An hour later, Charles and Lillian both looked different. Charles' jet-black hair was now red, and his nose was flatter. Lillian, meanwhile, had shrunk by a foot but grown incredibly bushy eyebrows. They were just barely unrecognizable. It was not the ideal situation, but it was good enough.

Juliette, on the other hand, still looked like herself. She slid her hands into the pockets of her britches and whistled through her teeth as she stared up at the great iron gates in front of the orphanage. "Home sweet home."

Charles hadn't wanted her to come. Once they had decided on a plan, they knew it would be too risky to bring Juliette along. But the child had stubbornly insisted that she be allowed to come as far as the gates. "Juliette, you need to stay out here," Charles repeated for the third time. "Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. And be careful."

The girl lifted her hand in a salute. "Aye aye, sir. And if you get into a bind?"

Charles looked over at Lillian, who was staring at the grand brick building with narrowed eyes. Although she was wearing the enchanted emerald gown which made her look like a proper lady, he had finally given her knives back, which were hiding in several folds of the fabric. "We'll manage," he said. "But if we're inside for longer than an hour—"

"Go get James. Got it."

"Good." Charles turned to the Lillian and offered his arm. She took it, and then he watched as her face transformed, harsh lines melting away as she put on a loving smile—getting into character.

"Let's go, my love," she said, tilting her chin up. And together, they walked through the iron gates, down at the slate walkway, and up to the front door.

When Charles stepped inside the orphanage, the first thing he noticed was the light. He had expected the orphanage to be dark and gloomy—particularly given the comments Juliette had made about her time there. However, the inside was surprisingly bright. The entrance hall had high ceilings with tall windows and wooden rafters. It reminded him of an old church.

They were greeted almost immediately by an older woman, who rushed up to them with a warm smile. "Good afternoon," she said, "and welcome to Silvers Orphanage. How may I help you?"

"My name is Robert Calloway," Charles lied. "This is my wife, Bonita. We are considering adoption and wanted to take a look around."

The woman clasped her hands together. "Lovely. Absolutely lovely, Mister and Missus Calloway. My name is Madame Levy and I am happy to show you both around."

Madame Levy, Charles thought, recognizing the name from his conversation with Thomas Monroe. She's the one in charge of all the adoptions. Does that mean she's involved in this cult as well?

He was interrupted by his thoughts when she said, "May I ask what brought you here?"

"I'm sure it's a story you've heard plenty," Lillian said. Charles heard the way her voice trembled—a slight quiver she didn't normally possess—and had the distinct feeling that she was enjoying her act a little too much. "But, well, all I've wanted was to be a mother. And Robert and I..." she glanced at Charles lovingly, "we tried for so long. I just don't think having a child on our own is part of the good Lord's plan." She glanced upwards at the ceiling, just in time for a tear to fall down her cheek.

Madame Levy looked as if she might cry herself. "My dear, I can't imagine how difficult it's been."

Lillian pulled out a handkerchief, gently blew her nose, and then summoned a smile. "So you see, we thought adoption might be the best option."

"If you don't mind showing us around..." Charles cut in.

"Not at all," Madame Levy said. "Please follow me."

Charles tried to take in everything as they walked through the building. The tall ceilings in the entry were certainly a sight to behold, although as they progressed through, the place took on a more typical appearance. However, it was still quite a nice place. The hallways were lined with portraits of old headmasters and donors from years past, each frame meticulously free from dust. The last portrait was a familiar face: Thomas Monroe.

Madame Levy must have noticed him looking around, as she said, "Earlier this year we received a large grant from the Monroe family which allowed us to invest more in our residents as well as spruce up the property: new paint, new furniture, new clothes."

"What a lovely gift," Charles said. "I heard the number of adoptions has also risen spectacularly this past year. Is that true?"

"Yes, they have. But don't worry—we still have plenty of children here who you might fall in love with."

"How are those children adjusting? The ones who've been adopted?" Charles asked.

Madame Levy blinked at this, looking genuinely confused by the question. "I'm sure they're doing fine. None of them have come back here, if that's what you mean."

Charles nodded, but inside he was frustrated. Everything looked so nice and polished. It was hard to believe anything suspicious was happening here. Maybe we're wrong, he thought. Maybe the orphanage isn't involved in this cult at all.

Madame Levy led them into a room where a gaggle of girls sat practicing needlepoint. At their entrance, the girls, who had been giggling and chatting, immediately quieted down, set down their work, and curtseyed.

Good, obedient children, Charles thought. He wondered how Juliette had fit in when she'd been here.

As he scanned the girls' faces, he also wondered which one was Emma, Juliette's flying friend. I should have asked her what she looks like, Charles thought. Even though he had forbidden Juliette from coming inside, it would have been nice of him to at least tell her he had seen her friend.

Lillian smiled sweetly, fiddling with the gold bangle on her wrist. "I don't mean any offence," she said to Madame Levy, "but I've always wanted a son. Do you mind...?"

Madame Levy nodded. "Oh, of course, Missus Calloway. Let me take you to our boys." She gestured at the girls, who all sat down and resumed their chattering, and together they left, winding back the way they had come and heading to the other end of the orphanage. Again, Charles looked around as they walked, eyes flitting to doorways and paintings, but nothing looked glaringly out of place.

I don't know what I was expecting, he thought, realizing this might have been a stupid idea. That I'd walk into the orphanage and immediately see a man running around in a black cloak? Or Cecilia pressing a knife against a child's throat? The whole trip seemed preposterous now.

Madame Levy gestured at a door, bringing them into a small classroom. There were about twenty boys sitting at desks and a teacher in front at a large chalkboard. At their arrival, the boys all stood up out of their chairs and bowed their heads, just as obedient as the girls.

"We have a great group of boys," Madame Levy explained. She pointed to a boy in the corner. "William over there is quite bright. Joshua has shown great skill with his hands—he tinkers like no other! And..." Madame Levy's eyes widened. "Elijah!" she suddenly shouted. "Where did you get that?"

Charles followed her gaze and saw that a boy about eight years of age was fiddling with something small and brass. He tried to hide it, but Madame Levy held out her hand. "Give it here," she commanded.

Head bowed, the boy sulked his way to them and handed her the item. It was some sort of brass contraption, with interlocking gears and a handle.

Madame Levy slipped the item into the pocket beneath her petticoat and looked at Charles apologetically. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how he got that."

"It's all right," Charles said, although he had no clue what the object was.

"Elijah," Madame Levy addressed the boy again, "you must behave. Your new family will be arriving any moment now. It will be hard enough for them to raise a mage, let alone a sneak."

"Yes, Madame Levy," Elijah muttered.

"Actually, Mister and Missus Tennyson have just arrived," came a familiar voice from out in the hall.

Charles froze, recognizing it immediately. It was a voice he had loved, a voice he had craved. The voice of his beloved: Cecilia.

He didn't dare turn to face her. He knew the glamour protected him to some extent, but as James admitted, it wasn't at its full potency. There was a probability that Cecilia would take one look at him and see through his disguise. His heart pounded as he stepped to the side, intending to let her pass him and walk into the room. However, his nerves seemed to have gotten the best of him, as when he moved, he bumped into Lillian, who then lost her balance and fell into Madame Levy.

Madame Levy let out a surprised shriek, and Lillian's eyes widened, looking mortified. "I'm so sorry," she said as she regained her footing.

"It's all right, dear," Ms. Levy said, smoothing down her dress. "Accidents happen."

Charles wanted to slap himself for his carelessness, but luckily his fiancée didn't spare him a second glance. Her eyes were locked on the little boy Elijah, with his dark skin and curly hair and nervous fingers.

"Come on, Elijah," Cecilia said. "Your new parents await in the parlor."

A flash of worry crossed the boy's face, but as Cecilia drew closer, the expression melted away. Had this only been a few days ago, Charles wouldn't have thought anything of it. But now he felt sick to his stomach, knowing Cecilia's power was at play. She gave Elijah a kind smile—a smile that had once made Charles go weak in the knees—and then, taking his hand, she escorted the boy out of the room.

Lillian shot Charles a glance, and he nodded, understanding her silent communication: They needed to follow her.

"Thank you very much for showing us around, Madame Levy," Charles said. "My wife and I have a lot to consider. We will come back another time."

"Oh." Madame Levy's face fell. "Are you sure—"

"Quite sure, thank you. We will find our way out now," said Charles, offering an arm to Lillian as they both rushed out of the classroom.

They could see Cecilia up ahead, but Charles didn't think they could trail her for long without being discovered. "This is a mess," he muttered, turning towards Lillian. However, his companion wasn't looking at him or even Cecilia. Instead, she was looking down, at something she held in her hands: the brass device Madame Levy had taken from Elijah.

Charles shot her a confused look. "How did you get that?"

"When I fell into Madame Levy, my hand just happened to slip into her pocket." She paused at his facial expression. "What? I'm a thief. Old habits die hard. Besides, it'll help us."

"What is that thing?"

"I'm not quite sure," Lillian said, "but I can see the magick woven through it, and I think I know what it does and how it works."

Lillian grasped the body of the contraption in one hand and started turning the handle with her other. As she did, the air around her shimmered, bending the way it did in front of a fire or on a hot summer's day. And a moment later, she was gone.

Charles' jaw dropped. She had vanished into thin air. And yet, he could still hear her laughter.

"You're invisible," he realized.

"Yes," came Lillian's voice. "It's some sort of invisibility device. Here, take my arm."

"Where is your arm?"

Charles felt a sudden poke in his side—Lillian jabbing him with her elbow—and he grabbed onto her.

Suddenly, Lillian was visible, and for a moment Charles thought he had somehow broken the device. But Lillian simply shook her head, understanding the meaning behind his concerned expression.

"You're invisible now too," she explained. "And I think we should both remain invisible as long you keep holding onto my arm and I keep turning this handle. Got it?"

"Got it," Charles said, unable to believe their luck. Then, turning his eyes towards the end of the hall, where Cecilia and Elijah were just barely in view, he said, "To the parlor."