“Yes,” said Guy. “That’s it.”

And then he frowned. Removing the watch from his own pocket, he stared down at the face of it, a crease marking his brow. He snapped his attention to the window. “Oh dear.”

An instant later, Catherine understood his alarm. The distinct clatter of the presses echoed up from the print floor, work continuing downstairs. The stillness of Guy’s magic had fallen away, and Catherine recalled the way time jarred to a halt before carrying on at the watchmaker’s shop.

“I can wind it again,” said Guy. “I can—it won’t take a moment.” He dug into his pocket, presumably in search of the winding key.

Out in the hall, the stairs groaned under footsteps.

They hadn’t even thought to close the door.

“Guy,” Catherine said, and it was a whisper, a breath.

He looked back at her, the panic in his eyes clear as glass. “Let’s leave,” he said. “We can just—”

Spencer Carlyle appeared in the doorway. He paused at the sight of them, blinking, bringing one hand to rest on the frame. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him. He took care doing so, but he may as well have slammed it shut, the way Catherine’s pulse jumped.

His voice was careful too.

“Catherine.” His gaze flickered over her, before landing on Guy. “Mr. Nolan. What are you doing in here?”

Catherine gripped the vial, the pocket watch clutched in her other hand. She showed the vial to Spencer, trying her best to keep her voice steady as she asked, “Why do you have this?”

Spencer let out a weary sigh. “Catherine—”

“You poisoned Mr. Nolan? Mr. Ainsworth?”

He regarded her, a dangerous shine to his blue eyes. Tipping his chin in Guy’s direction, he said, “Did he tell you that timepiece belonged to his father? A boy was killed to work its magic, and Mr. Nolan let it happen.”

Beside her, Guy flinched.

“He didn’t know,” said Catherine softly. “He didn’t know until it was done. We only learned of it recently.” She put the timepiece and the vial away in her coat pocket, not taking her eyes off Spencer. “You stole it from Mr. Nolan’s shop, didn’t you? Why?”

Spencer didn’t answer at once. He stood blocking the way to the door, and all Catherine could think was:

How are we to get out?

“That timepiece is valuable, Catherine. Mr. Ainsworth made a bit of coin from the farewell service, but this—this magic—is what people truly want. How much would someone pay to bring those dearest to them back to life?”

Catherine took a shuddering breath, chancing a look over at Guy. His face was ashen, and in his stillness he seemed almost fixed in place by his own magic, one of his hands still tucked in the pocket of his coat.

“Spencer,” Catherine said, turning back. “You need to let us leave.”

“Need to?” He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, yes, so you may take the timepiece and do whatever you please with it.”