Page 61 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
“And the scar?” his mother asked, twisting her stained apron in her hands.
“Should heal well enough. But this…” He picked up a jar of salve on the bedside table and unscrewed it, sniffing it for a moment. His eyes then went to Ruan with a strange expression. “You made this for him, did you?”
Ruan nodded gruffly.
“Mind if I buy some off you? I’d like to try it in my practice.”
Ruan made a stern sound of assent, uncertain what to do with the olive branch that Dr. Heinrich offered.
I excused myself into the front drawing room where the other boy sat anxiously on a wooden chair, his hair long and face dirty. Charles, I think, was the name Ruan gave me. I had no idea what he thought I could do, how I could make a boy speak to me when any number of people who had known him his whole life had failed to do the same.
“You’re Ruan’s witch!” he said, eyeing my breeches curiously.
“I suppose I am.” I still didn’t care for the moniker, but as long as it wasn’t being hurled alongside stones, I could learn to live with it.
“How is Jago?” he asked softly. “My mam almost wouldn’t let me come.”
I sank down on the sofa beside him. “He’s fine. I brought a physician friend from Exeter back with me. Dr. Heinrich says your friend should wake up soon. And you? How are you faring?”
He shook his head tight-lipped.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t like to talk about things like that either.”
Charles bore a few scratches on his face, but nothing else of note. “They wouldn’t understand.”
“That’s my experience as well. But these people care for you, they want you to be well. So sometimes you do have to…” I paused and cocked my head to one side, touching his hand softly. “Sometimes you have to trust that they’ll try to understand. Even if they might not be able to.” I thought back to what Tamsyn had said when we quarreled last. How adamant she’d been that I kept everyone outside my armor. Was Charles trying to do the same?
Something in my words must have rung true, as instantly his body relaxed, his shoulders sagged, and he shook his head. “It was frightful, miss…”
“I can imagine so. It did a number on young Jago’s face.”
He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He couldn’t be more than fifteen, if that. Not so much younger than I was when I left New York on that steamship.
“I don’t know rightly what it was.”
“Can you try to describe it… what you saw? It might help Mr. Kivell if you can tell me precisely how it happened. Do you think you can do that, Charles?”
His hand remained beneath mine. Still and warm. From beyond the tightly drawn curtains, I began to hear voices. People were gathering, but Charles didn’t hear them. Instead he was staring at the back of my hand. “I’ll never forget it, miss. Never.”
I squeezed his hand again.
“It was in white, all white like a ghost from the Christmas pageant. Except instead of holly, it had a claw. I’d never seen such a thing. Sharp and glistening in the morning light.” He gestured with his free hand, drawing a bit of a hook in the air with his two fingers.
“Glistening? Was it a knife?”
“I only saw it for a moment. I was so afraid, miss. But I don’t…” He stumbled over his words, swallowing hard. “I know it sounds odd to say, considering how bad Jago is, but I don’t think it was after us. Not truly.”
“Not after you? What makes you say that?”
He wet his lips, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It told us to run.”
“Itspoketo you?”
He nodded, eyes wide. “It did. Hissing out some infernal thing. Said to leave. Run away. I ain’t no fool, miss, I ran. But Jago, he…”
“He what…”
“He fought back.”
