We only have the one, so make it count.
It appeared my fears were not unfounded. Whatever future I had with Kessian, I would not get to keep it for long.
Chapter 18
After saying farewell to Emery and Ambrose, we left to check 37 Culpepper Avenue for Grandad’s research, only to find it burning.
A tongue of black smoke issued from a window on the second story to the tune of fire engine sirens. One was already parked up alongside my family’s cars. While the firefighters pointed the blast of water from their hoses into the shattered window, my mother caught sight of me, prompting Fae to follow her gaze.
It was difficult to hear over the roar of flames and the hiss of the firehose, but I heard Mum mutter, “I should have known he didn’t leave.”
Of course this was going to be my fault, too. I nearly turned to go, but Fae was already storming toward me. They took me by the elbow, farther from my mother’s scornful gaze.
“I didn’t know you’d come back,” they said.
“Only yesterday evening. What happened?”
“We don’t know yet. One of the neighbors rang us to let us know about the smoke. They’d already called the fire department.”
“Which room is that?” I said, pointing to the window the smoke spewed from.
Fae narrowed their eyes, counting the windows. “Grandad’s study, I think. Why?”
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. If any of his research survived, it would be a miracle. Kessian gave a rudimentary overview ofwhat we’d learned in Coill Darragh and why I’d returned, for which I was grateful. I couldn’t put my own words together. If someone was already burning evidence, did that mean they knew I’d returned to investigate? Had someone been watching us speak to Grandad’s ghost in the graveyard? I hadn’t sensed anyone, but that meant nothing if the culprit was a witch. There were plenty of simple spells for stealthily moving about unseen.
Kessian left out the part about Grandad being murdered. I thought that was for the best. They deserved to know, my family, but the last thing we needed was the town in an uproar while we tried to gather what little evidence remained.
“You think someone did this deliberately?” Fae said when Kessian had finished. “To stop you from finding a way to exorcise the wraith?”
“More or less,” said Kessian.
“But who? Do you have any ideas?”
Kessian cast me a look. I shook off the miasma of what I felt and turned to face my sibling.
“Warwick.”
Westley Warwick lived in an old manor house called Foxbury, located on a ridge overlooking the forested hills where the strid nestled like a snake in the grass.
The manor had been abandoned when I lived in Shearwater, a boarded-up location for teenagers to break in, drink themselves stupid, and tell ghost stories. Now, the handsome facade had been restored and accentuated by a cultivated vine of wisteria, still in bloom despite the summer heat.
Emery had given Kessian an invisibility potion. It had been combined with ingredients to muffle any sound he made, too. The only indication he was still beside me was the rustle of leaves in his wake. We’d also drank half a potion each, which allowed us to communicate telepathically for a short time.
I tested it as we walked the long path up to the manor.The invisibility will only last an hour, so by 2:15, we need to get out. I’ll wind down the conversation earlier. You sneak in with me, and sneak out the same way.We’d been over it already, but I said it to reassure myself.
Got it. We’ll be fine, Kessian reassured me.
As we came to the enormous door—it seemed far too large to knock on, but knock I did—a fizzle of magic went through me. Something in the soil, helping the flowers stay fresh out of season. My nerves buzzed in a similar fashion. The wraith hadn’t appeared over a long enough period, so it felt like a stayed execution, but the guillotine’s blade still hovered, waiting.
The door opened and a man built like a coat hanger dipped his head. “Taliesin, I presume? Right this way. Mr. Warwick is expecting you.”
I didn’t know people still had butlers, groundskeepers, that sort of thing. I stepped through the door slowly. A warm pressure at my back told me Kessian had passed behind me. There, then gone. I missed his presence immediately, forced to trust he would be all right, and the rest of the plan would work.
The grandeur of the foyer was intimidating. Old murals on the walls depicted unicorns and mythical creatures amongst florals and filigree, restored from the grime and graffiti tags that used to cover them. The grand staircase was flanked on either side by glass display cases housing strange relics like a museum. An ornate chalice filled with liquid that swallowed the light, a vintage cocktail dress embroidered with glowing thread—but one particular display drew my attention.
A collection of driftwood, moss, and a white horse’s skull had been assembled into an eerie statue. From the skull, various branches had been fused together in a configuration resembling antlers, decorated with brass chains. Various holes were drilled into the tines.
It looked so much like the wraith, my blood went cold.
