She could feel St. Silas’s gaze burn into her, although she didn’t returnit.
“If you let my brother stay”—her eyes flashed to meet his—“I will work harder to find Lord Avon. I will—”
He held up a hand, and Leena fell silent. “If I do not have to hear or deal with your brother a moment longer, then he will be permitted to work alongside Arthur as a bruiser.”
Relief flooded Leena like a tidal wave. “Thank you, sir. He will not disappoint.”
“Your brother—for all that he is an impetuous fool—is talented with a sword. But mark my words, any sign of rebellion”—he slanted her a look—“theAl-Sayerrebellion—and he will be gone.”
He did not respond to her further show of gratitude.
She turned to go, but when she opened the door it was to see Theodore Daye waiting for her. On peeking inside, the young ghost startled visibly, his eyes fixating on something behind her. Leena first thought that he was looking at St. Silas, but she quickly followed his gaze and saw that it was Lord Avon’s portrait that had captured his attention so keenly.
“Do you know him?” Leena whispered, not wanting to startle the phantom.
“Know who?” St. Silas responded, not looking up from his work.
“Do you know Lord Avon?” she repeated gently.
The ghost’s mouth opened in his thin face and he nodded slowly.
Leena’s heart jumped.
“Is there a ghost here, Miss Al-Sayer?” Suddenly St. Silas was beside her, peering urgently into the nothingness.
“Yes, a boy who claims to know Lord Avon,” she continued to whisper, not taking her eyes off the phantom in case he vanished.
“Who is this ghost?”
“His name is Theodore Daye.”
She felt St. Silas stiffen beside her, a strange energy radiating off him like a building storm.
“Theodore…Daye?” St. Silas looked disturbed, so far removed from his normally languid manner that Leena threw him a questioning glance. “Describe him, Miss Al-Sayer. The ghost.”
Leena furrowed her brows. “A boy around fourteen, wearing a servant’s livery. Hair as fair as wheat. The color of his eyes is difficult to say, but I think they were once blue. I’ve seen him only in the past week.”
St. Silas stared rigidly into the absence where Leena could soclearly see Theodore, now looking back at St. Silas with equal intensity.
“Can he summon Lord Avon?” Although the question was meant for Leena, it felt as if St. Silas was speaking directly to the phantom.
Leena had never met a ghost that could call forth another spirit, but she asked anyway.
Theodore Daye, his mouth a firm line, nodded once more.
“He can,” Leena gasped, barely believing her own words. “How, Theodore?”
He pointed toward Lord Avon’s portrait, indicating specifically the red book in the noble’s hand.
“He’s signaling to that book that Lord Avon’s holding in the portrait.”
St. Silas inhaled roughly. “The red diary.”
“What red diary?”
“It belonged to the First Marquess of Avon. Now a lost family heirloom.”
“Why haven’t you mentioned this heirloom before?” Leena asked him sharply.
