“No,” Maggie said. “No. We have to stop it.”
“There’s nothing to stop,” Ruth told her.
“But the serum—it doesn’t work.”
Ruth frowned. “Of course it works. We saw with our own eyes—”
“They’re dying,” Maggie said, her voice nearly hysterical. “I thought it was just that Arnie’s burns were too much for him this morning, but then this evening it was Greta. She’s gone already, and the rest are following, dying by their own magic. There’s nothing I could do for them. Even Isobel couldn’t do a thing to heal them. It’s killing them.”
Ruth’s jaw tightened, and her eyes went hard. “That’s unfortunate.”
“It’s not unfortunate. It’s a catastrophe. They’re all dying, and it’s our fault. If that necklace detonates, we’ll be responsible for the deaths of everyone at the ball. All those people—”
“So they’ll die,” Ruth said, pulling away. “How many of ours have they killed with their laws and their Guard and their hate?”
“We can’t—I can’t just let this happen,” Maggie said, horrified. “This isn’t what I intended. This isn’t—”
“There’s nothing we can do now,” Ruth said. “It’s already done.”
“We can stop it,” Maggie told her. “We can disrupt the ball—we can do something to get them out of the building before it’s too late.”
“I won’t risk any of mine for the Society.”
“It’s not just the Society in there, Ruth. It’s their wives and daughters, too,” Maggie persisted, not noticing how close to her Esta had gotten.
“Who live off the benefits of the evil their husbands and fathers commit.”
Maggie took an actual step back from Ruth and nearly ran into Esta. From the look of horror on Maggie’s face, Harte suspected that she’d never quite seen this side of her older sister before. “Ruth,” she pleaded.
They had the necklace, and from the look Esta was giving Harte, he knew she’d just lifted the cuff from Maggie. They could go now, before they got caught up in the fallout that was sure to come.
Except that he couldn’t. “We can’t leave Julien in there,” Harte told Esta. Her horrified expression told him that she agreed.
“We can’t leave any of them in there,” she said, her voice shaking.
“How do you plan to get into the ball?” Ruth asked. “There will be Jefferson Guards at every entrance. Even if you could get past them, you would have to contend with more inside and the president’s security on top of it.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Harte said. But short of charging the doors and hoping for the best, Ruth was right. Trying to save the people in the ball was a suicide mission. With all the dignitaries that were attending, they’d never be able to get past the security, and if they did, they’d never get back out again. It was the whole the reason they’d taken the necklace from the parade.
“I can help with that,” North said softly.
“I won’t allow it,” Ruth said. “It’s a fool’s errand. And you’re not going anywhere until I get that necklace,” she told Harte.
“You’ll have to take it from me,” Harte said.
“North,” Ruth commanded. “Take care of this.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I’d rather not.” North stepped between them.
“What are you waiting for?” Ruth asked the others.
But the men and women who’d dressed themselves as serpents to disrupt the parade didn’t make a move to attack. Most of them studied the ground at their feet, their jaws tense and their shoulders hunched against the weight of what they had just helped to do.
“Then I’m done with the lot of you,” Ruth said as she reached for her sister’s hand. “Come, Maggie. Let’s go before we’re seen.”
“I’m going with them,” Maggie told her. She ignored her sister’s protests and stepped forward to slip her hand into North’s. The cowboy’s eyes shone with satisfaction.
Ruth’s face had turned a blotchy red, and her expression was a mixture of anger and shock. “Maggie, you’ll come now as you’re told.” Even Harte could feel Ruth’s impatience simmering in the air as thick and real as magic itself.
But Maggie looked over her shoulder at her sister and shook her head. “I haven’t been a child for a long time, Ruth. I’ve caused this, and I’m going to do something to stop it.”
NOTHING TO FORGIVE
1902—New York
Ruby took another look at herself in the long, mirrored panel of the ballroom’s back wall and frowned.
“You don’t have to do this,” Theo said, frowning at the outfit she was wearing—or perhaps he was frowning at the lack of it.
He had a point. The peach-colored garment she wore beneath the gown might have covered her from neck to toes, but it left nothing to the imagination. She was portraying Circe, from the John William Waterhouse painting of the witch offering a cup of her potion to Ulysses. Over the nearly nude garment, Ruby’s diaphanous gown was the color of the sea on a cloudy day. It hung loose over one shoulder, exposing more of her than she would ever have chosen to reveal on her own.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Of course I have to do this,” she told him, steeling herself for what was to come. “Being back here gives me access I wouldn’t otherwise have.”
“I don’t like it,” Theo grumbled. “It’s one thing to pass information on in the hopes of seeing what gets stirred up, but it’s another thing altogether to put yourself in the middle of the very storm you’ve created.”
“How am I supposed to know the truth if I’m not in the middle?” she asked, lifting the front of the gown in a vain attempt to get it to cover more. Frustrated, she gave up and let it fall again.
“Last time you insisted on getting in the middle of things, I distinctly remember being shot,” he told her, his tone more dry than truly angry.
Still, Ruby felt guilt flood through her. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that,” she told him, her voice barely more than a whisper.
His expression softened. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “I’m alive and well. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
Especially since Viola is no longer in our lives. The words hung unspoken between them.
But she wasn’t going to think about Viola, not tonight. She’d wasted too much time not writing and not reporting in the last two weeks, and she was practically desperate to get a story that would make her editor look twice at her again.
She’d been rash, maybe, in passing along to Jack the information Viola had given her about Paul Kelly, even if she had sent it to him anonymously. She had thought to stir up the hornet’s nest that was the Order to see what happened, but in truth, she’d been acting out of hurt and anger and spite. And maybe she had been impetuous to have Theo talk Jack into allowing her to be part of the tableaux. At the time, though, the Order’s gala had seemed like a lifeline, a way back to the person she’d been before she let a pair of violet eyes sway her. But now, it felt like everything she’d once thought she had under control was slipping from her grasp.