Grayson blinked, felt those unseen hands recede until he found himself back in the present and he was himself again. The red then black mist, the powerful flash of white light, him striking over and over, all of it slowly faded away, and in that moment, he knew the answer was close, so close he could nearly touch it. The red-and-black mist and the flash of white.When the night bleeds red onto the moon.But what about the black mist?
Pip was kneeling next to him, lightly patting his face. In the next moment, P.C. and Brady ran in and jumped on the bed, all of them pressing close to Grayson. All the questions evaporated like a morning drizzle in the sun. He hugged them, called out, “I don’t have any more arms.”
The adults sat on the bed and roughhoused with the children until Brady gave a huge yawn. His father gave him a smacking kiss, picked him up, and hauled him back to bed.
Miranda stroked her hand over P.C.’s soft hair. “Well, my girl, are you ready to dream a princess’s dream?”
P.C. jumped off the bed and took her mother’s hand, but she looked back at Grayson. She looked worried.
Grayson held Pip close as he carried him back to bed. He kissed his soft cheek, pulled the blanket to his chin since it was chilly in the small bedchamber. It was what Pip said in a sleepy voice that finally set him firmly on the right path.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Monday morning
After breakfast, Grayson rode Astor to Cibalto’s house. It was chilly and raining, no surprise, but only a drizzle. His hat kept his head dry, and thankfully no rain snaked down the back of his neck. He was both pleased and surprised to see Mrs. Brush open the door to him. She was smiling and looked perfectly fit.
“Ach, do come in, sir, ’tis a dreich day.” Which Grayson translated to mean lousy weather.
“Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Brush?”
She patted her head. “Dinna fash, am pure done in, ye ken. Ah, do ye come in, come in, an’ see the master.” She took his hat and coat, eyed him. “Yer nay droukit.” Her eyes twinkled at his blank look. “Wet, sir, yer not soaking wet.”
He smiled back at her. “No, I’m not droukit. I know the way, Mrs. Brush, thank you.”
Grayson’s heart began to pound as he gave a light knock on the study door.
“Enter.”
Grayson opened the door to see Cibalto on a ladder studying the books on a high shelf. There was a single chair, but all the detritus was cleared away. Cibalto quickly climbed down.
He rushed to Grayson, grabbed his hands. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone.”
But Cibalto stared toward the door as if an enemy would burst through. “Please, shut the door, come and sit down.”
Grayson shut the door, but he didn’t sit, he continued to stand, facing Cibalto. “What’s the matter?”
“I–I can’t really explain it. Yet again I’ve felt as if I was outside myself and another was inside me. I know, I know, each time it happens I want to dismiss it. It sounds too strange and frightening. I believe I fell unconscious. And I dreamed again of Mary, and she showed me how she struck down Mrs. Brush, then she destroyed my library. I heard her laugh. Listen, I know Mary is going to make the night bleed red onto the moon. I don’t know how, but she will do it, and then I’ll choke to death.”
“Calm yourself, Cibalto. Come, let’s sit down.” He smiled. “On the floor.”
Cibalto eased down beside Grayson, but he kept looking toward the door and wringing his hands.
“Cibalto, I’d like to ask you a question. Tell me, how many times have you felt as if you were somehow apart from yourself?”
“Three, maybe four times. It is frightening, and I believe it is simply another way Mary is torturing me.”
“Cibalto, the only reason you believe Mary wants to kill you is because of the jagged piece of paper on the stairs, meant, you believe, only for you since it hadn’t been there before. Now, tell me why do you think you could read that piece of paper when you couldn’t read any of the other pages we’ve found?”
Cibalto frowned. “I have wondered that myself. I know it was torn from her diary. I have to believe I could read it because Mary must have wanted me to so I would know she would kill me, none other, just me.”
Grayson said, “Cibalto, do you believe Mary, Queen of Scots, was a good woman?”
Cibalto stared at him, blinked, and cocked his head to the side in question. “What an odd thing to ask me. How could she be a good woman if she wants to kill me for no good reason at all that I can fathom?”
“Cibalto, before you came to believe Mary planned to kill you, before your dreams and finding the curse, did you believe Mary was a good woman?”
