The Grande Dame looked on, wearing an earnest mask tinged with the exact right amounts of understanding and forgiveness. Two words I bet she’d have to Google for a definition.
“Within hours of Maud’s death, her heir, the child she raised and loved as her own, was stripped of her title, her fortune and her freedom,” Balewa continued, “and I will carry the shame of my actions for the rest of my life. That is why, after serving the Society faithfully for the last seventy-nine years, I chose to step down and relinquish my title.” At long last her gaze settled on me, and there was nothing remorseful in her expression. “Tonight, it is my great pleasure to announce that my last act as Grande Dame is to restore Grier Woolworth to her rightful place within the Society.”
Murmurs rumbled through the crowd, growing louder as the implications set in.
“You mentioned the available evidence convinced you of her guilt,” a Low Society matron called. “What new information exonerated her?”
The present and former Grande Dames exchanged a loaded glance that resulted in my aunt stepping forward while Balewa reclaimed her seat.
“I never gave up hope that one day Grier might be vindicated. I never stopped searching for answers.” The faint tremor in her voice was quite convincing if you overlooked the glacier coldness in her eyes. “A recent health scare—” she placed one hand over her heart “—turned out to be the key to unlocking the mystery.”
Insidious whispers hissed from the dark corners. A Grande Dame admitting a public weakness was a bigger treat than catching beads thrown in Tybee Island’s annual Mardi Gras parade.
“My sister was, as you all know, a brilliant practitioner. She was also enthusiastic in her pursuit of knowledge to the point of being careless with her own health.” Unable to produce a tear, she ducked her head and dashed her fingertips under her dry eyes. “Upon reexamining the evidence from that horrible night, it has been determined that Maud died of a heart attack. It’s rare, but not unheard of, and more common in necromancers her age. The Woolworth line, in particular, is susceptible. Our own mother, Nina Compton Woolworth, died of such an ailment. I myself am now under a physician’s care to monitor my own condition.”
A woman in the High Society balcony stood and waited until the Grande Dame acknowledged her with a curt nod.
“I saw the child marched into the Lyceum that night with my own eyes,” she argued. “She was drenched in Maud’s blood. What say you to that?”
“Grier was trained as an assistant, not as a practitioner, so your question is a valid one. Grier discovered Maud that night, and, in her grief, she granted Maud’s dying wish.” She gestured to the Low Society woman seated on her left, and the woman passed her a heart-shaped box with the heft of solid gold. “My niece was in shock when she performed the Culmination. You can imagine how traumatic that must have been for such a young girl, let alone one who had never witnessed the ceremony until she found herself duty-bound to complete Maud’s last rites.”
The woman inclined her head and sat. Or that’s how I interpreted the movement from the corner of my eye. I was unable to peel my gaze from the ornate box the Grande Dame held in her hands.
Pain jarred my kneecaps, the room shot upward like I was back on the elevator, and I descended into nothingness.
“Grier.”
Someone called my name, but there were so many faces, too many faces, all staring down at me as I knelt there unable to stand, barely able to lift my head.
Maud’s heart was in that box. Her heart.
Bile stung the back of my throat, and I clamped my teeth together to keep it down.
A gasp rose throughout the room when a man leapt from the second balcony, landing in a crouch. He gritted his teeth when he stood and limped as he crossed to me, but I had never been happier to see Boaz in my entire life. I curled against his broad chest and sobbed into his starched shirtfront while the Society glared daggers at my back.
“It appears my niece is overcome by her good fortune,” the Grande Dame announced. “You there,” she called down to Boaz. “Escort her to my chambers.”
“I got you, Squirt.” He exhaled sharply when he stood but ignored his pain long enough to haul me to my feet. “Lean on me. That’s it.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and tucked me against his side. “I’ll stay with you until they pry me off, okay?”
“Okay,” I murmured, hiding my face against his ribs.
“Mr. Volkov would like to accompany the heiress.”
The heiress.
Well, that was one mystery solved.
Feeling a hundred years old, I drew back enough to look into the eyes of one of Volkov’s guards. “No.”
That harsh syllable was all the fire I had left in me.
“You heard the lady.” Boaz shouldered past the guard and held me close while we shuffled down a long, dark hallway. “New boyfriend is pushy, huh?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Right now, I couldn’t imagine so much as accepting a ride home from him. “I’m not sure if he’s a friend period.”
We reached a doorway flanked by sentinels, and Boaz shouldered them aside as he had the vampire guards. Grande Dame Lawson waited for us in an oversized wooden chair positioned behind a blocky antique desk that dwarfed her. The eyesore belonged in a captain’s cabin on a pirate ship, not in the hallowed halls of the Lyceum. Again, a few rogue brain cells paused to wonder at the origin of these incongruous bits of our history while the others scattered at the sight of the box centered before her.
“Grier, you look peakish.” She indicated the single chair positioned across from her. “Sit.” She snapped her fingers at a man stationed near the door. “Bring the girl a drink.”
I melted into the chair on watery knees, and Boaz planted his hands on my shoulders to pin me upright.
“You look familiar.” Eyes sharp, she raked her gaze over Boaz. “What is your family name?”
“Pritchard, ma’am.” The dull, flat tone kept his anger well-hidden. “My mother is Matron Annabeth Pritchard.”
“Ah. The neighbors.” She reevaluated our closeness. “That explains it.”
A sentinel appeared at my elbow and pressed a glass of icy water into my hand. I mumbled thanks and sipped to give my mouth something to do besides form the scream tickling the back of my throat.
“Grier is in capable hands.” She flicked her wrist at the men in the room. “You may go.”
“I want him to stay,” I croaked.
Her lips mashed into a peevish line. “Are you quite certain?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you trustworthy, Pritchard?” Her eyes narrowed on his face. “Can you keep her secret?”
Mine? Dread ballooned in my chest, my breath hitching. The only secrets here were hers. Right?
“I’m loyal to Grier, ma’am.” He squeezed my shoulders. “I would never say or do anything to hurt her.”
The room cleared until only the three of us remained.
“We shall see, I suppose.” Leaning forward, she fixated on me while resting her forearms on the desktop, her fingers reaching out to strum against the box’s lid, which she had positioned on her blotter for all to see. “You must be curious about your change in circumstances.”
“I am.”
“I know how my sister died.”
That was all she said, all she had to say, and that put her one full step ahead of me.
All I knew was what I had been told, and I didn’t believe a word of the charges brought against me.
The truth, whatever I had witnessed with my own eyes, was lost to shock, to time and to the drugs.
“You would have rotted in that prison if not for me. I showed Balewa the error of her ways. I convinced her of your innocence.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop with her pretense. “I expect gratitude from you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you that broken?” The question appeared legitimate. “Have you lost your wits entirely?”