> “It has not been an easy two score. The Laurel expedition faltered and many members were lost. If I had been there, would things have gone differently? This question plagues my sleep of late.”

>

> - Lady Melanie Fitzjames, Duchess of Montagu

>

> New York, New York, March 1, 1855

“She kept her promise,” said Beatrice, as I walked with her down the steps of the family court building on Lafayette Street. “Unbelievable.”

Gone were her VillagePunk clothing and black locks, and in their place was a very Upper East Side-y ensemble complete with pearls and a blazer, and a blonde hair dye job that camouflaged her still-remaining gray streak. I wondered if that gray would ever go away or if the tree had somehow marked her with it as a reminder.

“I think she wants to keep an eye on you,” I said. “With full custody of Jack-Jack, no more gallivanting across the country or the world in search of ancient sources of prima materia.”

We had deliberately not spoken about what Beatrice had done at Fort Totten since Dalia and I had emerged from her roundabout portal last week. Despite our successful return, my anger had not entirely subsided over her double-cross. I had even considered wiping the memory from my head so I couldn’t betray it in a moment of weakness, but decided that such tampering would only do more harm than good. Still, I wondered if Dalia suspected the truth.

“That’s fine,” said Beatrice. “I want to keep an eye on all of you as well. To figure out who tried to kill me. And if her monitoring me means I get to digest the entire contents of the Guild’s library, then I’ll make that trade.”

“You’re not moving into your old place, are you?” I asked.

“Which one?” she said, with a laugh.

“On Madison.”

“Oh, no, definitely not,” said Beatrice. “The doormen would never let me back in the building. Besides, I need a little distance from the lot of you.”

“That’s for sure,” I said, as we approached Bleecker Street Grounds. The old name of the cafe had been scraped off the front window and replaced with a stylized “BSG,” alongside a sign that said “Under new management.”

Svetlana perked her head up from behind the La Marzocco espresso machine as the door chime sounded.

“Morning, ladies,” she said, pushing two small handleless cups our way as we approached the bar. “How’d it go?”

The cafe was mostly empty, save for a few normal looking people with their heads buried in their laptops. I wondered how long it would take for the prior clientele to realize that this establishment was not what it used to be.

“Let’s just say that I am now back in the mothering business,” said Beatrice, who was about to chug her shot before she threw her new barista and store manager a look. “Did you put anything in here?”

“Yes,” said Svetlana. “Espresso, using that shipment of Ethiopian beans that you somehow managed to acquire in a week.”

Satisfied that she wasn’t about to experience another round of memory resurfacing, Beatrice chugged the shot and I followed suit.

“Delicious,” she said. “Another. I have a long day of work upstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Svetlana, who dosed out a portafilter worth of beans and tamped it down in one fluid motion before inserting it into the machine.

“What are you doing up there?” I asked, as we walked through the rear of the shop to a spiral staircase that was a bit too narrow for my liking.

“I had done some preliminary demo for what I thought would be Jack-Jack’s room,” said Beatrice. “But now that I know that I have him back, I can really get started.”

“I’m happy for you,” I said. “I just hope that Garrett doesn’t come after you. Again.”

“He won’t,” she said, as we reached the second floor landing, which was lined on both sides with a set of three doors. “Unless he wants a certain folder of compromising pictures and stock trades sent out into the world. That was a nice icing on the cake from your boss. Come, there’s one more floor to go.”

“She’s not my boss,” I said, my legs aching as I walked up the next flight. “After everything, I don’t even know if she still wants me in the Guild.”

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When we had returned to Frederic’s landing spot, instead of the waiting chopper, there was a garish Bentley. The ride back to Manhattan had been slow and quiet, with Dalia spending most of it pouring over the restored pages of the Compendium. At one point, Beatrice had asked to take a look, but Dalia had refused.

“You can review your excerpts once the book is complete,” she had said, and those were the last words she spoke to either of us in the car or since.

We reached the top floor, and my eyes were immediately drawn to a familiar-looking knob fastened to the only door on this level.

“That doesn’t lead to where I think it does?” I asked.

“Of course it does,” said Beatrice. “Why would I give up such a prime space just because I am back in New York?”

“I can give you a lot of reasons,” I said. “Not the least of which is that your son will try to open that one foreboding door in like five seconds, and then what?”

“That’s why it’s locked,” said Beatrice.

“Great, so he’ll either have nightmares about the scary locked door for years or tell his friends about his mom’s secret room and you’ll have a gaggle of boys trying to break in.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about the parenting, yeah?” said Beatrice, withdrawing a key fastened to the chain around her neck. “And you worry about the secret magical organization in the midst of an upheaval. Be right back.”

She inserted the key into the knob, turned it, and disappeared into the darkness beyond, leaving me alone to reflect on tonight’s Guild meeting. It had been radio silence not just from Dalia, but from everyone else as well. I took that as a sign that both sides thought my vote was irrelevant, as Ty had said after my initiation. I didn’t know whether to feel useless, as if all my efforts these past two months had not amounted to anything, or relieved at being ignored by people more powerful than I could ever hope to be. And I certainly didn’t know what to make of Beatrice. As much as I wanted to trust her and rely on her and dare say call her a friend, there would always be that image of her devilish self surfacing and upending all that I had work toward. Deep down, I knew that it was only a matter of when, not if, it would happen again.

Before I could sink into more internal reflection, Beatrice returned from her warehouse holding a small envelope.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“More buffs for Lucca to study,” she said. “She stopped by here the other day. As did D.C. I guess Dalia told her that I was no longer persona non grata within the Guild. It feels…”

“…freeing?” I ventured.

“Maybe,” said Beatrice. “I’m not dumb enough to think the past has been completely swept away. Especially because your new boyfriend Hugo probably still has a very negative opinion of me.”

“He is not my boyfriend!” I said. “And he’s gross. I’m pretty sure he was mad at me for giving up the glamour only because he enjoyed looking at Jade more than me.”

“If you say so,” said Beatrice. She locked the door, and I followed her back down to the second level, where she grabbed a buzzsaw out of one of the rooms.

“Since when are you a contractor?”

“Since that insane machine in the Guild library spit out the first electrum I asked for,” said Beatrice. “It took all my willpower this morning to not skip the hearing and binge early 20th century martial arts. Still, I’m not entirely convinced this will work. It just feels … off.”

“I thought the same,” I said. “Until I saw the hits on the bullseye.”

“Yes, well. Shooting at a target at a gun range is one thing. What about something less manufactured?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I hope not to find out.”

“Good luck with that,” said Beatrice. “And with tonight’s festivities. As much as I thought I wanted to join the Guild, can’t say I envy you at this particular moment.”

“I’m just hoping not to be hit with an alchemic nullifier or tied up this time around,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“I could go to the library tonight, during the meeting,” she offered. “If you need back-up.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s … nice of you. But truth be told, that would make things worse. For both of us.”

“I think you’re right,” said Beatrice, who fired up the saw and began cutting 2x4s with aplomb. I covered my ears and tried to shout something over the noise, but gave up after a few tries and waved my goodbye before heading downstairs.

Svetlana had a latte waiting for me in a newly restyled BSG mug, with matching letters formed in the milk. I eyed it suspiciously, and she chuckled.

“I’m not going to spike your drink without telling you every time you see me,” she said. “Just that first time. And also now.”

“What will happen to me after I drink this?” I asked, picking up the cup and taking in the aroma.

“You’ll be extra caffeinated,” said Svetlana. “And then the weight of your troubles will feel as if they have been lifted.”

“That seems … oddly specific.”

“It’s my specialty,” she said.

“Why are you working here?” I asked, sipping the not-too-hot, not-too-cold latte.

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m co-owner, master barista, head mixologist, and chef de cuisine. Where else was I going to get that opportunity?”

“Beatrice made you co-owner? You just met her two weeks ago!”

“She didn’t make me anything,” said Svetlana. “I put up a good amount of the capital for this place. Years of scrounging tips from the right patrons coupled with some shrewd investments in the right prima materia suppliers meant I have a lot of money and tokens lying around. Your friend may be many things, but she’s not stupid. And neither am I.”

“On that we agree,” I said, drinking the rest of the concoction and closing my eyes. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Why would I give you something that will calm your nerves when you’re sitting here comfortably under my watchful eye?”

“Good point,” I said. “I guess I’ll be seeing you soon?”

“I hope so,” said Svetlana with a grin. “And if things go well for you, tell your Guild friends about our new establishment. Reputation is everything in this business, and scoring some high-profile clientele early on will do wonders for our cash flow.”

“No promises,” I said. “But if the entire organization isn’t thrown into chaos after tonight, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” said Svetlana, and I bristled.

“My name is Jen,” I said. “Jenny Bean was a little girl who disappeared a long time ago.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m not sure about a lot of things anymore,” I said, “but of that, I am certain.”