shrugged. “It’s just the magic my pap taught me. Charms and horoscopes and elixirs.”
Mrs. Quincy and Cruickshank exchanged glances.
“Miss Edwards and her adoptive father practice standard Ozark herbalism, overlaid with elements of old Scottish Wicca.” Stanton looked hard at both Mrs. Quincy and Cruickshank. “Their practice is quite respectable.”
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Quincy purred, but Emily caught her smiling into her glass. Just what was so funny? And what in blazes did Stanton mean, their practice is “respectable”? She looked down at her plate, her cheeks suddenly hot.
“At any rate, I’m sure Professor Mirabilis will be able to clear all this up.” Stanton picked up a fork for a renewed attack on his food. “I hope we shall be contacting him after dinner, as we discussed?”
“We will be contacting him if I deem it fit, Mr. Stanton.” Mrs. Quincy’s earlier harshness was back. “Do you know what time it is in New York?”
“I am perfectly aware of the time.” Stanton set his fork down with a loud clank. “Which is why it seems reasonable that we might contact him before the hour grows much later.”
And then, again, suddenly …
Chanting.
It was the same chanting Emily had heard in the casino, but louder now. This time, Emily had no doubt that it was the voice of the Maien from the Miwok camp, her raggedy rough voice eliding and dipping, long notes wavering in the distance. Emily looked around furtively. Where was the sound coming from?
Something was terribly wrong, but she didn’t know what. She couldn’t stand the awful chanting—it was unsettling, enervating. Her eyes darted between Mrs. Quincy and Stanton, and suddenly she felt dizzy. She swayed slightly, looking down at her plate to keep from swooning, concentrating hard on the half-eaten spear of asparagus swimming in the fatty yellow sauce. Looking at it made her feel sick. Putting a hand over her mouth, she closed her eyes.
In the distance, she heard a voice chanting words she did not understand. Urgent words.
And then, although her eyes were squeezed shut tightly, she saw something. She saw it as clearly as if her eyes were open …
… Mrs. Quincy and Mr. Cruikshank. In a room.
It was the room she’d glimpsed through the Haälbeck door; there was the large brown leather chair. And there was the shawl she’d seen draped over it, but the shawl was now around Mrs. Quincy’s shoulders—the black bead-fringed shawl she’d first seen the old woman wearing in the gambling house.
“I don’t like it, Captain Caul, I don’t like it at all!” Mrs. Quincy clutched the shawl around her throat, paper-white hand trembling. “No one will care about the girl … But Dreadnought Stanton! He was sent to California to stay out of trouble like this. Mirabilis wanted him placed where he was least likely to encounter any kind of … excitement. I was supposed to see to it!”
“Your incompetence is not my concern,” Cruikshank—or was it Caul?—said.
“But can’t you just take her? You know who Dreadnought Stanton’s father is, don’t you? Argus Stanton. Senator Argus Stanton. The stupid boy left his card at the extension office when he called today! My clerk saw them.”
“I want them both,” Caul said. “My men and I will take care of everything. Don’t forget who we are.”
“I know exactly who you are, and that’s why I’m worried,” Mrs. Quincy blazed. “The Maelstroms have never been known for their delicacy. I won’t have a scandal in my house!”
“If it’s scandal you’re worried about, take the money we’re paying you and settle your gambling debts,” Caul said. “From what I hear, that is far more likely to damage your reputation—to say nothing of your health—than having two unexceptional individuals disappear from your house.”
The room in which Mrs. Quincy and Caul stood began to spin, melting into a wash of colors and sounds, and then the chanting became louder, drowning out the sound of their voices …
Emily snapped her eyes open, looked wildly around the table. Stanton and Mrs. Quincy were still bickering about Professor Mirabilis, and had not noticed a thing. But Cruikshank was looking at her. Staring at her, his eyes dull as slate. Emily’s heart leapt into her throat.
“Will you excuse me, please?” Emily mumbled, standing abruptly. In her haste, she knocked her leg against the table, making the china rattle. Stanton looked up at her, his brows knitted.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She rushed from the table without answering.
She went into the parlor, threw open a window, leaned her head out. She