mouths, and leaping lions. Emily wasn’t sure where the lions had come in, but they certainly added excitement.
The Man Who Saved Magic was the title, inscribed in powerful red letters. Emily made a mental note to send a copy to Rose. It would give the girl palpitations.
She glanced at her new hand sitting on the book. It was so strange and yet so pretty; she often felt her eyes sneaking toward it. The prosthetic was made of ivory and silver. The fingers were long and slim, articulated with silver joints that bore elaborate scrolls of machine engraving. There were even sweetly carved pink nails. A smoothly molded cuff of silver, also scrolled with engraving and lined with peach-colored velvet, reached halfway up to her elbow.
“Presented by the Witches’ Friendly Society, this First of June, 1876,” was scrolled along the edge of the cuff. “To Miss Emily Edwards, in honor of her signal accomplishment.”
Next to it, her real hand seemed large and clumsy. But then again, her real hand was alive. She placed this living hand on a small golden ball that rested beside her on the windowsill. It was somewhat smaller than a croquet ball, decoratively engraved. It was called a rooting ball. Hermetically sealed, it contained a special nutrient fluid in which Komé’s acorn was suspended—it was hoped that the acorn would sprout and root so that it could be planted. Emily closed her eyes and felt for the spirit of Komé; the Holy Woman shifted comfortingly beneath Emily’s touch.
“Dreaming the afternoon away, I see.” The loud voice came from the door. It was Miss Pendennis, dressed in visiting clothes: a dark dress with gloves and hat and reticule.
“Just doing some improving reading.” Emily held up the book. “It’s quite thrilling. I had no idea Mr. Stanton did all those things! And I had no idea that I swooned quite so much, or that my name was ‘Faith Trueheart.’”
Miss Pendennis raised an eyebrow.
“Certainly you didn’t think they’d put Emily Edwards in the book,” she said. Then she sat down in a chair with a weary sigh.
“Well, I’ve got news, since you obviously prefer reading trash to picking up a copy of Practitioners’ Daily.” Miss Pendennis settled herself, putting her large feet up on an ottoman. “They’ve finished tearing down the terramantic extraction plant in Charleston. Baugh’s Patent Magicks is no more. The threat to Ososolyeh, the great consciousness of the earth, is ended.”
Emily liked the grand finality of Miss Pendennis’ statement. And while she was highly pleased that the threat to the great consciousness of the earth was ended, the first thing that crossed her mind was Lost Pine. Now that Baugh’s Patent Magicks was out of business for good, there was sure to be plenty of work waiting for her there.
Miss Pendennis sighed with satisfaction. “All’s well that ends well.”
“Didn’t end too well for Mirabilis,” Emily said.
“Poor arrogant fool.” Miss Pendennis shook her head. “A victim of his own hubris, really. He was so supremely confident of his abilities. That’s a credomancer for you!”
So confident of his abilities, he was willing to risk the lives of everyone around him to see his plans fulfilled, Emily thought. “How’s Mr. Tarnham?” she asked quietly.
“Home in the bosom of his family, never to practice magic again.” Miss Pendennis shook her head. “They like him a whole lot better now that all he can do is stare at the wall and drool. Poor boy. He was so attached to that ferret.” She sighed heavily. “Maybe if they pray hard enough over him, he’ll be able to speak again someday.”
Emily looked at her ivory hand. “I guess Caul wasn’t the only one with a ready supply of Sergeant Booths.”
Miss Pendennis shook her head, letting the dark sentiment linger for a moment before dispelling it with a falsely bright tone.
“Speaking of arrogant fools, I dropped in on the Stantons the other day.”
Emily inclined her head. She did not look at Miss Pendennis.
It had been nearly a month since Emily had seen Stanton last, on the pier in Charleston, the world around them drenched with the light of Ososolyeh’s released power. Before she’d stirred from the drowsy drugs they’d given her to relieve the pain of her amputation, Stanton had vanished from the hospital, whisked back to New York by Benedictus Zeno and a coterie of senior professors from the Institute. Emily was left to recuperate in the hot, muggy hospital in Charleston. A well-trained staff of efficient Witch Doctors had accelerated the healing of