“No!” I yelled at her as she skirted the shadowy edge of a building. “We will be in clear view!” I had not the breath to explain my logic, but with the men a short distance behind us, I knew that our chances of escape were best if we remained hidden by shadows and alleys. Perhaps we could find an unlocked door to run into; London was big enough to aid many a criminal in escape, as Nella well knew from a lifetime of secrecy. “Nella,” I said, a cramp suddenly seizing my side, “it is too open, like being onstage.”

Ignoring me, she drew near Blackfriars Bridge, which swarmed with children, families and couples walking hand in hand. Had Nella lost her mind altogether? Surely some bold man would see the constables chasing us and take it upon himself to stop us, overpower us with his strength. Had Nella thought of none of this? She kept running, running, not looking back.

Where was it that she meant to go? What was it that she meant to do?

Near the center of the bridge, a clock tower seized my attention. I squinted, looking at the tip of the small hand; it was ten minutes after two. Seventy minutes! Enough time had passed; the tincture was ready.

I turned my head back to see that, indeed, the officers had followed us onto the bridge. I reached into the bodice of my gown, my fingers wrapping around the two smooth vials near my breast. I’d prepared two vials in case one slipped from my dress, but I realized this decision had been wise for another reason: both Nella and I now found ourselves in a desperate position.

In my effort to carefully remove the first vial from my gown, I failed to notice that Nella had come to a complete stop in the middle of the bridge, chest heaving, her hands on the railing. I slowed, now just inches behind her. Dozens of people dressed in black and gray moved all around us, unaware.

Capture was imminent. I gave the officers fifteen, maybe twenty seconds before they were upon us.

I uncorked the pale blue vial. “Take this,” I pleaded, handing it to Nella. “It will fix everything.” I wished for the spell to give her wise words to say to the constables or form lies on her tongue; any kind of powerful magick, like that which had brought breath back to Tom Pepper’s lungs when he was an infant.

Nella looked to see what was in my hand. At seeing the vial, she showed no surprise. Perhaps she suspected I hadn’t really been making hot brews when she went off to the market; perhaps she knew, all along, that they were a disguise.