Chapter Five
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“IT DOESN’T USUALLY take me two days to track down a person,” Rachel declared when Vale answered the phone.
He couldn’t say she was wrong. Usually, when he asked her to find someone, she did so in a couple of hours, maybe half a day if it was complicated.
Cyril had asked her to find Iris Bellamy two days ago.
Rachel had called back the next morning, sounding frustrated.
She’d told Cyril that she hadn’t been able to find the woman, and Cyril had been understanding—after all, he’d thought that Iris Bellamy didn’t even exist, so he hadn’t expected anyone to find her, not even Rachel.
Vale had been surprised, and at the same time, worried.
If Rachel was having trouble, it meant something, and probably not something good.
“Have you found her?” he asked.
“I have. I hope you’re ready for a road trip.”
Vale was ready to do anything for Cyril’s safety, which was how he ended up in his car, driving both of them after Rachel had given him Iris Bellamy’s address.
She’d explained that Iris kept to herself and was pretty isolated.
It wasn’t only that, though. From what Rachel had said, it was like Iris had taken precise steps to hide from people.
Her name didn’t come up in normal searches.
Even some of the searches Rachel had done that would usually find people hadn’t worked.
Whoever Iris Bellamy was, she’d taken it upon herself to ensure that most people wouldn’t be able to find her.
That made Vale wonder how Diana had managed. Maybe it was because Diana had been a necromancer. If that was the case, though, Cyril would’ve been able to find Iris easily, but he hadn’t even known for sure that she existed.
But she did exist, and they were about to meet her. Well, they would as soon as they reached her home. That would take a couple of hours.
“I just don’t think that so many guns were necessary,” Cyril said, eyeing Vale. “From what Rachel said, this woman is elderly. I don’t think we’re going to have to shoot her.”
“Probably not,” Vale admitted.
“But you’re still not going to leave your guns in the car.”
“I definitely won’t. I can’t risk it. She might just be an innocent old lady, but I’ve met old ladies who tried to kill me.”
Cyril snorted. “Did you try to kill them?”
Vale shrugged. “Yeah. Age doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. We don’t know what happened when Diana was there, and as far as we know, Marcus might have visited her, too. Iris might be the reason they’re both dead.”
Cyril sucked in a breath. “You think she’s the killer?”
Vale didn’t. “Probably not. From everything I’ve learned about the two cases, I don’t think she has anything to do with them, but that doesn’t mean she’s not involved. She might be in other ways.”
“Hence the guns.”
“Exactly. I’d rather be prepared than be surprised.”
“It’s a little sad, isn’t it? That you think that people are dangerous, just in case.”
“I know you only see the best in people, and I love that about you, but it’s never going to be me. You can continue feeling like that, though.” Vale would protect him from the people he was wrong about. Cyril was a little too trusting, but that was why he had Vale for now. Vale would keep him safe.
Hence the guns.
The drive lasted just over four hours. It wasn’t a long road trip, but by the time they arrived, Vale was itching to leave the car.
He was tense, not knowing what they would find.
He really hoped that Iris wouldn’t reveal herself to be the killer.
He didn’t want Cyril to be sad. If she was, though, Vale would make sure she didn’t hurt Cyril.
“Is this it?” Cyril asked, leaning forward as Vale parked the car in front of a tiny cottage at the end of a long driveway. The gate had been open, so Vale hadn’t hesitated. If Iris didn’t want them to park in front of her house, she’d tell them to leave.
She might tell them just that, anyway. There was no way to know how she’d react to Cyril’s presence.
Diana had mentioned talking to her, but she hadn’t told Cyril what had happened during that conversation.
Maybe Iris had been rude and had kicked Diana out.
Maybe she’d let her in. Maybe she’d do the same for Cyril.
They were about to find out.
Cyril was watching the cottage with wide eyes.
Vale could see why. The place was dainty and looked like it belonged in the British countryside.
The cream-colored stone walls were covered by climbing roses that wound their way up to the roof, their deep red color creating a striking contrast against the pale wall.
The windows were small with dark wooden frames that matched the heavy wooden door.
Wisteria cascaded over the porch, its purple flowers swaying gently in the breeze.
All the flowers in the garden were in bloom, creating a riot of color that seemed to invite them to come closer.
Lavender lined the stone path to the door, and sunflowers stood tall against the walls, swaying in the wind.
It looked like paradise, but it might just become hell for them.
* * * *
CYRIL HAD EXPECTED the older woman who opened the door. If he had to guess, she was in her seventies, and she looked tired. She also didn’t look surprised to see them on her doorstep.
She looked Vale up and down, then turned her attention to Cyril.
Her reaction told Cyril everything he needed to know.
She narrowed her eyes and took a tiny step back, as if she expected Cyril to be the most dangerous one between him and Vale.
It was ridiculous unless one considered what Cyril could do when it came to his necromancy.
It made sense that Iris would recognize him as a powerful necromancer if she was one herself. Cyril didn’t know if it was his changing ability, but he would’ve known this was Iris Bellamy even if no one had told him about her. He would have recognized the necromancer in her.
“I suppose you want to come in,” she said.
Cyril spoke before Vale could. He didn’t want Vale’s brusqueness to offend her.
He would get straight to the point, but Cyril could see that he needed to get Iris to warm up to him.
“We would love to,” he told her. “But if you’d rather talk to us here, it’s fine, too.
” He gestured behind himself. “Your garden is beautiful.”
He almost laughed when Iris rolled her eyes at him. She stepped aside and waved them in. “I agree that it is, but there’s no need for you to butter me up. I’ll talk to you even if you don’t.”
Cyril quickly stepped into the cottage, half afraid that she’d change her mind if he didn’t.
The interior took his breath away. The cottage was larger inside than it had appeared from the outside, with low ceilings and walls lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves.
Every available surface held books, from ancient leather-bound tomes with cracked spines to modern paperbacks with worn covers.
The smell of old paper and dried herbs filled the air, mingling with something that made the hair on the back of Cyril’s neck stand up.
Between the books were oddities that made Cyril’s fingers itch to touch them.
A glass jar containing what looked like preserved moths with iridescent blue-green wings.
A small gilded animal skull was set on a velvet cushion.
Bundles of dried flowers hung from the ceiling beams, their colors faded to browns and grays.
A collection of mirrors in various sizes and shapes reflected the room back at Cyril in fragments, and he had the unsettling feeling that the reflections weren’t quite right.
“I’m here about Marcus and Diana,” Cyril said, unable to help himself. He needed to know if she recognized those names.
Iris’s expression changed. Something flickered in her eyes, maybe grief? “I know those names,” she said quietly. “Are they—”
“Dead,” Cyril finished for her. “Both of them.”
Iris closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, they were bright with unshed tears.
But there was no surprise in her face, only a deep sadness that surprised Cyril.
“I see,” she said. “I’d hoped I was wrong.
” She turned away from them, her shoulders slumping.
“You’d better come into the living room.
This conversation requires tea, I think. ”
She led them down a narrow hallway, past more shelves crammed with books and objects.
The living room was smaller than Cyril had expected, but it felt warm and lived-in.
A fireplace dominated one wall, but it was empty since it wasn’t winter.
The furniture was old but comfortable-looking, including a worn sofa with faded floral designs, two armchairs that didn’t match, and a coffee table marked with water rings and burns.
“Sit,” Iris commanded, gesturing to the sofa. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
Cyril and Vale sat, and Vale’s hand immediately found Cyril’s, squeezing gently. Cyril squeezed back, grateful for the support. The cottage felt strange, like it existed slightly outside of normal space, and he needed something solid to hold onto so he didn’t get lost.
Iris returned with a tray with a teapot and three mismatched cups. She poured the tea with steady hands despite the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. She handed them each a cup before settling into one of the armchairs, cradling her own cup like it offered her comfort.
“Now,” she said. “Tell me everything.”
* * * *
VALE DIDN’T BELONG in this conversation. He was here to support Cyril and to make sure nothing happened to him, but he wasn’t going to participate. This was Cyril’s show, and Vale was happy to stay out of it.