Seven for a Secret Read Free Page A

werewolves.”
    “It was,” he admitted, “my first thought as well. And
as quickly dismissed. Also, what do you know about magic relating to sevens?”
    She snorted. “What magic doesn’t?”
    He smiled, warming her. Ageless as ever, and still handsome. Every old woman should be so lucky. “Would you like me to fix you a drink?”
    “Brandy,” she said, and wheeled her chair closer to the fire again while he poured and brought it to her. “We’ve met with wolves before.”
    “The ghosts of them.”
    In France, in 1903. When they had encountered the revenants of a pack of wolves that had terrified medieval Paris, and young Jack Priest had met an abrupt ending. She saw the implications of that memory reflected across Sebastien’s face momentarily, before he stilled it.
    Abby Irene cupped the snifter in her left hand. With her right, she idly rubbed the faded scarlet tattoo between her breasts. It itched a little, as it still sometimes did when she considered magic. Honoring the tradition among sorcerers, while the strength of her body waned the power of her magic had only waxed greater. “Tell me more about the girl.”
    “Girls. Two of them. Collaborationists, in the uniform of the Alliance for English Girls. Lovers.”
    “The Chancellor,” Abby Irene said, tasting her brandy, “would be unlikely to approve. Are you certain?”
    Sebastien smiled tautly. “They certainly kissed as if they were fond of one another. Anything beyond that is, of course, conjecture.”
    The alcohol stung her palate and sinuses pleasantly, but in truth, beyond that she could barely detect the flavor. Inevitably, all her senses were deserting her. “The Prussians have been known to engage in thaumaturgical experiment,” she said, at last, unwillingly. “The sort of things most sorcerers would find unethical. But they consider very little beyond the pale when it comes to reclaiming their Urheimat —what they consider their rightful ancestral homeland.”
    “Ah.” Sebastien bent before the fire, extending his hands to warm them. He would not feel a chill, but others might notice the cold of a December night in his hands. “Yes.
I see.”
    Abby Irene folded her aching hands. “It is just possible,” she said softly, “that this is the opportunity we have been waiting for.”
    Sebastien’s thin mouth tensed. He had known before he spoke to her of it, she saw. And he was too much the gentleman, still, to point out that we in this case meant Abigail Irene Garrett, and the wampyr who indulged her insane schemes.

2.
    When Ruth opened the door onto the dark-wood-paneled hallway, Herr Professor Schroeder had only just risen from the closest of a row of three intricate, high-backed Macintosh chairs. His briar still smoked on the stamped tin dish on a side table, a gold-rimmed coffee cup resting on a mismatched saucer beside it. He wore blue cloth slippers and striped pajamas under a diamond-quilted dressing gown.
    „Miss Grell,” he said, in German. „Miss Kneeland.
I suppose you do not need me to tell you that you have
endangered your privileges here.”
    If Ruth’s name was first, did that mean she had been identified as the ringleader? If it would protect Adele, she’d accept the punishment. Though if it led Herr Professor to look too deeply into her background—
    Well, that couldn’t be helped now. She could only hope that it would seem less suspicious to brazen it out. „It is
my fault we were delayed, Herr Professor Schroeder,” Ruth answered, also in German. „I insisted we walk further, and misjudged the time it would take to return.”
    Adele tried to move up to Ruth’s elbow, but Ruth sidestepped to stay in front of her and just managed not to wince when Adele stomped on her right heel.
    Herr Professor folded his arms. „You realize that you have special privileges because you have special responsibilities, do you not? That those privileges and your permission to come and go are contingent upon your value