Page 93 of His Wicked Charm

“You knew about the goddess? The Matres?” Even Con sounded a trifle exasperated. “Your father told you about his religion?”

“No, only in a general way—‘one mustn’t forget the old gods,’ that sort of thing. But of course the Sanctuary would belong to the Goddess. She is the giver of all life after all. Mother Earth, you understand. Obviously she must be the source of the power.”

“Well, I wish she’d use her power to show us where the key is,” Lilah retorted.

“Oh, no, dear girl.” Aunt Vesta shook her head gravely. “Those from the beyond are never forthright. They move on a different plane. That is why we have to interpret their messages. Never give up hope, Dilly. I am sure it will come clear to you. Although...” She frowned. “The Goddess may reveal herself only to a believer.”

“I think I have become one,” Lilah admitted in a less-than-happy voice.

“What? Do not tell me—you have awakened to the Truth?”

“I don’t know about that, but I started walking in my sleep again. And, well...” Lilah sighed. “I sensed some sort of energy.”

“It speaks to you?” Aunt Vesta gaped at her.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Lilah demurred. “I am just...aware of it.”

“She is crying out,” Vesta exclaimed, clutching her hands to her chest. “Clearly the Goddess wants her Sanctuary to be found.” She paused. “Hmm. Perhaps if we three believers...”

“I am not going to participate in a summoning ceremony,” Lilah said flatly.

“In any case, I doubt it would work without the key.” Vesta patted Lilah’s hand. “I am sure you will come up with the answer.”

Lilah was far less certain of that.

* * *

WHEN LILAH AND Con returned to the smoking room, they found that the servants had placed the trunk, now wiped free of dust, in the middle of the floor. Con knelt down next to it, Lilah beside him, and they began to empty the chest. Lilah set the white robes aside on one of the chairs. Beneath them were several books on ancient British religions as well as other pantheons of the Norse or Celts. Lilah picked up a hard rectangular object, wrapped in velvet, which turned out to be another book, worn with age and bound with a leather tie.

“This is really old.” With great care, Lilah set it, velvet and all, in her lap. “Do you think this is Last John’s journal?”

“One hopes.” Con leaned over to watch as she opened it. The top page was splotched with mildew and various stains, and the ink was so faded the words were almost invisible.

“If it is, I’m not sure we can get anything from it. It’s in terrible shape.” Lilah turned the page, and the corner crumbled in her hands. She closed the book and rewrapped it, setting it aside. “We’ll have to read that with the utmost care.”

Con turned back to the trunk, pulling out the other books and several candles, as well as a humidor—empty—and a case containing a pair of spectacles. Watching him, Lilah thought how much she would like to run her hand down his arm or across his shoulders, to lean her head against him. Even better would be to snuggle against his side, his arm curling around her shoulder. It wasn’t passion—though she suspected it might quickly turn into that—but a happy, almost giddy desire to be close to him, to link the two of them together in even a small way.

Unaware of her thoughts, Con continued to fish around in the chest. Finally, he pulled out a small wooden box.

Lilah’s eyes widened. “The key? Open it.”

“No, it’s yours.” He held it out to her.

Her pulse tripping, Lilah lifted the lid. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment. “No, just some odds and ends. A button, a little rock. A ring and tiepin.”

“Look at this ring,” Con said, plucking it from the box and showing it to her. The top of the ring was a tiny compass.

Lilah laughed. “I wonder why Sir Ambrose was so fascinated with compasses and clocks.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to be late,” Con joked. “Or he was afraid of getting lost. Though he wouldn’t have gotten far with this one. It doesn’t work. It’s frozen on southwest. Still clever, though. Wait, this looks like...” He pressed his fingernail against the side. The top of the ring opened, and a tiny triangle popped up on the flat face.

“A sundial!”

“Like a poison ring,” Con commented.

“But far nicer.”

“Yes. I wonder if you can do it with the same hand.” Con closed the compass and slid it onto his finger, using his thumb to open the ring again.