“Twenty-seven,” Van Helsing admitted.
“Twenty-seven years, and you still think it was her?” Sam pressed.
“We can’t rule it out,” Van Helsing maintained stubbornly.
“Fine. I will find out,” Sam said. Already she was thinking of her vision. Alice Grey was a channel. If she wasn’t trying to murder Sam, which she sincerely doubted she was, then Sam could trust her enough to tell her about her Aunt Lucy. Perhaps even get a lead on the ruins where Sam’s grandfather had been sighted last.
“No. It’s too dangerous,” Hel said at the same time Van Helsing said, “Not a chance. You’re biased.”
“Am I a part of this investigation or not?” Sam asked stubbornly. “Trust me, I can handle this. She likes me, remember? She even gave me her calling card.”
“I’ll go with you,” Hel said at once.
“No,” Sam said. “She won’t trust you.”
“I don’t like this,” Hel said. “What’s her interest in you, anyway?”
“We’rechannels,” Sam said. “I imagine what she wants is a little conversation with someone who understands what that’s like.” So, for that matter, did Sam.
“Fine,” Van Helsing said, as if he had the final say. “We’ll regroup for dinner at the Shelbourne and share our findings. Good luck.”
Sam checked the address on the calling card and looked back up at the marble townhouse on the corner nearest the Merrion Square gardens, feeling her impressions of Alice Grey shift and take new form. At a time when the majority of Dublin lived twenty-two persons per tenement, Alice’s front door had its own columns and pediment, like a Roman temple in the heart of the city.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Alice said when she answered the door, shooing away the raven that perched outside. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“More channel humor?” Sam suggested.
“Forgive me.” Alice chuckled, her sun-wizened skin crinkling. “It’s just so nice to speak with another channel again. I’m afraid I have years of pent-up wit for the occasion.” No longer in mourning dress, she wore a lace tea gown the color of burnt sugar, which set off her crown of silver hair perfectly. A peculiar scent lingered on her green-stained fingertips, like sweet apricots with an undercurrent of what Sam could have sworn was rancid peanut butter. “Come in, come in. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you, I?—” Sam started. It seemed rude to say she was just there for business. But she didn’t want to accept any kindness from a woman when she intended on dredging up the death of her husband and the suspicions that had fallen upon her.
“I’ll pull out two teacups, just in case,” Alice said.
The room into which Alice led Sam was papered a moody blue green with gold tracery, like sunlight on stormy waters. A pair of emerald sofas were set before a marble fireplace, over which hung an enormous mirror with an ornate frame. Alice brought out a silver teapot and matching teacups and settled on the sofa across from Sam, crossing her ankles.
The air was heavy with the earthen scent of dirt and growing things?—looking around, Sam could see why. Some sort of feathery, fernlike vine climbed over one of the rounded doors and up the wall. A barren hawthorn tree stretched its branches near the windows, and a profusion of unseasonable flowers had settled on every available surface like snow.
“Your plants are...” Sam trailed off, in search of the right word.
“Everywhere?” Alice suggested as she poured them each a cup of tea, with four scoops of sugar and a generous splash of milk. Sam blanched. How sweet, precisely, did she take her tea? “One of the advantages to being an eccentric old widow?—I can do as I like. But I know you didn’t just come to compliment my taste in decor. What brings you to my abode? Unless it’s for more of my exquisite humor?”
Sam leaned forward. “I did what you suggested.”
“I knew it.” Alice’s grin spread at the expression on Sam’s face. “Clever girl. I could sense it when you came in. It feels good, doesn’t it? To use your gifts as they are meant to be used.”
“It did,” Sam admitted, fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder, to make sure no one might overhear. It had felt like she wasusingher gifts, instead of being used by them.
“We can do more, you know,” Alice confided, leaning in. “We don’t have to be at the mercy of the visions?—we can learn tocontrolthem. I can teach you, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” Sam said hesitantly. “But first... the ghost showed me a place I need to go, only I’m not sure where it is. It’s somewhere in Ireland, I think. Do you think if I?—”
“Please,” Alice said, her grey eyes sparkling over her tea. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in months. Tell me everything.”
Sam did, describing the vision of the haunting ruin between sips of tea. It was sweet?—with four sugars, it could hardly be otherwise?—and smooth, with a metallic tang to it that put Sam in mind of the air before a storm.
“Scratches?” Alice frowned when Sam described the deep gouges that marked the standing stone. “Like from a pick, or from a beast?”
“Feline,” Sam said. Like a mountain lion in the American West, marking its territory. She’d seen sketches of the trees with gouges as high as the animal could stretch. But she’d never seen a cat whose claws were strong enough to mar solid stone.
