She was no different in that regard, just more convinced that she was correct.
Recently, she’d learned that she could influence her surroundings. She could not recreate a room, of course, but she could influence the way it was perceived by others.
Again, this was simply a matter of suggestion. Some people, when told a piece of cloth was black, would see it as black. Even if it was a dark blue. Hecate did much the same thing, on a deeper level, merely suggesting that a room appeared cosy and warm for example, so that guests would feel at home. She’d tried that with much success during her time in Chillendale just before Christmas, but again it had completely exhausted her.
The feelings and emotions she picked up from others—they could be worrisome. So she’d taught herself how to block them, filter them, to choose those that were important and leave the rest behind.
Of course, all her good intentions had gone out of the window when Dancey Miller-James had walked into her life and swept her off her feet. She felt the usual dart of disgust for herself when she thought of him, and now, being tired and worried about her patient, she deliberately closed that door. Old mistakes would always be there, but didn’t need to be brought into the light of day when she wasn’t up to dealing with them.
More composed, she stood, wincing a little as her leg reminded her that sitting a long time in one position was not always the best idea. Rubbing her hip, she wandered around the room, stretching a little, ordering her body to function much as she ordered her mind to focus. She needed to sort out what she’d learned and add it to what she already knew.
A soft tap on the door announced Dal, come to take over the night hours of watchfulness.
She smiled at him. “I made progress, Dal. We have exchanged thoughts.”
“Indeed, Miss Hecate?” Dal’s eyebrows rose. “This is good news. Now we can be reassured there is still someone in there.” He looked at the man lying beneath the covers. “I confess to some concern in that regard, given his lack of conscious behaviour.”
“As was I.” She rotated her shoulders, letting the muscles relax. “His name is Finn, and he’s from Ireland.”
“Excellent. Two details we did not know until now.” Dal paused. “Would that be a Christian name or a surname?”
“Hmm.” She blinked. “I don’t know. We didn’t really get that far.”
Dal put another log on the fire, then turned to take Hecate’s vacated chair. “So Mr. Finn from Ireland is here with us. Did he tell you how he came to be here?”
She shook her head. “No. His thoughts are filled with pain, Dal. It would seem his family all died before he reached them. Perhaps he was elsewhere with his brigade—we know he was a soldier from his clothing—and when he returned to Ireland, there was no one left.” She sighed. “He said they’d starved or passed away from some disease. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was typhus, since one doesn’t need to be brilliant to realise that starvation and fatal illnesses walk hand in hand.”
Dal nodded. “’Tis so, I’m afraid. Your assumptions have merit.” He looked back at the dark hair and pale face of their patient. “Perhaps the touch of your mind is enough to rouse his.”
“We shall see.” She moved to the door. “He sleeps now, and the typhus has passed, so let us pray that his rest will start to heal the parts that are still damaged.”
“A worthy suggestion.”
“Oh, one thing…” She paused. “When you have been caring for him, did you notice that lump on his head? Do you have any idea what might have caused it?”
Dal frowned. “I assumed his perilous progress through a rough forest would have accounted for it. I did not concern myself unduly. Why?”
“That was my first thought too. But upon consideration, such an accident would most likely have affected his face or the sides of his head. Not the back of it. I would venture a guess that it might well be a strike by something hard, and with great force.”
“That makes little sense, Miss Hecate,” puzzled Dal. “Unless you believe someone attacked him?”
She nodded. “I hate to say it, but yes, that is my initial assessment. What if his physical state was so poor that he could not defend himself? His body barely had enough strength to fight the typhus, let alone avoid attack. Now that he’s healthy again, we might also see bruising, perhaps. Or other manifestations of injuries that would otherwise have been readily visible. We’ll watch for them.”
“’Tis a theory, I suppose. But I cannot speak to its veracity.” Dal was nothing if not honest.
“That’s all right,” yawned Hecate. “I’ll not ask you to speak to anything, dear Dal.” She grinned. “Especially not now. I’m exhausted.”
“Then rest.” He settled himself into the chair. “We are warm and comfortable. All is well.”
“Very good. I will.” She opened the door and looked back. “And a good night to you both.”
She walked to her room and sighed with relief as the glow of the fire welcomed her into her personal sanctuary. The scent of sage and thyme greeted her, familiar friends who travelled with her down paths that others might not even realise were there.
Slipping into her nightclothes, Hecate knew she should simply scramble into her lovely bed and sink into blissful sleep. But something was nudging at her mind, a half-formed thought, perhaps, or an idea that required pursuing. Her scrying bowl sat ready on a low table by her window, and it drew her as surely as if it had called her name out loud.
Cut from dark stone and smooth as silk, it was filled with fresh rainwater, and stood between two candles cradled in small crystal candlesticks. She lit them with a taper, then sat in front of them, watching the surface of the water ripple slightly at her movements. When all was once again still, she opened the lid of the small box that sat off to one side, and removed an elegant glittering shard of amethyst crystal. It was her favourite piece and the one she’d found worked best for scrying.
Placing it in the exact centre of the bowl, she took a cleansing breath and cleared her thoughts, focussing only on the shades of lavender and purple emanating from the crystal. It was a familiar process and in only a matter of moments she felt peacefulness sweep over her. As if a door had opened inside her mind, she grew aware of her surroundings in a different way, connecting to the elements, alert to the slightest wisps of sound, and calmly absorbing all these sensations with an expanded sense of her reality.
