Page 3 of The Secret of the Three Fates
But arguing with the man was not going to bring Mr. Owenaround. I leaned against the arm of his chair, softening my words. “You know as well as I do that they’re all frauds. I saw my share of their kind in France after my parents died. They’ll say anything to get your money. I thought we were in agreement on that…”
His jaw grew slack as he stared at me. “After all you saw—after all that happened in Lothlel Green—you still mock the other world? You doubt its existence?”
He had me there. A great many things happened in Cornwall a mere six weeks ago, things I didn’t dare think on at present. “I am not mocking it. I am simply pointing out that the dead are dead—they aren’t coming back. And whether I believe in ghosts is immaterial. Whatismaterial is that you lied to me to bring me out here.”
Mr. Owen did not believe me. His bushy white eyebrows rose in unison.
I crossed my ankles, looking away. “Nothing happened in Cornwall out of the ordinary.”
“Curses and witches aren’t out of the ordinary?”
Well…almostnothing. Mr. Owen didn’t know half of what I’d found there when he sent me to deliver a box of books to his Pellar friend, Ruan Kivell. Nor did I even know what a Pellarwas.I still wasn’t entirely certain, only that Ruan was a type of folk healer—a witch of sorts.
Mercifully, Mr. Owen also remained unaware of the fact that Ruan could somehow hear my thoughts without me speaking, or the uncanny way I could sense his… well… whateveritwas he did. I still was not certain how much I believed in the supernatural, but I did know that Ruan possessed… something. Something I feared to put to voice. He coulddo things. Things he didn’t understand nor could he control. Things unbound by the laws of science, at least any science I knew. And the less anyone knew of what he was—the better.
A loud thunk came from the floor overhead, startling me out of my wayward thoughts and causing me to bite my tongue. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. “Damn.”
He arched an eyebrow in challenge. “No such thing as ghosts, lass?”
“Very amusing. All I mean to say is that it’s well known about these types of women. They go to the most absurd lengths to wheedle well-meaning people out of their money. Goodness knows, I’ve seen plenty of them in my life, all of them telling me…”That my mother lived.No, I couldn’t bring myself to speak it—not even to Mr. Owen. Those horrible frauds had given me false hope for far too long.
“It’s only…” He paused, twisting a simple gold band on his finger. “Ruby, I need you tonight. Please don’t make me ask you twice. I do not think I’m brave enough to face the dead on my own, and I need you by my side.”
My eyes widened at the rawness in his voice. “But Mr. Owen, it’s notreal. You can’t possibly be planning on—”
He held up a hand, silencing me. The golden ring winked in the electric lights, catching my eye. “I must speak with my son.” He pulled out a letter from his pocket and handed it to me. The paper trembled in his outstretched hand.
Owen, I know it has been years since we’ve spoken but I have a message from Ben. He has come to me in my dreams. He is angry and will speak to no one but you. If you have any love for your departed wife, you will come. You will come and hear what your son wants to say.
—L.C.
“Who… who sent you this?”
“Lucy Campbell,” he said with a vague wave of his hand, as if that name meant anything to me. “In another life, I knew herwell. She is a true spiritualist. The only one I’ve ever known to possess the gift of speaking with the dead.”
“—and she’s here… one of theseFates.”
He nodded. “She has a message from Ben. From my darling boy. How could I do anything but come to hear what he has to say?”
Mr. Owen rarely spoke of his life before I came into it. I only knew the barest of sketches. Ben was the youngest of his children, and I got the sense his favorite. He’d been an aviator during the war and would have been about my age, had he survived. But he was shot down somewhere over the lines and wounded near the end of the war. By some minor miracle he managed to live through all that, only to die on a troop transport on his way back home.
“I understand how you feel, Mr. Owen, but how do we know that letter is any more real than the telegram we received about the manuscripts? Ten pounds for a public séance is an obscene amount of money. If this Lucy Campbell woman truly wanted to help you, wouldn’t she just meet you in private to deliver Ben’s message?”
Mr. Owen’s eyes were glassy and bloodshot in the dim firelight. “I lost him once. I cannot bear to lose him again. I will not take that chance. I would offer up all the illuminated manuscripts in the world, burn each and every one until not a single page remained if it brought him back once more.” A tear slipped down his face, running along the well-worn ridge by his nose, sealing my fate. “You of all people must understand that. If Ben has a message, I must hear him out, no matter the cost to me.”
He’d won this battle before it even began, touching that fathomless wound in me that refused to heal. I reached across the table, taking his wizened hand in my own, and squeezed. “Very well. I’ll go. But I won’t like it.”
“And no scenes, Ruby. I mean it. I need you to be by my side for this. I depend on you, lass, more than you could ever know.”
“Me? Cause a scene? I’d never dream of it.” I struggled to keep my tone light, to bring him away from that dark place that he’d entered. Mr. Owen needed finality—and that was the one thing I could not give, but perhaps these Three Fates could.
CHAPTERTWOEnter, the Three Fates
THATevening found me in a dreadful temper, terribly overdressed, and seated in the castle’s dimly lit ballroom. I’d racked my brain—and trunk—for what might pass for suitable attire for a séance—a difficult task as I had not known upon packing that I wasattendinga séance. I wassupposedto be appraising and acquiring a dozen illuminated manuscripts for Mr. Owen. Perhaps finagling a discreet love affair once matters were settled with the books, should a suitable candidate show themselves. Someone pleasant enough to eradicate those unruly feelings I harbored for one Mr. Ruan Kivell without causing any extra emotional entanglements. That’s exactly what I needed—something to help me forget the irrational pull toward the peculiar man.
Tonight, I ended up settling upon an airy green-and-gold evening gown with a daring décolletage. Everyone else in the room was dressed in mournful shades of grays, lilacs, and black. Serge and wool. At least it was dark—making my inappropriate attire less obvious—but even still the gold threads caught the candlelight, sparkling in the shadows.
I shifted in the wooden dining chair, resisting the urge to tugon the seafoam silk of my skirt, and hide within the pathetically thin material. I’d never been skittish, but ever since my adventures in Cornwall, crowds made me nervous. It could be a mere gathering of ten people, and I would start feeling… rabbity… consumed by this primal need to flee before something larger came along to gobble me up, even though I knew good and well no harm would befall me in here.
