Page 44 of Hawk & Sparrow

“It’s not just that,” Tom went on. “I took a look at the pieces you wrote last week, particularly the profile you did on that union boss, Clifford Owen.”

Vesper stiffened. “Was it bad?”

“No,” said Tom, not unkindly. “As always, your writing is concise and clean, but the profile was missing your usual flair.”

Vesper felt a renewed sense of guilt. She’d done her best to stay on top of her assignments and duties for the Globe while also managing her work for Maximilian, but there were only so many hours in the day. She suddenly thought of all the things Tom and Nell had done for her when she was a little girl. They’d purchased her secondhand clothes when her old ones became too small, brought hot soups up to her apartment when she’d gotten colds or felt under the weather.

“I’m sorry, Tom.” She lowered her gaze. “I’ve had a lot going on, but I’ll find a way to make it up to you. If there’s anything you need—”

“Actually.” A small smile touched her editor’s lips. “If you have the time, there is something you could do.” He went over to one of the desks and held up an envelope. “This form needs to be taken to the Treasurer’s Office at City Hall.”

“I’m on it.” Vesper took the envelope at once and stowed it in her bag. “I’ll deliver it before the day is out.”

“Miss Evans…” For the first time, Tom looked slightly uncomfortable. “I know it’s not my business, but I noticed your clothes have changed recently.”

Vesper tensed.

“You’re a grown woman,” he continued. “And you’ve always been perfectly capable of handling yourself. I don’t need to know the details of your personal life. I really just want to make sure you’re all right. You know you can always talk to me.”

Vesper paused. What on earth did Tom think she’d gotten herself into? Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. She thought about telling Tom everything then—about her deal with Maximilian Kite, and why she’d struck it. She thought about telling him that the Globe was her home, and that he was the closest thing she had left to a father. But she’d never been good at saying how she really felt. She supposed it was just one more thing that had always made her strange.

“Thank you, Tom. But really, I’m fine.” She smiled for good measure. “I’ve just been staying up late working on some new articles to feed out over the next few weeks. I’m still hopeful we can get the newspaper’s subscriptions up for the holidays.”

“I know you’re worried about the Globe,” Tom said in a lower voice. “But I don’t want you to fret, all right? I think I may have an answer to our problems.”

Vesper straightened. “You do?”

Tom nodded. “I’ve had some meetings with a few local banks. Nothing’s confirmed yet, but it’s possible we may be able to take out a business loan to cover the money we need.”

A loan from a bank was hardly a fix to their situation. With loans came interest, and if they couldn’t pay that back fast enough, it would land them in an even worse situation in only a few months’ time. But Tom was ever-hopeful, ever-optimistic. She decided then that she wouldn’t be the one to douse her editor’s hope, however he found it.

“That sounds … great,” she said half-heartedly.

Tom smiled. “You keep focusing on your work, and let me worry about the rest,” he said. “Deal?”

Vesper nodded. “Deal.”

She waited until he’d returned to his office, then grabbed her things and headed out the door.

The late morning sky was dreary and gray as Vesper headed down Pierce Street. She reached an intersection, paused, then decided to keep going. In truth, she wasn’t walking with any purpose, she just wanted to move her feet as she tried to think of a plan. With every step, she thought to turn around and find Maximilian, but where would she look? She didn’t even know where the sorcerer lived. And even if she did find him, she had no idea what she would say to him. Already she regretted their argument, and though it felt strange to admit it to herself, a part of her even missed his company.

Just one more thing you’ve messed up.

She hadn’t realized where she was heading until she looked up and saw the wrought iron gates of the Basalton Cemetery coming into view. Vesper didn’t slow her pace as she passed through them. She wove through the crooked dirt paths and read the names on each of the headstones, imagining the stories and lives of people long gone.

It was obvious when she reached the end of the cemetery’s public plots and moved into the area of the site reserved for Basalton’s more affluent dead. Here, the headstones weren’t hewn from crude granite, but precisely carved from expensive white marble. Each one was decorated with fresh flowers. Vesper felt a small stab of resentment; even in death, the rich found ways to set themselves apart. She noted a white and pillared mausoleum situated among the fancier headstones. It had to be the largest in the cemetery, and Vesper noted it was heralded by what looked like two stone hawks. She drew closer to it, trying to read the surname etched above its door, when—

“Excuse me, miss, do you need some help?”

Vesper turned around. An older, fair-skinned gentleman in a faded white shirt, suspenders, and dark trousers was standing a few feet away. He was older and, judging by the rake he was holding, she guessed he might be a groundskeeper. She turned to face him.

“No, thank you,” she said politely. “I was just…” Suddenly, she thought of something. “Actually, I do have a question. Have there been any burials in this cemetery within the last week?”

“Just one.” The groundskeeper pointed. “Head down that path and you’ll see it.”

“Thank you.”

Vesper headed in the direction he’d indicated. She knew as soon as she’d reached the burial plot that the groundskeeper meant; a large mound of freshly turned soil set it apart from the ones surrounding it. Vesper stopped before the white headstone and read its brief inscription.