There was a tense silence, and his eyes held a look that she had never seen before. Then, as if the words had been wrestled from him, he spoke, “Deny it as much as you like. If you are possessed again, it is clear you cannot come out of it yourself—”
“I was not—”
“But I will drag you out—even if I have to perform the exorcism myself.”
His words ignited shocks across her skin. If Leena was not careful, she would fall into the same trap Moira had in looking at Percival Avon: feeling utterly protected,cherished.That feeling was intoxicating. And Leena would know; only moments before, she had been suffused with it in another woman’s memory.
Both men, so different in looks and bearing, and yet sharing the same dark magnetism. Each with the same fierceness in their eyes, declaring a vow that could lead to her ruin.
Leena shook her head, unsure if she was denying Percival, Moira, St. Silas, or herself. “You are mistaken, Mr. St. Silas. I have never been possessed, but I thank you for your words. I will survive to ensure Lord Avon is found, so you should have no fear of our contract ending prematurely.” A phrase reminiscent of what he’d once said to her.
She turned to go, shaking slightly.
He grabbed her arm. “Doyou understand? Come find me.”
“Please,” she whispered with equal fierceness, unclasping his hand. “What do you want from me?”
The undoing in her voice and the exhaustion in her eyes must have reached him, for he let go and didn’t follow her even as she left him behind, standing alone in the marbled hallway of Weavingshaw.
Leena awoke thatfirst morning in Weavingshaw to the sound of howling.
She would later learn that the wolves’ calls were ceaseless, a hungry lament. She suddenly felt glad of the Deathgrips that surrounded the house, as if in protection against an encroaching and wild forest.
It took considerable effort for Leena to come down to break her fast that morning. The events of the previous night had stretched her body to its limits. All she wanted was to continue to sleep in her grand guest room, painted in hues of blue and yellow. Yet Mrs. Van’s sharp knock and the message she conveyed in short, clipped words—that themasterbade her a good morning and to please join him downstairs—left little room for argument.
In spite of her fervent desire to separate herself from the fashionable guests, she understood the unmistakable importance of their presence among Mr. Martin’s hunting party. Tongues would still wag, no doubt, but they had to try their utmost to keep the true reason behind their presence a secret. And besides, Leena thoughtwryly, she was already drenched in secrets. Another would not tip the scales.
She met Rami and St. Silas in the hallway, both walking from their own wing dedicated to the bachelors. Rami looked as sleep-deprived as Leena felt, but St. Silas seemed refreshed, immaculately dressed in his habitual dark clothes. Leena had to retie Rami’s sloppily done cravat.
While Leena herself looked a far cry from the girl who used to run wild in the refugee camps as a child, she knew that she, too, didn’t fit the magnificence of these halls. Yet, she reminded herself, she was here to play a role and to hunt a ghost; everything else was merely a mask.
As she attended to Rami’s cravat, St. Silas’s eyes skimmed her briefly. Then he nodded brusquely and started to make his way down the hall. She didn’t acknowledge his evaluation; the way their conversation had ended last night still reverberated in her head.
The confidence with which he guided the Al-Sayer siblings to their destination led Leena to believe, once again, that this was not his first visit to Weavingshaw. Although he had neither confirmed nor denied it, Leena still wondered if hehadbeen a servant here once, long ago.
Leena took a deep breath just as the footman swung open the door to the breakfast parlor.
It was a moderate-sized hunting party, consisting almost equally of lords and ladies. The men were supposed to start the hunt on the first morning of the gathering while the ladies lunched at a picnic on the beach. However, the unpredictable northern weather had plans of its own, drawing dark billowing clouds over the cliffs that released a torrent of rain, preventing anyone from stepping outside.
Meaning the entire party had gathered in the breakfast parlor instead.
Leena was not surprised to find their entrance caused a small stir—or, in fact, the opposite. The room fell into a deep silence asevery guest halted to stare at the three of them: brown-skinned Leena, amputee Rami, and, of course, the Saint of Silence.
St. Silas walked toward the breakfast buffet without even acknowledging the shock he had caused, but Leena and Rami stood a moment in acute embarrassment, never before having received such politely hostile stares, a few men offering her barely stilted bows.
Finally, Rami nudged Leena and they both followed St. Silas stiffly.
Slowly, conversation started to resume, although even more hushed and stilted than before.
Eventually, after sitting down as far from the group as possible, Leena began to follow the conversation that was most pressing to them: What should they do with their time should it rain for the entire week?
Mr. Martin, who had pretended to be busy when the Al-Sayers and St. Silas walked in, was now attempting to reassure the guests that there were plenty of activities planned to keep them entertained—including a grand tour of Weavingshaw and its renowned art gallery.
Leena, with her eyes mostly on her plate, didn’t at first mark Lord Hargreaves sitting by Mr. Martin’s left side, but jerked up when she heard his voice.
“I think this is a splendid idea, Mr. Martin. Our guests, I am sure, would be delighted to learn the great history of this house. We should commence directly after breakfast concludes.”
Leena could not look at Lord Hargreaves without seeing his dead wife thumping her heart and pointing toward St. Silas. The words of the letter flashed through her mind, Lady Hargreaves both begging and cursing her husband, unable to reach her peaceful rest until thatsomethinghad been fulfilled.
