Game of Secrets

by Kim Foster

  I take another long sip of water and then watch him carefully. “How did you know to come find me?”

  “I followed you from headquarters. I saw you in the opium den and was about to approach when you slipped out the back. Next thing I knew, you were being shoved into Warwick’s carriage. I couldn’t get to you in time.”

  I blink at him. “You followed me?”

  He nods briskly, then turns to busy himself with the horse’s saddle. His ears look a little pink, but I can’t be sure in this light.

  “You’re still shivering,” Julian says. He hesitates, rubbing the side of his face. “I’d rather not build a fire. It would announce our location, and if there’s a chance they’re still following …”

  “I know. I’ll be fine.”

  “Here.” He moves closer and puts his arm around me. It’s incredibly inappropriate, but I don’t care. I’m not about to let etiquette get in the way of a little warmth. Not when I’ve just been snatched from the clutches of my enemy.

  I lean into his side. He smells like leather and soap, and faintly of sweat. Through the cloak, his body is like a furnace.

  Julian followed me. He came to rescue me.

  “Why did you follow me?” I ask softly. He says nothing for a while.

  “I was … worried about you.”

  “Worried?”

  “After Ascot. I thought maybe it had been rather difficult for you.”

  “But the other night. You were so … distant.”

  “Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned for your welfare. That I don’t”—he hesitates—“care for you.”

  My heartbeat quickens. Did I hear him correctly?

  “I’m glad all they did was take a little of your blood, Felicity. That they didn’t hurt you worse than this.” He pulls me tighter.

  And then his face is in front of mine. We are so close….

  His mouth is warm and soft. Chills spread all over my body. The world tilts beneath me as I try to make sense of it, but I can hardly think. And then … I stop trying. He kisses me more deeply and my head floods with starlight. I melt into his arms …

  Then, just as abruptly, he pulls away.

  “I’m sorry, Felicity. That was incredibly inappropriate.”

  “No, I—” I begin.

  He looks down. “Can you forgive me? I don’t know what came over me. My deepest apologies—”

  “No, I’m not upset. I just want to know why.” I swallow. “And then … why you stopped.”

  He is quiet a long time and refuses to meet my gaze. My pulse hammers in my ears.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally repeats. “We … should, er, get moving.”

  I bite my lip, my eyes suddenly hot. We both climb back on the horse and make our way back to headquarters, speaking no more of it.

  “They stole your … blood?” Isherwood says, alarmed.

  Julian and I stand before the panel of Morgana Elders. “Why would they do that?” Julian demands.

  Isherwood shakes her head. “I have no idea.”

  Hawksmoor has been quiet throughout the interview. He’d been waiting for us when we returned, and then summoned us before a committee of the Elders. We had no choice but to tell them the unadulterated truth.

  “I still don’t understand,” says Isherwood, her frosty glare boring into me. “What were you doing at Tianjin House in the first place, Miss Cole?”

  I swallow. “I had hoped to learn more about my father. I recently discovered he was Tainted, too,” I say, parsing my words carefully. I glance at Sig, seated beside Isherwood. “You mentioned Mr. Dexter before. I thought he might have some answers.” I mention nothing about the real reason I went to the opium den, the Huntsmen pin, nor the cryptic answers I received from Dexter.

  Isherwood’s mouth purses. “Did you find the information you were seeking, Miss Cole?”

  I shake my head. “It was a wasted exercise.”

  “In the carriage,” Hawksmoor begins, “what were Warwick’s exact words as he extracted your blood?”

  As I speak, I strive to keep my voice even and strong. I know I’m in trouble.

  Warwick’s taunts make no more sense to the Elders than they did to me.

  “He said something about perfecting a formula?” Sig asks. “Could they be developing some kind of … weapon? To use against other Morgana?”

  “But why would the Huntsmen want to develop a weapon like that?” I ask. “They’re Tainted themselves.”

  “Yes, but if they want power, they’ll have to defeat the Tainted who aren’t on their side, won’t they?” says Julian.

  I nod. The Elders murmur over and debate the idea, but reach no firm conclusions.

  Hawksmoor, however, cuts with surgical precision to the one fact I was hoping he’d ignore. “And so you went to the opium den alone, Miss Cole. Is that correct?”

  I lick my lips. “Yes, sir.”

  “You told no one of your plans?”

  “I didn’t wish to involve anyone else….”

  He closes his eyes and lowers his head for a moment. When he pulls his gaze back to mine, his face has been washed of all emotion. “It’s not because of your disobedience,” he begins. “Nor is it a case of you putting yourself in harm’s way. It’s your steadfast refusal to become a member of this team. In spite of the months you have spent training, you still do not consider yourself one of us. And, I’m afraid to say, that is why I am eliminating you as a Candidate.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “After all, the true seeing is within.”

  —George Eliot, Middlemarch

  That night, I lie awake thinking, twisting restlessly in the bedsheets.

  In the morning over breakfast I’m told I’ll be helping to prepare for the Royal Jubilee operation. I am to assist Sig with the secret weapons, which will be hidden inside the garments of the agents who will be acting as a patrol. The mood at headquarters is reaching a frenzy now that we are only a few days away. Preparations for the Jubilee are the only thing anyone is talking about. But there is no mistake: I am not going to be anywhere close to the action. I am auxiliary now. From among all of us, Hugh Torrington has been elevated to the role of full Morgana agent.

  As for Julian, I see him very little over the next few days. He has been assigned an entirely separate set of tasks. And when I do see him at meals, it’s incredibly awkward. He’ll barely meet my gaze.

  One evening, I’m sitting with Neville in the parlor. Candlelight flickers on the richly papered walls. The unspoken events of the past few days clot the air with an almost palpable thickness.

  “You’re quiet tonight, Miss Cole. Deep in thought?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “And how are you adjusting to your new responsibilities?”

  I have been working with Sig.

  “Everything coming along well?”

  I shrug. “As far as I can tell. I’m not privy to all the plans.”

  “And that bothers you?”

  I’m surprised to realize that it does.

  “You were enjoying the challenge,” he says, watching me intently. It’s not a question.

  I look down at my hands. “It was … so different from anything I had experienced. All this was so different. So new. At first, I hated it. All I wanted was my old life back. But then …”

  “You began to feel attached.”

  A dry lump lodges in my throat. I haven’t spoken with anyone about this. Not even Nate. After a bit, I nod. “I started to feel like I was part of something bigger. Something more important than just myself.”

  “And then you began to control your abilities.”

  I look up at Neville, eyes bright. “It felt amazing. Exhilarating.”

  “And you wanted to win.”

  “Not just for the sake of winning. But a part of me had started to believe in what we’re doing.”

  “And now?”

  “Now … I don’t know. I’m not sure what lies ahead.”

  I sto
p short of telling him how tempted I am to run away.

  And I keep to myself one more piece of information: I am no closer to answers about how one becomes Tainted, and I have not yet found a cure. How can I take care of Nate when we’ll be forever hunted? It will be no kind of life.

  In the days that follow, I try to stay focused.

  I spend a great deal of time in the headquarters’ library, poring over books about the Morgana, trying to formulate my next steps. I keep recalling Rufus Dexter quoting Plato: Until philosophers are kings … cities will never have rest from their evils. I wish I could recall why those words are so important.

  When Sig doesn’t need me in his laboratory and I can no longer stand to read and research, I go to the gymnasium to train. Although I’ve destroyed any prospect of fieldwork, I find I enjoy the movement and the exercise. And the chance to further hone my use of Aristos.

  Until I am able to find a cure and a way out of this world, I’ll need to protect myself.

  At last, it’s the day before the Royal Jubilee ceremony. Tonight, there will be a grand banquet at Buckingham Palace, and tomorrow will be the parade and ceremony in Westminster Abbey. At the banquet, every British aristocrat will be in attendance, not to mention the representatives of all the royal families from abroad. The city is teeming with the excitement of hosting so many important foreign visitors; the streets feel like a festival. There is music in every square, and the delicious smells of food as the people of London prepare to celebrate in their own ways. The city feels lighter, lifted from the dreariness of daily life, even if this holiday atmosphere will only last a short time.

  The mood at Morgana headquarters is somewhat different. We are not celebrating so much as preparing for every disaster that could befall the Queen and her entourage. Neville works night and day, monitoring the intelligence provided by his network of spies. Isherwood drills the agents mercilessly. And Hawksmoor watches it all with a sharp eye and the intensity of a man performing relentless mental calculations.

  As I’m helping Sig with the finishing touches on the agents’ concealed knives, there is a knock at the laboratory door. Unexpectedly, for the second time in a week, I’m hauled before the council of Elders.

  “Miss Cole,” says Hawksmoor. “One of our seasoned agents has unaccountably fallen ill, which means we will be shorthanded at the banquet tonight.” The other Elders stare at me, watching my reaction carefully. “The members of the council have decided, after much deliberation, that you will fill in. It is not our first choice, but we have few alternatives. We are prepared to elevate you to agent status … but only for this event.”

  I go very still. Am I hearing this correctly?

  “We will only do this if we can count on you,” he says, and then pauses. “Can we?”

  Full Morgana agent. It feels like a string has been plucked inside me; it vibrates a deep hum. I’ve been given another chance.

  “Yes, you can count on me.”

  Hawksmoor steeples his fingertips and I can see doubt flicker in his eyes, but he says nothing. I am dismissed, but am to report to the war room for a briefing in thirty minutes.

  Jane helps me prepare, dressing me in my gear and fastening my outfit with all the tools I’ll need. She clucks excitedly. “It’s ever so lucky they decided to give you a second chance, isn’t it?” Her fingers move excitedly as she brushes out my hair.

  A hummingbird flutters at my throat. “I must confess, Jane … I hadn’t realized how much I wanted this.”

  “Of course you wanted it!” she exclaims. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  I open my mouth, then close it again. How can I explain it to her?

  I straighten my spine. No matter. As Hawksmoor said, this is just a one-time mission. Then I’ll be able to concentrate on finding a way back to Nate again.

  Once with the other agents, Hawksmoor walks us through the plans, using maps and charts, assigning duties to us all. We are then dismissed to warm up in the gymnasium before we’re given a light, nourishing meal.

  It is then that I learn that it will be impossible for me to keep my word to Hawksmoor.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”

  —Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

  In the gymnasium, warming up with the others, I realize I am a weapon short. A knife holster attached to my left leg is empty. I excuse myself and hurry down to Sig’s laboratory to find the blade I need.

  The room is empty. Perhaps Sig is in conference with the Elders, making final preparations. The entire space is disorganized and dusty and smells of vinegar and chemicals. I wonder how I’m ever going to find what I need. This close to the coal furnace, the air is warm and dry. Papers litter every empty space, covering bits of equipment, which are strewn haphazardly throughout the room, the result of the frenzied preparations of the last few days.

  I begin my hunt. And that’s when I see it. A stack of envelopes shifts, and I notice that one of the letters is addressed to … me.

  The blue inked handwriting is proper and formal, but not a hand I recognize. It’s impossible for me to resist picking up the envelope—Dr. Alistair Middlesex. I know no one of that name.

  I stare at the letter, then flip it over. The envelope’s flap is somewhat ragged. Just slightly rippled, a tiny tear. It has already been opened and resealed.

  Were the Elders going to give it to me? Doubtful. And though I found this letter in Sig’s laboratory, I have difficulty believing he is the one behind this subterfuge.

  Hawksmoor is my next thought. If the spymaster has read my letter, I’m certainly going to, too. I carefully unseal the flap.

  My dear Miss Felicity Cole,

  Your name was put forth to me by a colleague who has fallen into, shall we say, difficult times. However, you managed to rouse him sufficiently long enough to explain your predicament, and it appears you made quite an impression.

  I pause. He must be talking about Rufus Dexter.

  Suffice it to say, I do recall working with your father, and was very sorry indeed to learn of his passing. There is a great deal you need to know, but I fear it is too convoluted a tale to put to paper. I would be pleased to speak with you in person and to discuss my research toward a cure for your … affliction, but I am afraid I will only be in London for one more day. Circumstances have grown more dangerous, and I will be going abroad, indefinitely.

  Should you wish to speak, you can find me before the morning of the 21st of June at 38 Berkeley Square.

  I remain yours humbly,

  Dr. Alistair Middlesex

  I glance at the clock ticking away in the corner of the laboratory. The Jubilee banquet will begin at Buckingham Palace in four hours. But if I don’t go see Dr. Middlesex tonight, I’ll forfeit my only chance.

  Can I be across town and back in time? Then something else occurs to me. What if he’s able to cure me … tonight? It would change everything.

  A vision flashes in my head. Me as one of the Morgana agents, defending Queen and Country, taking action for the betterment of the world—yet doing unspeakable things. Exhilarating things.

  The image changes. Me and Nate, like old times, running away, finding a seaside town or a small city where I can work in a cotton factory or sell my flowers in the local market. Not an easy life, but a simple one. Safe.

  I carefully replace the letter in the stack on Sig’s desk, then go to my room and retrieve my traveling cloak and gather every last penny I possess. The doctor may not require payment for his cure, but I don’t wish to leave it to chance. Briefly, I consider speaking to Julian, telling him where I’m going. But I think better of it. What would I even say?

  I creep along the corridor to the back exit. My gloved hand is on the doorknob when I hear a sound behind me.

  I swivel. Agatha Isherwood stands in the corridor, hovering like a specter.

  “Where are you going?” she demands, folding her arms over her chest.


  I hesitate. “I have an errand I must complete.”

  “You are aware that we begin dressing and preparing for the Jubilee within the hour.”

  “I’ll be back in time,” I assure her.

  She runs her tongue over her teeth. “I don’t believe you will be.”

  I say nothing, trying to gauge what her next move will be.

  “The team is counting on you to do your part,” she says simply.

  I can’t suppress the short laugh that comes out. “I don’t know why it would bother you if I wasn’t there—you’ve always said I’m useless.”

  “Not anymore.”

  I stare at her, unable to conceal my shock. I have no response for her unexpected words. But I refuse to let this change anything. Turning on my heel, I start to walk away.

  “Felicity, you miss your old life. That has been clear from the start. But that life, and that girl, the one who first arrived on our doorstep with wide eyes … that girl is gone.”

  I stop. Her words cut straight to the quick. Perhaps it wasn’t Hawksmoor who opened the letter, after all.

  “The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be at peace with who you are. What you truly can be.”

  “I cannot accept it,” I say, my voice scarcely more than a whisper.

  “Then you will forever be a wandering soul.”

  I turn to face her, raising my chin. “Are you going to stop me?”

  She presses her lips together, but I can tell from her expression that she won’t.

  I swallow, ignoring the lump forming in my chest. “I’m leaving then.” I hesitate. “And I will be at the Jubilee in time.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I step into the street outside where it is pouring. Buckets of rain sluice down the streets and across the sidewalks. In the carriage, I give the driver directions, and we pull away from the house. The drum of the horse’s hooves is a soothing distraction.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “Witchcraft has not a pedigree,

  ’Tis early as our breath,

  And mourners meet it going out