My uncle’s expression darkens for a moment, and then he wipes my tears. “Chess. Stop. Look at me. You’re frazzled, and your hands are still shaking.” His hands are on my cheeks, forcing me to meet his stare. “Breathe, sweetheart; you don’t have to solve everything this instant, alright? The young Henderson might be many things, but I don’t think he’s cruel?—”
“But the note! What he said?—”
“I know, Chess. But listen to me; I’ve been here before. The moment a question cracks open, your mind rushes to fill the space, because anything feels better than uncertainty. You’re scared, and that kind of fear wants a face to blame. We’ll sort this out together, but not with answers stitched from panic, alright?”
I nod, unaware I’m even doing it. “But the note…”
“Was it handwritten?” Again, I nod. “Name? Seal?” I shake my head. Hamish narrows his eyes, thinking quietly. “Alright, then. That means it could’ve been anyone. An online dare? Someone with a grudge against this family—I wouldn’t even blame them, really. But what I need you to do for me, right now, is calm down. Please.”
I reach out, fingers tangling in the chain and taking it back from him. “Even if the note was a dare, Uncle, this locketbelongedto Luciana. I was there when Gran gave it to her.”
He speaks gently, in a way that assures me he’s not brushing me off but still in the process of making a plan. “We’ll figure out where the locket came from. Piece by piece. I’ll help you, but we do it properly. Not through panic. Do you want me to get Susannah?” I hesitate, and he catches it. “One step at a time. If someone touched that locket, they left a trail. There’s always something.”
The locket hums in my hand as he calms me down, like it has a heartbeat, forcing me to remember all the things I tried toforget. Hamish doesn’t say it outright again, but I feel the shape of the suggestion.Susannah. He wants me to hand this over to her. But this isn’t just your average security breach. This is a wound ripped open, and I’m still standing here bleeding all over Gran’s carpeted floors.
With each breath, my mind clears, and the truth makes itself known. Hamish is right. I don’t have proof that it’s Charlie, that he has anything to do with this. I yelled his name because I needed a shield, someone far enough to cast the blame onto. Someone safe. Not many people knew about the locket.
Fewer know it was given to Lucy.
Hamish subtly nudges me towards that road, the one where Susannah stands guard. He doesn’t understand that Ican’ttake it. Because that road leads to reports, to names and to the downright revolting possibility that someonehere, within Redford, left me Lucy’s locket.
That someone who knew her,knowsme, left that note.
Someone who isn’t Gabriel.
7
A CASTLE WITH TEETH
ERIC
Sheffolk has too many fucking trees.They crowd the sides of the road, practically bending over, watching me as though they know I don’t belong here. Wind brushes against their leaves, and I swear they’re whispering with one another, commenting on the irritated prince glaring at them. I’m practically shaking because the road is winding.
It curves this way and that, testing the capabilities of the assigned vehicle sent to pick me up from the airfield. The roads are too narrow as well, narrow and bumpy like they were made with thoughts of waggons and horse-drawn carriages in mind. The SUV isbarelysurviving.
I shift in my seat, forcing my knees closer to Kai’s, and I almost lose my mind. The space is cramped, and I can hear him breathing. If I wasn’t already grateful he agreed to stay a few days with me, I would’ve thrown him out of the fucking car. He’s typing away on his phone, and I’m a second away from hyperventilating.
My fingers start before I even notice, falling into the old pattern of Morse: three quick taps, one held tap, and a short-long, followed by a long-short-long-long.STAY. The same wordI hid during massive banquets and state dinners while internally repeating to myself,‘Stay upright, stay in your body; you’re still here.’
It was the only way to hide my unease or apprehension in plain sight, like right now.
Sheffolk is odd.
I can’t figure it out, and we landed almost two hours ago. Every stone, every shrub, every tree and every goddamn cow seems to mouthhername. In the trunk, the journal I bought her breathes like a caged animal, restless, sensing that it belongs to her and waiting for the inevitable introduction.Ridiculous. A bloody journal. It was the only compromise my mother and I could reach in regard to getting Francesca a birthday present. It feels appropriate and thoughtful enough without being too intimate.
Kai doesn’t look up from his phone, having read my tapping, and says, “I can feel you freaking out. Try box breathing.”
“I’d rather fucking suffocate.”
He didn’t need to remind me. I know I’m spiralling, and when that happens, I start noticing the wrong things. Not the stuff that brings me comfort, but rather the ones that make me want to bang my head against a wall.
I’m too aware of the squeak of the leather seat as I shift, the cloying scent of the driver’s cologne and the sound Kai’s foot makes as he taps it against the floor. There’s muddy residue on the back of the passenger seat, and I imagine the toddler who must have occupied my seat at some point today.
Everything’s loud in my head, so I compartmentalise. I list everything, break it down, and then I throw it all away. Smaller pieces, edible enough so that my brain doesn’t freak. It doesn’t work. It hasn’t been working.
Kai sets his phone beside him. I zero in on the sound the screen makes against the leather. “Talk to me.”
“Iamtalking.”
