Sacha thought it was a dog. Then he realized it was just Wolf’s overcoat. He must have shucked it off onto the floor, mud and all, when he got to work that morning.
“So,” Wolf asked, his eyes still on his file, “do you two have names?”
Sacha and Lily stared at each other again, neither one wanting to speak first.
“I’m Lily astral,” Lily said finally.
Now Wolf did look up, blinking in astonishment. “Good heavens, a girl,” he murmured. “And Maleficia Astral’s daughter too. What on earth am I supposed to do with you?”
Lily blushed furiously and muttered something about just wanting a fair chance, no matter who her mother was.
“Fair?” Wolf asked, still in the same tone of mild amusement. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Astral, you appear to be under a serious misapprehension about the nature of the Inquisitors Division. Not to mention life in general. I fear that severe disappointment lurks in your future.”
By this time Lily’s face was so red that Sacha almost felt sorry for her.
But then Wolf turned his attention to Sacha, and he forgot all about Lily’s problems.
“And I suppose you would be … um…” Wolf glanced back at the file on his desk. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it there.
“Sacha Kessler.”
“Right. Kessler.” Wolf’s oddly colorless eyes settled on Sacha. “Why do I think I know that name? You don’t have any relatives who would have come to the attention of the police before? No wonderworking rabbis or practical Kabbalists or revolutionary rabble-rousers?”
“Oh, no! Nothing like that! We’re complete and utter nobodies!”
That was Sacha’s first lie. He regretted it bitterly the minute the words were out of his mouth. And he would have regretted it even more if he’d known how other more lies he’d end up piling on top of it.
He had the oddest feeling that Wolf knew it was a lie, too. Not that he said so. He just went all bland and mild and absentminded. But as the seconds ticked by, Sacha’s skin began to itch and he had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out a confession just to fill the awkward silence.
Just when Sacha was sure he couldn’t stand it anymore, Wolf turned back to Lily Astral. “There are two sorts of girls in this world,” he told her. “Girls who like to stare at omnibus accidents, and girls who don’t. Which kind are you?”
Lily blinked in surprise. “I–I suppose I’m the staring kind.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Wolf said cheerfully. “Ghoulish curiosity is a dreadful character flaw in a young lady. But quite promising from a professional standpoint. You’re hired. And only mostly because your father would have me fired if I didn’t hire you.”
While Lily was still choking on that, Wolf turned back to Sacha. “And what about you? You don’t have any rich relatives. Why should I hire you?”
“Well,” Sacha stammered, “I can … you know … see witches?”
Wolf leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His face still looked bland and expressionless, but Sacha got the distinct impression that he was laughing at them.
“It seems to me that between the two of you, you have the makings of exactly one decent apprentice,” he said. “Miss Astral here has a burning ambition to be an Inquisitor, but”—he leaned forward again to check her file —“no magical abilities whatsoever. Or none that she’ll admit to, anyway. You, on the other hand, are overflowing with talent but don’t seem to have a clue why you want the job. Or am I missing something?”
Wolf took off his spectacles and held them up to the light as if he were trying to formulate a plan of attack against the smudges and fingerprints. He took his already untucked shirt-tail and began using that to clean the glasses — or more likely just rearrange the smudges, considering that the shirt looked like Wolf had been sleeping in it for a week.
The silence thickened. Sacha could feel Lily staring at him out of the corners of her eyes like a spooked horse. “I, um,” he stammered, “I want to fight magical crime? And, uh, protect and defend the innocent?”
Wolf looked Sacha up — and Sacha felt a quiver of shock run down his spine.
Judging by the thickness of Wolf’s glasses, he had expected to see the vague, myopic gaze of a nearsighted man. But Wolf’s were as bright as fresh-fallen snow on a sunny day. In fact, Sacha would have bet good money that Wolf didn’t need glasses at all.
Then the moment passed. Wolf put his glasses back on — no cleaner than before — and was once more average and forgettable. He was also clearly disappointed with Sacha’s answer.
Sacha felt a hot wave of shame sweep over him. Who was Wolf to judge him? Who was Lily Astral? What did they know about his life and his reasons for being here?
“My family needs the money!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Wolf lowered his eyes to the files on his desk so that Sacha couldn’t read their expression. “There’s not a thing in the world wrong with that,” he said softly. “And what’s more, it’s the first true thing you’ve said to me.”
Then, Wolf smiled at Sacha. It was a clean, clear, honest smile. There was humor in it. And intelligence. And not even the faintest hint of meanness. People would follow a man who smiled like that, Sacha caught himself thinking. They’d follow him just about anywhere.
“Message from Commissioner Keegan,” Payton called, sticking his head around the door. “You’re supposed to be at J. P. Morgaunt’s mansion. The commissioner’s already waiting for you there. He seems quite put out about it.”
Wolf raised an eyebrow. “Since when does Mr. Morgaunt rate a house call?”
“Since he got Commissioner Roosevelt run out of town on a rail,” Payton drawled.
“Sailing off for an African safari with three French chefs and a string of polo ponies hardly constitutes being run out of town on a rail,” Wolf observed mildly. “Most people would consider it a thrilling adventure.”
Payton snorted. “Not most New Yorkers!”
Wolf coughed as if he’d gotten something caught in his throat. Then he unfolded his lanky body from behind the desk, slouched over to the muddy heap of coat on the floor, and began shrugging his way into it. “I suppose the commissioner will expect me to bring the apprentices?”
“We might as well keep him happy,” Payton agreed smoothly.
Wolf made a face at that — but he nodded at Sacha and Lily to follow him. They had just about made it to the door when Payton put a hand up to stop them.
“Pockets!” he announced in the peremptory tone of a train conductor ordering passengers to produce their tickets.
Without a word of protest, Wolf began emptying out his pockets and placing their contents in Payton’s hands.
Suddenly Sacha understood why Wolf’s clothes looked so baggy and bulgy. In short order he produced several chewed pencil stubs, a collection of rubber bands worthy of a slingshot champion, and a dozen crumpled scraps of paper entirely covered in tiny, deceptively neat yet completely illegible handwriting. The scraps of paper seemed to come from every corner of New York and every walk of life. There were laundry tickets, lottery tickets, Bowery playbills. Even a greasy wad of old newsprint that looked suspiciously like a used fish wrapper.
Payton collected these items as solemnly as Moses receiving the Ten Commandments. As he followed Wolf out of the office, Sacha looked back and saw Payton frowning over the fish wrapper as if he expected it to reveal all the secrets of the universe.
CHAPTER SEVEN. The House of Morgaunt
SACHA AND LILY followed Wolf downstairs, through the chaos of the booking hall, and out onto the sidewalk. The Inquisitors Division was right on the edge of Hell’s Kitchen — a notorious slum where no cabbie would risk picking up a fare. Nonetheless, a shiny black hansom cab jingled around the corner and stopped in front of them
