She should never have let Grey provoke her into meeting him. Alone. And like a fool, she hadn’t even brought Sir Robin. The poor raven had found himself a comfortable perch on a sturdy lamp in the corner of her frilly guest room, head tucked under his wing. He showed no signs of waking when she slipped out of the door in her nightgown and thick, woollen shawl. She had debated keeping her dress on, but when the maid came to help her get ready for bed, Clio worried gossip might stir if she sent her away still fully dressed.
Pushing the door to the library open, Clio couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved that the room was dark and empty. Perhaps Thomas had already come and gone. Maybe he was snoring away in his room, oblivious to their missed meeting. Or he was toying with her. And like an untried fool, she had fallen for his ploy.
‘Or I might be early.’
Damn.
That was troubling. What if he hadn’t arrived yet and she left? She would be toying with him. The power would be realigned in Clio’s favour, which should have filled her with satisfaction. But instead, she felt… deflated. Like a child who, on Christmas morning, finds nothing but coal in her stocking.
Something glimmered near the smouldering hearth deep in the recesses of the room. She was drawn to the flash of light as much as the lingering heat from the banked fire. The closer she drew, the clearer the image became.
The viscount solidified.
‘Lord Beachley.’ Clio tried to hide her surprise. She supposed it wasn’t impossible for a ghost to travel so far. Spirits were insubstantial creatures after all, and the rules of physics wouldn’t apply, but she had never worked with a phantasm who manifested in such diverse locations. ‘Have you come to see your daughter? Or perhaps to haunt your sister… She seems to hold little love for you.’
‘Anna.’ The echoing timbre of his voice whispered over her nerves as gooseflesh broke out over her neck and arms.
It was the first time he spoke to her, and a huge step forward in her investigation. She wished Uncle Lachlan were here so she could share the triumph with him.
Nerves spiked. If she pushed the ghost too hard, he could disappear. But she might not get another chance to communicate with him. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass. ‘Who took you away from Anna, Lord Beachley? Who did this to you?’
Pewter eyes, which once held colour but were now opaque orbs in an ashen face, filled with silver tears. ‘I lost everything. Everything!’
‘I’m going to help you. I promise.’ Her heart ached for the man. To be taken away from his daughter, his life, it seemed immensely cruel.
He drifted closer to Clio, and something shifted. The lines of his face hardened in a rictus of rage. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather through her. He wrapped bony fingers around her neck before she could react. ‘Murderer!’ The silent scream echoed in her head. Spots flashed in her vision as Viscount Beachley squeezed. His face transformed from fearsome rage to heartbreaking grief. Tears once more filled his pewter eyes but his fingers only tightened.
She struggled against him, power pooling in her belly as panic fought with logic.
I must stop him. He does not mean to hurt me.
But he was choking the breath from her. Magic built, rising within her like lava. ‘I am not your enemy, Lord Beachley. I’m here to help,’ she rasped the words as he increased pressure on her throat. A silver tear tracked down his face. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Heat from her witchflame pulsed out of her like a wave,escaping from every pore in a white flash of concentrated power. Viscount Beachley flew back, swirling and spinning like a dust mote until he disappeared completely.
Clio’s breath came in rasping gasps as she touched her bruised neck. Nausea swept through her on an oily wave.
‘What the fucking hell was that?’ A dark growl dispelled her queasiness and filled her with something far worse: fear.
She turned to the open door. Light from the hall silhouetted a powerful form.
Grey.
He promised to uncover her secrets. And the damnable man was true to his word.
She had been discovered.
13
Reason fled. There was no logical explanation for what Thomas saw. Clio was being strangled by some invisible force. Fear hit him, visceral and raw. He crossed the threshold of the library, determined to save her, but before he went more than three steps, she became a human flame. The white glow started in her sternum, bleeding through her nightgown and robe, lighting her like a bloody lantern. It spread over her entire torso, down her arms and legs, until in a sudden and brilliant flash of light and heat, the power pulsed from her in a wave, knocking him several paces back. If he ever questioned whether she was a witch, that query was answered the moment she ignited.
But it wasn’t fear that filled him. It was awe. She was magnificent. The most incredible force he’d ever witnessed.
In the afterglow of her supernova, he saw the faint glimmer of a form spinning backwards and dissolving like ash in the wind.
‘What the fucking hell was that?’
Clio had her hand over her throat, but fear only came when she turned and saw him. Even in his shock, it cracked something insidehis chest. Fury washed through him. That some unknown enemy would attack Clio, and instead of looking to him for support, she saw him as another threat.
