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The Streets of Whirly chapter 229

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May 30, 2012

Ginny was working on breakfast when Juliet made it to the kitchen. She barely began her question before the cook wrapped her up in a floury embrace and kissed the top of her head, exclaiming that she never needed to ask. Then she sat Juliet down and started her on orange juice and toast, building up to fried eggs, ham, more toast, some cheese, and porridge.

The servants that filtered through were glad but wary to see her out. They treated her with kid gloves, asking her if she felt well and wishing her a good day. Then Tom bounded in and turned her hair to a bird’s nest as he always did. Juliet managed a laugh, and the wariness of the kitchen melted into relief. Mrs. Glasgow arrived a half hour later, scolding Jule’s appearance, and dragged her off to clean her up.

She went through the usual motions and had had a bath with her hair washed and brushed before she realized she was outside her bedroom. Mrs. Glasgow opened the door for her, and she was hit by a wall of emptiness. Signs of Jewel were everywhere—the open drawer where he slept every night, the magic books he had tried to hide unsuccessfully under the bed, a piece of paper he had been folding into odd shapes for fun—just no Jewel.

Then Mrs. Glasgow swept into the room with a housekeeper’s efficiency. She tidied the drawer and snapped it closed, gathered up the papers and set the books on the bedside table, making small, disapproving noises as she did.

Juliet stood in the doorway in a mix of relief and horror. Mrs. Glasgow had the room in neat order before she knew whether she wanted the remnants of the Fei to stay exactly as they were, or tucked away to be remembered at a safer time.

“Come in, dear,” Mrs. Glasgow said. “Don’t dawdle.”

Juliet did not realize how tightly she had been gripping the door mantle until she unclenched her hands. She took a step into the room and waited a second longer for something to happen, but nothing did. She wasn’t destroyed yet.

Her strength of heart and mind returned gradually, but she had to work at it. Falling asleep in her bed each night was not as difficult as she thought it would be, but waking up each morning to silence was agony. She still slept in Peter’s room some nights. The staff warmed to her again. It wasn’t long before Jenny was scoffing at her without restraint. Juliet stayed amongst them, trying to take comfort in their friendship and company, but there were still times she needed to disappear from everyone’s eyes. It was for hours at first, but as the days passed, it had dwindled down to slipping away for a breath and some composure.

She still wrote. A new fear had appeared that she would begin to forget her Fei over time. Whenever she was struck with a memory of Jewel—when something reminded her of him, or she found something like the dollhouse—she ran for paper and pen and scribbled it down with the minutest detail. She didn’t dare suppress a single thought of him, even when they hit from all sides and threatened to drown her again.

One of those memories brought her to the library, spinning the globe and imagining Jewel on top of it, shrieking with delight. Perhaps it was too fresh a memory, but everything began to swim in her vision. She blinked hard and took long, slow breaths. For the hundredth time since he left, she wished Peter was there so that she didn’t feel so alone. She liked the others in the house, but without Jewel, Peter was the only one left she really loved.

Juliet slammed both hands on the globe, stopping it with a great shudder. “I am not in love!” she shouted to the room.

A voice in her head answered. Yes, you are.

“No!” She pushed away from the globe as if it was the thing arguing with her. “Sure, I…I care about him and…and miss him…but it’s not like he…he…” Makes my heart pound? Self-conscious? Happy? Safe…

That’s love, stupid.

Juliet groaned and dropped her head into her hands. She knew she was in love. She had been for awhile.

 

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 228

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May 28, 2012

Juliet stared at the blank stack of papers from across the room. She had needed somewhere private—somewhere no one would think even she would intrude upon—so she snuck into Peter’s bedchambers. There was a small office adjacent to the bedroom. She took over the desk space, but the second she sat down, she shot out of the chair again, her breath short and a cold sweat beading over her scalp. It was all there, lurking beneath the surface, and she was terrified of what would happen to her if she brought it up.

This ain’t going to help. She walked in circles between the desk and the door, torn between escaping the idea and seeing it through. It’s just going to hurt. Like everything else.

Jewel was a gift.

The sentence fought its way to her head. Jule put a hand to her throat. Bile burned there, and she could not force it or the thought down again.

Jewel was my gift.

Juliet ran from the room to be sick.

She returned clammy and her mouth tasting worse than the Murlock’s special tonic. She sat down at the desk and picked up the pen. If she could not force them down, she could only force them out.

After that the words poured from her—not easily, but unstoppably—like blood from a vital artery. She wrote about the cathouse, and how Jewel slipped through the window and told her “Jewel’s name Jewel!” She wrote about every heist, every run-in; every adventure. It didn’t matter that she could never show anyone—not even Raven—about their lives together. She spared nothing.

It was like trying to dig a bullet out of her chest, close to the heart. One wrong move would kill her, but doing nothing was going to kill her anyway, and no matter what it would be the worst pain of her life. Her hands shook and her eyes burned. She had to blink constantly to keep her words in sight, and sometimes she threw down the pen and lapped the room quick-stepped and agitated before she sat down and feverishly resumed.

She wrote for hours until her hand was cramped and her eyelids were leaden, leaving the office only once to sneak into the kitchen and devour half of the missed meal plate. Then she crawled into the bed, not caring it was Peter’s. He never used it. It didn’t even smell like him—just fresh linen. When she woke, she began again.

After four days, Juliet had written years. It was when she recorded her first return to the orphanage to show Jewel where he was born, and Jewel had said, “Jewel like Old Fei. Old Fei give Jewel Jule,” that she snapped. She knocked over the chair.  Jewel is gone. She bit down on her knuckles and screamed into her fist. They’re just memories. She ripped the bedclothes off the mattress. I’ll never get more than that. She threw the pillows at the walls and windows. I’ll never have him again. She pounded on her knees and stomped worthy of a cranky toddler. Never, never, NEVER!

An hour later, Juliet lied on the floor, panting, exhausted, and more like herself than she had felt in three weeks. She stared blankly at the ceiling for a long time after. It was like waking up from the fever again: weak and shaky, but alive and recovering. She was still hurt. She was still angry. She was still confused. Those feelings might never go away, but her head was finally above water.

The clock chimed, telling her it was six o’clock. A glance out the window told her it was morning. She picked herself up, gathered her papers and pens, and went downstairs. If she asked, Ginny would give her a bowl of honeyed porridge and a hug.

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 227

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May 25, 2012

The first three days were misery.

Juliet wandered the house, avoiding everyone as she continued her self-destructive behavior. She hid in guest rooms and cupboards when Ginny came looking for her at mealtime or Mrs. Glasgow at night. Once, she escaped into the nursery, but the sight of the dollhouse and its tiny pieces of furniture scattered around the table had her fleeing the room to the other side of the landing, gripping the banister and choking for breath.

When she did stumble upon someone such as Samantha or Stephanie, the maid would always jump and go wide-eyed like those days when Jule had first arrived and there were whisperings that that she was crazed and dangerous. Then the person would nod and hurry off without a word—except when she thought Juliet was out of earshot.

Juliet knew they were merely worried. She knew she was acting like an unexploded bomb, lit with no fuse left, but she didn’t know what to do anymore. She could no longer imagine life without grief just like once she could never imagine life without Jewel. It was like Cora had made her sick again—crippled, helpless, and terrified—and there were no magic words to make her better.

Then a letter arrived for her from the capital.

“It’s from Master Murlock.” Mrs. Glasgow had found her in the guest room Lavender had used during her stay, sitting on the floor with her cheek pressed against the cold glass doors.

Juliet perked up some. “From Peter?”

Mrs. Glasgow frowned. She had been treading on eggshells around Juliet for so long that the return of the severe expression was a strange relief. “Master Raven Murlock, Miss Juliet. Dear, do get up. The floor is no place for a young lady.” She herded Juliet into a chair and handed her the envelope. “Supper is in half an hour. I’ll come get you if you aren’t down.”

Juliet almost smiled when she left. Normalcy—she had missed it. She broke the envelope seal and a cold prickle arced over her scalp. It wasn’t a letter, but a note of condolence. She took a few breaths, and then unfolded it.

Dear Miss Juliet,

First, my son is a cad for not bringing you. It is inexcusable. My Mary has been looking forward to meeting you for weeks. Next visit you must come without exception. What is one more ticket?

Juliet did smile at that.

Most importantly, I must express my deep regret for your loss (She had to lift her eyes to the ceiling a moment before continuing). I won’t patronize you with meaningless words of comfort. Instead, I have a request for you.

            Please tell me about Jewel.

            Juliet dropped the note as if it caught fire. She stared at it for a full minute before she picked it up with shaking hands.

I once asked you to write down all you know about the Fei, but the one I want to know the most about was the one closest to you. Please spare no detail; no memory. It may be hard, but I believe in you and I believe you can do this. You are a very strong young woman.

My Thoughts Are With You,

Raven Christopher Murlock

            Juliet read through it several times, disbelieving. What was Raven thinking? Remembering Jewel was like a cement block on her chest, crushing her slowly and agonizingly. To write it all down, force everything to the surface all at once, might very possibly destroy her. She folded the note, and noticed a postscript.

Peter has done nothing but sulk since arriving. If he remains like this for the entirety of the celebration, I will hold you responsible.

Juliet felt her throat constrict for a second, but instead of a suppressed sob a laugh made it to her mouth. Raven was trying to help her, she was sure. She folded the note once more and slipped it into her pocket. After supper, she would ask Mrs. Glasgow for paper.

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 226

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May 23, 2012

Juliet felt a small wave of nerves and thought of his likable sister and father.  She had no more endurance for bad news. “What is it?”

“I have a nephew,” he answered. “My brother’s wife had their first son.”

The nerves immediately gave way to confusion. “Isn’t that good?”

He sighed. “Jake named me godfather.”

Was this an East Sider thing? “That’s good, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “I have to leave for Lucence today for the christening.”

“Oh.” She shifted from foot to foot. “That’s not good.”

“Three days,” Peter said resolutely as he stood. “I will stay no longer than three days.”

“Can’t you be back tomorrow?” Juliet asked. “How long do christenings take?”

Peter smiled thinly. “When Jake and Natalie had each of their daughters, it was a several week affair.”

Jule’s stomach dropped with her jaw. “Weeks?” She stopped. “How many nieces do you have?”

“Three.” He grimaced lightly. “No, four. With my mother’s never-ending list of relatives it may take days for the actual christening. But I will insist on staying no longer than a week.”

“A week? What happened to three days?”

“First son of the first son,” Peter said. “I may have to stay two.”

“Peter, if you keep this up you’ll never come back.” She meant to say it lightly, but it came out mildly desperate.

Peter looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, and Juliet knew why. It had been almost two weeks since Jewel died, and Peter had never left her alone since, except on his nights on patrol. He only left the study when she did, ate when she did, and slept when she did. She had no idea what Peter was afraid she would do if she was by herself, but she never thought very deeply into it either. She was afraid of what she would do too.

“Juliet.” Peter took both her hands in his. “I am going to lock up the study.” Jule flinched in his grip. What he was actually saying was obvious. You can’t hide in here forever. She couldn’t pick the study lock either. “We’ll continue searching when I return.”

She stared down at their hands. He had taken hers so that she had no choice but to face him—she was certain of that. She squeezed. She could to that too.

“I want to go with you.”

That time Peter jerked beneath her grasp, but Juliet would not let him sidestep an answer. He ran a thumb idly over the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Juliet.”

She let go. She had seen the answer coming. It didn’t matter if Lavender and Raven accepted her. Most of Lucence would see her like Robert did, and Peter would not put his family through another scandal. She had known that, but some morbid, masochistic part of her needed to hear him say he was leaving her behind.

“When do you leave?” she asked. Her voice was a little scratchy.

“As soon as Caudwell can pack my valise. Jake’s booked tickets on the Light of Life for this afternoon.” The Light of Life was an elite airship from Lucence. There were only three other airships as fast as it. Juliet wondered again how rich Peter’s family was, but then remembered his father probably had a hand in building it.

Jule opened her mouth, ready to ask if she could go to the station knowing he was too pressed for time to let her, but then Caudwell knocked again. “All packed, Murlock,” he called through the door. “Tom’s waiting with the carriage.”

Peter took her arm. “It’s time to go, Juliet.”

He led her out of the study and locked the door behind them, but as they left the library, Juliet turned to him abruptly and said, “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” Peter repeated. Then as if he had been doing it every day for months, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Juliet.”

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 225

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May 21, 2012

The next several days passed like each one before it. Juliet stopped sleeping in her bedroom and took up Peter’s habits—shut up in the study, barely eating, and only dozing when it was impossible to do otherwise. She began to worry the staff, and Peter tried to coax her out of the study for longer than fifteen minutes at a time, but Juliet did not heed anyone. She never allowed for an idle moment where memories could take over by filling all her thoughts and feelings with work.

She requested the case file for Cassedy’s murder. She needed some clue to who they were dealing with, and spent every possible moment pouring over every detail—or what little details there were. Beatrice Cassedy had been found in her home with six bullets to the chest, but the gun had never been found. The warrant for Father Fredrick Clements had been issued immediately, but there was no evidence submitted. He had waived a trial and appealed directly to the Earl of Whirly, Vic’s father at the time, who found him guilty and sentenced him to life in Ebonoir, but the actual document authorizing that was missing.

At the most, it only proved what Juliet already knew—that Father Fredrick was framed, but whoever it was had some position of power. Her immediate reaction was the late Lord Kimball, but at once it didn’t make sense. If it had been, where was his signature on the sentencing?  He also had found the Cassedy Armlet and kept it from the chief of police, willing it instead to his son when he died three years later. In less than a year, Victor Kimball had been promoted to the next chief. Had his father intended that? But the former earl’s disapproval of his son’s career was infamous. Vic had entered the police force against his wishes. If anything, Juliet thought he could be no more than the unwitting accomplice to someone using his name and station—completely oblivious to the Cassedy Collection and the power of the piece in his possession. It was possible. She had met his son.

Peter meanwhile fiddled constantly with the locating spell. He tried to give it distance as well as direction. He tried to split the spell into five separate diagrams that would directly pinpoint the location. None of them worked, and twice the diagram exploded, sending Peter and Juliet scrambling for cover and dusting off chalk after. In those moments things felt almost normal again, and Juliet could almost pretend there wasn’t a gaping wound inside her.

Someone knocked on the study door and woke Juliet. Her eyes opened to slits, and she took in the study. Peter had nodded off as well at his desk with his temple resting on a loose fist and elbow on tabletop. She made one slow blink and turned her gaze to the clock. It was seven in the morning.  When she had closed her eyes for a quick break, it had been eight o’clock the previous night.

“Peter,” she groaned as she corrected her legs and worked to sit up straight. “Peter!”

He jerked awake and his head slipped off his hand and nearly hit the desk. He rubbed thumb and forefinger over his eyes. “Did you find something?”

She rotated her shoulders and stretched the stiffness from her limbs. “There’s someone at the door.”

He looked towards it just as the person knocked again. “It’s Caudwell,” he said, massaging the back of his neck. “Let him in, will you?”

Juliet got to her feet with only some grumbling and shuffled to the door. “Hello, C-c-c-Caudwell,” she stuttered out around a yawn.

“Good morning, Miss Juliet. A telegram came for you, Murlock. From your brother Jacob.”

“Oh?” He waved his valet in. “Give it here.”

Caudwell handed the message to Peter then turned sharply out. Not even he was allowed to linger in the study.

“Goodbye, Caudwell.”

“Good morning, Miss Juliet.”

She turned her attention to Peter. He frowned at the telegram. “This isn’t good,” he mumbled.

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 224

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May 18, 2012

There weren’t any Mrs. Glasgow lectures when they returned to 922 Handover Street at three in the morning. She took in their haggard appearance with a single glance—Peter exhausted, half-frozen, and refusing to admit it; and Juliet wrapped up in his coat with her own bundled up in her arms, ready to fall apart at the slightest provocation—then called in Caudwell to see to Peter and took Juliet into her charge.

The housekeeper did not ask, and Juliet did not offer. She clucked at Juliet gently as she washed her hands and face with a soft, damp towel. She hummed under her breath as she brushed and braided her hair. Then she helped her out of her clothes and into a dressing gown, and exclaimed at her bandaged arm.

“Good lord! What happened—” Juliet went rigid, biting down on her tongue because her lip could not handle anymore abuse. “I’ll call for the doctor in the morning,” she added, her tone calm and gentle again. “Everything’s all right now, dear. You’re safe.”

Juliet wanted to tell her how wrong she was—that nothing was all right and there was no way to fix it. Mrs. Glasgow was a widow. She may have understood the depths of Juliet’s wounds and known what words of comfort to give, except Juliet did not want words and understanding. She just wanted Jewel. Instead, she let Mrs. Glasgow tuck her into bed without complaint, waited for the footsteps to fade, and then snuck downstairs.

“I knew you would come here.”

Juliet stopped, her hand on the doorknob to the study, and turned. Peter was in the library chair closest to the door, leaning his head on his hand. He turned on a lamp, casting shadows on the drawn and tired lines in his face.

“I knew you’d be too,” she answered. “Gave Caudwell the slip?”

He smirked. It was not his usual one. There was an undeniable sadness to it. “So we’re both predictable,” he said, “but I’ll ask anyway. Why are you here?”

“I don’t want to go to sleep.” There was no reason for hesitation or denial. It was why they were both there. “And…and, well, everyone knows you never sleep.” For the first time, Jule thought she was beginning to understand why. Perhaps some part of Peter was afraid of the idea of sleep. At the moment, it was the most terrifying idea in her head. “So I thought…I don’t know, I thought…” She chuckled but felt no humor in it. “I thought we could not sleep together.”

There was a moment of stillness between them. Juliet held her breath without thinking. Then Peter stood and crossed the room to her. Jule felt her shoulder blades press against the study door. It occurred to her that if he decided to take advantage of that moment, she did not have enough fight in her to stop him. Instead, Peter pushed aside the wisps of hair curling loosely over her forehead and kissed her there. The gesture made her eyes burn.

“Tonight,” he said, “Whatever it is, whatever you need. I am yours.”

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 223

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May 16, 2012

“There is one more thing.”

Juliet looked at Peter from the corner of her eye, bracing for worse news. He slid towards her something wrapped in the same handkerchief that the circlet was in. He pulled back the ends. “What is this?”

“Oh.” It was the dagger. “It’s one of Skelton’s things. I thought I dropped it in the lab.” It was as if it were following her. She picked it up. The hilt was bound in simple brown leather and fit well in her palm. The blade was steel and she liked the balance of it.

Peter watched her handle it. “It’s enchanted,” he said carefully.

“I know.” Juliet remembered how it had burned when she tried to attack the dogs, and remembering the dogs made her remember Jewel. Her throat closed and she put the dagger down with a clunk. “You take it. I don’t want it.”

“It bonded to you.”

She looked up sharply. “What?”

He picked it up with the handkerchief and turned it over in his hands. “Some magical items are meant to have only one owner. It chose you when you took it. It won’t work as well for anyone else or not at all.” Peter wrapped the dagger up again and handed it to her hilt first. “I think you should keep it. There is a powerful defense spell in there.”

Didn’t help none with Jewel. She accepted it anyway, and tucked it into the folds of her coat lying on the chair. Her hand stopped over the left sleeve. She fingered the teeth marks, rubbing her other hand over the bandages.

She watched as Peter’s shadow enveloped hers. Juliet gripped the chair back. “Peter, there’s something I need you to do for me.” She looked up at the lone window and the vase beneath it. “That vase—the flo…Jewel.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to bury it—him—bury Jewel.” She took a breath. Saying it was harder than she had expected. “Bury Jewel in the Fei garden. And don’t tell me where.”

Peter was silent at first. “Are you sure?”

Juliet shook her head. She could feel the grain of the wood in her fingertips. “I want to keep him. I want to meet all his blossoms. I want—I want Jewel.” She hunched her shoulders and swallowed around the lump in her throat. “But…but I can’t face his color. I can’t know if…oh God, what if he hated me at the end?” She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling sick. “What if…no. I can’t. I just can’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut before she could feel the tears come. “Please.”

The shadow around her shifted, and she felt the whisper of a touch on her elbow. “All right.”

“Promise.” Juliet cringed. She could hear the childishness.

Peter didn’t mind it. “I promise.”

She meant to thank him, but the words that came out were, “Can we go home now?” Her voice was small and pleading. She could not stand another hour in Magician’s Claim.

“Yes.” He leaned down to retrieve her coat then put a hand on her back. “Yes, let’s go home.”

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 222

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May 14, 2012

Juliet went wide-eyed. “Authentic?” The word squeaked out. “As in real?” She looked again at the mottled mess of beads and metal. Her stomach burned.

“Authentic as in it was made by Wizard Skelton. It’s not the real one, but the core of the magic matches the necklace.”

“Oh.” There was a mixture of relief and disappointment. Then the questions started spilling out. “But what does that mean? Why would Skelton make fakes of his own stuff? Did this cove or whatever think he had the real one? Did it just react to the spell on its own? Is there other fakes?” Suddenly the task seemed impossible.

Peter shook his head. “There are imperfections in the spell. This was a first attempt or a prototype. It should not have reacted to the locating spell. Wizard Skelton was known for being meticulous. He would have deactivated it or made it incomplete. Someone did something to it—made it seem complete.” He glanced at her. “The same way I made you seem like a wizard.”

If Peter had hoped for some sort of reaction to the mention of that nerve-wracking night, she was too exhausted to give one. She nodded. “So we’re really dealing with a wizard.”

“Or just someone with the real circlet and a bit of magic.” He tapped his temple. “The circlet has the power of the mind. I think that means Skelton’s magical knowledge—everything this person needed to know was already in his head. Once he knew others were looking for the Cassedy Collection, he hid the circlet from the locating spell and set us up with the fake.”

Juliet bit down on her lip, but she had already chewed it raw. She winced and ran her tongue over it. “What’re we going to do?”

“The same as we always have,” Peter said with a sigh. “The spell pointed to another piece—the brooch. We’ll go after that next.”

“But what about this…this…” Murderer was the name she wanted to call him. There was still someone out there who had murdered Cassedy, and she had a feeling he was very close and setting his sights on them. “This person? What if this ain’t the only trap?” Her voice shook, but from anger.

“This time we’ll be careful, and wait until we’re ready. We won’t rush in.”

You mean like I always do? Jule knew he was not accusing her, but he did not have to. She accused herself. “No,” she muttered. “We’ll plan. And take precautions. And go slow. And whatever else it takes so no one gets hurt.” She said each word like a hammer striking a nail, but the unspoken word was louder and clearer than all the others.

No one else.

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The Riddle Solved

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May 12, 2012

Back around Christmas-time, I posted a SoW riddle whose answer revealed an event in the story that has just recently happened. For those of you who missed it, here is the riddle again:

The Streets of Whirly tells of when a new chapter of Jule’s life begins.
She must steal a necklace and all goes well, until shows up a East Side swell.
Though she finds him really mean, he thinks “you and me could make a team.”
His simple plan involves the Fei, but neither wizard or thief can get away.
That Peter could see him, Jule did not expect, and learned Jewel’s bite caused the affect.
He takes her into custody, and finds it absurd, but he had given the Chief his word.
The girl and fei are left to their fate, and so they plot a midnight escape.
Then the junkyard Fei want to have fun, and Jule finds it to hard to run.
Her misfourtune only grows. When she wakes up, a Sweeper shows.
Just when she thinks she’s out of luck, Peter appears to interupt.
So together a pact is made to work as a team: wizard, thief, and Fei.
This silly rhyme was meant to show someone in this tale you know.
I promise you, I do not lie—this character will surely die.

Now that this part of the story has come to pass, I feel okay with explaining out the answer. For those of you who still want to solve it, or have not reached that part of the story, I won’t write the answer here. Instead, you can find the answer spelled out HERE

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The Streets of Whirly chapter 221

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May 11, 2012

Juliet had no idea how often she looked over her shoulder until there was nothing there to see. The first few times she managed to brush it off and pretend it didn’t happen—that it was an old habit of West Side to always look over one’s shoulder—but after a half hour the strain on her nerves was impossible to ignore. After an hour her hands refused to stop shaking, and after two it had spread to the rest of her body. Like prodding a cavity with her tongue to see if it still hurt, she could not stop looking for him out of the corner of her eye, and each time was a needle prick to her heart.

Stop it, she told herself over and over, staring straight ahead so fiercely her vision blurred. He’s not there. He’ll never be there. But admitting it was just as painful and within minutes she was looking for him again.

Then she was on her tiptoes, scrabbling for a book on the top shelf of the reference room. She was barely tall enough to touch the spine, and without thinking she called out, “Hey, Jewel, come—”

Juliet sucked in a breath. It hit her like one of Flit’s punches. She fell back on her heels and pressed her forehead to the edge of the shelf until it left an indent in her skin. Her knuckles turned white around the books clutched to her chest. Every nerve and muscle was tensed to the point of snapping. She could not cry again. She knew she would never stop if she did until there was nothing more than a dried up husk of her.

The prickle came and her face turned hot. She sat down hard on the floor and pressed her hands into her eyes, bowing her head into her knees. Juliet refused to let the tears come. In the silence and darkness she could almost return to the sullen, numbing ache of before—almost.

Something touched her on the shoulder. Jule nearly jumped out of her skin. She tried for her feet and fell to the side instead, scattering the books on her lap.

It was Peter. He jerked his hand back as if she had burned him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Juliet pushed back up, her fingers cold against the stone. “I thought…” He ain’t here. “Nothing. Just startled me.”

Peter said nothing. He gathered up the fallen books in one hand and offered the other to Juliet. “I’ve discovered something.”

His determination to act normal was a comfort Juliet had never expected. “Discover what?” She took his hand and squeezed hard as he drew her to her feet. She did not want him to let go.

He didn’t. “Why the circlet we have is such an exact copy.” He led her back to the workroom and dumped the books awkwardly on the table with Juliet still clutching his other arm. He gently dislodged her.

“Why?” There was an angry satisfaction in seeing the counterfeit circlet still in the dented lump she had put it.

“It’s authentic.”

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