He scrubbed his eyes, loosening a groan. He couldn’t move smoothly until he dealt with her.
First, he needed to destabilize her foundation. The idea made him feel strangely guilty – he didn’tlikehaving to poke and prod at her beliefs. But she wouldn’t help him look for answers if she was still confident in the Abbey, in what she’d been taught. Jude needed to be certain of the solidness of her beliefs before he sought to shake them.
He rose to his feet, extinguishing the cigarette on the tin lid.
He could give her a few choice bits of information if it would help him discover if she knew anything about the link between her craft and prayers, her paintings and magic. As long as the Abbey didn’t catch wind of his library, of how he’d learned to store his memories somewhere they couldn’t be reached, he would be safe.
Nothing,nothingwas more important than getting her out of his house.
Whatever it took.
12
Maeve
Maeve was back in the room she’d commandeered as a studio when Jude materialized in the open doorway. Olive wound between his legs. She set about sniffing her painting things with her tail held high. Maeve stiffened at the sight of him. It had taken ages yesterday to dry her hair after the potato debacle. ‘What do you want?’
‘May I come in?’
She swept her hand across the space. ‘By all means. It isyourhouse, after all.’
To her surprise, Jude walked to the centre of the room, bent his knees, and sat right in front of her stool. Flickering light from the oil lamp licked at his features. Olive jumped onto Jude’s folded legs and began kneading at his thigh.
They stared at each other, neither willing to break the tenuous silence.
Maeve leaned forward to rest her hands on her knees, wondering what he saw when he looked at her. Not the bedraggled traveller the storm had spat onto his doorstep. Not the furious acolyte holding an icon to his face. Not even the woman kneeling before a locked door, her mind awash with gold. She didn’t want to be any of those things. She wanted to be a portrait, distant and untouched by worry, doubt, or fear. Something she would never be.
Sometimes, when Maeve felt weak and alone, she wonderedif she knew herself at all or if she was simply a combination of everything people had told her she ought to be.
‘I have a few questions, if you don’t mind,’ Jude said into the quiet.
‘Politeness doesn’t suit you.’
The corner of his mouth quirked up. ‘I beg to differ.’
His mood had shifted dramatically from the tightly wound frustration she’d seen in the kitchen. Something was different about him. He seemed… lighter. She noted the redness lining his eyes and how he pressed his lips together as if forcing himself into silence. He looked towards the ceiling as though trying to avoid her scrutiny. The movement reminded her of a guilty child, and she found a raspy laugh bubbling to her lips. ‘Whathave you been smoking?’
Jude blinked rapidly, one hand pressing against the centre of his chest. ‘Me?’
She fought a smile. She’d seen behaviour like his before. Growing up, some of the older boys at the Abbey had made a habit of sneaking back from trips to Whitebury with faces just like Jude’s – a little too happy, a little too loose. She’d questioned them once, suspicious at their seemingly uncontrollable laughter and jealous of the obvious, andillicit, friendship between them. One of the boys had drawn the offending substance from behind his back and let her try for herself. Maeve didn’t like how it had made her feel, but clearly, that wasn’t a problem for Jude.
She found she liked this improved version of the saint.
‘I’m just happy you’re not shouting at me again,’ Maeve said.
For the first time, Jude smiled fully. He had dimples on either side of his mouth. Charming things that softened the harsh lines of his face into something almost handsome. Shame she’d never see them again. His skin was smooth in the warm light, emphasizing the cut of his cheekbones and his closely shorn dark hair. Stubble lined the edge of his jaw. Maeve begrudgingly admittedhe had a certain appeal if one was partial to sharp-edged men with soft mouths.
Which she was not.
‘It’ll wear off soon,’ he said. ‘Best enjoy it while it lasts.’
She nodded. ‘What is it you’d like to ask me?’
‘It’s about the Abbey.’
Maeve tightened her hands into fists on her knees. ‘If you’re going to make fun of me again, you might as well just leave.’
He shook his head, lifting his hands out in her direction. His palms bore faint white scars scored through the middles. ‘No. No, I just want to clarify a few things, if I may.’
