CHAPTER 19
Too stunned to speak, I watched as Lionel appeared, escorting a very visible Kessian into the conservatory. He was limping, and Lionel held his cane.
I shot to my feet, and it was very gratifying to see the butler take a fearful step back.
He had Kessian’s elbow in a pincer-like grip and had clearly made no allowances for Kessian’s disability on the way down the stairs.
Despite my total lack of history of violent impulses, I had the urge to punch Lionel.
“I’m okay,” Kessian soothed.
Lionel still eyed me warily. “I’ve searched. It isn’t hollow, nor is there any sign of transfiguration.”
Warwick gave a nod, and Lionel handed the cane back to Kessian, who snatched it.“I expected another Ashborne, but this is much better. Perhaps we can kill several birds with one stone. Lionel, you can leave him with us,” said Warwick.
Kessian yanked his elbow free, scowling. “Sorry. I don’t know how he found me.”
“Don’t blame yourselves. A charm on the door alerts me anytime it’s opened.
I’m quite good at disguising them, and I’d already taken the liberty of collecting Edwin’s research, so you wouldn’t have found it there.
” He leaned over to pull a folder from amongst magazines in a rack by his armchair. “Was anything missing, Lionel?”
“A contract, sir.” He leaned in to whisper more in Warwick’s ear. I couldn’t catch what it was he said.
Warwick gave Kessian a disappointed look. “Hand it over.”
“I don’t have it, whatever it is,” Kessian said.
“I’d rather not search you.”
“I mean it.” Kessian looked to me. “I didn’t have time to go through everything in there. There were hundreds of contracts. How would I know which one to take?”
Warwick rolled his eyes. “Have it your way.”
I didn’t see what he tithed, but a sluice of liquid silver magic coursed over Kessian, into his pockets, through the buttons on his clothes. It dissipated in a sigh, but found nothing.
“That’s strange.” Warwick pointed the spell at me this time.
The sensation was something I could only compare to finding a tick or some other parasite burrowed beneath my skin. I shuddered with relief when it finally turned to mist, revealing nothing.
Warwick looked cross now. “Did you portal it somewhere safe?”
“No,” I said. At the same time, another spell slithered up my throat. I tried not to gag, but it tasted like compost, earthy and rotting. Some sort of truth serum? Powerful magic, not the kind I’d ever performed, but I hadn’t seen him cast anything.
Warwick picked up the cup of sugar and held it out to Kessian. “Eat a teaspoon of this, please.”
Kessian took a step back.
“That wasn’t a request, and if you indeed haven’t stolen anything, then you have nothing to fear. It’s truth serum. Taliesin has already taken it.”
Perhaps the “salt” hadn’t really been salt, then. I felt utterly outmatched as a witch. These were spells I’d never cast; I’d never had need of them. Everything I’d learned on the road had been out of necessity.
Kessian still hesitated. Warwick said, “Don’t be difficult. The truth will out, one way or another.”
With eyes like the bottomless dark of the sea, Kessian wet his finger on his tongue, dipped it in the sugar, and licked it clean.
Warwick said, “I will ask you directly. Did you take the contract?”
Both of us answered “No” in unison.
Warwick grunted, dissatisfied. “Lionel, please double-check the contract is indeed missing. Otherwise, scrape my study for any trace magic they might have used to secret it away. For now, I’m satisfied it’s not on their persons, and we have other things to discuss.”
Lionel’s footsteps echoed off the marble as he left. The sun came through the conservatory at such an angle that I had to squint to look at Warwick, but he seemed relaxed, his concern for the missing document either forgotten or placed on reserve.
“Now that we’ve dispensed with the secrets, tell me what you were searching for. If not the contract, then what? Because up until a moment ago, you shouldn’t have known this spellwork to trap the wraith existed.” He tapped my grandfather’s folder stuffed with papers.
Kessian sank onto the edge of the sofa next to me. “What spellwork?”
I filled him in on the trap for the wraith, watching his expression darken.
Normally so bright-eyed, I’d never seen Kessian like this with anyone.
He really hated Warwick, and I got the sense today was not the original source of that hatred.
I was coming to feel the same way, but I no longer felt as threatened as when I’d first come in.
We needed that research, and Warwick needed me to fix the strid.
He cared more about money than anything.
Even if he was connected with what happened nearly a decade ago, I doubted he’d risk prison by bringing us to harm now, in broad daylight, within sight of his staff, and without very good reason.
We had no evidence he’d killed someone. If we did, I might fear that was reason enough.
So I stopped trying to lie or sneak my way around the conversation, neither of which came naturally, and stated the blunt truth. “My grandad was murdered, and you’re the only suspect I have.”
Warwick sat up straighter, and the confusion on his face could have been because he hadn’t known, or because he had and didn’t expect me to find out. “What do you mean, murdered?”
“Does the word ‘murdered’ mean anything else?”
“I mean this is the first I’m hearing it, and if there’d been a sign of foul play, I’d expect the mortician might have noticed. Who’s told you this?”
“His ghost.”
Warwick’s eyebrows hoisted higher still. “His ghost told you he’d been killed, but not by who?”
“He said to find the truth behind the wraith, and the identity of the poisoner. Then I would find his murderer.”
Warwick sat back, blowing out a lungful of air. “That is a lot to take in.”
“You had no idea?” Kessian pressed.
“Of course not. I would have reported it to the authorities if I had. Have you?”
“Not yet. I didn’t want the killer to hear of it and cover his tracks. I didn’t want my family to hear of it, either, but I might have to order an autopsy report. Who knows how long that will take, and how far the killer could have run by the time it turns up anything.”
“On that, I might be able to assist.” Warwick set the folder on the table, out of my reach, so I understood it was a bargaining chip.
“The nice thing about money is you can pull strings, speed things along, and keep it all secret. I don’t like the sounds of a murderer in town any more than you, but I would like some assurances from you before I make any calls. ”
Kessian’s lip curled. “You won’t do it for the sake of justice? Not even for Edwin?”
Warwick spread his hands. “Yes, I’m sure you think it’s quite cutthroat, but I have investments that need protecting. Particularly if tourism in Shearwater takes a downturn, and murderers on the loose are never good for business, nor violent wraiths.”
Confusion gripped me. I had no inclination as to what he’d want from me, even less what he’d want from Kessian. Neither of us was wealthy enough to turn the tide of Warwick’s fortunes.
Kessian didn’t look confused at all, though. He glared and slouched back in his seat, arms crossed.
“What do you want?” I asked warily.
“In exchange for your grandfather’s research and an expedited autopsy report on your grandfather, kept hush hush so as not to send our culprit into hiding, I’d like to expand my portfolio of property, and I understand that 37 Culpepper Avenue has fallen to you.
Agree to sell it to me, and we’ll have a deal.
” He turned his salesman’s smile on Kessian.
“You already know what I want from you, and frankly, it’s been a mercy of me not to demand it sooner. ”
More secrets? I regarded Kessian with uncertainty. “What’s he talking about?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Kessian muttered. He turned his attention on Warwick. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll do it. Not as though I have a choice. But you don’t get to demand that from Tal. You already have the spa.”
Warwick shrugged. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if I did not strike a hard bargain, and I’m not doing this one by half.”
I couldn’t yet process the feelings rushing through me.
37 Culpepper Avenue hadn’t yet felt like mine.
I’d been poised to sell it because there was no point in owning a house I couldn’t live in.
But I’d had that vision in the spring, the one in the kitchen of Culpepper Avenue where warm arms wrapped around me, and I stood in the prismatic light of a suncatcher at the window while Lunaris—a cat and not a caravan—groomed one paw.
Domestic fantasies were my bread and butter, but I hadn’t realized how real it had started to feel. I’d inherited the house, I had a plan to free myself from the wraith. It hadn’t seemed plausible, but it was no longer impossible, and that made a difference.
Kessian had looked at Warwick with hate, and now I felt much the same. He was ruthless and cared not a whit for the danger my predicament put us in. His money would protect him, as it always did.
I needed that research. If we said no now, there was no way he’d leave it anywhere we could get our hands on it.
He’d already caught us today. Even if we managed to steal it, that still left my grandfather’s autopsy.
The idea of digging him up myself sickened me.
I wasn’t the spiritual sort, but standing six feet deep in a grave to examine my grandfather’s corpse seemed more than bad luck; it was an invitation for the wraith to come and lay me to rest with him.
That wraith still hunted me, and the killer was still free. He could be sitting right across from me, though I couldn’t understand why he’d help at all if that were the case. Why not hide the research and deny us any help altogether?
In a way, it seemed the theme of my life, to give up any hope of a home to protect the people I cared about. I knew in my heart Fae and Amelia would understand, but this would become one more thing my mother could blame me for.
Warwick seemed to sense my defeat. “I’ll take your agreement in writing. We’ll exchange contracts on the house in a week. Kessian, I expect you’ll be out in the same time. Lionel!” he called, and the butler appeared in the doorway. “Please could you bring the contracts.”
“Of course, sir.”
He’d already had them prepared.