The Cheater's Game: Glass and Steele, #7

by C. J. Archer

  "Thank you," I said.

  Matt simply gave him a flat smile.

  "And finally, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you both, and the times before that. My brother always riles me. We haven't gotten along in years, and I'm afraid I can't control my temper around him. Nor can he, but I won't apologize on his behalf."

  Their disagreements had been heated and sometimes violent. Although the latest problems seemed to stem from Oscar's articles about magic, I suspected the origins of their feud were much deeper. Isaac's wife's name, Cecilia, had come up more than once, and Oscar had hinted at the financial control his brother wielded over the family. The articles added fuel to an already burning fire.

  "Is he still in London?" I asked.

  "He returned home. He achieved what he wanted." Oscar waited, his head slightly tilted, as if he expected us to say something. "The private loan from the banker, Mr. Delancey," he added. "And my promise that I won't write any more articles."

  "You promised that?" Matt asked.

  Oscar settled into the chair and crossed his legs. "I did."

  "It sounds like a promise you can keep, considering The Weekly Gazette is refusing to publish more articles on magic and other editors are refusing to buy them."

  He simply smiled. "I've come up with a better idea. I'm going to write a book with Gavin."

  "So that's what you meant," I said at the same time Matt said, "No."

  "You don't have a say in the matter, Glass," Oscar said.

  Matt stood and towered over Oscar. What did he intend to do? Intimidate him? "It's not a good idea. You know why."

  "It's a very good idea. An entire book allows me to delve into the topic of magic more thoroughly. I'm going to include an entire two chapters on the history of magic and magicians." Oscar nodded at the professor. "That's where Gavin comes in. He's going to be an advisor, acknowledged, of course, if he wishes."

  "You think this is a good idea, Professor?" Matt growled. "Have you lost your senses?"

  The professor swallowed as Matt moved to stand in front of him, all hard features and flashing eyes. "I…I… That is…" Nash pushed his glasses up his nose. "I think it will be better than the articles. As Oscar says, it'll allow him more scope to really explore the topic and explain it sensitively and reasonably. It'll make magic less mystical and more real to the artless, thereby allaying fears."

  "How will it allay fears? Artless craftsmen will still worry that magicians will take over their businesses. The guilds will tighten their requirements and some will begin a witch hunt. You know your history, Professor. I'm sure you're familiar with the Salem Witch Trials in America, and similar persecution here in England. Do you want that on your consciences?"

  Nash swallowed again and leaned back a little.

  "Matt," I said, "come and sit down." He obliged, albeit stiffly. He looked as if he would spring up and wring Oscar's neck at any moment. "Gentlemen, you must realize the danger you're courting by bringing the public's attention to magic all over again, just when it has started to fade. Magicians like your brother won't like the book, nor will the guilds."

  "I know that," Oscar said. "It's unfortunate they can't see my side of it, but I do think most magicians want to get the word out. They don't want to live in the shadows anymore. I know you understand that, India. Don't try to deny it. I know you."

  "You do not," Matt snarled.

  I clasped my hands tightly in my lap and dared not look at either man.

  "Not only are many magicians keen to have their magic in the open, the public is curious too," Oscar said. "If we can win them over to our side, then this current tension will all be worth it."

  "Tension?" Matt exploded. "You think that's all this is? Tension? People's businesses are at stake. A lot of money could be gained and lost, and when that happens, there is always trouble. Another history lesson for you, Professor."

  Nash sank even further into the chair.

  Oscar scooted forward, perching on the edge of the seat. "We must break the guilds' stranglehold on our crafts, our businesses, our livelihoods. They should never have been allowed to get so strong. They're shutting out legitimate, hard-working magicians who only want to feed their families and practice their art in peace."

  Matt threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

  "How will you even get it published?" I asked. "The Stationer's Guild controls all the publishers and printers."

  "I know of an independent printer working in Shoreditch," Oscar said. "He has agreed to print a thousand copies for me. If they all sell, he'll print more."

  "By independent, you mean illegal," Matt said. "To operate without a license from the Stationer's Guild is against the law."

  "That's why this must remain between us. Don't jeopardize this, Glass. It's not just the book and our work that you'll be destroying, but the printer's business. He'll be shut down and fined, perhaps jailed. The guild will come after him."

  "I beg your pardon," I bit off. "Matt's not going to do anything so cruel. If something happens to your printer, it won't be his fault. It'll be yours, for using his services."

  "Of course, of course," Nash said quickly. "Mr. Glass would never do such a thing."

  We all turned to Oscar. "I want you to promise, Glass," he said.

  Matt held Oscar's gaze for a long time. "You must have come here knowing this would be my reaction," Matt said. "So why are you telling us this? I doubt it's just a courtesy call."

  Nash cleared his throat and glanced at Oscar. Oscar suddenly looked less sure of himself with each passing moment as Matt's icy stare drilled into him.

  "We will be using names of real magicians in the book," Oscar said. "Mine, of course, and—"

  "No. You will not use her name."

  "And other names of magicians who've given me permission."

  "Other magicians have given you permission?" I asked.

  "Two, so far, but I hope to get more."

  "No," Matt said. "Absolutely not. You will not endanger her."

  "It won't endanger her," Nash said, suddenly leaning forward too. Like Oscar, this book enthused him. It was difficult not to feel at least a little excited too. "It'll draw out other magicians," Nash went on. "When they realize what she can do with her magic, how she doesn't need a spell to make her watch move, other magicians will come out of hiding. I expect other powerful magicians will reveal themselves, if only to us and in secret."

  "You're both mad," Matt said.

  "What if we leave out her name, but just mention what her powers can do," Oscar said. "Then if someone approaches me and asks for her name, we can give it to them privately."

  "And what if it's a guild master pretending to be a magician to learn where she lives?"

  "We'll make them perform a test," Nash offered. "A magical test."

  Matt shook his head, more in disgust than refusal. I said nothing; I simply watched on. As usual, the topic conflicted me. I wanted to live in the open. I wanted to practice magic. But the risk of persecution was very real. There was every reason to stay in hiding, and I agreed with Matt on that score—for now.

  "We have to use her," Oscar said. He'd scooted so far forward I thought he might drop to his knees on the floor and beg.

  Matt got to his feet. "Get out. Both of you. I've heard enough."

  Oscar hesitated but Nash stood. He turned to me. "Let us know if you change your mind," he said.

  "She won't," Matt said.

  I bit down, grinding my back teeth.

  Oscar rose and grasped my hand. "Think about it, India."

  "Get. Out," Matt growled in a voice I'd never heard before. "Fossett! Make sure these gentlemen leave." He waited by the door until both men passed him.

  I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose. I felt the sofa cushion beside me sink.

  "Are you all right?" Matt asked, voice normal again.

  I opened my eyes to see his hand reaching up. He brushed my hair off my forehead, a gentl
e gesture that made my heart ache, not because it was tender but because of what I was about to say. He'd be hurt. "He was asking me, Matt, not you."

  "I won't let him endanger you."

  "It's my decision to make," I said, "not yours."

  His fingers pulled back but his hand remained in the air between us; a sweet gesture interrupted, a moment, frozen in time, that could haunt me. "Don't, India," he said with quiet steel. "Don't make me say it."

  I had to. If I didn't, it would trouble me and it would only rear its ugly head another day, and become even uglier. "Say what? That as my husband you can forbid me?"

  He looked away.

  "We're not married yet," I said.

  I walked out of the drawing room, very aware that he did not follow.

  Chapter 4

  "We should go to Emmett's memorial," Willie said over breakfast.

  "Why?" Cyclops asked. "Because we're American and he was American too?"

  "Because it's a good opportunity to witness how his friends react to his death."

  Cyclops plucked the eggshell out of the eggcup, tipped it upside down and shook it. Not a drop of yolk fell out. He sighed and cast a longing glance at the covered breakfast platters on the sideboard.

  "I'm a suspect in his murder," Duke said, stabbing a rasher of bacon with his fork. "It ain't a good idea for me to go."

  "Then stay here," she said. "The rest of us will go. What do you think, Matt?"

  Matt hesitated. "I—" He broke off with a glance at me. "India? Do you think we should go?"

  "I have no strong opinion on the matter," I said. "You decide."

  I drained my teacup. Even though I wasn't looking at Matt, I could feel his gaze on me. He'd been stealing glances at me all morning, quickly looking away when I caught him. Clearly my outburst yesterday troubled him. I, on the other hand, felt relieved to get it off my chest. Discussions like that had to be had before the wedding. There was no point letting them fester. It would only hurt more later.

  "That's it." Willie threw her napkin on the table. "The air in here's thicker than a glutton's waist. What's going on with you two today?"

  "Nothing," I said.

  "Then why's Matt's face longer than a nag going to the knackery?"

  "Don't, Willie," Matt said.

  She looked from Matt to me then back again. "You two ain't leaving here 'til you've kissed and made up. Come on, Duke, Cyclops. Let's leave them alone."

  Duke waved a piece of toast at her. "But I haven't finished my breakfast."

  "Bring it with you."

  Cyclops got up and left, but Duke lingered, blinking at his plate like it was his long lost love. Willie reached across the table, snatched up the plate, and headed out. Duke finally followed and shut the door.

  "That was subtle," I said, getting up to refill my cup at the sideboard.

  "India," Matt purred.

  When he didn't go on, I said, "Yes?"

  He was suddenly standing behind me, his hands lightly stroking my arms. "I'm sorry about yesterday." He kissed the top of my head. "Am I forgiven?"

  I sighed and leaned back into him. "So you understand why I was cross?"

  "You have a mind of your own. You're more than capable of thinking and speaking for yourself."

  I turned and peered into his troubled eyes. His hands fell to his sides. "You've been thinking about that answer all night, haven't you?"

  "Did it sound too rehearsed?"

  I clasped his jaw and stood on my toes to kiss him. "Thank you for understanding," I murmured against his lips. "I was worried you wouldn't."

  I felt his muscles relax against my palm. "It took me a few minutes to calm down and realize you weren't going to help Nash and Barratt with their book, and it wasn't about that. Also, my aunt pointed out you've been making your own decisions for years, and that I was being a petulant cowboy, storming in with guns blazing. Those are her words."

  "I can hear her voice in them." I stretched my arms around his neck, coaxing a soft smile from lips. "She doesn't realize that I rather like cowboys."

  "Should I wear my hat and holster?"

  "Oh, Matt," I murmured against his mouth. "You do like to tease."

  His lips stretched with his smile. "And I didn't even have to mention the boots."

  Our kiss started with an explosive release of the tension we'd both been harboring since our argument. His arms wrapped around me, holding me so tightly my ribs hurt, and my fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging, trying to draw him closer when we were already as close as two clothed people could be. The kiss turned slow, sensual, a calmer yet no less passionate one. We finally broke apart when someone knocked.

  "You two made up yet?" Willie shouted through the door.

  Matt stroked his thumb along my lower lip. "I suppose we should rejoin the world."

  "If we must." I took his hand and together we met with Willie, Cyclops and Duke.

  "Have you decided?" Cyclops asked.

  "Decided what?" Matt said.

  Willie clicked her tongue. "The memorial service for Emmett. What have you two been discussing in there?"

  "That ain't your business," Duke told her, cradling the plate of toast to his chest.

  She looked as if she didn't agree but Matt spoke first. "I think it's a good idea to attend. We might learn something, and right now, the more evidence we can gather to point the finger at someone else, the more Brockwell will turn his attention away from Duke."

  His mouth full, Duke hummed his agreement.

  "It's settled then," I said. "But you're right, Duke, you shouldn't attend."

  He swallowed. "Fine by me. I'm going out anyway."

  Willie thrust her hands on her hips as he walked off. "Where are you going?"

  "Ain't none of your business."

  Cyclops clapped her on the shoulder. "Give him some peace. He never goes anywhere without us."

  "That's because we're fun. Well, I'm fun. Lately you're a drag, Cyclops. You got to either do something about Catherine or stop thinking about her. And don't you mention the nurse to me." She poked him in the chest. "I ain't sitting around pining for her and eating like a bird to look my best for her. I'm getting on with life. Now come on, and let's get ready for the memorial."

  Cyclops looked down at himself. "I am ready. Are you changing?"

  "I'm getting my Colt. Ain't turning up to the memorial of a gunslinger without a weapon."

  I watched her head up the stairs, wondering if she meant wearing the gun was a tribute to Emmett or she was worried for her safety.

  We arrived early at St. Cuthbert's, a church not far from the Earls Court Exhibition ground. Emmett's body was going to be sent back to America for burial and a proper funeral, but the memorial service was meant for his fellow cast members. So it was surprising that few turned up.

  We arrived early and stood at the back, watching the mourners as they entered and took their place. Indeed, the term mourners overstated it somewhat. Only May showed any sign of emotion.

  Willie nudged me with her elbow. "There's Annie Oakley," she whispered. "She don't look too sad. I reckon we watch her."

  "You think she's a suspect?" I whispered back. "Based on what information?"

  "On her lack of emotion. You'd think she'd be sad to lose a friend."

  "Nobody here looks particularly sad, except for May."

  Willie craned her neck and scanned the other faces. "Remember the blonde eye-full from the pub? The one who looked pleased when Duke punched Emmett?"

  "Is she here?" I asked, looking around.

  "No, but I got the feeling she knew him. I expected her to be here. Maybe she was pleased about the punch because she hated him, maybe even enough to kill him. That makes two suspects now."

  "Are you counting Annie Oakley?"

  "Danny Draper, but we can count Annie Oakley if you want. She should be questioned anyway, on account of her being important to the show."

  The other important person for the show, Bill Cody himself, sat in
the front pew beside Annie Oakley. I recognized him from the show's posters, although the likeness had been made more youthful. Unlike the rest of the mourners, he left immediately after the service. He didn't stay to file past the open casket with the rest of us.

  Most of the mourners hardly glanced at the dead man's face. Not even May. Her tears had dried too. I was beginning to wonder if she'd been acting earlier.

  I peeped into the casket and meant to just pass by, but stopped instead. Emmett's hands lay flat over his chest, a spray of playing cards face down beneath the fingers as if he were keeping a winning hand close before he played them. It was a poignant gesture for the gambler, yet it wasn't the gesture that struck me. It was the compulsion I felt to touch those cards.

  It was wrong, yet I couldn't ignore the need. I gathered my nerve and reached in, all too aware that the cards and gunmetal grey suit covered the fatal wound. My little finger brushed the cards and I gasped, pulling back. I curled my fingers into a fist and pressed it to my stomach. I searched along the line of mourners for Matt and our gazes connected. He frowned.

  "Keep moving," the man behind me whispered. "We've got to get back to prepare for the show."

  I spared a glance at Emmett, his face set into an expression that must have meant to look peaceful but instead looked unnatural. So that's how you did it.

  "What is it, India?" Matt asked as he joined me by the front pew. "You've gone pale."

  We walked out of the church where only a handful of mourners remained. My mind reeled and I must have sported an odd look on my face because Cyclops and Willie also asked if something was the matter.

  "India?" Matt clasped my elbow. "Are you going to faint?"

  I shook my head and indicated they should follow me out of earshot. "You were right, Willie," I said. "Emmett cheated, and I know how."

  "How?" all three chorused.

  "He was a paper magician. The cards on his chest were warm from magical heat. It was strong enough to feel through my glove."

  They stared at me then, as if a dam burst, all spoke at once.

  "You don't say," Cyclops muttered.