Uncle Lachlan narrowed his gaze. ‘So, Viscount Beachley’s ghost is here?’
‘Yes, but that’s hardly my point.’ No longer under LieutenantGeneral Grey’s sharp gaze, Clio let her power spark and sizzle on her fingertips.
‘Tha’s excellent news! I need you to speak with the ghost, see if he can tell us where his wife might be hiding, and confirm whether she murdered him.’
Clio shook her head. ‘You know that isn’t how this works. He must trust me before he’ll tell me anything. And I haven’t even committed to helping on this case. If you’re telling me I have to work with that man, I’m quite certain I won’t have the time.’ She spoke the word ‘man’ as if it were a substitute for cockroach or something equally disgusting.
‘Is tha’ an ultimatum, Clio?’
‘It’s self-preservation, Uncle. The pompous fools making laws may have decided witchcraft isn’t real, but we both know what would happen if someone claimed magic still exists. All it would take is one outstanding member of the peerage – the second son to an earl with military ties and a surly disposition, perhaps – to make a claim. Imagine how quickly the House of Lords could repeal the Witchcraft Act. Witch hunters would be back to throwing people on pyres in less time than it takes to boil a cup of mugwort tea. Or perhaps the good people of Mayfair would take matters into their own hands.’ Memories of what happened to Aunt Willow washed through her, faded but still fraught with pain. ‘We don’t reveal our powers to anyone, Uncle Lachlan. You know this, and you know why.’
Uncle Lachlan swallowed, the flash of grief in his eyes assuring Clio her arrow hit its mark. ‘Of course I do. I promised yer aunt I would protect you the day yer mother left you and yer sister on Rowan’s doorstep, and again when Helena came. A promise I mean to keep. But we need Lieutenant General Grey’s help with this case.’
She blinked, deliberately stretching the moment. ‘Then you have a choice to make. Me, or him.’
He ran a hand through his hair, further disrupting the curls. ‘I’ve never seen you back down from a challenge, lass.’
Her laugh was sharper than Sir Robin’s beak. ‘Don’t think you can goad me into this, Uncle.’
The twitch in his lips betrayed him. ‘That trick always worked in the past. I forget yer no’ a wee lass any more.’ His voice softened, his chocolate eyes warming. ‘Believe me, Lieutenant General Grey is many things, but he is no’ a threat to you. I swear it.’
Clio shook her head. Every particle in her body rejected her uncle’s claim. Lieutenant General Grey was setting off a million sparks in her body’s alarm system. He was more than just a threat. He was pure danger. Clio knew that with the same certainty she knew Viscount Beachley’s ghost still lingered.
‘Trust me. I would never put you at risk. Besides, yer aunt would turn me into a toad if any harm came to you, and I much prefer living outside of a mucky swamp.’
She refused to laugh at his ridiculous joke. Aunt Rowan was a powerful witch, but it was superstition of the highest order to think even her formidable magic could transform humans into different forms. If that were the case, Clio would have turned the insufferable Lieutenant General Grey into a squeaking mouse the minute he insulted Sir Robin.
‘Aunt Rowan lost both her sisters and took on the responsibility of raising her three nieces alone. I think she has every reason to be protective of us.’ No matter what hidden ugliness existed between Aunt Rowan and Uncle Lachlan, Clio wouldn’t let him disparage the woman who had become surrogate mother, friend, and mentor to her. ‘She won’t be happy about this, Uncle Lachlan. After last time, it’s going to be hard enough to convince her I’m safe to work with spirits, let alone bringing an outsider into our lives.’
‘Let me worry about yer Aunt Rowan.’ Uncle Lachlan’s eyes hardened. ‘You worry about solving this case without getting yerselfhurt in the process. If there’s any hint of the kind of danger you faced with the last spirit, you’ll tell me, and you’ll stop. Do you swear it?’
If she took the case, she would see it to completion. Anything less would be failure. Eleanor would say,Failure is the pathway to success. But her sister’s cheerful mantra only created frustration within Clio.
Failure is failure. And I refuse to fail.
But neither would she take on this case if it meant working with an infuriating man, even if he was tall, dark, and delicious.
She couldn’t lie to her uncle, so instead, she chose diversion. ‘I’ll swear one thing to you for certain: I don’t need anyone’s help, Uncle. Certainly not some blustering bully who thinks I’m nothing more than a silly girl.’
Uncle Lachlan rubbed the back of his neck, ruining his neat cravat. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. We do need his help. The man murdered here was a member of the peerage, Clio. A bloody viscount. While yer powers will be of considerable help when this ghost starts talking, we still need living witnesses to give us evidence tha’ we can present to the House of Lords.’
Blast. He has a point.
‘I can speak to the living just as easily as the dead.’ Indeed, the living generally took less convincing to share their secrets. The dead were a cagey group, requiring patience and finesse. Living members of society needed only praise and flattery to grease their jaw hinges. ‘I don’t need some brooding black rain cloud of a man to scare away potential witnesses.’
Uncle Lachlan’s eyes sparked. ‘So, you’ve decided to work this case, then?’
Sneaky Scotsman!
She had been so focused on winning the argument, she didn’t realise she was fighting for an investigation she hadn’t yet agreed totake. ‘Not if I’m forced to work withhim. I don’t understand why you think we need his help.’
Her uncle took both her shoulders in his hands and ducked his head to meet her gaze. ‘Because he was born into the world of the elite, Clio. He can speak to these pompous arseholes and get them to spill their darkest deeds. You canna’ do that, no matter how charming you may be.’ He shook her gently and then let go. ‘To them, you’re a commoner. An outsider. No’ to be trusted. The same is true for me. But Lieutenant General Grey is the second son to an earl. He’s rubbed shoulders with these men since he was a wee bairn. Went to Eaton with the sons and danced with the daughters at their debutante balls. And unlike most of the blue bloods, I trust Thomas.’
Clio wrinkled her nose. ‘What a ridiculously friendly name for such a blustering bully. Thomas.’ The syllables filled her mouth like treacle and cream. She wanted to say it again just to sink into the sound.
Nonsense. I wish to do nothing of the sort.
‘He should be called Clarence or Bartholomew or something equally dreadful to suit his personality.’
