My sister will not speak to me. I imagine it has something to do with me insinuating that she would not be so uptight if she found a man to lay with for a night. Certainly, I pursue my enjoyment of women more than most, but my sister is truly a prude on another dimension. The very mention of such a thing (and I have to say, it is not like these things are that taboo), and she bites my head off. All I can say is, I am not holding my breath to become an uncle any time soon.

  Maria was sixteen when she first encountered the use of witchcraft. They lived in south-western France, near a modest village called Saint-Corsheim, which was seated among the rolling hills and farms.

  The Lucien family were better off than most, particularly in regards to the times, which were difficult to say the least. Famine raged across most of France, distrust and dissatisfaction taken hold for many years, and those who could made attempts to migrate elsewhere. Though, often they were met with disastrous fates, for the roads were perilous.

  Her father was a strong, quiet man who dressed in lavish attire and kept her mother close by. Although he did not have a particularly personal relationship with his three children, he did have their respect. At least, that was until Maria became old enough to know better. As she began to form her own identity (mostly based on those she came across in visits to Saint-Corsheim), Maria grew more disdainful towards her father. She started to view him as a cold and emotionless man; and sometimes she was even afraid of him, rather than comforted. Her father, though, hardly regarded her at all.

  Thus, it was the strangest, most unnatural sight when Maria, at only sixteen years of age and quite na?ve (yet trepidatious) of the world around her, stumbled on her father in great chokes of tears. She had heard it from across the house, and having given her younger brother a look of concern, she slowly made her way through the plentiful halls towards them.

  Peering around the corner into the kitchen, she saw her father howl, spluttering and slapping at the wooden floorboards in great distress. Her mother comforted him; though, pale-faced and quivering, she appeared as lacking for words as Maria herself. Never had Maria seen her father in such a state. Mixed parts bereaved and mad, he knelt on all fours, utterly inconsolable. Maria’s single eye upon the scene blinked as little as humanly possible, wholly entranced by the rare sight of her father in such distress.

  They prayed that evening over dinner, and as she often did, Maria cracked an eye open to sneak a glance over the top of her clenched hands at her other family members.

  What she didn’t expect was to see her father’s open eyes staring back at her.

  Maria gasped. Except, her father had not been looking at her, but beyond her. Suddenly, she heard the tinkling of bells coming from somewhere in the room. They were like holiday bells, small and tinny. The hairs on the back of her neck stood erect and just as she was about to look, her father saw her.

  Maria squeezed her eyes shut. In the afterimage she saw that his eyes had somehow changed, gone blood red, like the devil. She wondered, had his eyes been so horrible when she first glimpsed him over her knuckles, or was she imagining things?

  The following day, Maria’s mother did not leave her bed. Nor the morning after. Not until the third day of being bedridden did she finally get up and walk from her bedroom into the kitchen where Maria had been sitting, eating porridge.

  She lifted her hands and revealed blood soaking through her undergarments and nightgown. Maria screamed. Her father, and then her siblings, sprinted into the room as her mother began to whimper, then collapsed to the floorboards, curling in a ball. Her blood, meanwhile, drenched the wood and started dripping through the gaps in the boards.

  Her father held their mother, a sight that was new for Maria. He whispered to them all: “It is all right now. We are all right.” Over and over, he repeated this.

  Maria, who felt simply stunned and could not cry, picked something up off the ground. It was small and appeared translucent, covered completely in blood and vaguely resembling something human, or something that should be human.

  She held this alien sac to the light, examining it. As soon as her father saw what she was doing, he barked, snatching it from her and throwing it hard onto the ground, repeatedly stomping it, stomping it, stomping it with his massive boots until the substance was crushed into the wood like an ink stamp. “Why!” he screamed. “You have our offering! Spare us any more misery for now! Oh God! I beg of you!”

  Maria could no longer stand the sight nor the stench that had started permeating throughout the room, and so she got up and ran out of there as fast as she could.

  #

  A railroad train eased into the station of Carcassonne with Antoinette on board. She yawned as she slid off the seat and exited into the station, bags and all.

  I can’t believe you made me come all this way by myself! Antoinette thought, cursing Maria for leaving her in Bellvoir. She still couldn’t get over this. No single thing could be more terrible.

  As she walked away from the train along the concrete platform, she looked up at the birds awakening from the station’s trees, and the threadbare crowd tiredly crossing the platform to the train she had just departed from. Nobody moved to avoid her as they went about their days, so she was left to do an awkward dance around their long, adult legs.

  Of course, Antoinette did not have the faintest clue where she might be able to find Maria, but there were certain things she did know, like the fact there was a cabaret here, and that if she waited there long enough, then surely she would find Maria. Or at least somebody who knew where Maria was. But where in the world is the cabaret? she wondered.

  Her nose perked up at a delicious smell, like freshly-baked treats. Her neck extended as she looked around. Before long, her legs were pushing in the direction of the smell. The train ride had been long, and she had not eaten much on the way. This had left her feeling rather ravenous upon arriving in Carcassonne, and now that she thought about it, her stomach was grumbling pretty loud!

  Following the beautiful scent, Antoinette was led from the train station through new arrivals, to a small bakery on the side of the road. People bustled on the street outside it, wealthy sorts and students dressed in uniform. This caused Antoinette to stop, letting her bags drop to the cobblestone road. She had not encountered such a thing before. In Bellvoir, Antoinette learned at Ms Curie’s grade school, but they did not get to wear their own uniform, nor were there so many students attending. The way they huddled in throngs, attached to each other’s white uniforms like they were covered in something really sticky, made Antoinette feel twinges of excitement, thinking of all the things they learned in Carcassonne.

  She watched the group until they were gone, only the sound of their giggles remaining, then continued towards the bakery. Baked goods lined the shelves before her, and she gazed up (stepping on her tip-toes) to see them all. When she arrived at the front of the line, the baker peered over the counter at her. He had large cheeks that were tinged red, and a white hat that was as tall as his very long face. “Good morning, young girl, what may I get for you?”

  Her eyes scanned over the various goods on offer. Bread rolls, cakes, biscuits, muffins, all sorts of wonderful things. She pointed at a lemon cake, smiling from ear to ear. “One of those, please!” Giddy, she stepped back onto the heels of her shoes and waited as the baker collected it for her. “Oh!” She fetched into a pocket of her backpack to collect the required money. She had saved a little bit over the last year or so helping out in Bellvoir.

  Reaching up again towards the counter, she handed the money to the baker and grabbed the cake. “Thank you!” she said. Collecting her bags with a struggle, she backed out of the crowd and went to find the nearest place to sit and eat.

  #

  Maria’s feet were sore. The worsening pain had likely started back in the town hall with her brother, but she had been able to convince herself that she could travel despite it. Now, however, the short distance between her carriage and the cabaret seemed daunting.

  These cursed shoes, she thought, fixing her disordered skirts and starting the walk. Her audible and visual struggle must have been more pronounced than she thought, for Josephine soon asked, “Do you need to sit down, Maria?”

  Maria groaned, stopping halfway to the cabaret. “Please, Josephine, do not indulge me with fantasies such as sitting right now. My poor heart could not take it.”

  “Is it your feet?”

  Maria cringed. Oh, this is such an embarrassing thing to happen. She gave Josephine a bitter scowl. Who am I kidding? I am more than twice the woman’s age!

  She lifted her skirts and examined her shoes, old and weathered. There was some swelling around her ankles, but the worst of it was her arches themselves. They ached, like somebody prodding them with a dull hammer.

  “Too much wandering about,” Maria groaned. “We’ll have plenty of time to sit and chat once we get inside. Now, would you give me a hand?”

  Josephine took Maria under the arm and they continued the rest of the way to the cabaret. As she approached, Maria observed its gothic exterior. The building was small yet not dissimilar to the one in Bellvoir. Posters hung from the surroundings, advertising upcoming shows, and a tin shutter closed over a window with TICKETS embossed above it on a piece of wood. Splashes of red paint smeared the road outside the establishment, and Maria hesitated before stepping on it, feeling an odd sense of unease as she did so.

  They went inside, Josephine holding open the door.

  Maria had visited the cabaret of Carcassonne twice before, yet both visits were relatively forgettable. The interior itself was decorated extensively with props and gothic décor. A bar along one wall provided service, and little tables spanned the floor. A double-door at the back displayed, on its side, a poster with tonight’s show, and beyond it, as Maria had ventured before, was the theatre. The cabaret’s audience was lacklustre, and its staff the bare minimum. When she entered, she immediately caught the barkeep’s eye.

  She was a formidable-looking woman in a sleeveless dress and long, flowing fabrics. Her burnish brown hair was in a loud bun that appeared like the shell of a great sea creature. She smoked a cigarette with one hand, and flipped pages of manuscript with the other.

  Not recognising her as anybody important, Maria turned her gaze towards a woman at a far-off table. She was in bright makeup and an everything-goes outfit that clashed with (or, you could say, simply accentuated) the strict business attire worn by the other man at her table.

  Shaking off Josephine’s helpful arms, Maria said, “Over there in the ten different outfits, that’s Bella Dupont. She owns the bar. Why don’t you go fetch some drinks and join us?”

  “Of course.” Josephine obliged, going off to the bar, and Maria went to the table.

  Bella looked up as Maria approached, then spoke softly to the man sitting there, who also turned to acknowledge Maria from behind his hand of playing cards. “Maria, Maria, Maria. The entertainment is here,” Bella said in a husky voice as she took a sip of wine. Their table was spread with playing cards in a formation that was familiar to Maria.

  Her brow raised. Playing cards, eh?

  “It was said that you had arrived in Carcassonne recently,” Bella said. “I hope the city thus far has been to your liking. In my experience, it is a cosy yet angular city. But not much detached from the ruggedness of Bellvoir.”

  “As cosy as a brick pallet to sleep on,” Maria said.

  “Well, all things have their quirks. Look around you. As you can see, we have added quite a bit to the décor since last you were here. When was that? Must be years back. And who is the girl you came in with? A witch, I’m imagining, with that flowing hair and large bosom.”

  “Yes. Eagle-eyed, are you. You said somebody told you I was here?”

  “Oh, it’s just that word gets out. Witches are all over Carcassonne. The fact that we tend not to be wanted much here is actually part of the allure of it.”

  Maria thought, perhaps Bella knew something about the playing card with the message on it, perhaps not. She decided not to venture there quite yet. Bella Dupont may be quick-witted and slick of tongue, but she was also precise with it. She would not let loose information by accident; for example, saying that it was quite common knowledge that Maria was coming to Carcassonne.

  Maria curtly glanced at the man who was at the table, his cigar loud and his fat fingers clasping thin, papery cards. “Hello. You will be bored by our conversation, I assure you. If you may? The madame and I just have the matter of, well, you know”—she turned to Bella’s shiny, glittery face—“a particular lady conducting unlawful business on your grounds.”

  Bella Dupont stiffened. “If we must. Mhm...Paul, I have some items stashed in the blue room through the hall left of stage. Would you be a darl’ and fetch those for me?”

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  The man—Paul—polished his glass and left, Bella watching after him.

  “Sit down, then. You’re making me nervous,” Bella said.

  Maria pulled out a seat and dropped into it. “I’m hoping you are aware of the situation.”

  “Concerning Selika? Well, it’s unfortunate.”

  “It isn’t unfortunate. It’s quite troubling—particularly that you would let this happen. And not just Selika. Clearly, there are others. Do you know what was found when they arrested her?”

  “Let me guess. What would irritate Maria Lucien most of all? Was it a pile of bad reviews?”

  “Copies of Principles. They’re going rogue, Bella. Or they intend to. I shouldn’t have to tell you why that is a major problem. My brother is displeased, and to be honest, I am too.”

  Bella licked her red lips, puffing out her cheeks. “Well, well, well...We wouldn’t want to cause Maria Lucien nor her brother such displeasure, would we?”

  “You ought to polish your tongue,” Maria said.

  “All I am implying is that all terrible things seem to come back to your family.”

  “Implying is not the right word.”

  “Well, gather of it what you wish.” She drank till there was not a drop left in her glass. She threw her arms into the circle in the middle of the table and began collecting the cards and tokens upon it. “Join me for a game while you’re here.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Oh, don’t be a drag. When was the last time we threw down?”

  “It’s not something I reminisce on very often.”

  Bella chuckled. “Fine, fine. What is on your mind?”

  “Closing shift last night,” Maria said. “Who worked it?”

  “Playing detective, are we?”

  “I didn’t want to come here, Bella. It is you who cannot keep your women in order. You who let this happen under your watch. Now, surely you know who worked the shift. Or have you drank so much you’ve given yourself blurry vision?”

  “Don’t insult me like that. Oh, for all you born of Lucien blood, it’s the job and nothing more. No wonder they find you all so dull. At least your younger brother Edgar considered the women and games as part of his work.”

  Maria’s blood boiled. Across the table, through the smoke that still hovered from when Paul had blown his last breath, she saw Bella give a rictus smile that was all but pleasant to gaze at. This is getting nowhere, Maria thought, clenching her fist underneath the table.

  Josephine returned and Bella invited her down, even pre-emptively kicking out an additional chair for her to sit in.

  “Or does Maria not allow you any fun?” she asked.

  Josephine maintained a straight face. “Maria did say that all witches grow more unpleasant the further you travel out from Bellvoir.”

  Bella brightened gleefully. “Oh, I do like you.”

  Maria side-glanced Josephine as she sat down. Then, sighing, she took a cigarette from the box in the middle of the table and smoked it. She figured they were going to be here for a while, and even the drinks Josephine had ordered may not be enough.

  The deck of cards clapped in Bella’s hands as she shuffled them. Meanwhile, Maria gathered the tokens and divided them up amongst the three players. These were small cubes of wood with carved iconography on the faces, such as sun crowns, daggers and goblets. She left several of these to the side. Truthfully, Maria only wished for one thing in this game, and that was for it to be over quick.

  “Get on with it, Bella, you cannot shuffle forever,” Maria said.

  Bella cackled as she dealt the cards, three piles of six, one face-down in the middle. The rest of them she tucked to her side, out of use for the duration of the round. Maria smoked, letting out a long exhale, then squashed the cigarette in Paul’s leftover ashtray. The embers smouldered until they were but a tiny red glow, then nothing.

  “Does she play?” Bella asked.

  “Yes, in Bellvoir,” Maria said.

  “Though I prefer Daggers,” said Josephine.

  “Edgar’s specialty,” remarked Bella.

  “Cut this talk of my good-for-nothing brother,” Maria said. “The fact I have to put up with your women pilfering everything he ever wrote is more than enough.”

  “You know, you’ll explode if you’re always like this,” Bella said. “It’s happened to women I know, and some far less ready-to-burst than yourself.”

  Maria scoffed. The women drew.

  “Ah, yes, last night’s closing shift,” Bella mused. “That is Nathalie and the girls. Eugénie, Sophie and Aline. Oh, great girls. Never caused me any problems, really.”

  “Smokers?” Maria asked.

  “I’ve shared a smoke with them before. Are you the smoking police?”

  “Never mind,” Maria grumbled.

  She studied the cards in her hand, and over them she glanced occasionally at the other woman. She did not put much thought into the game. Checked what she had, selected two hearts and slipped them face-down into the middle of the table, replacing them both. The Jack of Hearts was one of them, which meant this deck hadn’t been used for the message. She glanced quickly at her new selection, then back to Bella.

  “Did Selika have anything to do with those girls?”

  “She and Nathalie were close, yes. They were an act, dancing and performing most nights to sold-out audiences. You may have seen a poster for them outside.”

  “Hmph.” She had not, in fact, seen it.

  As play fell to Josephine, the younger witch discarded one card and replaced it, giving no indication she was following the conversation. Turn of play eventually came back around to Bella, who made the same move. “Please, talk me through what you’re thinking.”

  Maria told her of how she had gone to Selika’s residence, and what she had found there. About the card, and stealing the wet lock of hair to use in a spell.

  Bella listened to this while they played, giving off little to suggest she knew something relating to these things. In fact, the more Maria seemed to speak, the less enthusiastic Bella became, until Maria wondered if she would say anything at all.

  Only when Maria had finished telling her all she knew, did Bella find her voice. “Why do you care so much about this, darling? This is all such an effort.”

  Maria bristled, feeling her nails become claw-like. “That is all you have to say about this? Oh, you insufferable woman! You are so blind! I was starting to wonder how half your witches managed to disappear off to Fosseville without you even knowing, but now it is clear!”

  She made an aggressive move against her.

  “Maria, relax yourself. My goodness.”

  “But it is true? You never even knew they were gone? You didn’t see any pages floating around? No suspicion at all?”

  “Or she was helping them,” Josephine said. “Bella, that is the only way to explain it. Unless you’d like to just admit how aloof and incompetent you are.” Josephine smiled as she finished this, as though she enjoyed the act of striking upwards. Of course, Maria didn’t mind this. She even felt a little swell of pride.

  She enjoyed even more Bella’s rattled reaction to this.

  “You can make it to Fosseville and back in a night,” Bella grumbled. “It’s not that impressive. But, sure, it’s true. I didn’t know what they were scheming.” She spoke low and irate, placing her cards down with more vigour, in a state of defeat. “Now that I think of it, I do recall something Nathalie said to me once. Something that now feels quite eerie.”

  “And what is that?” Maria asked impatiently.

  Bella’s frown pulled up into a grin. “Win a round, let that be your reward.”

  “Oh Bella, Bella, Bella...” Maria complained. “Why does it feel to me like you’re buying time? Wherever did that other man, Paul, disappear off to?”

  Bella shrugged. “You don’t trust me at all, do you? Why, I promise, all is not as it may first appear this side of France. I have only the intention to cooperate. Whatever scheming Selika and her clique was up to, the only business it is of mine is that it occurred under my roof. But even that is debatable. Paul is retrieving some items you might find of interest.” She inclined her head towards Josephine. “Josephine, I promise, I don’t know a thing.”

  “That is already quite clear,” Josephine said hotly.

  Maria sighed, at least thankful they were doing this sitting down.

  The game continued at its usual pace for some time. Every now and then, somebody shot a remark regarding Bellvoir or Carcassonne, or one thing or another. Bella did eventually open up regarding her side of the cabaret, and Maria intoned on the upcoming season in Bellvoir. As the round neared its conclusion, Maria could not say that she had entirely been beleaguered by the conversation. Such things as business and art, of course, Maria Lucien always had time for.

  “And what of yourself?” Bella inquired to Josephine, taking a turn. In the middle of the table, piles of cards were forming. “What reason has the wizened Maria for taking you along on her escapades? Well, besides that you are pleasant to look that? I know that Maria is quite picky, and you wouldn’t be here if not for good reason, so...?”

  “I guess not everything she does is calculated,” Josephine said.

  “That may be what you think,” responded Bella. “You don’t know her like I do.”

  Josephine looked at Maria out of the corner of her eye, but Maria did not give her nor Bella anything to work with. In an effort to spare Josephine from being lectured on Bella and Maria’s dramatic history, Maria chimed in, “Do you actually care to know the answers to any of your rhetorical questions, Bella, or are you simply stirring up trouble?”

  “You can only stir what’s there.”

  Between them, Josephine smiled slyly and did not respond, though Maria noticed her lips twist in the fashion of testing a select few phrases.

  They made a full cycle round the table, cards exchanging, tokens trading. Eventually (and unfortunately), it was Bella who continued to speak.

  “Did you know that Maria has not bedded a man in all her years of living? You would think it not to be the case, but it is true. Unless something has changed since I knew her?”

  Josephine glanced at Maria. “Well, I’d imagine she has her reasons.”

  “Of course,” Bella said animatedly. “Of course.”

  Maria fumed. She felt her face grow severely hot and she maintained fervent eye-contact with the cards in her hand. Yet her mind in that moment went from the game, to absolutely blank. Her leg beneath the table began to bounce. She urged Josephine to stop looking at her; and Bella, well, she desired to leap across the table and take her throat in her hands.

  She looked up as, from the back of the cabaret, Paul approached with a small burlap sack that bulged with different shapes like a distended stomach.

  “You sullen bitch,” Maria cursed.

  “Cool down, fire bomb,” Bella said.

  Maria seethed as she played her last card, certain of victory. Bella continued to stare at Maria as she reached into the centre of the table and flipped up the four face-down cards in the centre, revealing that Maria had, in fact, won the game.

  Paul returned, handing the burlap sack to Bella. Without wasting any more of their time, Bella plopped it on the table, senselessly scattering all the cards and tokens, and spilled the bag’s contents for them to see. Maria knew immediately what this was.

  Trinkets and charms. A photograph aged so terribly it was quite impossible to make out the details of. Except, of course, she had seen this photograph before; it was her.

  These had belonged to her younger brother.

  “How did you get these?” Maria collected a small porcelain doll, the paint faded. You could tell that her dashing curls were once red, her dress blue. Now, a dusty white. Her cheeks were plump and overstuffed, her eyes little crosses. No, this is mine, Maria thought. She turned the doll in her fingers, then gently placed it back down on the table.

  “Such things have a habit of becoming lost,” Bella responded. “Once on the market, you’ll know this, they become something of collector’s items.”

  “Ridiculous.” She thought of the work that Otto did back in Bellvoir, and found that she was not surprised that a market for items like these existed. She was simply exhausted at the fact, and more than a little bit disturbed that her family’s innocuous items were commodities now.

  She picked up an old pocket watch that no longer turned. Examined a cigar—could have been any cigar, and yet she knew, upon seeing it, that it had been Edgar’s.

  “Did Alfred put you up to this?” Maria asked.

  “For good cause. These are historical pieces. They do belong to the cabaret.”

  “I’m sorry, historical pieces?” Maria blurted loudly, cackling as she did so. “Goodness, Josephine, do you hear this? They’re family pieces, not for bartering.”

  “Don’t be so defensive! Isn’t it the reason for all your strife, items such as your brother’s ending up in the wrong hands? I’m not selling these, I’m storing them. You ought to be thanking me. Here, you might wish to take a look inside this ledger.”

  Maria scowled. Among the items was a small, black ledger. Bella slid it towards Maria, and then she took it. She opened up the book, its leather covers revealing darkened yellow pages inside, with ruled lines and handwritten text. Line by line of debts owed and debts paid, both from her younger brother and to him. The amounts were sizeable, but Maria had of course known of the business that her brother was involved in. Whenever Edgar was around, there was money being passed between hands. Yet while her brother had died in 1815, several entries seemed to stretch beyond this year, as recent as 1826, two years ago.

  “Whose work is this?” Maria asked. “These debts that were dealt with following my brother’s death? Am I to assume this is the work of Alfred?”

  “Yes. Edgar’s untimely death left some debts unresolved.”

  Maria was genuinely surprised by this. “It’s a lot of money being settled. Some of these are multi-thousand franc repayments.” She frowned. “Does Alfred even have that sort of money?”

  “Well, not every debt is resolved with money,” Bella said.

  “What on earth has that man been up to in my absence? And, more importantly, why is it that I’m hearing about all this from you and not him? No, actually, that I am only seeing this while riffling through my dead brother’s possessions! Then again, Alfred never does tell me anything until it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “You’ve answered your own question.”

  “That stubborn mule,” Maria cursed. She wondered if part of the allure of these fanatics to Carcassonne was the presence of such things here. Stockpiling Edgar’s belongings. She wondered how much had been stolen, or if there had been a plot to do so. How many other people had Alfred been making deals with behind her back, deals concerning the cabaret?

  I will have to smack that man next time I see him, Maria swore.

  “One name came up quite a lot when you look at the dealings occurring post-1815,” Bella said. “I don’t know, does Molteni sound familiar?”

  Maria raised a brow. Yes, she knew of House Molteni. She had dined with them several times when they were teenagers. A friend of her father’s, their bloodline was ancient and significant to certain areas of France. Their wealth had only grown over the years, and grew still, as far as she knew. However, Maria had not been in contact with the Molteni family for quite some time; enough time had passed she seldom thought of them at all.

  “If you will, examine the final pages of the book,” Bella said.

  Maria did this, and her eyes widened. Right up until the last entry were payments being made to Vincenzo Molteni. And these numbers were unusually high.

  Thousands on thousands of francs.

  “Oh, Maria, the look on your face.”

  Maria grabbed her head. “I’m having a headache.” She slammed shut the book and closed her eyes, feeling an intensifying pain in both her temples.

  “This isn’t some debt, Maria. Your brother continues to send money to the Molteni family. That book simply does not supply enough pages to cover it all.”

  “I bet!” Maria said.

  “What is it for?” Josephine asked. “Maria?”

  “How should I know! My brother is a wild goose!”

  “I don’t know,” Bella said. “But I invite you to consider, were my girls the first to make off with all your dead brother’s possessions? Or has somebody from the Molteni family found something incriminating amongst it? He was a prolific writer, of many things.”

  Maria stewed. There was that insinuation again.

  “No, it isn’t a debt,” Bella said. “Well, maybe a charity. But Alfred...I don’t think so.”

  Maria cackled at the thought of her older brother offering charity money to anybody, let alone the Molteni family, who didn’t need it.

  “Anyway, this is yours,” Bella said. “Let it be proof that I’m not as obsessed with your family as you think I am. Paul, please tidy that for her.”

  Paul obliged willingly, returning the contents of the bag to where they had come from, and placing it in front of Maria, who was still recovering from her overwhelming headache. She grabbed the bag and then shoved it towards Josephine to take instead.

  “We’re done here, Josephine,” Maria said.

  “If you would like to know,” Bella said sternly, “your brothers weren’t the only people who used that ledger. Just a hint. You might find something that helps point you in the right direction. If you ask me, it looks like you have greater problems here than just crazed fanatics conspiring to mess with us, all of which are far too sly to reveal themselves to you.”

  Maria stood up from her chair and left the table.

  Behind her, Josephine said, “Wait. Before, you mentioned that girl Nathalie said something to you? You said you’d tell her if she won the game, which she did.”

  Maria stopped in her tracks, fighting every fibre of her body. When she turned around, Bella was standing up and smiling over the lip of a wine glass.

  “Oh, yes. That. I do recall it,” Bella said.

  “And?” Josephine urged her.

  “I believe it was, something, something, homunculi. Of course, I told her, that’s not something I had researched much myself, being a good little witch. But, if she so desired to learn more, Edgar Lucien published a bit on the topic.”

  Maria went cold, right to the tips of her fingers. Her mouth was as dry as paper. “Published? That...wasn’t published,” she said, then immediately wished that she could take it back, a lump forming in her throat. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t published, does it.

  Bella’s eyes glinted like light on a knife.

  “Nothing to worry about, then,” Bella said.

  Maria’s face twitched. She did not wait around; she could not bear to be with the woman any longer, nor hear her infuriating voice. She turned and departed immediately. However, in this brief window of opportunity, Maria between Bella and the door, Bella called out to her, “I am doing you a favour here, Maria. Don’t be so stubborn as to ignore what I have said and have given you. Look where stubbornness got your younger brother.”