Page 31 of The Secret of the Three Fates
Ruan rose and walked to the wardrobe. From the shadows, I couldn’t help but admire the way the muscles in his back flexed with his movement. He certainly knew how to distract me from the point at hand.
What are you doing, you peculiar man?
“Finding a shirt.” He grumbled as he latched on to something in the closet. “As I presume you will not let me go back to sleep until we’ve looked at the medium’s room again.”
“No. I probably won’t.” My eyes lingered on the width of his back, and the deep scar that went like an arrow alongside his spine disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.What had happened to cause such a wound?It had to be nearly twelve inches in total, if not more.
Ruan coughed, tugging on the fresh shirt. “About that, twelve and a half I’m told. But it was nothing romantic, I assure you. A German soldier took issue with my men’s and my presence in his tunnel.” At times his ability to hear my thoughts was unsettling, but at others, like now, it was as if we spoke a language that only the two of us could understand.
“That wasn’t very charitable of him. I’m sure you were a perfectly well-mannered tunnel-guest.”
He laughed again, those creases from worry between his brows disappearing as he fastened the buttons one by one. My stomach churned at the thought of the scar—of the wound that had been dealt him. I’d seen soldiers with injuries like that that during my time in the war, back when I was driving an ambulance between the casualty clearing stations back to the main hospital in Amiens. I’d never seen a man survive a wound like that—certainly not along the rough road to Amiens.
“Evidently I’m a difficult man to kill. Now, what are you intentupon showing me?” Gauging from the tone of his voice, there’d be no more discussion about his past. Not today. Besides, we had more important things to do. Like break into a dead medium’s room.
IT HAD BEENonly a handful of hours since I’d left Lucy Campbell’s room looking as if it’d been raided by invading Visigoths—and yet somehow between then and now it had been fully cleaned, making me doubt my own memories. All the broken jars and pottery removed. Clothes tidily folded and returned to the wardrobe precisely as it should be. Even the carpetbag had been repacked, sitting in the middle of the dresser as if awaiting its mistress to finish the task and go on her way.
“You said it was ransacked.” Ruan folded his arms from where he stood in the doorway.
“It was.” I wet my lips, turning to face him as I gestured to the peculiar six-petaled flower carved in the wood. “What’s that?”
He stepped farther into the room, pushing the door closed to inspect the carving.
“That’s the image I saw on the bridge. She—someone—drew it in charcoal on the columns…” My mind flickered back to Andrew Lennox’s gray fingers from his sketching. Ruan had accused him of killing Ben and I’d disregarded it—but perhaps there was more to Mr. Owen’s nephew than met the eye.
Ruan let out a low chuckle.
“I don’t see what’s amusing.”
“It’s a hexafoil.”
“Yes, well. What is a hexafoil? I assumed it’s something related to the occult but I don’t believe I’ve seen one before.”
Ruan stared at me in disbelief. “Working for Owen all these years you haven’t come across ahexafoil?It beggars belief… Half the barns and cottages in Britain have these somewhere. It’s usedto protect a person from evil spirits, witches, demons, and the like.”
“Butyou’rea witch.”
“Pellar, remember? Besides, they aren’t trying to protect againstmykind. They’re concerned about harmful magic. I’m not sure I could do harmful magic if I tried. Besides, I always found them nothing more than a bit of folklore and superstition. No carving—no matter how pretty—will save you if the devil’s after you. You’d need something far more powerful than that.” He ran this thumb over the carved line and my reckless heart responded as if it were me he touched.
I opened my mouth to point out that to most people, Ruan himself would be considered little more than folklore and superstition but wisely held my tongue on that score. “The salt too… do you think she was worried about the spirits she summoned?”
“It does look that way.” Ruan bit his lower lip, green eyes full of pity for this soul he’d never met.
“But ghosts can’t harm anyone…” After all that I’d witnessed in the last six weeks, I couldn’t quite discount the theory as easily as I once would have. “Can they?”
Ruan exhaled, tapping his fingers on the wood.
“And you are having trouble with your abilities. You said you can’t hear me as well here…” I gestured at him, the words melting away. “Is this killer human or is it something else?”
He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. The air between us growing sharp, taking on the vague scent of an electrical storm. He stayed that way for several seconds before he gave his head a grave shake. “The spirits are angry here. They’re as loud as I’ve ever heard them, even during the war. I thinkthat’swhy I’m having trouble hearing you. I reach out and it feels as if I’m on the edge of something, all the voices, they’re clamoring for my attention, pulling at bits and parts of me—they want something—but cannot speak its name. Ruby, it’s enough to drive one mad. I’ve never experiencedanything like it. Everything here seemsmore…”He hesitated, taking a step closer to me, his eyes wide. “Even you.”
I swallowed hard.Even me.What was that supposed to mean?
He ran a rough hand over his jaw. “I’m not sure what is happening, but the spirits… they don’t trust it. Something has come to Manhurst, Ruby. That much is clear to me. I do not know what, but it’s as certain as the change of seasons.”
I shivered, fingers tightening on his arm. “Do they speak to you? The spirits…”
“Not in that way. The living, the dead. They all sound the same. A sense of foreboding. A murmur. A hush. But I can promise you that they didn’t harm the old woman.”
