Page 67 of The Secret of the Three Fates
She sucked in a sharp breath, quite possibly the most human emotion I’ve seen from Hecate in our brief acquaintance. “I will not summon the dead. Not even for you, Morvoren. And you cannot force me.”
“It isn’t the dead I want to find, it’s the living.” I tugged the ring from my pocket and thrust it at her. “I believe this is the key that Mariah’s spirit spoke of. I am certain of it. But what I cannot understand is what it means.”
“You believe that is why Lucy was killed.”
“Perhaps even Mariah too. She left it with Mr. Owen the night she disappeared.‘I left you the key,’the spirit said at that very first séance.Thismust be that key.”
The only sign Hecate was listening was the slight widening of her golden eyes at my words.
“I don’t give a damn about the dead—they can answer or not—but I believe the ring will bring the killer to us. It’s our only chance.”
For a half second, I worried that Hecate might continue to argue with me as Ruan had earlier. The White Witch plucked the ring from my palm and held it up to the candlelight, wordlessly studying it before dropping it back into my palm.
“I accept, Morvoren.”
Only I wasn’t quite certain what the terms were for her aid. But if it saved Mr. Owen, I would have agreed to them all without question.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHTA Spirited Guest
WHILEI was correct in assuming Hecate would have unspoken terms that went along with her help, I wasn’t prepared forquitehow many she would have. I thought I had been more than clear I wasn’t interested in speaking with the dead, but Hecate would not hear it. As a result, I spent most of the morning fetching and carrying, gathering supplies intended to keep the spirits at bay should they choose to answer. Hecate had even managed to compel Ruan into making charms intended to repel evil spirits. A feat that filled me with concern rather than reassurance, as Ruan ordinarily refused to do any charm work.
I felt no safer for any of it—not for the salt, or the burning herbs, nor the great twisted hazel rod that took me halfway to Edinburgh to acquire which Hecate had lying across the table before her. She might fear the dead, but my concerns remained amongst the living. Someone had been willing to kill to keep their secret, and here I was trying to draw them out like a splinter from a festering wound.
The large round table was set up much as it had been the night of the first séance, however this time it was dusk—not full dark— and Hecate assured me that there was great power to be found intransitions. Between dusk and dawn, the solstices and the like. Perhaps that was why she was taking such precautions. Ruan’s unease was palpable. The two of them had been arguing in Cornish for most of the day. Some of their disagreement, clearly having to do with me, as I distinctly heard the wordMorvorenmore than once.
By the time Hecate proclaimed us ready, and I entered the room for the séance, Genevieve Demidov had already taken her seat at the twelve o’clock position—directly facing the window overlooking the ruins. There was to be no grand entrance this time. No chanting. No costumes. And without all that artifice, the second séance felt all the more real. Genevieve wore mourning dove–gray tonight, with her lovely hair knotted into a chignon at the back of her head. Hecate sat directly across from her, her back to the window. The two women in balance.
I spotted Elijah, no longer could I think of him as Mr. Sharpe, standing in the corner—cast in shadows by the candelabra. He fumbled nervously with his pocket watch, his attention trained on Genevieve as if his very next breath depended on whatever word she uttered. It was a strange intensity and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Despite our shared past, and his strange confession to me the night before, I did not fully trust him. Elijah’s presence at the séance was to be expected. It was his suggestion after all, and he did own the estate. It would be odd if he wasn’t in attendance.
But I could not disguise my surprise when I spotted Andrew Lennox entering the dining room, followed by Lady Morton and her daughter, Lady Amelia. The girl looked nervously about the room before spotting me, and the tension immediately left her shoulders. She held my gaze for several seconds, as if she wanted to impart something important but was tugged away by her mother at once.
I looked to Ruan. Had he known they were here? But he gave his head a slight shake. It seems their presence was a surprise to him as well.
Andrew took the seat beside Hecate across from me, much as he had the night of the first séance. I twisted Mariah’s ring on my little finger in the darkness as Hecate began the ceremonies. Hecate’s voice carried a rich earthy timbre as she began the proceedings, and even though I knew this was not a real séance, the hairs on my neck rose with each word she spoke. I hazarded a glance from her to Andrew, whose curious attention was fixed—not on the witch—but on Genevieve, just as Elijah’s was.
We scarcely had enough attendees to fill the chairs now, causing us to spread ourselves out to balance the table. What had I been thinking? Did I truly think the killer would walk in and reveal themselves to all of us?
Foolish, foolish girl.
Ruan stared unblinking at the window behind Genevieve. I nearly asked what transfixed him when Hecate called to me. “Have you anything belonging to the spirit, Miss Vaughn?”
I quickly slipped the ring from my finger, handing it across the table to her. She had been adamant no one else touch it—a rule I was happy to comply with as it was my most important clue.
The little ring glinted in the dying light of day.
Making deals with witches, Ruby Vaughn? Did you learn nothing in Lothlel Green?
“Speak the spirit’s name, Miss Vaughn. Who do you seek from beyond the veil?”
Up to this point, the séance was purportedly to summon my late mother. Ruan gave my hand a reassuring squeeze and I opened my mouth to speak. “Mariah. I seek Mariah Lennox.”
A hush overtook the room as I uttered her name. I repeatedmyself a bit louder, sounding far more courageous than I felt. “I’ve come for the viscountess—if she’ll speak to me.”
As soon as the last word left my lips the temperature in the room dropped precipitously. From behind Hecate, the window to the garden slammed open, the wind howling and rattling the glass in the panes as it struck the wall behind. The candles flickered before sputtering out and thrusting the room deeper into shadow.
Young Lady Amelia yelped, clutching onto Andrew’s arm.
