Chapter Eight Idris #2
Jay arrives in the evening, late enough that most of the servants have already retired for the night. He rubs his hands together against the cold as Abram lets him into the manor.
“Well, this is mysterious,” he says, glancing from Abram to me. “I had word from your father to come by quietly at a late hour, but nothing more than that. Are we painting the tower clock again?”
A few years ago, the three of us had snuck into the Guildhall at midnight and decorated the clockface with a comical expression.
It was Abram’s idea, of course, though my father would never believe Abram was even involved.
It was entirely worth the two weeks confined to the house just to hear the townsfolk—at least, the ones with good humor—have a laugh over it.
“Not something quite so merry,” I admit.
Abram and I had negotiated with my father to leave the explaining to us.
His only requirement was that we must not disclose any family secrets.
“It seems I’ve been enchanted by the Hidden Folk.
We were hoping you’d be up to the task of seeing where I go every night. ”
Jay stares at me a moment, then plants his hands on his hips. “Well, well. And didn’t I tell you they were real?”
“You did,” I admit. After Jay’s first night keeping a full watch on his father’s vessel, he had claimed he saw selkies dancing on the shore.
Hardly anyone but the elderly—used to the times when the Hidden Folk were more active around humans—had taken his colorful story as fact. The elderly and Abram, that is.
“And what kind of trouble have you got yourself into with them?” Jay goes on. “Been chasing alluring music coming from the dunes?”
“Not exactly.”
“The details aren’t particularly important,” Abram cuts in. “You know how it is, Jay—they took offense, and Idris has been caught up in it.”
I bristle at the easy way he brushes aside the truth. But I know he’s only trying to honor our promise to Father.
“Would you mind keeping a watch over Idris?” Abram asks. “You do not need to, if you’d rather not.”
“Are you mad? Of course.” Jay smiles. “I’ve been keen to see the Hidden Folk ever since that night. Maybe I can find something to prove I wasn’t lying about the selkies.”
“Excellent,” I say, some of the anxiousness uncoiling from my gut.
“Don’t do anything risky,” Abram cautions. “We don’t want to complicate the matter. We just want to understand what’s happening.”
“Aye, aye.” Jay claps Abram on the shoulder. “Now, where should I keep watch?”
In the morning, I wake to a dim day. The windows are still intact. True sleeps calmly on my feet. I try flexing my arms and legs. The usual soreness—and the bandaged cut on my shin—is still there, but I don’t seem to be freshly injured this time.
Relieved, I crawl out of bed and get dressed. My excitement builds. Jay will have answers; I know it. And maybe with those answers, I can find out what is happening to me.
“How’d it”—I open my bedroom door and falter—”go …?”
The chair we set in the hallway is empty. Jay’s book and a burned-out candle are on the floor beside it, and a mug of tea long gone cold. True takes a disinterested sniff at the drink and then starts toward the breakfast room.
Right. It would make sense if Jay was up before me, already reporting whatever happened to Father and Abram. Or at least having his fill of food after a long night. I hurry down the stairs to join the others.
But when I enter, only Father and Abram sit at the table. They are speaking in low tones but stop abruptly when I come in. My eagerness turns to frustration. Jay’s already told them and left.
“You can talk in front of me,” I say, not bothering to hide my annoyance. I collapse into my chair and reach for the toast. “So Jay’s already been by? Were you discussing all the horrid details of whatever’s going on?”
Abram pales. “He isn’t with you?”
“What?” I frown. “I mean, he was meant to be. Last night.”
Abram drops his gaze to his empty plate, jaw tight.
“When I got up, he wasn’t outside your door,” Father explains. “I thought maybe he’d taken a nap on your floor when you returned last night. We were waiting for you to get up before we talked to him.”
I draw my hand back from the food, unease creeping through my stomach. “I haven’t seen him since we stationed him in the hallway.”
Father looks up as a maid enters with fresh coffee. His voice is tight when he says, “Ruth, could you have word sent to the Berd residence? Ask whether they’ve seen Jay this morning.”
Ruth makes a polite curtsy and slips back outside, leaving the pot. None of us fills our cups.
“You think he went home?” Abram asks, doubtful.
“It’s possible,” Father says. But he sounds as unconvinced as I feel. He rises. “I’ll check the guest suite and make sure he isn’t around here somewhere.”
Abram and I exchange a worried glance. We don’t speak while Father is gone, and when he returns, shaking his head mutely, the three of us settle into a tense silence while we wait for Ruth. Heaviness grows between my shoulder blades. I can’t eat. I hardly seem able to breathe.
The mantel clock shows half an hour drag past, though it feels longer. Ruth enters the room again with another rushed curtsy.
“Well?” Father prompts, sitting forward.