Page 33 of The Devil in Oxford
Ruan’s attention remained fixed on the empty street behind me. “He died on the first day of the Somme.”
Were you there?
I didn’t even realize I hadn’t spoken the question aloud until he shook his head.
The pain on his face—the helplessness at the memory of his old friend dying. My fingers went to his wrist of their own accord.
He closed his eyes again and pulled away from my touch. “I heard you earlier, Ruby.”
Good God, my thoughts had been a cacophony tonight. I could only imagine what he’d overheard.
“All of it.” Ruan dropped his voice to little over a whisper. “But in particular, while I was finishing my supper, I heard you planning on going back to Harker’s museum. I’m beginning to rethink my assessment that you aren’t mad, or perhaps it is only that you are intent on drivingmethat way?”
I clenched my fingers into a fist and shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets, stinging from his rebuke. “Perhaps ifyouweren’t intent upon controlling everything around you then you wouldn’t be as concerned about your precious sanity.”
His nostrils flared. “Me? Controlyou? Gods, if only one could. I am simply trying to keep you alive and am doing a poor job of it. No wonder Hecate said you’d be the death of me.”
My stomach churned at his mention of the White Witch’s prophesy. I almosthadbeen the death of him in Scotland. My eyes dropped down to where the scar was hidden beneath his thick coat and oatmeal-colored jumper.
He’d heard that. His expression softened. “You understand, then.”
My mouth felt like cotton. “I understand nothing. Least of all you—this.” I gestured between us.
“Then at least we are matched in that.” Bitter amusement tugged at the corner of his lips—whatever anger with me he’d harbored moments before had fled as quickly as it came, replaced by an emotion I dared not name. “Two months ago, I watched a man place a rifle against your breast, powerless to do anything to save you. Unable to look away for fear that if I did, I would lose that final second in your light. And I could not bear the thought.” He reached to touch my face, but instead closed his fingers and shoved his hand into his pocket. Emotion thick in his voice. “I know that we are at odds right now.”
“We’re always at odds.”
“But gods, I cannot bear the thought of you putting yourself needlessly at risk. I am sick at the thought of it. Whatever happens between us, I cannot bear the thought of you being in danger. Promise me, Ruby.”
I leaned closer to him, close enough to catch his green scent, and inhaled deeply. In that moment I might have promised him anything his heart desired. The man was a witch indeed. My voice came out hoarse. “Promise what?”
“Promise me you will not go to Harker’s museum without me. I will come back to the townhome after the lecture. Then we will go together. I will help you, but we must do it together.”
I nodded, far too numb to form words. Ruan leaned closer, his breath grazing my cheek, and I thought he might bend. He might not let me touch him—might nottouchme—but perhaps he might kiss me again as he had in Scotland and end this unpleasantness between us once and for all. But his iron will held firm. He straightened and turned, calling back over his shoulder, “Until tonight, Ruby Vaughn.”
And I watched him walk away into the snowy night.
CHAPTERFIFTEENOld Habits Die Hard
“STUPID.Stupid girl…” I muttered, fiddling with my lockpicks. The street behind me was mostly empty, with only the occasional passerby to break the silence. I crouched outside the back entrance of Julius Harker’s museum, hidden in the shadows. The sky overhead was clear and bright—illuminated by pinprick stars.
You’re no better than Fiachna after a field mouse, Ruby Vaughn. Unable to let it rest until you come back bloodied, missing tufts of fur, your tail between your legs.
I ought to have waited on Ruan before returning to the museum. After all, I had promised him I would do that very thing. Yet when the clock chimed midnight and he still hadn’t returned from that infernal lecture with Professor Laurent, I had no alternative. If I was to sort through Harker’s collection to figure out what happened to him, I neededtime—and I was quickly running out of the stuff.
Ruan would be furious when he found out—which was why he mustn’t ever learn of it. I readjusted my scarf as a lonely nightingale trilled out from somewhere behind me. My eyes stung as I continued to struggle with the lock. The bitter wind caught the back of my pleated cobalt skirt, threatening to expose my practical woolendrawers to all and sundry. Then again, neither allnorsundry were in this frigid alley at quarter to one in the morning. I finally managed to spring the stubborn lock and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
It was far darker than it had been the first time I’d come to the museum, or perhaps it was only my imagination. The shadows of the tall cases were longer, the silence more ominous. The wooden floorboards creaked as I took a step, and I spun on my heels, heart hammering in my chest. But there was nothing there.
Outside, the muffled sound of dogs barking gave me pause. Had I locked the door behind me? Surely I had.
Foolish girl, giving in to imagination.
Taking my flashlight in hand, I headed for the front entrance and quickly found a wooden panel concealing the narrow curving stairs to the basement. Once I closed the panel behind me and was safely hidden in the stairwell, I flicked on my flashlight and descended the curving stair. I had to be careful. If I fell, I’d be trapped here in Harker’s collection until someone eventually came and discovered me.
Ifthey ever found me.
The air in the storeroom was stale. Faint streaks of light filtered in through the small windows nearly twelve feet above my head.
