“Of course you do,” she told him.
“Mr. Togers?” Cordelia called, before he could depart. “I was rather hoping Arkin could make himself available to help with parking the night of the party. You did say he was at our disposal. Gordon has departed us, I’m afraid.”
Bennett smoothed out his suit jacket and lifted his chin before stepping into the vestibule. “As you wish.”
“Oh! And Mr. Togers!” she called again as he stepped onto the front porch.
“Please, Ms. Bone,” he expressed with some exasperation. “Call me Bennett.”
“Yes, Bennett. We do hope you’ll come. There is a special surprise planned for the end.” She dared not tell him what, considering his liability speech.
“Impertinent,” she heard him mutter.
“What was that?” Eustace asked.
Staring them both down from the porch, he frowned. “This is not how things are done at Bone Hill.”
To which Eustace gave him her sweetest smile. “Perhaps it’s time for a change.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTHESPELL
CORDELIA PULLED ONher rubber boots and headed into the dawn. The party was tonight, and she wanted to get an early start on setup. It was still half-dark in the garden, with bands of purple, gold, and blue on the horizon. The birds were just beginning their morning song. Lulled by the subtle beauty, she walked to the promenade, where she spotted a cottontail near a patch of clover. The morning was peaceful and cool, a departure from the heat and turmoil she carried inside.
These last few days without Gordon made her feel like she were walking around without one of her vital organs. Something essential was missing. She questioned the way she’d reacted. Were roles reversed, she couldn’t imagine how things might appear; that he’d trusted her at all was astonishing. But then she would circle back around to the possibility that he’d pretended to trust her in order to win her trust, and learn more from her. And the empty, discarded feeling of being used would return.
She wrapped her pink silk robe tighter at the waist and blinked back the threat of tears. She told herself the feeling would pass. She’d only known the man a month, after all. But her heart didn’t buy it.
Closing her eyes, she called to the magic within her, feelingit stir in her core and unfold into her limbs, like warm sap rising to the surface. Her feet anchored her to the soil that was her protector as she breathed deeply, inhaling the beauty of this place like a favorite fragrance. For a moment, she felt whole, as if nothing and no one existed but her and the ground and the sky. She reached deep into herself, probing for this newfound truth.I am a witch,she thought, confidence holding. “Iama witch.”
And then something flickered like a dying bulb, the course of power within her snagged and broke, retreating to a secret place. She stumbled, losing her balance, and just caught herself, knowing that it was in the hole in her heart—the one Gordon left behind—where her power was faltering.
Cordelia stared at the ground and sighed.
When she looked up again, she saw a woman in the distance. A fine mist stewed over the grasses, swirling around her skirts. Her hair was long and yellow-white, pulled back beneath a hooded cloak rich with fur trim, but hanging heavy over her shoulders. Layers of strung beads draped across her chest, her dress a brilliant blue trimmed in red. A brightly embroidered belt shot with gold thread wrapped her waist, hung with hide sacks. And she carried a tall staff with brass fittings that moved with her as she walked. The woman stood looking at Cordelia before slowly walking away, disappearing under the cherry trees.
“Hey!” Cordelia called as she began to gather her senses. “This is private property!”
But the woman just kept walking, obscured by the shifting hues of her cloak.
Cordelia wondered if this was the person her sister had seen—this older woman in strange dress, with her crooked staff that seemed to pull at Cordelia’s mind and heart in a way she didn’t understand. Maybe Eustace had been wrong about it being a man. It had been dark, after all, and she said herself she could make out very little. But how could a woman of this age outrun a nimble fox?
She tore across the grass toward the stranger, but as she crossed the halfway point of the promenade, she knew she’d lost her. Slowing, she kept on in the same direction, her ribs aching and her mouth dry, until she came face-to-face with the tomb. The mists parted and the iron gates stood open and the roses held their maddening color. The sun broke over the crest of the hill and spilled its blinding light across her.
“If you’re in there, you need to come out,” she called, shielding her eyes. “I’ve already seen you! And you’re trespassing.”
The wind stirred in the trees and the mouth of the crypt yawned open and silent. Cordelia took a step forward. “I’m serious,” she said, a little louder. “If you come out now, we can talk. But if you don’t, I’m going to go back to the house and call the police!”
No response.
She stepped to the doorway and peered in. “You can’t hide in here,” she said, trying to stand her ground. She looked around, but the crypt was empty. Her mother’s box gleamed from the back, but even the shadows were flat and quiet, unable to hide an entire person.
Cordelia wrapped her arms around herself. The woman must have changed course, vanishing into the trees behind the hill. Or maybe she’d been a mirage, conjured by the mist and morning light.
She turned to go.
When the knock sounded—just like she’d heard that night with her sister, pounding from behind the stones of the back wall—she didn’t stop or turn around. She ran all the way back to the house, losing the tie of her robe along the way.
CORDELIA HAD ALLbut forgotten about her encounter of that morning. It was evening and she’d had a full day of setting uptables and chairs, stringing lights, and arranging things just so. It left little room for musing over recent troubles, including Gordon and the woman on the promenade. The busyness did her heart good, and she was glad for the distraction. Focusing on a doable task was far more satisfying than racking her brain with unsolvable mysteries.
