saw you through the window. Did you get it?”

Willie seized the opportunity to wave the envelope again. “Think you’ll be able to copy it quickly? I need to put it back before the Dovers’ butler is wise to it vanishing.”

At least I now knew who was Slip and who was Sneak. I took a long, fortifying sip of tea and looked to Reddy. “Was it necessary to steal it?”

“It’ll be returned before anyone notices it gone and reports it missing to Ardent’s,” Reddy explained. “Only members are invited to Greystone’s soirees.”

“And neither you nor Foxcourt are?” I asked, surprised.

Reddy scowled. “The waiting list for membership is outrageous. Remarkable what the Patricians can overlook for a bit of high-stakes play and the chance to pitch a crime lord on investments.”

Remarkable was one word for it. The gambling establishment was shrouded in an irresistible layer of mystery, but legends of it persisted across the Brickbats. Its dice had been the ruin of countless men and legacies.

“I’ll need to put it back before the butler and housekeeper return from their errands,” Willie warned. He held the invite out to his brother. “What do you think?”

Tommy wiped his hands carefully before he handled the envelope, taking up a butter knife to slide beneath the wax. To my amazement, he pulled it off without tearing the paper.

The midsummer celebration was a midnight masquerade. Aside from a flourished A at the top of the card, the time of arrival, and which entrance to use, there was nothing particularly scandalous or remarkable about it.

“This is too simple,” Tommy said, lifting the card and slanting it toward the sunlight. “There must be a hidden mark on it to verify its authenticity.”

If one was embedded in the weave of the fine cardstock, sunlight didn’t reveal it, nor did any hidden ink appear with a dab of lemon juice or when it was held over a steaming cup of water.

The Longmount brothers looked to each other. Willie dashed out, only to return a few moments later, steering a flustered Felicity into the room.

She gave Willie a narrow look. “Is there a reason you’re interrupting my writing hour?”

Willie gestured to the invitation. Clasping her hands behind her, Felicity leaned over it. After making a slow, careful study of the front, she turned the card over.

“There’s a marking just here,” she said, pointing to the lower right corner. “A simple diamond outlined in blue ink, with a red number twenty-one inside.”

“I knew it,” Willie said, smacking his fist in his other palm.

“But—there’s nothing there,” Theo protested, standing on his chair to see it.

I moved to stand beside Felicity, lifting my quizzing glass. I saw it now, though it was nearly too faint to make out. The Treasury had used Rosebourne blood in its ink to ensure only the family could read it. I’d never thought I might be able to read anything else written in regular fairy ink.