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the Emperor had executed his daughter for openly declaring herself a witch. He had sent hundreds to die on the fatal sands of the Creeping Waste. Only the Architects had escaped, and they were all men. Every Emperor since had sponsored periodic purges from time to time; the Empress had enforced the most recent perhaps fifty years ago. All the witches, as far as Syrus knew, were gone.
    Would I ask you to bring me someone who does not exist? Do as I say, boy, the Manticore said. He heard the steel in her grin. Find the witch and together we will free our families .
    “But how?” Syrus asked. He thought about what his Granny had said—that the Manticore must be protected at all costs to keep the Waste at bay. In the old tales, it was a witch who had stolen theHeart in the first place. What would the Manticore want with her? Wouldn’t she be dangerous? He wished again that his talent was great enough to be of use.
    Bring her to me and you will see .

C HAPTER 7
     
    F ather hasn’t said anything to me about the unfortunate incident of yesterday, in which I nearly destroyed all of New London (and Pedant Simian’s collection) single-handedly. Nor have I said anything to Father about the Waste, for fear of reminding him of my part in the near-misadventure. I want to ask him about Pedant Lumin’s odd behavior, but I remain silent.
    Truth be told, I don’t want to say anything about that because it implicates me just as much as it implicates him. But the thought nags at me that I should report him because he’s obviously a heretic. Fraternizing with sylphids! Feeding them jam cake! It should give me shudders, but mostly it just makes me jealous that I can’t keep a sylphid in my own pocket.
    And then there was also the ridiculous notion that the young Pedant might kiss me. . . .
    I shake my head and keep my eyes down. Aunt Minta watches me with the attentiveness of a cat sizing up a mouse. She asked me about the scrape on my nose the other night. I told her I did it on a door. I don’t think she believes me.
    When Father is ready to depart for the trolley, I stand with him.He looks askance at me. “I think you had better stay here with Aunt Minta today, Vee,” he says.
    I look at him in shock. I’ve been afraid that one day he wouldn’t take me to the Museum, that he’d force me to stay here. I’ve always felt sure I would die on that day. There’s nothing I love more than the Museum. Father knows it.
    Aunt Minta’s eyes glimmer, but she wisely says nothing. I’m a constant disappointment to her. She wants to make me into a proper lady and has only lately, I think, finally given up. I’ve been able to stave her off this long because, as I said, I’m very good at what I do. Father has always said that someday it would all have to end, but I never quite wanted to believe him. Now Aunt Minta may finally get her chance.
    I can’t let that happen, not yet.
    I follow Father out into the hall, where our copy of The Chastening of Athena painting hangs. Up until now, I’ve thought Athena had a look of dreadful repentance, but now I’m thinking she looks quite defiant, despite the scarlet W embroidered on her execution gown.
    “Father,” I say, plucking at his sleeve. “Please. I will do anything, anything. Just . . . don’t make me stop coming with you to the Museum.”
    “Vee,” he says. He cradles my head, though the pins in my hair prevent him from tousling it as he once did.
    I meet his eyes and hate the sadness I see there.
    “You know this must end soon. It’s just not proper, your working at the Museum. There’s already talk—”
    “The loss of those sylphids—that wasn’t entirely my fault! And I promise never to barge into your office again, Father!”
    Despite my recurring curiosity, I still don’t mention the Waste. I must pretend I didn’t see what I saw or that I give it not a second thought, if I ever want to know more about it. And yet, it’s nearly all I can think of. Why would Father