As much as they tried, breakfast at the orphanage was never an orderly affair. The girls were groggy as they came out of their sleep, and those that could control their turns, were less cognizant of doing so. As such, they did the best they could amidst floating dressing gowns, accidental sparks, and occasionally, the hurt feelings of the girl who could intermittently read thoughts. Amalia girded herself with three early cups of tea, that she enjoyed standing in the kitchen, where she could look quietly out the window across the quiet yard, and see the sparks from Penance's workshop flying as if she were conducting her own fireworks show inside.

Eventually, the girls were all seated at the large dining table with piping bowls of oatmeal in front of them and a platter of fresh bread on the table with Lucy's astounding lingonberry jam.

"Harriet, hit the buzzer for Penance!" Lucy called, and Harriet jabbed the button protruding from beside the kitchen door, which would signal the green light in Penance's workshop. As she cut into the bread, a piece began floating upwards, and Lucy snagged it from mid-air with a sigh. "Lila, we don't float our food. Manners."

"Please tell us about the opera," a girl named Alice requested, looking gaily at Amalia. "Was it very grand?"

"Quite," Amalia replied. "The halls at least three stories high and the carpets were bright and beautiful. And the staircases were a shiny marble and wide enough that you could easily stretch twenty people across them." She paused, appreciating the smiles from around the table. "The people, of course, much less grand. Strikingly less."

Penance scurried into the room, her cheeks flushed, as if the electricity she conducted so well was still running inside her, lighting her with a warm glow. She smiled at the girls and plopped into her seat. Her face fell at the sight of the empty bread platter, its goods already depleted by the hungry mouths that had come to breakfast on time. Amalia quietly set her own slice of bread, already covered with jam, onto Penance's plate.

"Were there cakes at the opera?" another girl asked.

Amalia smiled. "No cakes."

Penance cut in, catching up on the conversation. "I'm not sure anyone there has tasted cake or candy in quite some time."

"Was there popcorn?"

"It isn't the circus," Primrose replied in with a roll of her eyes. "Did you see any Dukes?"

"We did meet a Lord Massen," Amalia answered, stirring jam into her oatmeal. "Although I'm not sure I'd describe him as noble." She smiled thinly.

Harriet swallowed a bite of bread and jam. "He's been in the papers of late, you know. He's single-handedly kept the women's bill from advancing in Parliament. The Daily Independent describes him as "one of the most respected and oldest members of the Prime Minister's trusted board of advisors. That was in last Monday's paper."

Amalia recalled his stodgy air, the kind that only calcifies from irrational fear seeped inside men who want to preserve their own power. "Did the papers also call him opinionated?"

Harriet shook her head. "His granddaughter died three years ago. He refused to bury her in the family plot and instead created a mausoleum for her on his grounds. Weird, huh?" She pointed toward Amalia. "Pass the jam."

"Did you fight Lord Massen?" Alice asked.

Penance hiccuped, swallowing back a laugh. "Not physically," she mumbled under her breath, taking a bite of her bread as she felt Amalia give her a quick kick under the table.

Horatio poked his head into the dining room with a small wave and the girls gave a squeal of distracted delight. "Don't mind me," he whispered, putting a finger to his lips. "I'm just checking in." His eyes grazed towards Amalia, examining her from a distance. She raised her cup of tea at him and offered a wink. "Not too much tea," he said, pleadingly. "It's not good for you this morning."

"Too late," Amalia quipped, sipping politely.

"Dr. Cousens, come have a bite to eat," Penance offered, wanting to be respectful of his time, knowing he wasn't a full time employee at the orphanage, even though she did enjoy his company.

"No, thank you," he replied, raising a polite hand. "I've already eaten and my wife tells me she's not letting out my trousers again this year." He glanced at the table and his eyes snagged on the jar of jam. "Is that Lucy's lingonberry jam?"

Lila piped up from the far end of the table. "Dr. Cousens, you can have my bread," she offered. As his eyebrows raised in consideration, she continued. "With one condition."

"Oh yes, Lila, what's that?" he asked, approaching her with an inquisitive admired his ease with the girls, always willing to extend patience towards them, even though she knew his own daughters kept him busy. He was a serious, quiet man, which was why they got along so well, but his joy shone when he was around children. "My love of them most surely sours once they edge into adulthood," he once told her.

"I get to play with your stethoscope today," Lila said, closing the deal.

"Ah, you drive a good bargain," he sighed. "That's a good skill. You got it."

Lila began floating the bread toward him until Lucy heaved another heavy sigh her way. Lila glanced at her, chastened, and the bread began to fall. Horatio put out his hand and caught it with a grunt of relief.

"Mrs. True is telling us about the opera," Primrose explained to him, while also giving him a look that begged him to be quiet. She turned back to Amalia. "What did happen to your dress?"

Amalia took a deep breath, having prepared for this particular talk over her three cups of tea. "Girls, there was a disturbance last night during the performance. A very disturbed woman-"

"Maladie," Harriet cut in. "The Independent claimed that it 'was most likely this was the infamous Mad Maladie in the flesh."

"- who may or may not have been Maladie," Amalia continued, "interrupted the performance and attempted to harm the crowd. She left with a young performer, most certainly one of the Touched."

"Did you fight with Maladie?" Alice asked.

"I tried to rescue the girl, but…" Amalia cleared her throat, attempting to keep her thoughts controlled. "I was unable to help her. All of this is to say that of course our regular rules are in order. No going out of the gates without an adult and no opening the gates unless authorized by one of us. Nothing has changed for us. We look out for one another." Hearing herself, she thought she sounded too strict, and tried to soften her words. "When things have calmed down a bit, perhaps we can make an outing to the zoo."

Penance looked around at the girls, who seemed to be mollified by Amalia's certainty, but she still caught the fearful glances they tossed at one another across their bowls. "I have a new gadget to show you all during lesson today," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

They girls smiled, their excitement palpable, and Primrose looked seriously at her. "I'm glad your dress survived in tact."

Amalia kept her eyes on her oatmeal and chuckled softly when she felt Penance nudge her foot playful under the table.

When the girls had dispersed and the oatmeal bowls scrubbed, Amalia retired to the office, her attention on a stack of bills and expense ledgers that Lucy prepared for her each week. Mrs. Bidlow's funds kept them in the green, but Amalia tried to keep them as frugal as she could, a skill she had honed in the period just before and after her husband's death. With Penance's penchant for inventiveness, they had expressly cut down on household expenses, while enjoying the luxuries of the rich.

Lucy gave a knock on the open door and walked in the day's lesson schedule. Amalia held up the ledger she was reviewing. "Lucy, these are so helpful, I can't thank you enough. With a turn like this you could easily be working at one of the finest financial institutions in London."

Lucy rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth, her turn a sore point for her. "I hate mathematics and figures and I hate people telling me what to do. No, this is the perfect place for me. And I can keep an eye out on Primrose."

"She is a resilient girl. She will find her way in time."

"Could find it a lot easier if the world would simply let her be."

"Can't argue with you there," Amalia said quietly, turning her attention back to the correspondence she needed to complete. Each time she picked up her pen, her thoughts wandered. There was a part of her that worried she had exhausted what little good grace she had with the Beggar King by outing her knowledge of his competing customers. But the more she thought about Myrtle and what fate had awaited her, the more fearless she became, and her worries ebbed a bit. Just long enough for her to once again commit to the stack of mail and the immediate tasks that needed her attention in order to keep the girls in her care fed and tended. Lucy exited quietly, and Amalia had only just picked up her pen again when Penance knocked at the open door and stepped inside.

"Do you want to see something?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, unable to keep a smile from alighting her face.

Amalia had barely written a line on the orphanage letterhead, but she lay her pen down and returned the smile, walking around her desk and perching on its edge, signaling her unbounded attention. "Yes."

Penance brought out the hand that had been carefully hiding behind her back. She held a thin curved rod that bulbed out at one end. "You know how Lucy has been having back pain, most likely because her posture is terrible? I developed this massager that hopefully will help." Her eyes brightened. "And here is the best part: it doesn't require electricity. Well, it does induce an electrical charge, but that's beside the point. I mean the two half reactions of the zinc and the manganese dioxide of course will prompt an overall reaction, of course." She exhaled and steadied her excitement, noticing Amalia trying her best to follow. "What I mean is that within this device includes a battery of alkaline that powers it. Meaning she can even use it anywhere! Even while lying in bed! You simply hit this lever on the side…" a small hum started from the rod and Penance smiled proudly.

Amalia reached for the device and held it, staring at the bulbous protrusion at the end. "And one uses this on one's… back?" she asked, carefully studying it.
"Or shoulders, or any place where you may want to stimulate the nerves."

Amalia chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking silently of a particular bundle of nerves. "Is that so."

Penance caught the gleam in her eye and a blush rushed into her cheeks. "Oh. Oh! Oh my." She reached for the wand and flicked the lever, stilling it. "This has entirely too much voltage for that."

"I'm sure it's fine, why don't I borrow it?" Amalia asked, struggling to keep her grin hidden as she playfully reached for the wand again, but Penance pulled it out of reach.
"I need to do some additional testing on it," she mumbled, then quickly clarified, "in my lab."

Amalia laughed. "I think it's brilliant, whatever its use," she assured her. "But you do have to tell me how you managed to get it to work."

Penance flashed an eyebrow at her. Amalia was always the only adult at the orphanage who had the patience to ask her questions about her work without her eyes glazing over, and she took advantage of it every time. "Well, it's all a matter of distillation of the energy and the balance between the positive, the zinc, and the negative. I ran a few equations to determine whether I had the chemistry right for the dry alkaline, which of course is an altogether different substance than what we're used to powering…" she paused, checking herself. "I can tell when I lose you."

"You haven't lost me at all," Amalia protested. "I could replicate this invention in your lab right now if you asked me to."

"I would never allow you to operate anything in my lab."

Amalia laughed. "Have you not considered reaching out to your brother? Don't you think he would enjoy your discoveries? He may even be able to contribute to your projects." Immediately, she regretted her overstep. Penance's face fell and her shoulders tensed, as if her brother had walked into the room himself.

"Amalia, don't. My brother and I don't speak and that's the way it is. He already could barely look me in the face when I got into University. After my turn… let's please not talk about it."

"Okay," Amalia said, assuaging her, but not apologizing. She was mostly saddened for Penance's brother, her only kin, who was missing out on complete brilliance. But she also understood the egos of men. She pushed no further.

A bell rang throughout the halls of the orphanage, another of Penance's helpful innovations. As if in kinship with it, Penance walked over to the box in the wall and pressed a button. "Yes?"

"Good morning, dear. It's Lavinia Bidlow."

Amalia sighed, but Penance didn't need to wait for her signal to open the gate for Mrs. Bidlow. Amalia rose from behind her desk. "I'll see her inside. Perhaps I can ask her brother, Mr. Bidlow, if he wouldn't mind giving an impromptu lesson on ornithology while he's here. He can go on, you know." As she passed by Penance, she leaned over and gave her a light kiss on her cheek. "No matter what you may think, I do enjoy your shop talk."

Penance's blush morphed into something more pleasant as Amalia left her alone and she glanced down at her invention. She knew every frequency and every chemical reaction that would create the charge within it and yet Amalia's touch had lit an unseen fuse in her, and for a brief second, while she was alone, she pressed the vibrating wand against her thigh. Just as quickly, she switched it off, ashamed she should have such blatantly lustful thoughts in the middle of the orphanage office. She swallowed and let out a slow exhale. Just to make the longing go away, she thought briefly of her brother and the last argument they'd had that broke their already tenuous thread to each other.

"Going to University would make father proud," she remembered telling him. "How could I not go?"

"Because you are a cheat!" he had yelled, and she flinched at the vehemence behind his words.

"I got in before my turn," she said. "You know that."

His lip curled, turning him wolfish. "You get by on being special. A girl with a brain, big deal. Then a teenage scholar, no time for debuting your season. Then a turn, what a stroke of luck! I have to compete for everything I get. I have to study all hours of the night and work so goddamned hard." He stared at her. "And you... Besides, I doubt the University would admit any of the Touched."

"You won't tell them."

His stare had been numb and cold. "I will not let you surpass me again."

Penance blinked the memory away, returning back to the office as Amalia walked in wheeling Lavinia, whose bright eyes always seemed on the verge of discovering someone's secrets. Even so, Penance trusted her immensely and owed her a great deal. "Mrs. Bidlow, I am glad you are doing well after last night," she said, reaching for her hand in greeting.

"I'm lucky that the only problem I had was a lack of sleep. My apologies for not sending ahead before I called." Her eyes glimpsed the wand in Penance's hand. "Have you a new invention, dear?"

"Oh, no-" Penance started, but Lavinia was already reaching a gloved hand toward it.

"Tell me, what is it?"

"A battery-powered massager," Penance said carefully, trying not to look at Amalia as she took a seat in the chair by the window, clearly amused.

Lavinia flicked the lever and the machine vibrated to life. "Ah, this is wonderful," she gushed. "I've used many of these types of devices, but always with others cramped around me and plugged close to a dreary wall."

"What?" Penance asked, suddenly light-headed.

"Nerve stimulation," Lavinia explained. "For my legs. Tell me, what's this one used for?"

"Many places," contributed Amalia from her chair, clearly amused by the show in front of her. Penance squirmed and gave her a pointed look.

Lavinia raised a knowing eyebrow and looked back at the wand with new attention. She gestured at Amalia. "Don't mind that one, she thinks she's clever." The corner of Lavinia's lips hinted at a smile and she handed the instrument back to Penance. "As much as I enjoy talk of a satisfied woman, I came here to discuss other business. I wanted to check on you both after last night's terrible events."

"We're fine," replied Amalia simply.

Lavinia held back a scoff and wheeled closer to her. "Your face tells a different story." She paused before continuing. "Why did you disappear after Maladie?"

"I was running after the girl."

"Are you sure?" Lavinia waved a hand to keep Amalia from answering. "Last night proved what many already think, but the last of the few with an open mind are convinced that Maladie is Touched."

"She showed no turn," Amalia reminded her, although she knew that was the thinnest of reasonings. She and Penance had both seen how Maladie reacted to Mary Brighton's song, which was proof that she was indeed Touched. Still, she tried. "There was only one person in her company that showed a turn."

Lavinia looked almost pityingly at her. "Mrs. True, there is no use in denying it. Now, more than ever, we must not hide from the public. They must see that the Touched are fine people, and that Maladie is no example of the Touched nor the behavior or proclivities."

Amalia's fingers rubbed against one another, and she felt a current deep in her belly. She admired Lavinia for several reasons, one of which that she was intelligent woman and another that she appreciated directness. And that is why she pushed back so vehemently. "I don't see why it is the burden of the Touched to convince others that we are deserving the same dignity as they are."

"Mrs. True-"

"I don't see any allies to help us carry that message, either, other than you and your money. Have the suffragists taken a position on the Touched? Have they at all offered their support, considering most of the Touched are indeed girls and women?"

"Mrs. True, change takes time-"

"It is by very definition not a change. It requires no action other than to simply let us be. The laziest of men could do it." Her fingers twitched harder.

"Amalia-"

Penance stepped forward, recognizing the telltale stillness of Amalia when she was caught in a ripple. She put a hand on Lavinia's shoulder to quiet her. "It may only be a moment," she said.

Amalia, poor thing, was lost to the orphanage, and was instead running, unsure of anything but the thick gray fog smothering her, hiding her surroundings. Still, she ran. The fog shifted for a moment, revealing railroad tracks stretching in front of her into nothing. Her chest was hurting, her breath no longer coming like it should and she still ran faster, and faster, until she came upon a figure in the gray. She slowed, then registered another figure: Penance, her light hair almost invisible in the fog. Amalia caught sight of railing and she could see Penance's face frozen in fear as she was pulled towards it. And then Amalia was running again and screaming her name until it was of no use because the figure reached out a hand and pushed Penance against the railing, her mouth open in a silent scream as she went over the edge.

As acclimated as Amalia was to her ripples, some struck her more than others. This one, so violent, did not allow her to transition back to her office so easily. She wasn't sure whether her scream was from her now abandoned ripple or whether it was coming from her throat in the present, but she did see see Penance in front of her and practically felt her optical nerve siphon the information to her brain. But her chest was heaving and she felt the sweat on her brow, a physical reaction that would take much more time to settle. And layered on top of that, as if sprinkled cyanide, was the awareness that her ripples were inadequate harbingers that she couldn't understand, which meant she couldn't always of stop them from coming true.

Penance knelt in front of Amalia, which is all she knew to do, because she had never seen a ripple like the one that had reduced Amalia to such shaking, her face white, her eyes still half frozen. She stroked Amalia's hand, her knee, then finally her face, using both hands to cup her cheeks until Amalia was forced to meet Penance's gaze. Penance saw her eyes flick to Lavinia and that seemed to calm her further. And then she let out a low, frustrated moan. "I'm fine," Amalia tried, again for the second time uttering words that her mere appearance belied as blatant untruth. She squeezed Penance's hands as an assurance. "Just a ripple."

"They are worse when you are agitated?" Lavinia asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

"No," Amalia replied, at the very same time that Penance answered, "Yes."

Amalia looked up at Penance, taking comfort in the blue of her eyes and wanting to do anything to expel the fear and worry that she saw in them. She never wanted to see fear there. She blinked away an image of the railing, of Penance's mouth wide open in a silent scream. "Can you give Ms. Bidlow and I a moment?" She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure you left something boiling away in your furnace that you should probably check on."

Penance knew enough not to question her, but knelt in front of Amalia for a moment longer, until she saw her resolve slowly inkling its way back into her stubborn jaw, her squared shoulders.

Lavinia gave Penance's hand a squeeze as she left. "It is only a matter of time before Scotland Yard catches up with Maladie," she said, watching as Amalia's eyes flashed back to her, daring her to pity her for her ripples. "We must continue with what we started at the opera last night. Your conversation with the Samuels and Lord Massen will go a long way in opening people's minds. And that will allow us to put a halt to the violence being done. Like your attack." She wheeled slightly closer, leaning forward. "But one thing that will not help anyone is if you go off the deep end and get yourself mixed up in places you shouldn't."

Amalia tried to explain, but even she couldn't quite pin down her desire to help the other Touched. "The other girls haunt me. We got to Myrtle in time, but there were other girls, I'm sure of it. We don't even know what's happened to them."

"Then we will contact the police."

Amalia laughed derisively. "We have no allies, but we seem to have plenty of people hunting us. Perhaps we should take our road show to the local police department. Perhaps I can charm them into caring about us." She stared at her. "I will flaunt about in public all you like, Lavinia, but the girls will not. Neither will Miss Adair. I want them as safe as they can possibly be. I won't have them- I won't be responsible for putting them in any danger."

"Of course."

"You didn't hire me to be a spokesperson," Amalia reminded her. "I was hired to run the orphanage."

"You may want to remind yourself of that," Lavinia rebutted. "Maybe the next time you get a hunch to go after Maladie or those who attacked you." Lavinia looked deeply at her, then sighed, slouching a bit in her chair. She put a hand to her head. "You don't have to continue to punish yourself, Amalia. I know that Matilda's death was difficult. I know that you loved her."

Amalia shifted, but Lavinia kept talking. "That would have been hard enough. But then Charles."

Amalia avoided her gaze, which was gentle yet piercing, the same as when she first met her, standing at Matilda's side. Even then, Lavinia had seemed to know exactly what they had been to each other. "My sister saw a doctor soon after Matilda's death, an analyst of psychology." Amalia moved to get up, but Lavinia put a hand on her knee, gently keeping her in place. "It helped her immensely. As much as it can after the loss of a daughter."

"I did that already, on Charles's conditions. It was the one thing he asked me to do after he- after he found out. It didn't help. I don't need to meet with some Freudian quack who will turn everything I say into a phallic symbol."

"No, you clearly have plenty of phallic symbols here, what with Miss Adair's lively inventions."

Amalia startled, the sudden jolt of humor unnerving, but she smiled anyway. Her emotions and their shifts were tiring at times, but she rode them like a never ending wave. "Lavinia, I can never repay you for your graciousness."

"I did not give you this post at the orphanage out of charity, Amalia. And I won't pity you. But I do respect the grief that you carry. That we all do. I just wish that you would lighten yourself of your burdens rather than continuing to carry them. Pick them up sparingly and devote yourself to them, cry, be angry, be completely inconsolable. And then put them down for a time."

"I do. I have an orphanage to run." Amalia swallowed and fought the urge to grasp Lavinia's hand, which still rested on her knee.

"You have no debts to pay, dear. Not to me, my sister, or my niece-she made a choice. And dare I say, not to your husband, either."

Amalia wiped a hand over her mouth, her frustration palpable, her fingers brushing against one another. "It is not a choice. Matilda didn't choose it. Dying of suicide is not something one chooses, no matter how much people want to make it such." She was both sad, angry, and ashamed, and all of it was making her very, very tired.

"I know," Lavinia said. "I'm sorry. I know."

"Damn it," Amalia murmured. "Can you go back to chastising me, please?" She exhaled loudly.

Lavinia patted her knee and leaned back in her chair. "Now may be a good time to tell you that I spoke with a Detective Mundy last night at the theatre. I did give him yours and Penance's names and I do expect him to call on you this week."

"That's fine," Amalia acquiesced, grateful for the turn in conversation. "I will be cordial to the Detective."

"Oh, dear, I know how hard that is for you," Lavinia said with a smile. "The most I ask is that you be civil."

It was no more than thirty minutes later that the bell rang again. Amalia paused, still on the same letter. She thought she would have a bit more time to prepare for Detective Mundy's visit, but Lucy informed her that he was indeed outside the gate requesting an interview. Glancing sparingly at her appearance in the looking glass, she noted the dark circles under her eyes that complemented the dark bruises across her nose and forehead. She was a prize.

Amalia walked out to meet him at the gate, sifting through the girls, who had just been let out for a mid-morning recess. She put opened the small eye hole and peered out at him. "Detective Mundy, you won't terribly mind my seeing some identification, would you?"

Detective Mundy sighed and Amalia took slight pleasure in his annoyance. He pulled out his card and held it up. Amalia perused it and when it met her satisfaction, she pulled open the gate, bestowing upon him a very civil smile. She led him through the yard, noticing that Detective Mundy was having some difficulty meandering his way through the running legs, the jump ropes, the quagmire of play currently taking place in the yard.

Amalia stopped at the side of the yard and sat on a low bench, smiling at the pandemonium before her before looking up at Detective Mundy. "How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for Mrs. Amalia True."

"As I said, how may I help you?"

"Is Miss Penance Adair in as well?" he said, struggling to be heard over the noise of the yard.

"What was that?"

He leaned down on the bench next to her, his nose red at the tip. "May we go inside, where it is a bit quieter?"

Amalia smiled gaily. "I prefer it out here." She waved a hand at the yard. "The girls help keep me grounded. Again, how may I help you?"

Detective Mundy cracked a knuckle with his thumb and Amalia waited patiently as he overcame whatever internal struggle he was going through at the moment. "Mrs. True, I am Detective Frank Mundy. I spoke with your employer, Ms. Bidlow, last night at the opera."

As he paused, Penance exited her workshop, no doubt tipped off by Lucy, who shrunk out behind her and made do in the garden, which was conveniently close. Penance walked up to them and extended her hand. "I'm Penance Adair," she said, hoping that she could help smooth over any ruffles that Amalia had no doubt already caused.

"You both were at the theatre last night?"

"Yes." Amalia answered tersely. "That's been established."

"I apparently missed a grand show."

"A man lost his life." Amalia smiled at one of the girls.

Detective Mundy grunted. "You do have a talent for getting right to the point. Which I appreciate." His fingers rubbed the ends of his mustache, a gesture that made Amalia curl her lip and Penance look up at him, intrigued by the curls at the ends. "Mrs. True, did you in fact run after the perpetrator last night?"

Amalia tilted her head, considering him. "I ran after the girl. The one she took."

"Yes. Mary Brighton is her name. And did Mary give you those injuries?"

"No." Amalia noticed his eyes shift as he said the girl's name.

"Five grizzly murders have been attributed to Maladie." He looked thoughtfully at her. "And you, Mrs. True, ran after her."

Amalia didn't respond, but he waited her out, and Penance shifted uncomfortably on the chair. She had no doubts about who would win at this game.

"How do you come by your girls?" Detective continued, changing his course.

"Family. Friends. They know the girls need help so they contact us. And if needed, we provide a loving and accepting environment for them."

"I assume the girls that come here have turns such that their families cannot handle them. Extreme cases, if you will."

"I would argue that the girls are not the extreme cases so much as the families that can't seem to handle them."

"But, they are facing large problems?" He turned and motioned toward Primrose. "Rather large, indeed. Do you ever turn to the black market for these girls?"

"We don't engage in any sort of trafficking when it comes to our girls."

"Right. No trafficking for information of any kind, either?"

"No."

"Some say that Maladie is Touched."

"I can't say I know anything about Maladie." Amalia's eyes were calculating. "I imagine that is your job, Detective. That you've studied her quite a bit."

Amalia's fingers brushed against one another and she tried to focus on counting the hairs on Detective Mundy's chin: one, two, three, four but it didn't work and she was snatched forward in time, trapped in a ripple. Detective Mundy had a hand over his nose, blood seeping through his fingers. She heard herself laugh, cruelly, and was then propelled back to now, finding herself peering again at Detective Mundy, nose intact. Amalia wrung her hand, but recovered well, considering this was her second ripple of the day. Detective Mundy looked oddly at her and she proactively crossed her arms over her chest.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"It's her turn," Penance spoke up, lightly. "She can see things. The future. Unpredictably."

"Ah. That's a handy turn to have. Anything interesting that you just saw?"

Penance stopped herself from rolling her eyes. It was a question she learned early on not to ask, for various reasons. Whatever ripples Amalia had, she either shared them or she didn't. Mostly, she didn't.

"I can't always be certain, they are at times very brief. But, I believe I saw my fist breaking your nose."

Penance nearly startled herself off the bench and resettled herself with a nervous sniff and a hopeful smile. "Her visions don't always pan out."

"That must be hard," Detective Mundy said, his eyes small pinpoints as he stared at her. "Determining on which occasions you will intervene in a predetermined set of events? A chance to play at being God."

"That's a line I've definitely heard before," Amalia replied. She smiled sweetly. "I bet God hears the same lines over and over again, too."

Detective Mundy scrunched his lips and he wondered at her. There was indeed no reason why Amalia shouldn't be more cooperative with him, but she didn't like him very much.

"If anything should come to mind," he said, handing over his card, "please do contact me." He smiled. "After all, we're on the same side."

Amalia's lip curled as he left, her temper slowly seeping out of her. "I need to find Maladie before he does," she said calmly.

This focused course of action miffed Penance, who generally appreciated being asked for her input on matters of life and death. "I was afraid you would say that."

"She's one of us. A Touched."

"She's also a murderer."

"Either way, I find her and I find Mary. We'll bring her here."

Penance watched as Beatrice plucked some rosemary from the garden, then placed her hand into the soil, growing more in its place. It reminded her of their problems, which always seemed to grow back the minute they solved one. She sighed. "I do admire your confidence. This begs the question, how do we find her? We don't have the whole of Scotland Yard behind us."

"No. We've got something better. Scarier." She shrugged. "But better."

Penance leaned back against the bench. "I've seen too much of the Beggar King this week. I've had my fill." She heaved another sigh. "Speaking of, I need to go work on his motorcar. I can't promise quality when I'm creating for someone who I generally hate." She glanced over at Amalia. "Did things end well with Ms. Bidlow?"

"Yes. I'll most likely be needing a new dress and a much looser corset, if I'm to tolerate high society." She looked at Penance with a smile. "Go back to your science, Miss Adair."

After lunch, Amalia was again ignoring the correspondence on her desk and shifting about her desk searching for a stack of old newspapers that she'd kept that described Maladie's exploits. When her search resulted in nothing but frustration, she called for Lucy.

"Have you seen a pile of newspapers?" she asked as Lucy poked her head in the door, several of the girls trailing behind her.

"Why would I keep that rubbish lying around? So the children can read about all the lunatics out there hunting them for sport?" She snorted.

Amalia glanced dismayingly at the heads that peered up at the both them, eyes widening in suspect fear. Lucy glanced quickly at them. "Rubbish," she said, unconvincingly. "Harriet is here, ask her. She can recite every word to you verbatim."

Amalia did find Harriet in the study with a stack of books by her side. "Preparing for tomorrow's lesson," Harriet explained, looking up and motioning to the books. "British history prior to the fifteenth century." She shook her head. "Knowledge can be so dismaying sometimes. It's as if no one ever records the good things that happen, only the bad. If I ever come across a book entitled 'Birthday Cakes of King Edward VI,' I'd be smitten." She gazed at Amalia's face. "What do you need?"

"You read the Independent, right?"

"I read everything." She paused. "Correction. I read and recall everything."

"Do you recall one of the articles on Maladie that mentioned her being held at a psychiatric hospital?"

Harriet nodded. "Yes, it was the June 2 afternoon edition, two months ago. But it was all conjecture."

"Where did it say she was held?"

Harriet didn't blink an eye. "Strohman's Asylum for the Psycho Deranged." Amalia reached for a piece of paper and wrote it down. "We don't all have a photographic memory," she said with a grin. "Does your friend still work at the Municipal building?"

"Hubert's friend. Yes, I think so." Her eyes lit up with the notion of an assignment that was decidedly out of the ordinary.

"Would it be appropriate to ask him if he can dig up the licenses of all physicians practicing at Strohmans..."

"Strohman's Asylum for the Psycho Deranged," Harriet repeated.

"Right. All of the doctors that have worked there in the last three years? And then pulling their current practice locations?"

"I think that's a boring enough favor that he won't blink an eye at it." Harriet sighed. "I can't take anymore beheadings at the moment. I'm due to go to the market for Lucy, so I'll stop by on my way. I take it that it is indeed urgent?"

"Indeed." Amalia reached into her pocket and handed over several shillings. "If you need to make it worth his while."

"And if I don't?"

"Then treat yourself," Amalia replied with a wink. "After you bring me the list."

After she left Harriet, Amalia found herself with a quiet afternoon, during which she was able to finish her correspondence and commit to her weekly language lessons with the girls. It was after they had dispersed after their last lesson that Harriet handed over a piece of paper on which was a hastily scribbled list. "This handwriting is atrocious," Amalia whispered.

Harriet grinned. "He read them aloud." She tapped her temple. "I've got them all right up here in case you can't make any of them out."

"Thank you," Amalia said, clasping her arm and giving it a squeeze.

She fought the urge to hide away in her room upstairs and dissect the list, but she went to dinner for the sake of keeping up normal appearances for the rest of the girls. Penance was working late, ignoring the dinner bell, which was an often enough occurrence when she was making progress on a project that no one seemed to notice. Still, Amalia missed her.

It was only after dinner, as Amalia was helping Lucy with the dishes, her shirtsleeves pushed up to her elbows, that Penance rushed in, her hair a mess of light curls, but her cheeks flushed with excitement as she took her plate from the stove and began to eat standing up.

"Oh, do sit down," Lucy chided her. "You weren't born in a barn." She shrugged. "Not that I know of, anyway."

Amalia laughed. She had seen that look on Penance's face before, a look that meant after dinner she would scramble back across the yard and back to her work. Amalia rushed through the rest of the dishes, wanting to get a start on the list, which felt as if it was burning hole in her dress pocket. She quickly dried her hands. "I'm going to finish up a few things upstairs," she said to both of them. "I'll check in on the girls." She glanced at Penance as she passed by and leaned down to her. "I do hope you'll regale me with whatever scientific progress is responsible for your liveliness."

Penance nodded, mid-bite, but Amalia was out of site before she could swallow. "Lucy, your potatoes are exquisite," she managed, an electric current circling on her arm at the place where Amalia touched her.

Upstairs, Amalia managed to make out only half of the doctors that had worked at Strohman's Asylum for the Psycho Deranged, and most of them were still employed. Three had moved out of jurisdiction, no longer practicing in London at all, and one had had his license suspended only six months prior. It was this name that caught Amalia's attention. His last practice had been registered at an address just outside the city proper. She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers lightly on her desk, attempting to recall the particular building. She felt a slight pain in her temple and wondered whether she should have listened to Horatio and taken it a bit easier today. As usual, she knew she should have and ignored her conscience.

At the sound of a knock on her door, she turned. "Come in," she called, massaging her temple and smiling as Penance came inside her room. She glanced at the clock, noting that it was well after ten o'clock, meaning that both she and Penance had gotten lost in their work for the night. "It's rather late," she said. "Have you been testing your massage prototype?"

Penance rolled her eyes, too excited to blush. "No, but I have been playing around with electromagnetic waves and I think I may have something that will help us communicate with each other even when we're not in the same room. Or even if we're not at the orphanage. Like a portable radio signal." She let out a contented sigh that made Amalia smile at her dedication. "I still have a lot of work to do, as I can't quite break through the connection between Faraday's Law and the Maxwell equation. At least not yet."

"Sometimes, I find it comical that you, Lucy, and I are the ones benefitting from these groundbreaking inventions of yours," Amalia said, closing her door and turning the lock. "Rather, the world should benefit from them."

Penance demurred. "They will. One day." She glanced at Amalia's desk. "What are you working on so late?" She asked, and then she knew, and her face fell. "I thought you said you were going to allow the Detective to do his job. And you will do yours. Which in no way involves tracking down murderers."
"I am doing my job," Amalia replied patiently. "We know that Maladie has the girl and we also know that the Detective only cares about getting to Maladie. He has no care for Mary Brighton."

"You paint him as a cold person."

Amalia waved her comment away and showed her the list. "Maladie mentioned a doctor last night in her monologue, do you remember?"

Penance shook her head. "I only remember praying I wouldn't die." She thought for a moment. "No, I don't remember anything she actually said. Because she is mad. Why do I need to keep repeating that to you?"

"She said a doctor told her about a song. She was also in an asylum prior to her murder spree. And I think that perhaps her doctor, and trust me when I use that term lightly, is the one who told her about Mary, or who at least has given her some initial direction."

Penance shook her head, confused. Energy, light, chemistry, all of it made sense to her and she could follow it seamlessly. When it came to Amalia, half the time she was struggling to follow her line of thought. "What would her doctor care about her murdering men of means all about London?"

Amalia appreciated the question, if only because it meant Penance wasn't completely fed up with her yet. In this way, each of them appreciated the gifts of the other even when they weren't exactly sure why they should. She sat down on her bed. "Maladie doesn't strike me as someone who takes direction very well. Perhaps he asked her to pick up other Touched for him, but she never quite got around to it. And, perhaps he is now striking out on his own."

"With the masked men."

"Precisely."

"Then I think you should have told all of this to Detective Mundy." Penance began to pace, biting a nail. "I don't think this is for you to sort out." She stopped, looking down at Amalia. "What exactly are you planning on doing with this information?"

Amalia glanced down at her own bare feet on the rug, unable to meet Penance's eyes. "I just want to pay him an exploratory visit."

"Then I'm coming with you."

Now Amalia stood, her ripple from earlier cutting into her like a blade. "No, I will go alone. This is a simple consultation."

"With a mad doctor."

"You make it sound worse than it is."

"Can't you at least check with Detective Mundy to see if he has already talked to this doctor? He's the detective, after all."

"He hasn't. And if he has, he clearly hasn't gotten anywhere. Which is not a surprise, because he is an ogre." She knew she was being obstinate, but she was tired.

"You're not much friendlier, Amalia. Has it occurred to you that perhaps Detective Mundy wants you to go after Maladie? He thinks that you're so enamored with our kind, the Touched, that you'll fall all over yourself to rescue a misunderstood murderess? He wants you to lead him right to her."

"Precisely. Wherever I go, he is most likely to follow. Which is why I'm in need of one of your electric coachmen."

Penance closed her eyes and plopped onto the bed, and it was then that her exhaustion bared itself in the slump of her shoulders and her wayward sigh. "Amalia, don't put me in this position."

Amalia's fingers twitched and the ripple came upon her like a flash of lightning: only skin, smooth, pale skin and blonde hair falling down a bare back. She flashed back to the present and caught her breath. "I don't want to argue." She sat and put a hand on Penance's back rubbing it gently. "I don't, really. But I will go see this doctor and I can either lead Detective Mundy along with me and get nowhere, or I can distract him and potentially find out who is coming after the Touched." When Penance didn't respond, she brought her hand up to her neck and caressed it, liking the feel of her curls. "Please don't be angry with me."

Penance chuckled lightly. "I would love to be angry with you." She turned and looked at Amalia, taking in the fearlessness that shone through tired eyes, the simple determined set of her jaw. "Being angry would be much easier." There were times when Penance had reached the limits of language when it came to Amalia, and this was one of those times. She placed a hand behind Amalia's head and pulled her forward, taking her lips.

Amalia, surprised, let her jaw slack just enough for Penance to slide her tongue into her mouth. She let out a small moan, but pulled back, breathless. "You haven't answered me," she said, her eyes glassy, but her brain unable to let go. "Can I use the coachman?"

"You can use the bloody coachman," Penance groaned, collapsing onto the bed and pulling Amalia on top of her. If Amalia was wont to do what she wanted, then Penance may as well keep her as close as she could while she had the opportunity. She pushed Amalia's hair away from her face and allowed her to kiss and lightly nibble at her neck, then realized with a frustrated start that there were too many layers separating them. Amalia realized it, too, and began the ponderous process of unbuttoning Penance's blouse, making up for the slowness with the caress of her tongue as she undid each one. By the time she lowered herself to the last one, Penance's hips were a foot off the bed, and she was able to quickly slip off her skirt and the rest of her garments.

Amalia looked down at her, stopping, her chest heaving and flushed red at the vee of her blouse. They had come this close more than once, but had never gone any further. "Fine?" she asked.

"Very fine," Penance replied, sitting up and meeting Amalia's mouth again, this time allowing her tongue to explore as she fought with Amalia's buttons. Soon, the only thing separating them was their own skin, which they remedied by quickly exploring inside one another, touching and tasting their way to new territory. After, they lay together, arms and legs entangled. There was a window nearby and Penance recalled the square of the sky the night before in the alley, the smattering of stars. Amalia shifted beside her, but didn't speak, their bodies still slick with each other. Penance appreciated the quiet reprieve before she would eventually succumb to her own room. As much as she wished to stay, she knew it wasn't prudent, and she also knew she would dread having Amalia slip from her arms and wander into the hallway.

"Why do you sleep on the floor in the girl's room?" she asked, her mere question penetrating Amalia further than she ever had. She held her breath, wondering if she'd pried too far.

"I don't know," Amalia murmured into her neck, exhaustion freeing her into sheer honesty. "I wake up every day trying to an answer that question." She hadn't yet told Penance about her past, but each day she felt closer to the edge of pure and open rawness.

Penance pressed a kiss to her dark hair, preparing herself for the moment when she would rise from the bed. "There are some questions we'll never answer."

"Says the scientist," Amalia said, and Penance felt her lips curl into a smile on her neck.

"Not knowing is fine," she whispered, then kissed her once more. "Very fine."