Chapter 19 #3
“It just doesn’t track, does it? Centuries of service as Bookkeepers and then one goes rogue and kills a mythological beast? I’m not buying it, Agnes.” Hilda shook her head. “There’s more here.”
“So how do I find it? The Order’s records are incomplete. Quilliam doesn’t know. Nobody knows why Isobel did what she did.”
“Someone does,” Orla said softly. Everyone turned to look at her.
She was staring at the wall, her hand pressed flat against the stone, her expression distant.
“There’s a spirit. I’ve been sensing her since we arrived tonight.
Just on the fringes of everything. She’s old.
And she’s been trying to reach me ever since Agnes entered the castle. ”
My heart stuttered. “Is it ... could it be—”
“I don’t know. She’s faint. Like she’s been waiting a very long time and doesn’t have much strength left. Almost like an imprint of a memory.” Orla’s eyes met mine. “But I think she knows you, Agnes. Or knows of you. She’s drawn to your presence.”
“Isobel,” I whispered. “It could be Isobel.”
“Maybe. Or maybe someone else from your line. Either way, she might have answers.”
“Can you reach her? Communicate with her?”
“I can try. But not here, not with all this chaos. I need quiet. Concentration.” Orla glanced around the crowded room. “And possibly one less ghost coo.”
Clyde barreled out of the wall, let out an offended bellow, which caused Faelan to jump and hold her hand to her heart.
“No offense, Clyde. You’re lovely, of course. You’re just very loud.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Sophie decided. “Tonight, we celebrate, all right? Matthew and Hilda can continue researching in the archives. And Agnes”—she fixed me with a look—“is going to let us help her instead of trying to carry this alone. Yes?”
“Aye,” I said, tugging on my left ear. I didn’t know if I could promise that.
The group broke up in smaller numbers, everyone talking over each other, as Brice raced around the room and filled champagne glasses.
“To love,” Sophie cried out, lifting her glass.
“Slàinte,” we all cried, and once more, tears spilled over. It felt like I’d cried more in a couple weeks than I had in years and once I’d taken the cork out, there was no holding back anymore.
“I love you, fiancée,” Graham said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“Fiancée.” I laughed. “That makes me even more twisted up inside than the word girlfriend does.”
“I hope in a good way.” Graham brushed a soft kiss across my lips.
“In the best way possible,” I promised.
“And yet, you’re still shaking,” he observed.
“I know.” I was. I’d had a lot of highs and lows today, and adrenaline still worked its way through my body.
“Come here.” He pulled me against his side, tucking me under his arm despite the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. “Just breathe. I’m here. I’m alive. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“Will we?”
“We always do.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Well. The Order always does. I’m just along for the ride at this point.”
“Some ride.”
“Best ride of my life.” He was quiet for a moment. “Agnes?”
“Mm?”
“What you did today … going into the loch after me ...” His voice was rough. “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever known someone to do.”
“That wasn’t bravery. That was sheer bloody terror. I couldn’t …” I shook my head, unable to finish my words.
“Maybe they’re the same thing.” His arms tightened around me. “Either way. Thank you for not letting me go.”
I turned my face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—loch water and wool and something underneath that was just Graham. Just home.
“I’ll never let go,” I said. “That’s the whole point. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”
“And it’s what’s going to get us out.” He tilted my chin up so I was looking at him. “Two challenges down, Agnes. One to go. And you’re not alone anymore. Whatever comes next, we face it together.”
Together. The word should have been comforting, but all I could think about was the Beithir in the loch. The curse coiling around Graham like chains. The truth I still didn’t know, hiding somewhere in the shadows of three hundred years.
“Together,” I echoed and tried to believe it.
Clyde wandered over and attempted to lay his ghostly head in my lap, which didn’t work because he was incorporeal, but the gesture was sweet. I reached out to pat him anyway, my hand passing through cold air.
“Thanks, Clyde.”
He bellowed softly, more of a small rumble, and settled at our feet like a very large, very cold guard dog.
Outside, the sun was setting over Loch Mirren, painting the water gold and crimson. It looked both beautiful and deadly. The loch had been both for as long as I could remember.
Tomorrow, we’d look for answers. Tomorrow, Orla would try to reach the spirit. Tomorrow, we would dig through the archives for any scrap of information about Isobel and her motives.
But tonight, I sat with Graham and tried to memorize the feeling of his heart beating against my cheek.
Alive. Still alive.
And then either the curse would break, or it would finally take everything I had left to lose.