Wanted—a warden partner for Lidia M. Lirrey, with the territory of 19 South Elm Street to 25 Reverie West. Experienced magicians only. Contact Ms. Lirrey at the Society as soon as possible.

Wanted—a warden partner for Phelan Vesper, with the territory of 1 Auberon Street to 36 Yewborne Street. All magicians are welcome to audition, and interviews will be held from eight o’clock in the morning until noontide at the Luminous Society Museum in Old Village, on Wednesday next. Contact Mr. Vesper for more details.

I felt heat rise in my face and I read it again, just to be certain it was the right Phelan. The pompous, impolite, selfish, tragically handsome Phelan. The aristocrat who had stolen my home and disgraced me. Bumping into his haughty mother the day before at the art shop had only roused the worst of my feelings. Toward him, toward Lennox. Toward a family that felt as if they could take whatever they desired and suffer no consequences for it.

My anger burned away to cold guilt for losing Hereswith. And then an idea came to mind.

I dropped the newspaper into the plate of eggs and cheese that Imonie had just set on the table. She was already staring at me with a cocked brow.

“I don’t like that gleam in your eyes, Clem.”

“Imonie,” I said, and my mind reeled with possibilities. I could feel my magic wake, like embers being stirred back to life, and I grinned a slow, sharp smile. “Imonie . . . I have an idea. And I need your help.”

If she had known what I truly planned to do, Imonie would have never assisted me. But I saw the longing for the mountains in her every time she glanced out the window and viewed nothing but brick walls, chimneys, and wrought-iron gates, and we crafted a plan. She had some estranged family in the city of Marksworth, and she asked my parents for a week’s worth of vacation, to go and visit them in the neighboring province.

I made my case to accompany her, and my parents relented after they argued about me leaving the city. Papa said no, my mother said yes, and she thankfully won that spar.

Imonie and I bought a passage on a stagecoach, something that would fly along the roads of Azenor, but instead of taking us north to Marksworth, it took us west to Hereswith. Time was the most vital thread of the plan; I had only a week to get to Hereswith and back before Phelan held interviews for a partner.

“I wish you would tell me what you plan, Clementine,” Imonie grunted as the coach jostled us back and forth.

I shifted my satchel of art supplies on my lap. “You’ll know soon, Imonie.”

“Your plan doesn’t have anything to do with that Lennox Vesper, does it?”