Page 43

“He didn’t do it well,” Andromeda teased, at which Penbrook merely shrugged. “So, we arrived at the gala, all of us scattering away from our guardians as quick as we could. Except for Penbrook. He followed his parents around the party as I snitched apricot tarts and danced with his siblings.”

“Do you get along with them?” Fia turned to Penbrook, hoping he could see she meant to ask gently.

And something in him softened—the firelight catching the curl of his mouth. “Oh, they’re all right. Cordelia at least,” he said with a reluctant fondness.

“Leo’s my favorite,” Andromeda said, like she’d named this brother specifically, knowing it would irritate Penbrook. Predictably, he grumbled, and she carried on with a satisfied grin. “Anyway, later, when the Archlights thanked the Madburys for their generous donation, Penbrook sidled up beside them, pulling a little frame from his pocket and offering it to Lady Archlight herself. ‘For the gallery,’ he said.”

Fia stole a look at Penbrook, catching the flush of his cheeks.

“Lady Archlight took the frame,” Andromeda went on. “And Penbrook—”

He grunted in anticipation of what was to come.

“—proudly exclaimed the drawing was his donation for the gallery.”

Fia was still half damp, but a syrupy warmth spread through her body. “You were an artist even back then.”

“Hardly,” he replied, a tic at his jaw. “All I did was embarrass my father, when I’d foolishly hoped to impress him.”

“Speaking of your father, how angry is he at you now?” Andromeda’s eyes glinted with each pointed word, as if this was what she’d wanted to ask about all along. Probably swinging back to the topic they’d been discussing before Fia returned to the room.

“Let’s not talk about that,” Penbrook said tightly.

“Why not?” Andromeda pouted. “It’s an even better story than the one I just shared, and there have been some developments since you left Fantillian that I’m dying to tell you.”

“It can wait.”

A heavy silence. “Not for long.”

Perched at the edge of the chair, Fia gripped her skirt, caught between the tense volley of their words and wanting to escape. Offering just such a getaway, a sharp knock came from the door of the shop. The bellow of a deep voice followed.

“Fia Ives!”

Finnick scampered from Andromeda’s lap, a puff of orange zooming beneath the sofa. Fia would have liked to follow him under.

Before she even saw who was at the door, she knew. “The Cloaks,” she whispered, and Penbrook startled to attention.

“What would they be doing here?” Andromeda set down her teacup.

“There’s a… misunderstanding about a missing grimoire.” Fia climbed to her feet, wishing she didn’t look so bedraggled. “I’d better go talk to them.”

“Not alone.”

At his words, Fia’s eyes flashed to Penbrook, who’d pushed away from the mantel and now watched her with concern.

Not alone.

“Well, why don’t we all see who’s here?” Andromeda bounced up, trailing them into the shop.

There on the stoop, two Cloaks stood shoulder to shoulder, just as Fia had feared. Having no other choice, she opened the door to them, reminding herself she hadn’t done what they suspected. That there was nothing to worry about because she had nothing to hide.

But if that was the case, why was her heart beating so quickly?

“Fia Ives,” the woman repeated, the star cluster pin on her black coat identifying her as a Cloak. “Rowen Fallow. I’m sure you remember me.”

“Yes.” Fia glanced at the Cloak on the right, a rail-thin man who said nothing and only watched her with a steady interest. “And I thought I answered all your questions before.”

“At the time, you did, and we were grateful for your cooperation.” She peered over Fia’s shoulder, spotting Penbrook and Andromeda not far behind. Her mouth formed a small O before she flattened her lips again, trying to maintain her professional demeanor while encountering one of the Mad Magicians. “We were hoping to take a look around your shop. Smash some of those rumors that The Book of Ribs is here.”