Page 14 of Hawk & Sparrow

Once, when she’d been a little girl, Vesper had fallen out of a tree.

She didn’t remember exactly how old she’d been, or why she’d climbed so high, but she always remembered the lurching panic as her fingers had grasped for a branch that wasn’t there. She remembered the sensation of plummeting, the helplessness that had consumed her. That was how she felt now as she stared at Maximilian Kite: like she was plummeting, without anything to grasp. As though he could read her mind, the sorcerer smirked.

“Have I rendered you speechless?” He cocked his head. “Well, that’s not surprising. You’re hardly the first woman I’ve—”

“Thief!” Vesper’s senses returned to her in a red-hot blaze. She wasn’t sure what she was angrier about: the fact that Maximilian Kite had enchanted her notebook, or the fact that he had the audacity to look genuinely surprised by her anger. She stalked toward him. “You give me back my notebook this instant, or I’ll—”

“Hang on.” The sorcerer held up his other hand. “I didn’t steal your notebook. I found it.”

“Right.” Vesper glared. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

“It was in the maze,” Maximilian murmured. “No doubt it fell out of your bag while you were being questioned by the police.”

Vesper blinked. Fatigue had dulled the finer points of the previous night, but she knew it was possible that that was exactly what had happened.

“You ought to be thanking me,” Maximilian went on. “If I hadn’t grabbed it, it’s very likely that it would have been collected by the police as evidence, and then it would have taken ages for you to get it back.”

Vesper knew that that was also true, but she was in no mood to admit it. “You took my notebook,” she accused. “Why?”

Maximilian flexed his fingers. The notebook fell from the air and into his waiting hand.

“I took it because I thought you might come back for it,” he said, “and I wanted to talk to you.”

Vesper took another step toward him, and he immediately mirrored the move by taking a step up the stairs to maintain their distance.

“I’ll give it back,” he said, “but only after you hear what I have to say. Ten minutes of your time, that’s all I’m asking for.”

Vesper crossed her arms. “You have five.”

Maximilian took a deep breath. “You’re a reporter,” he began. “Professionally speaking, what do you make of what happened last night?”

The gears in Vesper’s mind began to turn. She didn’t want to play another game with Maximilian Kite, but she couldn’t ignore that distinct itch between her shoulder blades, the lure of an unanswered question she knew the answer to.

“Let’s see,” she began. “A popular inventor presents his new, potentially historic invention at a party last night. Shortly thereafter, that same inventor ends up dead in a maze with someone who’d recently admitted that he didn’t like that inventor, and might have been adversely affected by his invention.” She held up three fingers. “Means. Opportunity. Motive. As the host of the exhibition, you certainly had the means to kill Mr. Gladwell. You had existing knowledge of the maze, and as a sorcerer, you had plenty of ways to bludgeon Mr. Gladwell and hide the evidence.” She ticked off a second finger. “You had opportunity because not only did you attend the exhibition, but you were also seen in the maze both before and after Mr. Gladwell’s death.” She ticked off her third finger. “And then there’s motive. Francis’s machine would have allowed Thaumaric incantations to be made accessible to the public, which you voiced your strong opposition to just last night.” She took a deep breath. “All of that leaves me to believe that the person responsible for Mr. Gladwell’s untimely demise is most likely”—Vesper met Maximilian’s gaze—“you, Mr. Kite.”

For several seconds, the sorcerer stood motionless. Then he smiled.

“Very good, Miss Evans,” he murmured. “Your deductions and reasoning are sound and certainly well considered. There’s just one problem.”

“And that is?”

“I didn’t kill Francis Gladwell.”

Vesper snorted.

“Think about it.” His expression grew solemn. “You talk about means, opportunity, and motive. It’s true, I had all three. But if I wanted Francis Gladwell dead because his machine posed some kind of threat to me, why would I kill him last night in the maze and immediately make myself look guilty?”

Vesper found she didn’t have a ready answer to that.

“Further, I may have been the only person who told you I didn’t like Gladwell’s machine,” Maximilian continued, “but I doubt I’m the only person in this city who felt that way. You saw for yourself what that device did, what it has the power to do. I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d never want it to see the light of day, and just as many who’d want to steal it and use it for their own purposes. Aren’t those equally compelling arguments?”

Vesper shifted. She disliked being proven wrong, but Maximilian had made a valid point. She stared back up at him. “What do you want, Mr. Kite?”

The sorcerer drummed his long fingers against her notebook. “This story’s going to get out soon enough. When it does, plenty of people in this city will draw the same conclusions you just did. I’ll be tried in the court of public opinion, and my company’s stock will take the hit for it.” Real annoyance touched his face. “I won’t have my family’s legacy destroyed over some frivolous local scandal.”

“I might refrain from referring to the murder of an innocent man as ‘frivolous.’” Vesper rolled her eyes. “And your time is up, Mr. Kite. Give me my notebook.”

Maximilian descended the stairs slowly. Vesper waited for him to hand over her notebook, but to her chagrin, he tucked it under his arm.