CHARLOTTE GUIDED HER BROTHER to the right position on the pavement, ignoring the glares from other Londoners as they stopped the flow of people hurrying about their business. Soon she and Benjamin became like a little rock in the stream of people, moved around with ease now they were predictably still.

"May I open my eyes yet?" Ben asked.

"No."

She could feel his arm trembling. Anyone else and she would have assumed it was the cold; the bitter November wind had teeth today. It was the furthest Ben had walked in weeks, and she feared she'd taken him too far from home. His lips were pale beneath his brown moustache, his cheeks still rather gaunt. She would hail a hansom cab to take them home. There were plenty clattering up and down the cobbles behind them.

She lined him up in front of the display, leaving her hands wrapped around his arm to steady him. "Now you can open them."

He blinked at the sight of the shop window, a slight frown creasing his brow as he took in what was displayed on the other side of the glass.

"Charlie, is that ...?"

She beamed. "Yes!"

"I'd recognise your work anywhere!"

"Shush," she whispered, glancing at the people walking past them. None of them seemed to have heard him.

"And you did all of the illustrations?"

"Every single one. It took months. It's already in its third printing and it's only been on sale for a week." She didn't mention that she had walked to this very shop every day to admire the display. There were several copies positioned over a luxurious pile of green velvet, artfully arranged to hide the boxes positioned underneath to give the display several platforms for the books. Three copies were clipped open, to show different examples of her artwork. One of them was the illustration she was most proud of: a medieval knight kneeling at his true love's tomb. The collection's title, Love, Death and Other Magicks, was displayed on a large board behind the books, as if the embossed covers were not sufficient, with A collection of poetry by Thackery Brown, illustrated by Charles Baker written underneath in elegant copperplate. "The sales are because of the poetry, of course, not my small contribution. It really is the best collection I've ever read."

Ben looked down at her, his left eyebrow spiked upwards. "Darling, the collection is exquisite and successful because of your substantial contribution. Your illustrations do far more to form the first impression than anything else." He rested his hand over hers and pressed it against his arm. "I am so proud of you. And so very grateful."

Charlotte felt the heat in her cheeks and looked away. "It's nothing."

She felt his kiss on the top of her head. "You deserve recognition. I'm not talking about everything you've done for me. I mean as an artist. You're so talented."

Her heart flipped unpleasantly at the thought of anyone else other than her brother and her agent knowing about her secret career. Not even George, her fiancé, knew about it. "I earn more under a male pseudonym, you know that."

Ben waved a hand at the display. "This collection is the talk of London. I heard that the Royal Society of Esoteric Arts ordered fifty copies for their library, and there are rumours that the Queen herself has been seen with it. If you revealed your identity as the illustrator, then ..."

"Don't be silly, Ben. I need the money — we need it! My agent can only command such high fees when the publishers think I'm a man."

"But you're not listening to me, dear heart. If people knew you were the one who illustrated this collection, you wouldn't be disadvantaged by your sex. Times are changing! The Royal Society has proven that women are just as able as men. They —"

Charlotte pulled away, looking for a cab. "It's one rule for the magi, another for everyone else."

"Magus Magda Ravensthorpe has a female accountant. I read it in the Times only this morning! Even for the magi, she's one of the wealthiest people in the Empire. She's making a statement. Perhaps you could do the same in the arts."

"I'm not wealthy enough to make a statement." Why were there no cabs now she needed one?

"But you're talented enough. I've a good mind to write to the Times and tell them who Charles Baker really is. It's in the public interest!"

She scowled at him. "You'll do no such thing, Benjamin Gunn. I would never forgive you. And if my wishes are not enough to dissuade you, consider our parents. Mother would be appalled that all those times she thinks I've been tutoring young ladies have actually been spent drawing pictures, and Father would be embarrassed. I already earn twice as much as him per commission and my agent believes that will only increase thanks to Other Magicks. I couldn't bear it if he felt upstaged by his own daughter."

Ben shook his head. "They would be proud. They'd be relieved! At least one of their children is capable of making something of their life!"

She clasped his hand, gripping it tight. "You are perfectly capable, too! You've just met a bump in the road, that's all."

The fear in his eyes didn't need to be voiced. She tried to look confident, to look certain that he would be able to complete his studies, all the while desperately hoping he couldn't see her doubts. She was just about to say something when the clang of a bell cut through the noise of the street and made her gut cramp with terror.

"Let's cut through to Bond Street," she said, doing all she could to hide the panic from her voice. "There must be cabs there."

But Ben was craning his neck, using his height to peer over the heads of the women on the street and even some of the top hats. "I think that's an Enforcer's bell."

But how could they have found out what she was? She'd been so careful. "You look pale and I've brought you too far, too soon." Charlotte pulled his hand. "Time to go home."

"Gosh! It is the Enforcers! They're heading this way! How splendid! I've always wanted to see the gauntlet. Charlie, stop pulling! Don't you want to see it, too?"

"No. It isn't any of our business." Charlotte feared her heart was going to punch its way through the bones of her corset if she didn't get away. The bell's mournful clang reverberated through the street, bouncing off the stone of the buildings until it sounded like it was coming from all directions at once. Her lips started to tingle and it felt like the blood in her veins was somehow seeping through the soles of her feet, into the pavement. Had someone reported her? Why? She never did anything to give anyone cause to summon the Enforcers.

Ben wrested his arm from her grip and she staggered away, taking a moment to right herself. She wanted to run, but she couldn't leave her brother, so frail, to make it back home without her. No doubt he'd forgotten his coin purse, and besides, he was dreadful at summoning cabs. If it hadn't been for the prospect of a dramatic spectacle, she was sure he would be swaying by now. But above any concern for his health was the simple selfish fact that she didn't want him to see her being dragged off, weeping and screaming.

She backed away as the dark shape of the horseless carriage came into view, a sliver of black glimpsed between the shoulders of the gathering crowd. It was large and, like any normal Clarence carriage, fully enclosed with the capacity to carry...