Free Winterspell by Claire Legrand

whisper and point. It was unseemly for any man—even such a dear family friend—to handle Clara so, to watch her with such hard, hot eyes.
    Patricia Plum hurried forward with a bright smile. “Now, Dr. Victor, that’s quite enough.”
    â€œYou will let go of my daughter,” came Mayor Stole’s voice—low, edged.
    Dr. Victor was smugly incredulous. “Ah, Mayor Stole, that’s where you’re wrong.”
    â€œOne too many glasses of champagne for these two, I’m afraid,” joked Patricia Plum to those nearest them. “You know how men can be.”
    The crowd tittered nervously as Plum directed the nearest of them away, and Clara took the chance to wrench out of Dr. Victor’s grasp—but then, from across the ballroom, came the sound of doors slamming open. A curious murmur rippled toward Clara, and she heard Felicity’s small voice say, “Godfather?”
    The fact that Godfather would enter at such a moment was so coincidentally terrible that Clara would have laughed, had she not been so afraid for him.
    â€œClara!” Godfather strode out from the ballroom’s curtained entryway in a swirl of greatcoat and top hat and unkempt hair. Behind him a pair of wide-eyed street boys in patched jackets lugged a bulging velvet sack and a cloth-covered tower on wheels.
    Clara escaped a distracted Dr. Victor and intercepted Godfather in the middle of the ballroom. The crowd had parted, the orchestra fallen silent. Over Godfather’s shoulder Clara saw Felicity surrounded by a gaggle of other girls, eyeing Godfather’s bundles with shining eyes. Clara knew they expected the traditional Christmas party toys, but the look on Godfather’s face was the furthest thing from such frivolity.
    â€œThey’ve found me,” Godfather whispered. He grabbed Clara’s arms and left silver stains behind; shining liquid coated his fingers. It was in his hair, too, falling in tangles about his face.
    Was it mercury? Clara wondered. A soldering accident?
    â€œI told you I was close, didn’t I?” he continued. “Closer than I knew, my Clara. I’ve had a breakthrough . But it must have alerted them, broken through my wards . . .”
    â€œHush, Godfather,” Clara said automatically. “People can hear you.” But propriety seemed foolish, with such an expression on Godfather’s face; Clara had never seen him look so afraid.
    â€œLet them hear. They need to leave.” He threw up his arms, turning to face the room. His shirt gaped open, revealing a chest so white, it seemed carved of ice, marred with ugly blackened lacerations. “Leave, Itell you! It’s safer that way. They’ll come here; they’re after me. And you, Clara.” He bent over his bag, drawing out toys—soldiers in fur hats with wide, hinged mouths; clockwork falcons with snapping wings; wooden swords and porcelain jester dolls. “You’ll help me, won’t you? You’ll help me fight? I had to come here. The shop has been compromised. My protection failed at last, and a scout found me. I managed to subdue him, but my abilities are patchy, and more will follow him straight to the shop, if they haven’t already. Here, little one, have this.” He shoved a shabby rat puppet into the hands of a girl who had dared to creep close. The child made a face at its ugliness. “It’s not much use. Don’t know how it slipped in here. But, oh, the delicious irony . . .”
    â€œAll right, I’ll help you,” Clara said, trying to piece together his cryptic words. “But we should go into another room, don’t you think? The party—”
    Godfather kissed her forehead, interrupting her. “My darling Clara, my brave Clara.”
    â€œPlease, come sit with me quietly for a while.” Clara turned to smile at the gaping crowd, mind racing. She trusted Godfather more than anyone else;