to try to think what she might do to save herself, to save Bits, to soothe James’s wounded heart.
She wandered for a bit, finding deer tracks that wound through the shadows of the trees and around the tangles of brush and berry vines. The moonstone throbbed against her throat, and instinctively she chose her direction according to its intensity. She didn’t think about where she was going but simply walked, turning beneath an ancient elm, pressing through a narrow spot where brambles caught at her clothes, following a track that widened and then forked. She took the left turning, urged by the vibration of the moonstone. It had begun to feel familiar, and she trusted it. The way was rough, with occasional stones and tree roots that threatened to trip her. She watched her step and, despite the uneven path, felt better and better as distance grew between her and Rosefield Hall.
When the path suddenly broadened and smoothed, she looked up to find that she had reached the outskirts of Seabeck Village. To her left was a cottage with an oil lamp glowing in its single window. Ahead the sun was just setting beyond the thatched roofs. Long violet shadows stretched across the high street. A horse and cart waited outside a greengrocer’s. Two women in long coats, carrying laden wicker baskets, walked in a westerly direction, away from Annis.
She stopped where she was, uncertain what to do next. It would be full dark soon. She should be dressing for dinner. Velma would be in a panic. Frances would be irate, and it was rude to miss dinner without warning her hostess. She should turn around instantly, hurry back to Rosefield Hall.
She didn’t do it. Aunt Harriet hadn’t mentioned the name of her inn, but there was only one. A sign swung on an iron shaft projecting from the thatched eaves, featuring a crude painting of four leaping fish. The legend read “Four Fishes Inn,” and as Annis started toward it, the moonstone gave one last, affirming pulse.
A tall figure stepped out of the inn’s entrance and stood waiting on the stoop. Annis hurried forward to seize her aunt’s proffered hand. “Aunt Harriet! Were you waiting for me?”
“I was.”
“But—I didn’t even know I was coming! How did you?”
“I summoned you, Annis,” Harriet said, as calmly as if this sort of thing happened every day in her world. “Fortunately, you heard me.”
“I think the moonstone heard you.”
“Only because you were open to its message. Come inside, it’s beginning to get dark.”
“Frances is going to be furious if I don’t appear for dinner.”
Harriet arched one dark eyebrow. “Does that matter?” She pulled open the door and led Annis into a small, dark foyer with a reception desk at one side. Straight ahead of them was an uncarpeted, crooked wooden staircase, and Harriet started up it.
Hurrying behind her, Annis said, “It does matter, I’m afraid. She threatened to send a telegraph to my father, to tell him to sell Black Satin!”
Harriet turned right at the top of the stairs and produced a key from her pocket to open a door. The lintel was so low she had to duck to go under it. Annis did the same.
Once inside the room, as Harriet held a match to the wick of an oil lamp, Annis said, “I have never seen Frances so angry. It was horrible—one moment she was so furious I thought she was going to strike me, and the next she was like ice.”
“What made her so angry?”
“James proposed marriage, and I refused him.”
“Ah. That must have been upsetting for you both.”
“James doesn’t want to marry me, not really. It’s just the maleficia, not—not love.”
“It can be both,” Harriet said mildly. She pointed to the only chair in the tiny room. “Have a seat. You’ve had a long walk.”
“At least my electuary worked,” Annis said glumly as she sank into the chair. “I’m not having those revolting feelings anymore.”
“That’s good.”
“Why did you—what did you call it?—summon me?”
Harriet sat on the edge of the bed, stretching out her long legs. She folded her arms and regarded Annis. “I know what happened this morning.”
“You do? How?”
“It’s something I do sometimes. Something that is part of my ability. Often I can’t do anything about what I know, but sometimes I can, and this is one of those times.”
Annis said wonderingly, “I know things sometimes, too.”
“Do you? Tell me about that.”
“I knew what Frances intended, when she and Papa made me come to England.”
“Ah. Any other times?”
“Yes,