“Close your eyes, both of you,” I say, struck with sudden inspiration.
“What? Whatever for?” Father blinks at me owlishly.
“Just do it. I’ve got a surprise for you.” They do, and I let magic pour through me. The illusion is easy enough. I don’t know that it will last through Christmas dinner, but after the year we’ve had, we all deserve some extra cheer. “All right. Open.”
Father actually gasps. “It even smells like a fir tree!” he marvels, standing and examining it from every angle. It’s as tall as him, a fat pine with strands of popcorn and lace snowflakes and little paper cornucopias adorning its branches.
“Oh, drat. I forgot something.” I pick up Father’s glass from the tea table and transform it into a feathery angel with a bright tinsel smile. I hand it to him. “Would you do the honors?”
Father takes it and perches it gingerly atop the tree. Then he stands back and stares, awestruck. “It’s perfect.”
“It is,” Finn says, grinning.
I smile, too, because it’s not the tree Finn’s looking at.
• • •
Our Christmas dinner is a feast: roasted goose with sage and onion stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, baked onions, and roasted chestnuts. By the time we get to dessert, I’m nearly groaning—but not enough to forgo a bit of gingerbread. The conversation around the table is a lively mix of literary talk and gossip about our neighbors; Father is scandalized when Tess mentions offhand that Sachi and Rory are sisters. It is strange to have Finn surprised by the news all over again.
After dinner, Tess strengthens my spell so we can open presents beneath the Christmas tree. She and I went in together to buy Father a handsome magnifying glass with a mahogany handle. He seems pleased by it; the footnotes in some of his books are quite small. I give Tess her stationery, and she’s bought me a book on human anatomy that scandalizes Father again. He gives us money to buy new dresses, and he grows rather sentimental when he hands Tess a book of Romantic poetry that belonged to Mother. Marianne receives perfume from Finn and a strawberry pincushion from Clara, while Clara gets drawing pencils and a set of watercolors. Finn, of course, gets books.
I tuck the bag containing the fountain pen beneath the sofa. It doesn’t feel right to give it to him here, in front of everyone. After the gift exchange, Tess and Father play a game of chess while Clara shows Finn some of her sketches. I page through my anatomy book, and Marianne does the dishes. It’s dark outside when I regretfully suggest we ought to be going.
“I’ll walk you home,” Finn offers.
We bundle up in our cloaks and exchange good-byes with Clara and Marianne. Father walks us downstairs and gives us hugs before releasing us onto the cold, quiet streets.
I pause on the brick stoop of the Cahill Mercantile Company. “You’re very kind to offer, but you can’t walk us back to the convent,” I explain to Finn.
He smiles at me behind his upturned collar. “I suspected as much. I just wanted to have a moment alone.”
Ever perceptive, Tess has already dawdled down the street to examine the windows of a candy shop. “Oh,” I say stupidly, heart hammering.
“I had a drink with Merriweather last night after we left the Zhangs’,” he continues, and my disappointment that he’s talking about the Resistance instead of us mashes up against worry. He shouldn’t be seen in public with Merriweather; it’s too dangerous. I bite my tongue before I chide him. I haven’t the right to do that anymore. “He’s planning a surprise for the Brothers at church tomorrow.”
“At the cathedral?” I wince when Finn nods. Richmond Cathedral can fit over a thousand worshippers, and its congregation is chock-full of Brothers and the upper-class denizens of New London. They’re the least-receptive audience Merriweather could possibly choose. “Is he mad? What kind of surprise? If they catch him—”
“They won’t.” Finn chuckles. “He’s too clever for that. It’s low risk, but I daresay it should make an impact. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it—Mother isn’t one for churchgoing, you know. You’ll have to tell me about it.”
Alistair is clever—but he’s a good deal too convinced of his own cleverness. What if he’s overestimated it this time around? He’ll get himself killed and we’ll lose a valuable ally.
“He’s a good man, Alistair. Thank you for introducing us.” Finn rubs his gloved hands together for warmth. “You should read that feature he did on Yang. His indictment of the Brotherhood for not making more care available to the poor—for their nepotism—was absolutely scathing, and then he took them to task for making ridiculous accusations about witches instead of focusing on the science of prevention. He made you and Mei both out as heroes.” His eyes rest on my face. “You were quite extraordinary, you know.”
I beam at him. “Thank you.” He moves to walk past me down the steps, and I summon up my courage, reach into my bag, and pull out the pen in its satiny case. “Wait. This is for you. It isn’t wrapped—I didn’t know you’d be here—but—”
“Oh, I—” Finn flips open the case. Runs a finger along the gleaming wooden barrel. “This is splendid. Really. But I didn’t get anything for you.”
“That’s all right.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t expect that you would.”
He puts a hand gloved in black leather on my arm, and I cannot help but remember the softness of the leather stroking my face while he kissed me in the convent garden. “This is a queer Christmas, isn’t it? It must be for you, too. Here instead of home, and with me all wrong, and your sister not here—”
“You’re not all wrong,” I insist, smiling up at him. “You’re still you.”
“I don’t feel like it.” Finn hesitates as he slides the pen into his bag. “Why isn’t Maura here? She’s not ill?”
“No.” I bite my lip, remembering Marianne’s words. “Frankly, she wasn’t wanted.”
“But it’s Christmas! You must have had an awful row to—” Finn runs his hand through his hair, his eyes growing wide. “What was it about?”
I watch him carefully. “You.”
He grips the wrought-iron railing as the full realization of it hits him. “Maura took my memories?”
“Maura.” I nod. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. She’s my sister, and I suppose I—I felt responsible, somehow. You don’t love me, I know you don’t, but I suppose I hoped that you might again, someday. But the fact is, you’re in danger whenever you’re with me. You deserve to know that and to make any—any decisions you might make, from there. I have enemies within the Sisterhood, and they wouldn’t hesitate to attack you again in order to hurt me.”
Across town, the bells begin to toll the hour, and Finn pauses. One. He’s deciding it isn’t worth it. Two. That I’m not worth it. Three. How could he trust me, when I can do mind-magic? Four. When I’ve lied to him, by omission if not by my words? Five. When my own sister is the one who attacked him? Six. Kissing me was a mistake. Seven. He’s going to tell me so any second now.