Page 38 of The Trick of It

He left them there.

In the dark and the firelight and the fog.

And vanished into the ruins.

Chapter Twelve

Rhys did not wish to linger, though it was evident that absolutely everyone else did.

As soon as Merlin vanished into the priory, they swarmed the table of food, a wave of chatter rising up amongst them.

“A true legacy,” the priest was saying, plucking a wedge of cheese off the spread. “A blessing, in fact.”

“I have seen your act thrice, dear woman,” Yuri was saying to Mrs. Winterstone. “I don’t suppose there is a Mr. Winterstone?”

“There isn’t, actually,” she answered, tilting her head in amusement. “But there is a husband, if that’s what you mean. My second. Though I’m not opposed to the idea of a third.”

Seph wasn’t saying anything at all, still frowning and clutching either elbow with the palms of her hands. She was the one who bent down to gather their lantern up, peering inside to see how much more flame they had left.

“We should go,” he said to her, his hand reaching out instinctively and then pausing, still in the night air. “I want to go.”

“Good,” she replied, her eyes flicking from the dancing lantern light up to his. “So do I.”

“You are walking?!” Madame Ivanova demanded, appearing so suddenly at their side that both startled. “In the dark?”

“Yes,” said Seph. “It isn’t far.”

She looked disturbed by this, her brow wrinkled and her plump, bejeweled fingers wringing together. “Perhaps share one of our coaches,” she suggested, turning to peer at Rhys. “Walking is hazardous, even in the light.”

“I assure you, we are perfectly safe,” Seph said impatiently. “And we cannot wait for charity.”

The medium nodded, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Good night,” Seph added, giving an apologetic grimace. “Thank you for your concern.”

They turned, Rhys following her lead, and got two steps toward the path before he felt those heavily-ringed fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging his attention back over his shoulder. The woman was still frowning at him, purple fur tickling her jowls in the wind.

“Madam, if you please,” he said, tugging his hand free. “We really must be going.”

“It wasn’t your uncle,” she said suddenly, her accent dropping away entirely in favor of a South London clip. “You didn’t see your uncle.”

“All right,” Rhys said, blinking at her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Watch the path,” she said again as they turned to leave, her voice raising to call after their retreating backs. “Watch for sharp stones!”

He froze, his blood going thick in his neck.

But when he turned back, she was gone, just one of many shadows around the distant campfire.

“Rhys?” Seph said, impatience tinging her voice. “Come along.”

“Right,” he said, turning and trotting after her. “Sorry.”

He did not put much stock into mediums, truth be told, but he kept his eyes low on the dirt path all the way back to the end regardless.

The only stones he saw were the cobbled ones.

In fact, he was so fixated on watching their steps that he’d forgotten the snoring entirely until they had crossed the threshold back into the inn, where it could be heard like a soft, purring kitten, fluttering through the floorboards.