have given up Finn, had I a choice in it. But she’s right. Somehow, in addition to being the girl who engineered the Harwood breakout, I’ve become something of a tragic romantic heroine. For the last two days, the girls at the convent have been falling over themselves offering me sympathy. Worse, they want to know the details of my romance with Finn, details both too painful and too private to share.
“Half the witches in New England? That is impressive. Almost as impressive as the fifth of the city who buys my newspaper.” Merriweather preens, adjusting his cravat, then freezes. “You’re not the oracle?”
“How do you know about the oracle?” I wonder how he’d take the news that she actually
is
a child.
“We have sources within the Brotherhood,” Merriweather explains. “Don’t try to misdirect me.”
He turns to Elena and she shakes her head, black curls bouncing. “Do you think we would be so foolish as to send the oracle to a meeting like this?”
“Is she here, in New London? Have her powers manifested?”
“Mr. Merriweather.” I sigh. “If I did know, would I hold her safety so lightly as to tell
you
?”
He shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “Tell me just one thing. Did the oracle support the attack on Covington?”
“No. I’m not protecting the people who did that,” I insist, glancing around the table. In the wavering candlelight, it’s difficult to read the men’s faces. Do they agree with Merriweather, that we’ve got no place here and no hope of one in our own country? “But revealing them right now would put us all in danger and give up secrets better kept hidden for the time being.” Like the fact that the Sisterhood is made up entirely of witches.
“What kind of secrets?” Merriweather demands.
I jut my chin at him. “If I told you, they wouldn’t stay secrets for long, would they?”
“Stop hounding the girl, Alistair. There are other stories to tell.” The muttonchop man crashes his chair back down to all four legs. “That O’Shea is a mean son of a bitch. Interview any family that’s ever come in contact with him and they’ll tell you.”
“We’ve got to work on clearing Brennan’s name,” O’Neill adds. “That should be your priority now. I don’t agree with the attack on the Head Council, but if we could get Brennan in charge, it’d be a boon for everyone.”
“Interview the nurses at Harwood. None of ’em remember seeing Brennan. They don’t remember anything. That handkerchief is just—what do you call it?—circumstational evidence,” a wiry gray-haired man adds. “Someone could have planted it there, O’Shea himself maybe. He ain’t above it.”
“Brennan’s wife swears he was sick as a dog and didn’t leave his house that night. His wife and daughters all vouched for him. That’s not good enough for O’Shea and his cronies, though.” O’Neill thumps an angry fist against the wooden table.
“Have you spoken with him directly? Did you give him my note?” I ask.
“I did, but he won’t be here tonight. Too dangerous coming into the city proper right now. If he’s caught—well, I wouldn’t put it past O’Shea to have him shot for resisting arrest or some such. He’s a sneaky bastard.” O’Neill nods at Elena and me. “Pardon the figure of speech.”
“He’s staying outside New London, then? Nearby? Can you arrange a meeting?” I ask.
“Gentlemen.” Merriweather doesn’t raise his voice, but all eyes flock to him. “We will continue our investigation and clear Brennan’s name. That is the
Gazette
’s highest priority. Never fear—we will find out the truth of this handkerchief.”
My eyes fly to the dirt floor, cheeks flushing. He can’t find out the truth. Then it will be Finn in trouble, and he won’t even know why or how to defend himself. He’ll be accused of treason and—
Merriweather runs a hand through his tousled black hair. “Before we share any other confidential information, I think
“Half the witches in New England? That is impressive. Almost as impressive as the fifth of the city who buys my newspaper.” Merriweather preens, adjusting his cravat, then freezes. “You’re not the oracle?”
“How do you know about the oracle?” I wonder how he’d take the news that she actually
is
a child.
“We have sources within the Brotherhood,” Merriweather explains. “Don’t try to misdirect me.”
He turns to Elena and she shakes her head, black curls bouncing. “Do you think we would be so foolish as to send the oracle to a meeting like this?”
“Is she here, in New London? Have her powers manifested?”
“Mr. Merriweather.” I sigh. “If I did know, would I hold her safety so lightly as to tell
you
?”
He shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “Tell me just one thing. Did the oracle support the attack on Covington?”
“No. I’m not protecting the people who did that,” I insist, glancing around the table. In the wavering candlelight, it’s difficult to read the men’s faces. Do they agree with Merriweather, that we’ve got no place here and no hope of one in our own country? “But revealing them right now would put us all in danger and give up secrets better kept hidden for the time being.” Like the fact that the Sisterhood is made up entirely of witches.
“What kind of secrets?” Merriweather demands.
I jut my chin at him. “If I told you, they wouldn’t stay secrets for long, would they?”
“Stop hounding the girl, Alistair. There are other stories to tell.” The muttonchop man crashes his chair back down to all four legs. “That O’Shea is a mean son of a bitch. Interview any family that’s ever come in contact with him and they’ll tell you.”
“We’ve got to work on clearing Brennan’s name,” O’Neill adds. “That should be your priority now. I don’t agree with the attack on the Head Council, but if we could get Brennan in charge, it’d be a boon for everyone.”
“Interview the nurses at Harwood. None of ’em remember seeing Brennan. They don’t remember anything. That handkerchief is just—what do you call it?—circumstational evidence,” a wiry gray-haired man adds. “Someone could have planted it there, O’Shea himself maybe. He ain’t above it.”
“Brennan’s wife swears he was sick as a dog and didn’t leave his house that night. His wife and daughters all vouched for him. That’s not good enough for O’Shea and his cronies, though.” O’Neill thumps an angry fist against the wooden table.
“Have you spoken with him directly? Did you give him my note?” I ask.
“I did, but he won’t be here tonight. Too dangerous coming into the city proper right now. If he’s caught—well, I wouldn’t put it past O’Shea to have him shot for resisting arrest or some such. He’s a sneaky bastard.” O’Neill nods at Elena and me. “Pardon the figure of speech.”
“He’s staying outside New London, then? Nearby? Can you arrange a meeting?” I ask.
“Gentlemen.” Merriweather doesn’t raise his voice, but all eyes flock to him. “We will continue our investigation and clear Brennan’s name. That is the
Gazette
’s highest priority. Never fear—we will find out the truth of this handkerchief.”
My eyes fly to the dirt floor, cheeks flushing. He can’t find out the truth. Then it will be Finn in trouble, and he won’t even know why or how to defend himself. He’ll be accused of treason and—
Merriweather runs a hand through his tousled black hair. “Before we share any other confidential information, I think
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