The Golden City

morning and never recall that there were ever two Portugals, not recall that the colonies were ever given autonomy. All evidence of it will be gone. Paperwork, buildings, artwork. Some of us will no longer exist. And no one will know any different, no one in all the world.”

* * *

Once she’d worked her way through the concept, Oriana found it offensive.

No one could prove that a Great Magic had ever succeeded. It could be proven that some had failed, but if one worked, all evidence of it would have been consumed in the enacting of the spell itself. While Anjos claimed the Church condemned the idea of Great Magics because they flew in the face of God’s Will, Oriana had a simpler objection: it was unfair. No one had the right to change things, not for the entire world.

While they were all arguing over the specifics of this particular magic, Carvalho had a cold luncheon brought in—a quick, informal meal. Mr. Ferreira had introduced Oriana to his cousin Inspector Tavares, who’d bowed nicely over her hand, and then had taken Tavares and Pinheiro to one side to have a quick private discussion. Oriana had caught Carvalho glaring at her a couple of times, which told her she shouldn’t trust him. But he was glaring at Gaspar as well, apparently put off by the inspector’s darker skin, so she wasn’t alone in disfavor.

She sat now on the couch with the Lady, her black skirt and jacket no doubt looking threadbare next to the Lady’s splendid wool walking suit in an apple green, its skirt hem wrapped with fine Valenciennes lace. Miss Carvalho occupied one of the side chairs, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, still wearing a morning dress of pale pink muslin embroidered with tiny rosebuds. Dirt marked the hem; it must be the same dress she’d worn to Mass that morning. Anjos sat in the final chair, his tired eyes on the table in the middle. Inspector Gaspar stood behind the Lady, remaining silent as Inspector Tavares summed up for Carvalho and the three Special Police officers what he’d uncovered in his investigation and the subsequent ending of that inquiry. Carvalho seemed horrified by the disappearances of the servants, but he hadn’t heard the worst yet.

Mr. Ferreira set one hand on Oriana’s shoulder. “Do you want me to tell them?”

My part, she realized. He was offering to tell them of their capture and Isabel’s death, to spare her the anguish of telling the story yet again. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know everything, and this day had already made her weary. “Go ahead,” she whispered.

He did so. On hearing of Isabel’s death, Miss Carvalho crossed herself and began to cry silently, but Oriana felt numb.

There were three officers of the Special Police in this room, all listening to Mr. Ferreira’s version of her story. She could see their eyes turn toward her when Mr. Ferreira explained why she’d been chosen to sabotage the artwork, because she was a sereia. For years they’d been hunting down nonhumans like her. None of them jumped to arrest her, though. It seemed unreal.

They moved on past her part in this, discussing what had been done since. Anjos had been put in charge of clearing undesirable elements out of the Special Police—a separate investigation altogether. He was meant to find officers who abused their power or acted for reasons beyond the group’s mandate, most specifically members of a shadowy group called the Open Hand. “Our arrival on the scene, however,” Anjos said, “was concurrent with the failed house going into the river. Word of our investigation traveled through the ranks, and several officers disappeared before they could be questioned, which only made us wonder what they were involved in. Captain Rios—who has now vanished as well—learned that Mr. Ferreira was following a new lead. Several attacks on Ferreira followed, meant, I think, to slow the investigation rather than end it. They needed time to complete the artwork and enact the spell. Once we learned what Mr. Ferreira and Inspector Tavares had been investigating, we realized there were ties between our investigations, so we attempted to capture one of the conspirators—Officer Donato Mata, who’s acted as an assassin before—using Mr. Ferreira as bait.”

Miss Carvalho gasped softly. Oriana glanced up at Mr. Ferreira, who merely shrugged.

“Unfortunately, that didn’t work as planned.” Anjos said. “They must have seen Mata’s death as a sign that we’re closing in on them. Today’s abduction suggests they’re now willing to risk exposure to complete this. After all, if they make it work, no one will recall the abductions or deaths.”

“And we’re sure now that the Open Hand is behind this?” Mr. Ferreira asked.

“Yes,” Anjos said. “Of the officers we’ve questioned so far, almost all were aware of the group’s existence and that it was a very small select body of officers, but none knew its purpose. All the information we’ve collected so far points to eight or so officers, along with a handful of outsiders who are providing the funding and strategic support.”

“But we don’t know who those outsiders are?” Inspector Tavares asked.

A hush fell over the room. Oriana joined the others in looking toward the library door, where Paolo Silva, resplendent in a frock coat of black superfine wool and an ecru waistcoat embroidered with gold thread, stood with one hand poised on the door frame.

“It might be beneficial at this point,” he announced, “to put me under guard. I’m almost certain you’ll find evidence pointing to me as the cause of this mess.”

Genoveva Carvalho pushed herself out of her chair, cheeks flaming scarlet. “Get out of this house, you . . . you . . . devil,” she demanded, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. “If you’re responsible for this I’ll shoot you myself.”

Anjos rose as well. “Let’s hear him out, Miss Carvalho,” he said. “I believe Silva’s had a finger on this longer than any of the rest of us. I want to hear his side.”

Miss Carvalho sat again, her lips in a thin line.

“So gracious of you,” Silva said acerbically. He strode into the room, as much at ease as an actor on the stage. He turned his gaze on the Lady. “You’ve got the Special Police turning themselves inside out, girl. Where did you find that undead creature you’ve been using to terrify them into talking?”

Undead? Oriana kept her mouth shut. Could he mean this Miss Vladimirova?

“In a library,” the Lady answered coolly. “Where else?”

“I had little use for your father,” Silva said. “Always tinkering around with his magical toys and collecting books. A dilettante, but at least he wasn’t murderous. Your godfather, Maraval, is another matter. My prince would never approve of what Maraval has constructed, what he’s doing. I want to assure all of you that no matter Maraval’s intention, His Highness is not involved.”

That statement set off murmurs about the room that died out when Silva raised a hand for silence. “This morning,” he said dramatically, “I managed to find someone in the Open Hand who was willing to talk. She arranged for Miss Paredes to be abducted in hopes that her survival would trigger the failure of Maraval’s witchcraft.”

Ah, he’d talked to Maria Melo. Oriana didn’t bother to look in his direction. Did he know that Mrs. Melo was a sereia spy? Would it make any difference?

“And what did she tell you?” Anjos asked.

“That they planned to grab one of Carvalho’s daughters, since the young ladies walk to Mass every morning, and see if Carvalho would fall for the promise of a trade. But you already know that,” he added, “else you’d not be gathered here. Still, they don’t know that you know what they’re doing. They know you have part of the spell—a very small part—but not enough to tell you the truth about what they’re trying to accomplish.”

“Enlighten us.” Anjos drew out a handkerchief and coughed.

“They want to override reality,” Silva said, sweeping one arm out grandly. “And change history—”

“We already know about the spell,” Pinheiro interrupted. “Do you have something new to tell us?”

That was the first time the captain had spoken. Oriana wondered at the irritation in his tone. Mr. Ferreira laid a hand on her shoulder, warning her not to speak.

“That was hardly necessary, Captain Pinheiro,” Silva rebuked him gently. “My source says they intend to start putting one house in the water per night. They’re prepared to break into houses and steal victims from them if need be. They’ll place the copy of the Carvalho house in the water tonight, and take the Amaral one back out of the water so it can be, shall we say, repaired.”

Although he didn’t say how they were planning to repair that house, Silva’s eyes slid toward Oriana. She did her best not to react.

“So, how do I get my daughter back?” Carvalho demanded, arms crossed over his wide chest.

“We’ll have to time it carefully,” Anjos said, “but we might be able to rescue your daughter when they drop