“Holly leaves?” Laurel asked.
Alec nodded.
“Why didn’t they just say holly leaves, then?”
The army captain shrugged slightly. “You’d have to ask Mr. Shakespeare, but I imagine wool of bat had a better ring to it.” He started toward the settee, his gaze now focused on Poppy. “No luck in finding your aunt’s chest, I take it?”
Poppy blew out a breath. “If we knew how to use our powers, I’m sure we would have made light work of it.”
He frowned slightly and then said, “You could try scrying.”
“I don’t know what that means or how to do it,” Poppy returned.
“There are many ways,” he told her. “My family uses a flame or fire. You stare into it, lose yourself in the trance of it. And if you’re good at it, you can see things, lost things, hidden objects, people.”
“A flame?” Poppy echoed.
“Prometheans are partial to flames for obvious reasons. But others use pools of water, mirrors, some use tea leaves. I believe most seers use a crystal ball of some sort.”
“We are fresh out of those,” Laurel said tartly.
Alec laughed. “As I said, there are other methods.”
“We just need a flame? Would a candle work?” Poppy asked and gestured to the candlesticks on the nearby mantle.
“It can. I’ve used a candle before,” he told her.
“Perfect.” Poppy pushed off the settee and toward the mantle. She opened the tinderbox and quickly used the flint and tinder to spark the spill. Then she lit the nearest candle and stared at the flame. “Am I doing it right?”
She felt the heat of Alec at her back, his warm breath against her ear as he whispered, “Close your eyes and picture the chest in your mind.”
Poppy did as he bid her. She’d seen the large traveling chest with the brass hinges many times over the years. She remembered seeing it in Aunt Alora’s bedchamber on that awful day and could easily envision it in her mind.
“Can you see it?” he asked, his sandalwood scent invading her senses, making her knees suddenly weak.
Poppy nodded.
“Good,” he said softly. “Then open your eyes and focus only on the flame.”
She opened her eyes and stared at the flickering candlelight before her. It was almost mesmerizing, the way it moved ever so slightly, this way and then that. Like it was a living, breathing thing. Everything around her faded away with only the nearest hint of sandalwood lingering in the air. An image of her great-aunt’s trunk started to form in the middle of the flame and then it came more into focus. She saw a pair of Halwell footmen carrying it into the attic and putting down beneath…
Poppy spun on her heels and bumped into something very hard. She looked up to find the barest of smiles tugging at the corner of Alec’s mouth as her hands landed against his chest. She sucked in a breath, took a step backward, and yanked her hands from him as though she’d burned them.
“You know where it is?” he asked, his voice steady and even as though she hadn’t just pressed herself against him. “The trunk?”
Poppy shook her embarrassment away. “Yes,” she said. “There’s a circular window in the attic. The trunk is right beneath it.”
“I’m not going back there!” Laurel vowed, still upon the settee.
Poppy rolled her eyes toward her sister. “A book we’ve needed for months is in that trunk. We know where it is. We can’t let a little thing like a few bats keep us from retrieving it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Alec said, and Poppy tried to ignore the warm shiver that washed over her.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “You are too kind, Captain.”
* * *
Kind was not usuallya word one used to describe Alec. Determined. Ruthless. Fierce. He’d heard those ones often enough over the years. Butkind? Well, Poppy Elstone might be the first to think so. Something about that made his heart lift a bit.
