CHAPTER 18
A tongue of black smoke issued from a window on the second story to the tune of fire engine sirens.
One was already parked up alongside my family’s cars.
While the firefighters pointed the blast of water from their hoses into the shattered window, my mother caught sight of me, prompting Fae to follow her gaze.
It was difficult to hear over the roar of flames and the hiss of the firehose, but I heard Mum mutter, “I should have known he didn’t leave.”
Of course this was going to be my fault, too. I nearly turned to go, but Fae was already storming toward me. They took me by the elbow, farther from my mother’s scornful gaze.
“I didn’t know you’d come back,” they said.
“Only yesterday evening. What happened?”
“We don’t know yet. One of the neighbors rang us to let us know about the smoke. They’d already called the fire department.”
“Which room is that?” I said, pointing to the window the smoke spewed from.
Fae narrowed their eyes, counting the windows. “Grandad’s study, I think. Why?”
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.
If any of his research survived, it would be a miracle.
Kessian gave a rudimentary overview of what we’d learned in Coill Darragh and why I’d returned, for which I was grateful.
I couldn’t put my own words together. If someone was already burning evidence, did that mean they knew I’d returned to investigate?
Had someone been watching us speak to Grandad’s ghost in the graveyard?
I hadn’t sensed anyone, but that meant nothing if the culprit was a witch.
There were plenty of simple spells for stealthily moving about unseen.
Kessian left out the part about Grandad being murdered. I thought that was for the best. They deserved to know, my family, but the last thing we needed was the town in an uproar while we tried to gather what little evidence remained.
“You think someone did this deliberately?” Fae said when Kessian had finished. “To stop you from finding a way to exorcise the wraith?”
“More or less,” said Kessian.
“But who? Do you have any ideas?”
Kessian cast me a look. I shook off the miasma of what I felt and turned to face my sibling.
“Warwick.”
Westley Warwick lived in an old manor house called Foxbury, located on a ridge overlooking the forested hills where the strid nestled like a snake in the grass.
The manor had been abandoned when I lived in Shearwater, a boarded-up location for teenagers to break in, drink themselves stupid, and tell ghost stories. Now, the handsome facade had been restored and accentuated by a cultivated vine of wisteria, still in bloom despite the summer heat.
Emery had given Kessian an invisibility potion.
It had been combined with ingredients to muffle any sound he made, too.
The only indication he was still beside me was the rustle of leaves in his wake.
We’d also drank half a potion each, which allowed us to communicate telepathically for a short time.
I tested it as we walked the long path up to the manor. The invisibility will only last an hour, so by 2:15, we need to get out. I’ll wind down the conversation earlier. You sneak in with me, and sneak out the same way. We’d been over it already, but I said it to reassure myself.
Got it. We’ll be fine, Kessian reassured me.
As we came to the enormous door—it seemed far too large to knock on, but knock I did—a fizzle of magic went through me.
Something in the soil, helping the flowers stay fresh out of season.
My nerves buzzed in a similar fashion. The wraith hadn’t appeared over a long enough period, so it felt like a stayed execution, but the guillotine’s blade still hovered, waiting.
The door opened and a man built like a coat hanger dipped his head. “Taliesin, I presume? Right this way. Mr. Warwick is expecting you.”
I didn’t know people still had butlers, groundskeepers, that sort of thing.
I stepped through the door slowly. A warm pressure at my back told me Kessian had passed behind me.
There, then gone. I missed his presence immediately, forced to trust he would be all right, and the rest of the plan would work.
The grandeur of the foyer was intimidating.
Old murals on the walls depicted unicorns and mythical creatures amongst florals and filigree, restored from the grime and graffiti tags that used to cover them.
The grand staircase was flanked on either side by glass display cases housing strange relics like a museum.
An ornate chalice filled with liquid that swallowed the light, a vintage cocktail dress embroidered with glowing thread—but one particular display drew my attention.
A collection of driftwood, moss, and a white horse’s skull had been assembled into an eerie statue. From the skull, various branches had been fused together in a configuration resembling antlers, decorated with brass chains. Various holes were drilled into the tines.
It looked so much like the wraith, my blood went cold.
“Recognize it, do you?”
I hadn’t heard Warwick’s shoes on the marble floor. He stood in an archway leading into a sitting room. Hands behind his back, he walked closer, appraising the strange display.
“I had it made specially to protect this place from the wraith. Superstitious, perhaps. Edwin told me later it only worked because the wraith had no interest in me. Just you.”
“That seems to be the case.”
“Why do you think that is, I wonder?”
His interest in the topic put me on edge. If I’d been responsible for the drownings or the wraith, I wouldn’t be brazen enough to talk about them like this, but perhaps that was part of Warwick’s facade.
“I don’t know. I always thought it was because I’m the one who survived. Not so sure now.”
“I’m sorry. It’s probably not your favorite topic. Perhaps one best discussed over tea.”
He led me into a conservatory, bright with afternoon sun and providing a luscious view of the gardens outside.
Tea had been laid out for us. I’d never got on with fine china, the clinking sound too painfully sharp compared to the less refined ceramics I made.
Wanting something to do with my hands won out over my aversion, because Warwick was already stirring a teaspoon of sugar into his cup, his osprey familiar hopping along the broad swathe of his shoulders.
I leaned forward for the sugar, but he waved my hand away and opened a separate cup, also containing sugar. I thought perhaps he was particular about germs, but he said, “That’s the salt. I prefer salty tea. Strange, I know.”
The very thought made me ill. As I reached for the sugar, though, it flung itself off the table, white granules spilling across the floor as it rolled away.
Warwick raised both eyebrows. “If you don’t take sugar, you need only have said.”
“That wasn’t me,” I said, staring at the shattered cup. The lid still rolled on its end, clattering behind a plant pot.
“Hm.” Warwick didn’t seem to believe me. “Well, Foxbury Manor is quite old. Could be haunted, who knows? Would you prefer something else to drink altogether? I can make us something stronger.”
“Tea is fine.” I needed a clear head.
Warwick called for his butler to fetch it for me.
I dug my fingernail into my palm and focused on the plan.
I couldn’t ask any direct questions about Grandpa’s murder, so Kessian had coached me to ask why Warwick had wanted to speak to me, and see whether I could guide the conversation from there.
I could ask about his partnership with my grandfather, how his death affected Warwick, if anything strange had cropped up before it happened, and gauge his responses.
Kessian would have been better at this, but I would have been no more comfortable snooping through Warwick’s house.
“So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked.
Warwick chuckled. “Straight to the point. I like it. Your grandfather said as much, that you didn’t dilly or dally. But I digress. It is a strange thing I called you here for, because I am not entirely sure how much you know about your grandfather’s role in Shearwater. As Keeper, I mean.”
That Warwick had known about this Keeper business made me feel all the more alienated. Had Grandad’s murderer known him better than I had? “He didn’t have the opportunity to tell me.”
“I know. Quite tragic, that. The role I refer to, and all his work associated with it, was largely pursued in the hopes you could return.”
I shifted uncomfortably. The topic of returning never ceased to put me on edge. I didn’t know if my aversion came from a genuine dislike of the place or from fear of letting myself want what was out of reach. “He was looking for a way to deal with the wraith, you mean.”
“Yes, nasty thing. I’d been trying to help him find a way to trap and banish it, but truth be told, it was quite difficult to research or test when its appearances only coincided with yours. All theoretical, you understand. He had a good head for magical theory, your grandfather.”
Kessian’s voice filtered into my mind as the butler returned with a replacement sugar. I think I found his office, but it’s locked. Who locks doors in their own house?
I tensed, covering my silence by stirring sugar into my tea and taking a long sip. Give me a minute. I’ll excuse myself to go to the toilet and find you.
Third door on your right after coming up the stairs.
“Taliesin?” Warwick asked.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry. It’s a lot to take in. No one ever told me about a trap for the wraith. I didn’t know that was possible.”
“To be clear, we still don’t know if it is, but Edwin thought so. I reckon he was quite close to finishing the spell, but alas … time got the better of him.”
I weighed that coincidence against the one in which Warwick bought the spa and it miraculously regained its profitability soon after. It was very strenuously plausible, but that he spoke openly of it set me off kilter. I was not good at lying, nor at telling when someone else was.