The feather moved slowly, up–down, up–down.
Nick’s eyebrows rose. “Have you a tail?”
Back and forth, quickly.
“My God,” Nick breathed. ’Twas ingenious, really. It crossed his mind that he would have liked this boy in life, resourceful as he was. Nick cleared his throat again and leaned to the side, propped on one arm. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”
Yea.
“Alright. What is it?” Nick waited, but the feather did not move. He then realized that his question required a more involved reply than the boy was able to give. “Sorry. Is it about Simone?”
Yea.
“And yourself? Is it about the accident?”
Yea, yea, yea.
Nick thought for a moment on how to best continue. His only information about Simone’s family’s deaths had come from Simone herself. He did not know what to ask.
“Do you recall what happened?”
A slight hesitation, and then,Nay.
Nick sighed and scrubbed one hand across his suddenly weary eyes. “I don’t understand. How am I to help you if you don’t remember any of the accident?”
Nay, nay, nay.
Then the feather took off down the knoll and disappeared into the darkness. Nick growled and looked toward the convent, silhouetted in a blackness darker than the night sky.
“I do hope you are pleased, Evelyn.”
Something cold and wet slapped Nick’s cheek, leaving fat droplets of water behind before falling into his lap. He looked down and saw Didier’s white feather, matted and dripping a dark pool on his chausses.
Nick looked up, around him. “Water?”
A sinister cold seemed to wrap itself around Nick, so sudden and frigid that his teeth began to chatter. The damp spot where the feather lay on his thigh burned with cold, as if ice had formed there. Nick’s breathing became labored and he could not draw sufficient air. He raised a hand to his throat, panic seizing him.
But then, quite suddenly, ’twas gone, and the feather hovered once more before his face, damp now, but no longer dripping. Air rushed into his lungs and he gasped a hoarse breath. It had almost felt as though he’d been dr—
“Didier,” Nick began slowly, testing his raw throat, “did you drown?”
The feather remained still.
Nick frowned. “But Simone said you and your mother lost your lives in the stable fire. That you were trapped inside.”
Yea.
“There is only one way to find out for certain,” Nick said, his anger rising. “As Armand was the only survivor, I shall summon him from London and demand an explanation. He may have been able to bully Simone, but he’ll not fare so well with me.” He rose from beneath the tree and began striding back in the direction of Withington. But before he had taken a score of steps, Didier’s feather swooped before his face in wide, wild arcs.
Nay, nay, nay!
Nick stopped. “You do not wish for me to summon Armand?”
Nay.
“Why not?”
Nay.
