Page 32 of Hawk & Sparrow

Maximilian cocked his head. “Interesting choice. Why raspberry?”

Vesper swallowed hard. A lifetime ago, her father had brought her and her sister raspberry tartlets from the market as a special treat every other Friday. That had been before everything had gone wrong, and she hadn’t had one since. She’d just decided to make something up, when the coach suddenly lurched forward again. A yelp escaped Vesper as she was thrown forward. She splayed her hands out instinctively, trying to brace herself to keep from falling, but instead her palms pressed flat against Maximilian’s chest. The coach rocked from side to side, and his hands flew to her waist to steady her. As abruptly as it had started, the coach righted itself. For several seconds, the two of them stared at each other, perfectly still.

“You all right, Evans?” Maximilian’s voice was low, barely a whisper.

“I’m fine.” Vesper didn’t understand why her heart was now beating like a hummingbird’s. She didn’t know why she was fixated on the way Maximilian’s fingertips felt pressing into her sides, or why the longer her own hands stayed against his chest, the warmer the coach seemed to become. Their faces were only inches apart. The sorcerer’s eyes were hazel today, framed by dark lashes.

How?

The door to the coach swung open, and the footman stuck his head inside.

“Oh!” Vesper pushed herself back so fast she nearly lost her balance again. Maximilian appeared slightly dazed. The footman looked between them a moment before pointedly clearing his throat.

“Sir,” he said in a formal voice. “I wanted to let you know we’ve arrived at our destination.”

“Right.” Maximilian blinked several times, as though he’d just woken from a dream, then combed his fingers through his dark curls. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Miss Evans?” He gestured. “Please, after you.”

Vesper couldn’t get out of the coach fast enough. The morning’s brisk breeze resharpened her senses. Once outside, she looked around.

In all her life, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen an expanse of land so large, green, and flat. She turned to Maximilian. “Where are we?”

“Just past the northern city limits of Basalton,” he said as he ducked out of the coach. “That’s the only place there’s room for a polo field.”

“Polo?” Vesper spun back around and squinted. It was difficult to see with the fog reaching over the bordering pines, but sure enough, when her eyes settled, she could make out people on the field, along with several horses. She turned back to Maximilian. “What on earth are we doing at a polo match?”

“As I said yesterday: reconnaissance.”

Vesper frowned. “Don’t tell me our deceased inventor moonlighted as a polo player?”

“Oh no, Francis never bothered to ride when he came to the matches, he preferred to smoke cigars with Belver.” He grimaced.

“You don’t partake?” Vesper asked.

Maximilian shook his head. “I despise smoking in all its variants—it’s a nasty habit, if you ask me. But as I was saying, many of the people attending today’s match are members of high society. You’ll have an opportunity to speak to people who knew him, and gather information. You’re welcome.”

Vesper crossed her arms. “And what exactly will you be doing?”

“I—”

“Maximilian!”

An older, well-dressed couple was approaching them. The man’s hair was gray, the woman’s pale blond. Vesper guessed they might be in their sixties or seventies. She also thought she recognized the woman, who spoke first.

“Maximilian.” She stopped before them and kissed both of the sorcerer’s cheeks. “So good to see you, dear.”

“And you, Lara.” Maximilian’s voice was instantly warmer, smoother.

Lara. Vesper combed through her memory before it came to her. Lara Oelrich. She was from the Basalton Museum of Art’s Heritage Society, the woman who’d introduced Mr. Gladwell at the exhibition Friday night.

“And John.” Maximilian addressed the man beside Mrs. Oelrich. “It’s nice to see you as well.”

“How rude of us.” Mrs. Oelrich turned her attention to Vesper, as though she’d just noticed her there. “We didn’t introduce ourselves to your friend.”

“Please, allow me.” Maximilian turned to Vesper. “Miss Evans, this is Mr. and Mrs. Oelrich. John, Lara, please be introduced to Miss Vesper Evans.”

“Vesper.” Mrs. Oelrich repeated the name like it was an exotic dish she’d never tried. “That’s lovely.”

“Thank you.” Vesper did her best to smile. From a distance, Mrs. Oelrich had looked normal, but up close there was something decidedly unsettling about her face. Her skin was too white and smooth, her nose too pointed, her coiffed hair a shade too bright. She looked like one of those caricature drawings Vesper sometimes saw street artists peddling.