Page 35 of The Witching Moon Manor
“Very well,” Anne replied as she threaded her fingers together and set them on the table.
The movement drew Vincent’s gaze to the ring, and Anne noticed that his attention seemed to linger there a beat longer than she’d expected.
“So, for the time being, I’m at your disposal,” Vincent said, his focus shifting from the ring to Anne’s eyes. “How would you like to proceed?”
That morning, before Vincent walked into the shop, Anne had still been trying to piece together a plan. She’d thought of all the possible paths to take should he decide to help and, like a lace maker who’d lost control of her pins, had quickly become tangled in the mess of potential consequences.
But something about the way Vincent was staring at her now, as if they were playing a game of chess and he was calculating her next move, made her act without a single hesitation.
“I assume you’ve already asked your family whether they know anything about the ring,” Anne said.
“I have,” Vincent replied with a nod. “It’s been the sole topic of discussion since we learned the true nature of my uncle’s Task, and no one seems to remember anything about it.”
It was the answer that Anne had expected. Of course his family would have exhausted all possibilities in an attempt to resolve the matter and avoid the scandal of the whole situation.
Again, she wanted to press him about the reason for his sudden change of heart. If Vincent grasped the severity of the situation, why had he been so insistent about refusing to help her? But she could tell by the steely glint in his expression that she wouldn’t get a firm answer from him and decided to turn their conversation in a more promising direction.
“Am I also correct to assume that you’ve askedeveryfamily member?” Anne inquired, raising a copper brow.
“Are you asking if I’ve tried to speak with someone beyond the veil about the ring, Miss Quigley?” Vincent asked, his tone deepening.
“I am,” Anne answered, holding firm though the shadows in the room seemed to stretch just a bit closer, as if enticed by the sound of Vincent’s voice.
“My uncle is the only Crowley to leave a Task unfinished,” he finally said. “So no one else has remained behind.”
“Have you tried to speak with him?” Anne asked, her voice softening a fraction as she wondered if there was a chance of hearing her old friend’s voice again.
Since Mr. Crowley had been so careful about ensuring his Task remained unfinished in life, she doubted he would reach out in death, especially to his family, who would be eager to draw everything to a neat close before the rest of the coven noticed what was happening. As her chest began to tighten, though, Anne realized that she still held to the faint hope of seeing him once more.
But then Vincent’s eyes hardened, confirming exactly what she’d suspected.
“He won’t answer me,” he replied simply, the clipped edges of his tone making it clear that she shouldn’t ask any further questions on that point.
Anne thought she caught the barest hint of hurt buried beneath Vincent’s austerity, a roughness cracking through the steely surface of his voice.
Before she could press any further, he straightened in his chair and continued on, obviously eager to push their conversation in another direction.
“But that doesn’t mean other ghosts haven’t remained in the house and seen a thing or two,” Vincent said. “Spirits who linger carry so many regrets with them, and they’re attracted to witches who might be willing to listen.”
Anne remembered the murmurs that had crept through the cracks of the door in the Crowley mansion, the whispers laden with longing and desperation.
“And what have they told you?” Anne asked.
“Nothing that could point me in a clear direction,” Vincent sighed. “Ghosts are notoriously difficult to orient. Their sole concern is trying to share something that might give them peace, and they aren’t able to grasp questions unless you can ground them.”
“And how do you manage that?” Anne inquired.
“We use sensations that might have meant something to them in life,” Vincent explained. “The steady ticking of a clock, the scent of smoke, the jolt of surprise when you see yourself in a mirror. Anything that reminds them of what it was like to feel alive. Objects that they might have seen or touched before passing on are the most useful.”
“You mean objects like this?” Anne asked as she lifted her hand and let the light hit the gold band once more.
“Yes,” Vincent replied simply, though Anne could sense a wealth of meaning in that single word.
“Then we must use the ring,” Anne said. “If no one living can give us the answers, our next step is clear.”
“I agree,” Vincent replied as he rested his upturned palm a few inches away from Anne’s fingertips. “If you’ll lend it to me for a time, I can see whether it will help steady the spirits.”
Anne pulled away then, concealing the ring beneath the table in the same way Mr. Crowley had when she’d insisted on using it to discover his Fate.
