shops.
Maude looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t you have work to do on the tower top?”
“I changed my schedule. That can all wait.”
She rounded on him. “I do not recall you ever deviating from your schedule before.”
His eyes rolled heavenward as he thought about it. “That would be because I never have. But it is a beautiful day.”
“And?”
“And I would like to at least spend the morning with two of the loveliest women in Holgate.”
“And?”
“And,” he said, and sighed, shaking his head at her, “I need a little time away to think upon a particular situation. An issue that may actually be an anomaly of sorts.”
Meggie peered up at him and tested out the word herself, “A-mom-molly?”
He tapped her nose. “Anomaly. It means something very much out of the ordinary.”
Maude nodded. “And this anomaly may be a very bad thing?”
“Bad enough. But let’s not dwell on that now,” he said. “Let us search out some fun—perhaps purchase a fresh croissant, some tea, and jam and sit at the cafe…”
Maude smiled, and as she grabbed Meggie’s other hand they started down the cobblestone roadway, swinging her between them so she squealed as her feet left the ground.
The hawk was back and Jordan watched as it crept across the broad sill of her barred window, its tail scraping the stone and then thudding softly against each bar as it walked the length of the ledge. Jordan pulled herself to her feet and quietly stalked the distance to the window. She had never wanted to touch a hawk so badly. Her father had a few hunting hawks at the estate (another reason it bore the nickname “the Aerie”), but she had never bothered with them. They ate dead chicks and brought down bunnies and smaller birds with cold eyes, sharp beaks, and cruel talons. They were predators and Jordan more frequently identified with prey.
But this one was quiet and curious, fascinated by the world below Jordan’s window, and likewise she was fascinated by the way it stalked from so high above. She was tantalizingly close to it when a link of her chain changed positions and clanked—and the bird shot into the air with a cry and a popping out of its wings that was so fast a feather came free and fell into Jordan’s Tank, floating lazily back and forth until it settled on the straw. Reaching out to retrieve it, she saw something sparkle under the straw. She picked up the quill, tapping its end against her fingertip, before she slowly slid the straw away from the drain grate centered in a depression in her floor. Looking into its iron slits, she again caught the reflection of something inside.
She set the quill down and took off her pin again. With a grunt, she dug the pin’s back all around the drain, slowly freeing the thing from the rust and grime cementing it in place. It screeched as she removed it, but the prize inside was worth the worry.
Victorious, she withdrew a tiny crystal.
It glowed blue, growing brighter when it rested in her hand. She slid it into the top of her bodice and, replacing the grill, retrieved the quill once more.
She crouched in the corner out of view of any passing watchman and inserted the quill’s tip into the lock on her cuff. It certainly fit …
She wiggled it around and heard a click when she applied a bit of pressure to the right spot and the cuff’s lock sprang open. The first cuff dropped to the Tank’s floor. She started work on the second cuff’s lock but the lock was not as easy to trigger and although she tried again and again, each time trying a slightly different angle and a slightly different pressure, she nearly cried when the quill made a crunching noise and split along its length.
She wanted to tell Caleb what she was working at, but the sound of his snoring kept her quiet.
She pulled the broken thing out—it was no stronger than a thick piece of straw now—and certainly no more useful. One cuff open and one hand free … She quietly maneuvered the loose cuff and the chain through the iron ring bolted to her cell’s floor and stood up, freer in her cell than she had been for a while.
She swept the straw aside with her foot and stooped to retrieve her pin. She waited until the watchman walked by on his hourly tour of the Tanks and then she crouched before her door’s lock and wiggled the pin’s sharp tip into its opening.
A wiggle, a turn, a click, and the lock reacted.
For the longest moment she remained crouched there with her face by the lock, completely stunned by her success. Finally she slipped on her shoes, stood and gave the door a little tug. It moved. The door was unlocked —open. She was free and if she made it far enough this time, she could return for the others. She looped the chain around her free arm and pulled one side of her skirt up to obscure it in the folds of the fabric and, truly opening the door now, she slid out into the hall and bolted for the door at its far end.
Rowen had allowed the horses one break, during which he had finally gotten his hands on Silver. He adjusted all the straps and buckles and rubbed the horse while reassuring it with soft words and firm hands. Looping Silver’s reins around his saddle horn, he kicked Ransom into action, a feeling growing in his gut that soon, very soon, he would see Jordan.
With that thought in mind he set the horses into a gallop and lowered his body over Ransom’s back and neck, making them as sleek a shape as possible for cutting through the air.
She burst through the door and took the stairs at a dead run, leaping over them two at a time. The feeling of freedom—the exhilaration of escape—overrode every bit of discomfort she felt and the moment she burst out the tower’s lowest door and stumbled into the bustling and shop-lined street of Holgate’s eastern side she sucked in a breath that seemed sweeter than any she had ever taken before. It was only a short distance from the street to the Western Tower and then a climb up even more stairs than she’d come down to make it to the top …
Her eyes traveled the length of the tower to where an airship floated, tethered as tight as they dared, at the edge of the jutting balcony.
She steeled herself and sprinted across the street.
That was when she heard them.
“Witch on the run!” someone shouted, and an alarm bell rang.
Jordan doubled her speed but suddenly every face turned toward her was fierce and cruel—nowhere did she see a speck of compassion. Men she hadn’t even noticed before reached out to grab and hold her—she shook free of them, but her skirt dropped and the chain fell loose and she was running as much as dragging—
And then she saw the Maker and his little girl. The child’s mouth stood as wide open as Jordan had left her cell door standing, the child’s eyes wide.
A whip lashed out, wrapping round her waist and pulling her off her feet. The men had her. The Maker was shouting and the little girl was running and she grabbed Jordan’s chain, screaming, “Don’t hurt her!”
And then there was a bolt of light and everyone was suddenly flat on the ground. Sparks ran across Jordan’s chain and made her gown glitter with light.
Stunned, Jordan tried to stagger to her feet.
But the Maker had his gloves on and took the chain from his daughter’s hands.
“Don’t let them hurt her, Papa,” the child pleaded. “She is so scared…”
He looked from the one to the other of them. “I know, Meggie,” he whispered, “but she is as the Witches are—an
She tumbled out of the doorway and onto the tower top’s stone floor. Her foot caught up in her own skirting, she landed hard on her hands, jarring every bit of her.
“I cannot believe it,” the Maker exclaimed. “I do not know what to think when it comes to you, Miss Jordan Astraea.” He paced by her, his shoulders slumped and his back bent, hands twisting in one another before him as he thought. “The very moment I am truly doubting that you are a Weather Witch—that you
