There was nothing for it now but to open the chamber, to reveal the unthinkable. She squared her shoulders and met his gaze with defiance. “Some who die—usually the restless ones, or the angry ones—linger in our world as ghosts: unseen beings that walk the earth after death. I can see them.”
Leena waited fora reaction, an exclamation, a shudder of revulsion, but was only met with stark silence. Her nerves on fire, she rushed to fill the vacancy.
“I wasn’t born like this. I began seeing the dead three years ago, days after I turned seventeen. I wish I knew why they suddenly became visible to me, but they did, and I cannot stop them, nor can I control them.”
He continued to watch her from behind his heavy-lidded eyes. “Ah.”
It was the lack of response that fanned her already strained temper. “Bless you, sir. Was that not a sneeze?”
“Hardly a sneeze, madam, but a proclamation of doubt.”
“Doubt…” she responded slowly. She had expected this, but she could not stop the sudden fear that roared through her chest.
“The dead do not go on living after death.”
“Then you have a very limited viewpoint, indeed.”
His eyes widened and he let out a surprised half-laugh.
She had meant it not as a jest but as an entreaty for him tobroaden his mind, but her tongue had slipped before she could curtailit.
He continued after a moment, the laughter dropping from his mouth. “You must understand, Miss Al-Sayer, that in my line of work I am often met with lies. A lie for a noble reason is still a lie—and it is not in my nature to look kindly upon liars.”
Her heart sank. “I can assure you that I am not lying.”
“But how can this be proved?” he asked, with a flash of teeth. “I am all eagerness to help your situation—and I wish a rapid recovery to your loved one—” He said this as an afterthought, before his voice dropped dangerously. “But I will not be made a fool.”
“What must I do?”
He leaned forward. An odd hunger transformed his features, chasing away any vestiges of false sympathy. “Can you see any apparitions now?”
Leena scanned every crevice of the small room, across the multiple ledgers stacked in high shelves, toward the hearth that housed a healthy fire—Why was it still so cold in this room?—even behind the armchair.
Only the living remained. The ghost that had led her here—a boy dressed in white, his temple shattered by a rock—had been flickering in and out on the steps of St. Silas’s shop when she’d begged him to take her to the Saint. But he’d disappeared the moment she’d crossed the Saint’s threshold. She sensed that the dead were not pleased with the Saint of Silence. Could she lie? But Margery’s warning came back to her and she banished the temptation.
Finally, she whispered, “No.”
“How convenient. Your secret happens to be one that cannot be proven.” There was now a trace of anger hidden behind his easy tone.
She brought a hand to her forehead, and St. Silas followed the motion. His eyebrows lifted as if he noticed something in that movement, and a strange chilling expression momentarily crossed his features.
She should run now—before he held her down, before his knife slid through her skin, splitting the tissue and tearing the vessels, marking her forever.
Still, Leena did not leave.
“I don’t know why you collect secrets, Mr. St. Silas, or what you seek. But would you let this one go if it had only the smallest chance of proving true?”
A pause. He met her eyes. She didn’t lower her own.
“Youareclever.” He weighed his next words carefully. “I’ll give you an opportunity to prove the validity of your statement. Do you agree with this?”
“I’ll agree to anything.”
“Follow me.” He stood up, leaving the room in long strides while commanding that his carriage be readied immediately.
She was led from the study, down the same bright hall, and back to the stone courtyard outside. There, a well-sprung vehicle, expertly crafted but inconspicuous, was waiting for them, two large grays already in the harness. St. Silas issued an order to the driver, too low for her ears to pick up, before he climbed into the seat across from her. Leena tucked herself as far into the corner as possible to avoid accidentally brushing against him, but this was difficult. His lithe form spread across the aisle with ease, his long legs taking up half the room.
Their moods were in direct contrast. If Leena’s muscles were tightly wound, St. Silas was at his leisure. She wondered if he enjoyed eliciting such strong reactions in others, if he enjoyed grasping such power.
