Authors: Marissa Doyle
she said in a small voice. “There’s something all around here. I can see the circle on the floor around
me, where the barrier begins. It must be magic, then. Oh, why didn’t I feel it?”
“It was a trap. Ally warned me in my dream about danger, and she was right. But we didn’t know
that she’d be the bait.” Persy felt sick watching Pen explore the invisible walls of her prison. “If I’d
been the first one in, I would have done the same thing.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You knew there was something wrong right away. I felt you hesitate, and I
wanted to grab your arm and drag you with me. Thank God I didn’t.” She stopped feeling the circle
and looked at Persy, her bare shoulders slumping. “Can you get us out of here?”
“I don’t know. I need to see what kind of spell it is. Is Ally all right?”
Pen knelt beside Ally again and touched the base of her throat. “She’s breathing, and her heart is
beating. But slowly—so slowly. It’s like she’s in some kind of trance.” She smoothed her dark hair.
“That wasn’t Ally we were following, was it?” she asked softly, staring down at the beloved face.
“No, it couldn’t have been.” Persy walked around the edge of the circle, counting candles and
peering down at the chalk marks. Here and there different colors of chalk had been used to draw a
braided pattern unlike anything she had seen before, but all the candles in this circle were black. Of
course. Black candles were for protection. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare
this. “I guess that’s what Lochinvar meant when he said ‘It’s not really … ,’” she said absently. “I
was too far away to hear the rest, but it must have been ‘It’s not really her,’ or something.”
“How did he know? And who were we following, then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe no one. Just an image, to draw us up here.” Persy rubbed her eyes as she
stared down at the circle. A few feet within it, another circle had been drawn and set with copper-
colored candles, interspersed with black. Within that circle was another, set with purple and black
candles, and within that one yet another, with candles of orange and black.
“But why would we see it, and not him? How would he know?”
Persy straightened and looked at her. “I don’t know. Unless …” She took a breath. “Did you ever
…
tell
him anything? About magic, and Ally, and … us?”
“Of course not! I know better than that,” Pen replied indignantly.
Persy resumed her examination of the circles. The elaborate braided patterns gave her the shivers
though the designs were beautiful. They contained some power that she could sense but not identify.
Ally had not taught them much about ritual magic. She had always said that rituals were useful only as
a focus. It was the power of the person performing the ritual that mattered.
Whoever had prepared this ritual was evidently very powerful. Persy could almost see the shining
web of magic that hung in the air over the circle. Would rubbing out part of the chalked lines or
extinguishing a candle break its power? That was risky, as Ally had once explained—released from
its bonds without focus, the power contained in a circle might explode like loose gunpowder, and
Persy didn’t want to risk Pen or Ally getting hurt in the blast.
Then where was the person who had prepared this magic? And why had Ally and they been brought
here?
“Persy, listen! I hear someone coming.” Pen sat up straighter and stared at the door. “You don’t
think it could be Lochinvar, do you? Could he have followed us?” she added hopefully.
Persy held her breath and listened. Footsteps, yes—but more than one set of them was approaching.
She heard a female voice murmur something, and a male voice give a monosyllabic reply, and a third
voice chuckle unpleasantly.
Pen heard them too. “Quickly! You’ve got to hide!” She looked around her and pointed at a table.
“There—under there!”
“Too easy to see.” Persy cursed the shimmering pale blue of her dress as she looked around the
room. Then she noticed heavy curtains on the far wall that must cover a window. She darted around
the edge of the circle and slipped behind the folds of heavy silk, flattening her petticoats as she did.
“Persy, your feet!” Pen’s voice teetered on the edge of panic.
“Blast!” Persy stared down at her shoes. What could she do? Then she remembered the cloaking
spell she had used when she and Charles sneaked into Kensington. Taking a deep breath, she muttered
the words, and felt the familiar stuffy sensation surround her as the spell took hold. It fluttered and
wavered around her, and she realized that the magic circle was pulling at it, trying to suck up her
spell like a sponge. Was that what it was? A circle to hold magic power, like a reservoir?
A few seconds later, she heard the door open.
“Well, well! What have we here? Why, if it isn’t one of the P’s in a pod. Quite properly in a pod
now, aren’t you?” said a mocking voice.
Persy stifled an exclamation as she recognized it.
“But just one P?” Sir John Conroy continued. “Why is this? Where is your sister, girl?”
“Now, Sir John, this is my friend, if you please. There’s no need to tease or be uncivil.” Princess
Sophia sounded peevish.
“Sorry, ma’am. Old habits, and all that,” Sir John soothed. “What happened, Carrighar? Where is
the other one?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Michael Carrighar sounded puzzled. “They’re both here tonight, aren’t they?”
“Yes. I saw them both myself. Where the devil is she, then?”
“Perhaps you would be so good as to tell me what is going on here,” Pen said. Persy could picture
her sitting by Ally, her back ramrod-straight and her nose high.
“What is going on here?” Sir John echoed. His voiced was punctuated by footsteps, drawing closer
as he spoke. He must be pacing around the perimeter of the circle. “A great deal, Miss P-in-a-pod.
We’re offering you a chance to be of enormous service to your country.”
Persy reached up and unpinned from her breast the diamond brooch Mama had given her. Then,
holding her breath, she carefully scratched it at eye level across the curtain that concealed her. The
heavy silk, rotted from years in the sun, split under the pin. She stuck the pin haphazardly back into
her bodice and peered out with one eye through the narrow slit she had cut.
Pen sat just as she had imagined her, looking every inch the granddaughter of a duke. Only the grip
she kept on Ally’s hand betrayed her tension. Beyond her, hovering by the door, Princess Sophia
frowned at Sir John, who paced around the circle with his hands behind his back. Persy moved her
head to one side and just caught a glimpse of Michael Carrighar standing by the table Pen had told her
to hide under. She breathed a silent sigh of relief that she hadn’t.
“Of service to my country? How do you mean, sir?” Pen prompted him.
“My dear Miss P—”
“My name is Miss Leland, if you please.”
He shrugged. “My dear Miss P, you know why we are here tonight, do you not? Why all of London
is out there clogging the streets and creating a public nuisance? All this fuss just for the birthday of a
young girl barely out of the classroom—a girl who might find herself Queen of England any moment
now—”
“And what’s wrong with that? Please, ma’am …” Pen turned to Princess Sophia.
“No, my dear. You must listen to Sir John. He is a very clever man, you know, even if he does
sometimes tease too much.” Princess Sophia simpered at him. He paused and bowed to her.
“Thank you, ma’am. Tell me, Miss P. What would you think if you or any girl your age was
suddenly called upon to rule England? Could you do anything but make a mash of it? Hmm?”
“Surely this is the king’s business, not yours,” Pen ventured.
Sir John snorted. “The king is a moribund old wreck with the brains of a daffodil, girl. And all
anyone else sees, from Lord Melbourne and the cabinet down to the merest linkboy in the street, is
that Victoria’s young and tolerably pretty and unlike the vulgar old men who’ve ruled this country for
the last half century and more. They’re just as happy to see a stupid young girl as a stupid old man on
the throne, and expect blue eyes and nice manners to suffice for a monarch. Pah!”
Sir John stopped and jabbed his finger at Pen to emphasize his words. Below him, candle flames
fluttered and danced.
“Please be careful, sir,” Mr. Carrighar called.
“But
I
know better. I know that if she’s to survive as queen, she needs a firm hand guiding hers.
What
would
happen if the king were to die tomorrow? Victoria would collapse after two days as
queen, unless there were someone next to her to help shoulder the burden.”
“Someone like yourself,” Pen said slowly.
“Yes, someone like myself,” Sir John agreed. “Someone who could guide her, train her, lead her
gently into her role. Her mother and I have tried to explain that for her own good she should either
request a regency or take a private secretary to assist her. But she has always refused to even
consider it. I have served my country in many capacities, Miss P. I sacrificed a very promising career
in the army because Victoria’s father asked me on his deathbed to watch over his daughter. By being
Victoria’s guide until she can manage on her own, I can keep my promise and keep serving my
country.”
It was an inspired piece of oratory. Persy wondered how often Sir John had practiced it before his
shaving mirror. So, it seemed, did Pen.
“Just till she can manage on her own?” she mused. “Somehow I can’t imagine that you’ll be content
with ruling England in her name for only a year or two, Sir John.”
His face darkened. “Enough, girl. You know nothing of these things.”
“Enough to know that I don’t believe you’d ever let go of power. So what has any of that to do with
my governess being kidnapped and myself being held here?” Pen snapped.
“It was time to take more drastic measures. Because that chit won’t take me as secretary of her own
free will, I must force her. With magic.”
Persy froze. So did Pen.
“Ah, that has gotten your attention, hasn’t it?” Sir John’s anger was replaced once again by self-
assurance. “My associate Mr. Carrighar is the son of a distant relative back in Ireland. He came to my
notice not long ago, as did some, ah, shall we say, less than savory behavior of his elder brother’s.
Their father is a proud and upright old gentleman, well respected in Cork. If it were to get about that
his son and heir had ruined his own cousin—how old was she again, Michael? Fourteen?—then I
don’t know what would happen to him. When Michael came to me asking for help in covering up his
brother’s lapse in judgment, I was delighted to do so, provided that he, in turn, help me with my own
problem. Which he was quite qualified to do.”
“He’s a wizard,” Pen said quietly.
“Well done, Miss P! He is indeed. The best wizards in Europe are Irish, so they say. So you see, it
was very simple. I would fix Michael’s problem if he would use his magic to fix mine. He made an
excellent beginning, but it seems that it was beyond Michael’s power alone. He could create the
structure of the spell that would control Victoria, but required more magic to actually supply the
power for it. Rather like having a lamp without the oil. It was most fortuitous that on an afternoon off,
he happened upon a most unusual bookstore owned by a most unusual family. I don’t think I need to
say any more, except that fate can work in mysterious ways.” He smiled and bowed his head in a
mockery of piety. “We have enjoyed having Miss Allardyce as our guest, haven’t we?”
It took all of Persy’s will not to leap out of her hiding place and slap him.
“But it didn’t work! Ally would never agree to help you do such a thing!” Pen’s outrage was
palpable.
“No, she wouldn’t, though Michael did his best to persuade her. We knew that we’d have to take
her power from her. But that presented more problems. According to Michael, some of her power
would be lost if it were not freely given. Which meant that we again had a deficit … until we
remembered you. Your Miss Allardyce could not help letting slip that her pupils were magically
talented as well as charming.” He bowed ironically to Pen. “Her Highness the Princess Sophia has
been a friend to me in the years I have managed her affairs along with Victoria’s. She invited you to
Kensington so that Michael could size you up, and we were delighted when he reported that with your
help, too, we would be able to accomplish our plan. All we had to do was lure you here, courtesy of
a small illusion by my colleague, and—”
“Time, sir,” Mr. Carrighar said quietly. He had been busy at his table during Sir John’s speech
though Persy could not quite see what he had been doing.
Sir John consulted his watch. “Very well, Miss P. Enough idle chatter. I should like to know where
your sister is, if you please.”
“She’s not here.” Pen looked away from him.
“I can see that, you insolent little chit. Where is she?”