bit into her eggroll. It was juicy, warm, and the outer shell had a buttery, crunchy texture that made her think of a slightly overcooked croissant. She had to force herself not to wolf it all down in three bites, like someone might snatch it out of her hand if she wasn’t fast enough. Habit. She wasn’t used to people just…giving her something to eat, not without expecting something in return.
“‘While this author is sympathetic to the plight of the novice player,’” Nell read aloud, “‘only diligent practice and study will unveil the mysteries of—’ and that’s the end of the line.”
Something sounded familiar. Seelie chased her memories, but Tyler found it first. He snapped his fingers.
“Ramis. When he was telling us about the other ways the Culper Ring communicated. What was the formula James Jay brewed up?”
“Sympathetic stain,” Seelie said. “They wrote messages in ‘white ink,’ and the sympathetic stain made them appear again.”
Nell flashed a smile. “In other words, unveiling mysteries. We’ve got a flask filled with old-school, James-Jay-approved, original-recipe sympathetic stain.”
“We’ve got a secret message revealer,” Tyler said, “and no secret message to reveal. Or if we do, we can’t see it, because it’s invisible. Not as useful as I was hoping. Anything else we haven’t decoded?”
“Two numbers left,” Seelie said.
And before you ask, our brothers haven’t been any more successful than we have in the matter of finding 355.
“Three-fifty-five was the only number from the original code,” she said. “In Tallmadge’s book, it meant ‘lady.’ The woman—women—who Washington sent Alexander Hamilton to meet with.”
Tyler held a crab rangoon by one greasy, baked petal. “More like he acted as a firewall, keeping Washington insulated from any fallout. Whoever they were, nobody wanted the general’s good name anywhere near them. I still think he was pulling a reverse Benedict Arnold. Got some British officers’ wives to turn informant or something.”
Nell’s finger slid down a line of type and froze there.
“Or something,” she said.
His brow furrowed as he looked her way.
“Whatcha got?”
“Same number, but it’s not ‘lady’ anymore.” She glanced up from the page. “Coven. The word is ‘coven.’”
“You’re not telling me—”
“Hey, any other day, I’d call it a metaphor. But we just spent our evening being chased down by an immortal killer who wears other people’s skins like tailored suits. If you’re asking me to contemplate the notion that our first president recruited a coven of actual, no-bullshit witches to win the Revolutionary War and Alexander Hamilton covered it up? All I can say is…the possibility is on the table.”
Seelie left the last bite of her eggroll alone. It sat on the paper plate in a slowly spreading puddle of dark grease, untouched. A cold gust of memory had stolen her appetite. Rime’s scream of pain, the look of shock on his face—and loathing, a hatred she could feel in her bones.
“That’s…that’s what Rime told us, right?” Seelie asked, uncertain. “That Washington called on a power he didn’t understand, a power he couldn’t control.”
She heard the echo of Rime’s hiss, reverberating in the back of her mind. “Witch.”
“Let’s table this for later discussion,” Tyler said. “What’s the last number on the pad?”
“An address,” Seelie said.
Delete everything. I’m placing directions to our new rendezvous point at 111. Assume 419’s comms were compromised, no more messages on this channel. Go to 111 for further instructions.
Nell flipped to page eleven, the end of the introduction. She leaned against the kitchen counter, shoulders slumped.
“Damn it,” she said.
“What is it?” Tyler asked.
“‘House.’”
“Just…house?”
“It’s the end of a paragraph. ‘House, hours well spent and filled with fond memory.’ Wait.” She turned to the previous page. Then she rapped her knuckles on the book. “The author’s a local.”
Tyler’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”
“And he’s talking about where he learned to play.” Nell broke into a grin. “‘At the Chess and Checkers House.”
“The Chess and Checkers House in Central Park.”
“That’s it,” Nell said. “That’s the spot.”
Seelie checked the time on her phone. “Park’s open until one in the morning. Later than that, if you know how to dodge the cops.”
Tyler gave the drawn shades a dubious look. The sounds of the urban night, distant horns, faded sirens, drifted through the narrow glass.
“And Rime’s out there, pissed off and hunting for us.”
“Would you rather go in the morning, when we’re easier to spot?” Nell asked.
“I’d rather go in the morning, after I’ve gotten a few solid hours of shut-eye, and it’ll be easier for us to spot him. Right now he can hide in the shadows and open fire from