He looked much younger than his portraits that sometimes appeared in the bookplates and community periodicals—no more than his mid thirties, if even that—with a dark complexion and brown curls swept over one side of his face. His eyes were uncommonly pale but framed by heavy lashes, so much so that they might as well have cast a spell on the gathered audience, who could only stare back as he surveyed the unusual gathering.

“Whatever’s the matter?” he asked, his tone utterly unconcerned and touched by a southern accent. He buttoned the jacket of his tan suit coat as he approached. “Isn’t a signing usually done inside?”

“Oh Mr. Fairchild, I’m so sorry,” called Mrs. Quigley, but the closest officer prevented her from moving toward him with a hand on her shoulder.

“At last, he arrives,” said Irene ominously. “The biblio-blasphemist himself.”

Those gathered made way, eager for this new spectacle as Darby moved to stand alongside Miriam. He was just about her same height, and Miriam blushed furiously as the circumstances placed them side to side—nearly cheek to cheek—against their common enemy. In that moment she was almost grateful to shill Irene for instigating this opportunity in the first place, and she stood up taller, putting her hands again on her hips so that her elbow rested ever so gently against Darby’s arm.

Darby spared her little more than a glance before turning to Irene, but she was determined to savor it. “I was under the impression the event didn’t begin until seven sharp,” he drawled. “And yet, you appear to have one of my books there in your hand already.”

“These books, as you so over-generously label them, are now the property of the City of Boston,” Irene declared triumphantly. She gestured toward a large dark van parked further down the sidewalk. “Confiscated by order of the New England Society for Spiritual Immaculacy.”

Miriam whipped about, unintentionally elbowing Darby in her haste. Sure enough, another officer was just finishing loading a cardboard box into the back. “No!” she gasped out, and she turned again on Irene. “You have no right!”

“My right is bestowed upon me by heavenly God,” Irene rambled on, and Miriam would have had more choice words for her, if not for Darby gently taking her arm. “If I alone in this poor city have courage enough to stand up for innocent souls, so be it!”

“Ma’am, I am above all else a God-fearing and law-abiding man,” said Darby, with such a gentile inflection Miriam couldn’t be sure if it was sarcasm. “If the city wishes my books, they are welcome to them. Though as I said, I can’t help but notice there is a copy in your hand and not on that truck.” He put out his open hand expectantly. “I’m happy to sell it to you if you have an interest, but otherwise, I would like it back.”

Irene eyed him viciously. “As I said, the sale of this book is illegal.”

“Then that should make it an easy choice for you.”

After another moment of calculated silence, Irene thrust her news paper into Miriam’s hands and tucked the book under her arm. She produced her pocketbook from her jacket and handed to Darby a crisp, one dollar bill.

“There,” she said. “Do you accept my purchase?”

“Happily,” replied Darby, and as soon as he tucked the bill into his suit coat, Irene pointed at him with one crooked finger.

“Officers!” she roared. “Arrest this man!”

“No!” shouted Miriam, and behind her the crowd booed and jostled. Despite Irene’s grandiosity, the officers she’d called upon didn’t immediately spring into action, instead exchanging shrugs and uncomfortable looks. Before the stalemate could escalate, Darby turned to the crowd and raised his hands for calm.

“Ladies and gentlemen, worry not,” he said. “It’s quite all right. I shall, on this occasion, surrender myself, for I trust that a judgement from the court will surely exonerate me.”

He stepped down from the curb, and the crowd shifted and murmured as he offered his wrists to the officers. The apparent leader pulled a face but nevertheless placed him in handcuffs.

“W-Wait!” Miriam insisted, crushing the newspaper in her hands though her feet remained rooted to the ground. “Mr. Fairchild, you can’t! You have done anything wrong—what about the books?”

“Miss, I’m sure it will be quite all right,” Darby told her. “By tomorrow I shall return to place a copy in your hands myself.”

Irene gave another great huff. “We’ll see about that, you shameless provocateur.”

“Ma’am,” Darby acknowledged, tipping his head. Miriam could only watch, flabbergasted and heartbroken, as he was led to a nearby police car.

“You…!” She whirled back upon Irene. “You monster!”

“Believe it or not, I do this only for your benefit, Miss Vance,” said Irene. She gestured with the forbidden volume, drawing Miriam’s eyes to it like a hound to a foxtail. “This unseemly erotica does nothing but rot your poor, misled mind. If only you’d attend Sunday service more often, you would see that—”

“Give me that book!” Miriam shouted, and she latched onto The Affairs of Emerald L’Belle with both hands.

Irene fought back with the strength of a bear, one hand to Miriam’s two wrenching the paperback free. “Would see that God’s wisdom—” she continued to rant, drawing the book out of Miriam’s range, only to have another from the crowd make a grab for it. The terrible sound of ripping paper tore at Miriam’s heart, and though she tried to intervene on the novel’s behalf, there were suddenly too many grasping hands. In no time the cover was torn free.

Miriam struggled free of the crowd. By then two of the officers had stepped forward to try and contain the scramble while Irene swatted at her detractors with her hat. Ripped pages fluttered to the ground, some grabbed up by curious onlookers who cared more about bragging over their souvenir than the travesty itself. Miriam looked on, utterly crushed, until the turning over of a car engine drew her attention back to the street.

The police car was leaving, Darby within it. As Miriam watched it pull out into the morning traffic, a newfound strength poured into her chest like a lion’s bellow. “The Chariot,” she said under her breath, and she charged down the sidewalk after the retreating car.

What Miriam intended to do, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she was still a woman on a singular mission. The traffic was moving slowly enough that she could easily keep the police car in her sights, and she had known the directions to the police station since she was a little girl anyway. Even so, urgency pumped through her veins, so much so that it took several times before she realized that someone was calling out to her.

“Hey! Need a lift?”

Miriam turned and startled. The sleek, red Cord that Darby had driven up in was following her down the street, the blonde woman behind the wheel. Though Miriam had been too occupied to pay her much mind at first, there was no avoiding it now: the stranger was tall and thin, her pale face long and angular, her coat impeccably tailored. There was something dangerous in the twist of her made-up lips that made Miriam’s stomach twist.

“No thank you,” Miriam replied, resuming her march down the street.

“You’re chasing after the cops, aren’t you?” the blonde persisted, coasting alongside. “If you hop in we’ll make it in time to see him booked.”

“Aren’t you concerned?” Miriam shot her a glare but didn’t break stride. “Aren’t you offended? Your employer just got arrested and—”

The woman laughed; her voice was rich and pearly, and it set Miriam on edge. “Employer? I’m just a fan, like you.” She stopped the car. “You are a big fan, aren’t you?”

As wary as Miriam rightfully was of the strange woman, she wasn’t about to let anyone challenge her commitment. She strode to the car and let herself into the passenger side. “Miriam,” she introduced herself stiffly.

“Georgie,” the woman replied, resuming their chase of the police car. “Don’t worry too much about Fairchild. Even if a judge does rule against his books, there’s nothing to stop you from buying one the next town over.”

“That’s hardly the point,” Miriam retorted. “I shouldn’t have to. I took a day off work for this!” She flushed. “And! Of course! Poor Mr. Fairchild doesn’t deserve to spend the night in jail!”

Georgie chuckled, taking the turn at the intersection one-handed. “You think so? He won’t, but it might be better for business if he did.”

“What?” Miriam eyed Georgie, growing ever more suspicious of the woman calling herself a fan. “Mr. Fairchild doesn’t need to resort to staged dramatics to sell books.”

“No? Who do you think tipped off old Reenie Usher?”

Miriam recoiled. “That accusation is just as uncalled for as her behavior this morning,” she protested loudly while Georgie smirked. “And I don’t—”

She glared at Georgie and stopped, caught off guard by a glimpse of her eyes and a sudden realization. “You have violet eyes,” she blurted out, all her irritation draining in favor of fascination. “Are they natural?”

“Oh, shit.” Georgie’s shoulders drew in, but then she seemed to change course, and she relaxed into infuriating charm once more. “Why, yes.” She batted her eyelashes. “Do you like them?”

Miriam twisted in her seat toward her. “Is it magic? Were you born with it? Are you a witch?”

“Yes and no,” Georgie answered unhelpfully as she stopped the car. “Why?” She lowered her voice to a purr. “Are you a witch, Miriam?”

Miriam felt her cheeks go hot, and she squirmed beneath Georgie’s close attention. “No, of course not,” she admitted as she straightened her skirt over her knees. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Magic is harmless parlour tricks, after all. At least, here it is. Who wouldn’t have at least a casual interest?” She glanced back to Georgie’s face and gulped as she was taken all over again by their shining amethyst shade. “Were you born with it?” she couldn’t help but repeat. “Because if not, you must be a witch, but if you were, that means you’ve been Blessed by an angel.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” Georgie teased.

Miriam sighed as exasperation got the better of her. “Well I’m sorry if it’s rude to ask, but I don’t see why you can’t simply answer the question. I’m very knowledgeable about these things and it’s not as if I’m about to sell you to that madwoman Usher.”

“No, I believe it.” Georgie leaned back against her door as she continued to watch Miriam with great amusement. “It’s no wonder you’re such a fan of Darby’s books. Speaking of which…”

She nodded past Miriam; they’d arrived at the police station, where Darby was just being escorted through the front doors. Miriam glanced between him and the smiling Georgie, chewing her lip. “Chariot,” she muttered as she twisted the side door open and climbed out. “Don’t leave,” she told Georgie before bounding up the steps into the station.

The interior of the station was charged with curiosity; officers and clerks peered over and around their desks to watch the celebrity Darby T. Fairchild at the booking station. To Miriam’s relief he was already freed from the handcuffs, and he even appeared to be chatting rather amiably with the officers that had “apprehended” him. All the same Miriam hurried over to them, planted her heels, and declared, “I’d like to pay Mr. Fairchild’s bail.”

All three turned to stare. For a brief, mortifying instant, it seemed as if Darby didn’t even recognize her, but then he straightened up. “Oh, it’s you. You followed us here?”

“Miriam Vance,” she introduced herself, thrusting her hand forward. Darby shook it on reflex, and she was sure to give him a strong grip. “I’m sure you don’t need my help, but I feel terrible about what happened. I’d like to do something to make it up to you.”

The officers exchanged baffled looks as Darby withdrew his hand. “That’s mighty kind of you, Miss Vance, but hardly necessary.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re confessing to having instigated…?”

“Of course not! I wouldn’t have done anything to risk not getting my copy.” Realizing how that might have sounded, Miriam cleared her throat and tried again. “Won’t you please accept my help? I won’t feel right unless I can say I did something.”

Darby considered that for a moment and then said, “Well, bail’s been set at twenty dollars.”

Twenty dollars!? Miriam couldn’t keep from making a face, but she was determined, and she reached into her purse. As she counted out the bills she had with her, one of the officers cleared his throat and covered her hands with his.

“Ma’am, there’s no bail set,” he said, shooting Darby a disapproving look. “Once we have everything we need he’ll be released on his own recognisance.”

Miriam shot Darby her own, much more disapproving look; he shrugged, saying, “You said you wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

Miriam shoved the bills back into her purse. Maybe Georgie was right about him. “I meant that,” she said, fidgeting with her purse strap as she continued to stare back at him. “I’m a great admirer of your work.”

She had hoped to maybe inspire some guilt, but Darby only smiled at her, his pale eyes seeming to shimmer, and she couldn’t bring herself to think too poorly of him after all. “I appreciate that,” he said. “If you don’t mind waiting a little longer, I’ll make that poorly delivered joke up to you.”

Miriam nodded, and she returned to the station lobby as the officers continued their work. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, she thought at last as she watched Darby fill out sheets of paperwork. He probably thinks I’m just another silly girl. She shook her head. Though the author she had been following for years was younger and more handsome than she had expected from his portraits, and his manners were...basically amiable, she found his lack of passion disappointing.

Not that it would have done any good for him to let old woman Usher have it, she sure deserved it. Joyless old crone. Miriam rested her chin in her hands, scowling with the memory. It’s not anyone else’s fault she’s too prudish to get herself off. Maybe she’d stay home and leave everyone else alone if she just figured it out.

Miriam chewed her lip and adjusted her skirt. She wondered if Georgie was still outside waiting with the car.