“You are your father’s son, Bramwell Avon, and you are a neck running toward an ax—just as he was.”
Bram spat inches from Hargreaves’s head where he lay prostrate in the snow. Then, distantly, Hargreaves watched the blur of St. Silas’s leather boots recede toward the carriage.
The clatter of carriage wheels struck the ground
The horses surged into motion.
They were gone.
And Hargreaves remembered that it was in this exact spot that Percy had drawn his last breaths.
Until the breakof dawn, Leena kept vigil.
She had awoken with a gasp after Lady Hargreaves’s revelation, only to find the ghost still at the edge of her bed. Her eyes were harrowing. She gave Leena a nod as if to say:That is all. Release me. Release the boy.
Then she disappeared.
Leena bit back a sob, but tears still streamed down her cheeks as she thought of St. Silas as a boy.
No one looked for him.
Leena’s chest heaved.
What had changed between Percy and Hargreaves that the latter hadkilled the former? What was this power that Percy had amassed?
Snow fell outside her bedroom window, wet clumps collecting on the glass. Leena had just managed to gain a hold on herself when her door opened, allowing Mrs. Van to enter. She stood staring down at Leena, the angles of her face made sharper in the daylight. Leena rose rapidly, her eyes red-rimmed. If Mrs. Van noticed, she did not comment.
“Any news?” Leena clenched her hands.
The frown deepened. “None yet. It’s still early.”
“You look worried.”
Mrs. Van didn’t respond. She busied herself by relighting the smoldering embers in the fireplace. Leena was just about to open her mouth again when the bedroom door swung open with a slam.
Leena jerked to her feet, a tide of hope rising that she might see Rami or St. Silas on the other side.
In shock, she stared at Lord Kilworth swaying on the threshold. He stumbled forward, the tip of his nose as cherry red as his hair, a rifle hanging loosely in his hands. Leena’s eyes jolted to meet those of Mrs. Van, who gave only a single shake of her head in warning.
“Keep watch, Kilworth. Nothing more.” His Lordship’s voice was dangerous, his speech slurring. “Damn Hargreaves—that halfling—and damn the secrets he keeps. Eh, I’ll keep watch.”
He staggered backward, then pounded a fist on the doorframe to steady himself, the vibrations shaking dust from the ceiling. The astringent smell of alcohol reached Leena’s nose as she stood frozen in place.
His Lordship’s body, normally sleek and fit, seemed larger within the frame of the doorway, blocking their only exit, the rifle swinging back and forth in an arc.
He leered toward Leena, his face splitting into a sickening, lopsided smile. “I’ll have the truth out of you, pet. Everyone here knows that this business of you being the Saint’s ward is a sham. Have you been fuc—”
“My lord!” Mrs. Van interjected angrily. “That is enough. You will not speak to my charge—”
“Nasty demon.How dare you address me?” He pounded the rifle on the floor. Once, twice, to the inflections of his voice. “I. Know. What. You. Are.”
Mrs. Van’s mouth flattened.
Kilworth continued to slam his rifle closer and closer to Mrs. Van’s feet.
An overwhelming thought flashed through Leena’s mind.He desires to hunt her like prey.
“Did you know, m’dear, that the Saint deals with demons?” Lord Kilworth turned to Leena with a short, humorless laugh. “Do you have any idea what you’ve set foot into?” He shook his head. “Ask the Saint why he collects secrets.”
