Chapter 20 #2
“I’m upset,” Gabriel interjected, “because I can’t think of a single reason why you’re wrong.
Why my own mother couldn’t possibly be the one to kill me.
” His shoulders strained against his shirt as he forced his fists deeper into his pockets.
“I don’t have any defense for her, not even a flowery notion of familial bonds.
I want to say you’re wrong, that she would never, but I can’t. Not if I’m being honest with myself.”
It was a painful reminder that Miles would never truly understand what Gabriel was going through. His fight with his own mom seemed so childish and trivial in comparison.
“I don’t know what to say to make this better,” Miles admitted.
He reached over and brushed his fingertips along the sliver of Gabriel’s skin where his sleeve had ridden up, half to soothe, half to apologize.
“But Charlee could just as likely find something to change our minds and convince us your mom’s not involved.
For what it’s worth, I really hope that’s the case.
” Even if that put them back at ground zero with no suspects.
He’d take anything over Gabriel having to know his own mother would sacrifice his life for power.
Charlee came out of the attached bathroom. “Nothing exciting in there but a mostly empty bottle of Ambien.” At Miles’s questioning look, she explained, “It’s a sleeping pill. Mom was taking them for a while after the accident.”
He hoped Felicity was losing sleep over what a rotten person she was.
Charlee planted her hands on her hips. “This is the room of a psychopath. Who lives in a space this sterile?”
Miles caught a flash of black and white tiled floor and a massive clawfoot tub before she closed the door. “Nothing’s… speaking to you?”
She gestured around wildly. “Like what? This is basically the world’s fanciest jail cell.”
Stalking around the room one more time, she gave a resigned huff and reached down to brush her fingertip along the delicate handle of the teacup. Her gaze glazed and went distant before she pulled away, head cocked in confusion.
“What is it?”
Ignoring Miles, she moved to the bedside table and rested her fingers against the glasses for a moment. Then the silky pillows on the bed.
“It’s weird,” she finally shared. “I can feel echoes of things, emotions and thoughts, but they’re blurry. Kinda foggy, like there’s this—”
“Dark cloud?” Miles finished for her.
She nodded, twisting a red curl around her finger.
“You can’t sense anything?”
“I didn’t say that. The echoes are there, I’ll just have to work harder to get to them.”
She sank to her knees back at the table, wrapping her hands around the painted porcelain cup. A minute ticked by, her freckled face scrunched in concentration.
“Felicity drank this before she left this morning, but she’d already been awake for hours. She’s worried she’s running out of time. There’s a specific stress associated with your brother.”
“Bram?” Gabriel’s voice spiked with alarm.
“The other one, from the hall. He’s all twisted up in her thoughts, feeding into her anxieties.”
“They are arguing more than usual. As Edmund said, she’s been… in a mood.”
Should they warn Edmund to take it easy? The last thing they needed was another Hawthorne life in their hands.
Charlee released the teacup and stood. “That’s all I’ve got. She finished her tea and went to her office, but something had her seriously pissed. I’ll see if I can pick the emotional thread back up in there.”
Based on the few times Miles had had the misfortune of meeting Felicity, her being pissed wasn’t an anomaly.
They crossed the hall to her office. Like her bedroom, it was limited to dark, muted shades and borderline barren.
A wide desk and leather office chair squatted in the middle of the room with dual sleek monitors, one wall lined with neat bookshelves, a marble fireplace on another. It didn’t look recently used.
The space was nothing like his parents’ office—no framed family photos haphazardly placed, no sun-bleached curtains over the windows, no dusty knickknacks on the shelves. There wasn’t even a jar of mismatched pens on her desk.
There was a notepad, names and times crossed out with vicious slashes of black ink. Gabriel leaned over to study it.
“I recognize these names. They’re clients of my mother’s.”
“Why would she be canceling all her appointments?”
“I have no idea. With Halloween approaching, she’s always more busy than usual, perhaps she overbooked.”
Or if she was having trouble sleeping, maybe she didn’t trust herself to hold séances. The safety of her clients didn’t seem like something she would prioritize, but miracles occasionally happened.
Charlee sank into the chair with a grimace and squeak of leather, trailing her fingers down the arms. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“She’s thinking about visiting her grandmother today. She needs… advice. Help. But she’s nervous.”
“My great-grandmother Marjorie,” Gabriel confirmed.
It was hard to imagine what she could help with, spending her days watching the rain in that fancy retirement home. Unless Felicity needed help slipping a possessed object to an unsuspecting innocent.
“Can you see what for? What has her so freaked?”
“It’s hard to pick up direct answers, I mostly get emotions and impressions. I’ll dig a little deeper.”
She sank her fingers into the leather armrests, the chair creaking. Miles sent a plea to the universe that the answer was anything but advice on how to kill one of her kids.
“I’m getting a name in the front of her mind. Uncle Barnaby. Her fear is connected with his killing.”
It took Miles a moment to recall why that name was familiar.
“Isn’t that the guy your grandma mentioned?” he asked Gabriel.
“Yes, my great-uncle. He died in an accident.”
“No.” Charlee shook her head, curls bouncing. “Your mom is definitely thinking about how he was killed. That it was… a punishment.”
Gabriel recoiled. “Punishment for what? Are you saying he was murdered?”
“All I know is what I said.”
“Try again.” Miles held himself back from grabbing things from the nearest shelves to shove at her.
If Gabriel’s great-uncle had been killed as a punishment, it could give them an idea of Gabriel’s fate.
Marjorie herself had said that Gabriel reminded her of Barnaby, that he too had questioned his gifts, and it had cost him his life. Was history about to repeat itself?
Charlee caressed the top of the desk, trailing over the keyboard and mouse, but shook her head. “Nothing about you,” she told Gabriel.
He scoffed. “I’m not even worth a fleeting thought to her. What a surprise.”
“That’s not what she’s saying,” Miles assured him.
“Don’t take it personally. There’s too much emotional mess here. It’s radiating from this desk and blocking everything else out.” Charlee’s head tilted like she could hear a voice. “Something’s hiding…”
Her hand dipped down to the bottom drawer, sliding it open. A line of manilla folders filled the space, but she reached behind them and pulled out a wooden box the size of a small book.
“Here.” She passed it to Gabriel. “Whatever’s in there, your mom sat here and had a big juicy breakdown over it.”
He didn’t hesitate to crack open the lid. Nestled on emerald-green lining sat a heavy old-fashioned iron key.
Miles asked the obvious question. “What does it open?”
“I’ve never seen it before.” Gabriel picked it up, pale fingers stark against the dark metal. “This house doesn’t use keys like this anymore. My mother had everything updated years ago.”
“Could it be for the old house?” A bit pointless when that place didn’t even have a front door anymore.
“Perhaps.” Gabriel offered the key to Charlee.
She took it, sucking in a breath. “Ew, yeah, loads of nasty energy on this thing. Your mom wasn’t happy the last time she used it, that’s for sure. I’m seeing… wine bottles against a brick wall. And the number sixty-three.”
“I don’t know about sixty-three,” Gabriel said, “but the rest sounds like our wine cellar. There aren’t any doors down there, though.”
Charlee shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger, that’s all I’ve got.”
“We are looking for a secret underground tunnel entrance,” Miles pointed out. “And now we’ve got a mysterious key. Doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”
If Charlee had saved them hours of searching, Miles was going to buy her an entire gift basket of candy.
Gabriel slipped the key into his pocket. “I suppose there’s no harm in checking it out.”