Witch in the White City: A Dark Historical Fantasy/Mystery (Neva Freeman Book 1) Nick Wisseman (best management books of all time txt) 📖

at the smell, she started to wave away the flask, only to realize she still clutched the cowry necklace by its cord. It was a miracle she hadn’t dropped it. Mr. DeBell’s beautiful drawing was gone, but she had the shells, and the whiskey could cover her use of them. Nodding, she took a sip, breathed heavily, and motioned for more.

While the anarchists watched this show, Neva wriggled her wrist through the shells’ cord and pulled them to her skin. Wearing the cowries as a bracelet worked much the same as donning them as a necklace—at the instant of contact, her body surged with flexible energy, a loose strength that gave her what she needed to form her thigh bone around the bullet and force it out the other side, causing a new, smaller hole: an exit wound.

“Fuck all,” breathed Roland as the shot clattered on the table.

“Must have been about to fall out,” Brin suggested wryly as Neva slipped the necklace off her wrist and let it dangle from her fingers again. “Perhaps you missed it in all the blood.”

“Perhaps,” Pieter said doubtfully. “Saves us the trouble, anyway. Now we can close her up.”

He poured the whiskey on her thigh. It burned—burned terribly, causing a hurt so intense it seared through the emotional numbness that had started to weigh on her like a blanket. She thrashed wildly, writhing from anguish as much as pain. Pieter yelled something to Roland and Quill about firming their grips, and Brin joined them in trying to pin her. But Neva flailed and fought all through the pudgy anarchist’s determined effort to stitch and wrap her wounds.

Then, mercifully, he was done, and the fury went out of her.

Later—how much, she wasn’t sure—Brin, Quill, and Roland left to see what they could learn about matters at Administration.

“Pieter,” Neva whispered, opening her eyes. “Did Wiley love a Zulu girl?”

The Boer—but not her Boer—stopped cleaning his instruments for a moment, then shrugged. “We both did. She only had it for him, though.”

“Was it ... forbidden?”

Pieter grunted. “Let’s just say his family wasn’t put out when she disappeared before Majuba Hill.”

“I see.” Neva closed her eyes again. “And that’s why he—and you—came to America after your war with England? Because his family disapproved?”

Pieter wiped the tongs and returned them to his bag. “That was part of it. Them dying of malaria was the other.”

“That’s awful.”

“It was. But you shouldn’t dwell on it—just sleep.”

“All right ...” She listened to him pack a few more items. “Pieter?”

“Last question, Neva,” he said gently. “And keep those eyes shut.”

“What was her name?”

She heard him set something else in his bag, zip it, and sigh. “Anele,” he murmured eventually.

“Anele,” Neva repeated. “Thank you.”

“Sure. Now sleep.”

She did, almost immediately.

But not peacefully.

Chapter Twenty-Five

MR. DEBELL STOOD FACING the window, arms behind his back and the fingers of his right hand tapping in turn against those of his left, running up and down them as if playing a lonely piano scale.

“Excuse me?” said Neva. She and Augie had approached quietly, stopping a few steps inside the door to his study—a room they’d never been in but long wondered about.

Mr. DeBell turned. “Ah, yes. Thank you for coming. Please, sit.” He gestured at two impressively stuffed leather chairs flanking a towering bookshelf.

Augie and Neva barely hesitated before hurrying into the chairs—they looked so comfortable. And they were: she sank further into hers than she had into any seat ever.

“They’re motion chairs,” Mr. DeBell said, amusement dancing in his eyes like frolicking sprites. “Pull the lever on the side and the back will recline.”

She and Augie did so at almost the same time, giggling as the tops of the chairs lowered until they were nearly horizontal.

Mr. DeBell grinned. “Marvelous, aren’t they?” Then he cleared his throat, and it was such a sober sound that Neva sat up to look at him. Augie followed suit a second later.

“You’re what now?” asked Mr. DeBell. “Five?”

“Six,” Neva corrected.

“Right, right—it’s October already, isn’t it?” Mr. DeBell put his hands behind him again, the twitching of his left forearm suggesting he was playing those lonely scales again. “Either way, you’re old enough to know the truth.”

After the ensuing pause dragged on, Augie pushed his lever to its original position and came forward with a jerk, nearly falling out of the motion chair as the top rushed back to vertical.

Neva didn’t laugh. Mr. DeBell had grown far too serious for that.

“The truth about your parents,” he finally continued.

“Are they coming back?” asked Augie. “From Africa?”

Mr. DeBell’s right arm twitched now; perhaps his other hand had started playing scales. “That’s the thing,” he said after another pause. “I know Hatty’s always told you they were away—”

“Helping the Wattara,” Augie supplied helpfully. “My father’s a soldier, and my mother serves the queen.”

“Yes, well ...” Mr. DeBell swallowed once, then again. “The truth is your parents died in the Great Fire.”

Augie breathed in a squeaky gasp. Neva blinked.

“Nat perished in the blaze, trying to reach your mother from across town—because she was in labor. But it was so hot, and when she heard about him ...” Mr. DeBell shook his head.

“She died having us?” asked Neva, after it became clear he wouldn’t go on unprompted.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mr. DeBell said immediately. “And you’ll always have a place here. Your parents earned it. Nat fought for me in the War, and Betty—” His voice caught, and when he continued, it was in a near-whisper. “She served us loyally for many years.”

Augie plucked at his sleeve. “They’re not coming back?”

“I’m sorry, children. I should have told you before now, but ... you were so young. Just know you’ll always have a place here. This is your home.” Mr. DeBell nodded at the chairs. “And those are part of it: you can sit in them as much as you’d like.”

He walked towards the door, right hand still playing scales. “Don’t worry about the rest of your tasks today—I’ll speak to Lucretia. Just ... enjoy.”

They didn’t move after he