‘I’ll wait here,’ said Nico. ‘For Milo and Alix. You go on ahead.’
Thank God for Nico, she thought.
The Manoir still had the warm and welcoming atmosphere which Ari remembered from the other night. Even though she had run away from it. Best not to think about that. It led to thoughts of the storm and the clifftops, of Ankou standing there, holding the mask, of Simon. And of last night.
Her stomach twisted. While she had been standing in a graveyard talking to a dead man, was Thierry drowning?
No. It couldn’t have been that early, could it? She had seen him dancing, laughing, singing along…
God, he’d been alive and now—
‘Ari?’ Jason said, dragging her attention back to the present. ‘Are you OK?’
She brushed away his concern. ‘Yeah. Fine.’
‘You don’t look it.’
She swallowed hard. Well, she had been lying, hadn’t she?
‘Ah, visitors,’ said Madame du Lac when she saw them. She sat at a card table by the window, a colourful deck of Tarot cards spread out in front of her. She turned them over, one at a time, studying the images, distracted.
‘Where’s Laure?’ Rafael asked sharply. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be on my own? Laure went out. Nolvene is around somewhere.’ The vagueness in her didn’t sound good and Ari could see his concern mounting. ‘Gwen was here earlier. She was looking for you. Something about the museum?’
Ari tried not to shudder. Gwen had warned her all about Rafael, and yet here she was. In his house. Doing what he wanted.
And Simon had warned her too, told her to go before it was too late. And now Thierry was dead.
Rafael frowned and didn’t exactly look thrilled at the thought of Gwen either. Before he could say anything more, Madame du Lac looked up, fixing Ari with a suddenly piercing look.
‘Dr Walker, come, pick a card.’
‘This isn’t the time for party tricks, Mémé—’ Rafael began, but Ari shook her head.
‘It’s fine,’ she told him. If it amused an old woman, why not? It wasn’t as if she believed in such things.
Nor had she believed in Ankou, or ancient curses, or…
She couldn’t think about that now.
The back of the cards looked like stained glass, the colours vibrant and bright. It was an old pack though, the edges of the cards worn from use.
‘Any card?’ she asked.
The old woman nodded and spread her hands wide over the pack. ‘Just turn it over.’
Ari reached out for one in the middle of the table, but at the last minute her hand wavered and she flicked over one at the edge instead.
The Moon, a beautiful traditional depiction of it, with the moon appearing between two towers, while two wolves howled at it, all at the edge of the sea. A shiver ran down Ari’s back. If you looked at the landscape, it almost reminded her of Pointe de Castelmeur and the landscape around Sainte Sirène.
She looked up at Madame du Lac, but the old woman just stared at the card, a curious expression on her face.
‘Something ancient stirs,’ she said in that strange, calm voice. ‘Beneath the surface. Pick another.’
Ari did as instructed, unable to stop herself.
‘The Hanged Man,’ said Madame du Lac. ‘The sacrifice. He who gives all for knowledge. Another.’
