I frowned. “We don’t really know they haven’t. People might make the same guesses I did—a deer, or a trick of the fog. Or they’d keep it to themselves, afraid no one would believe them. And Harker”—he looked at me—“the face of the creature in the painting has mostly chipped away, but the jaw is long with pointed teeth, like awolf.”
His eyes shone above the smoky lenses. “Goosevar could be the source of the old stories.”
“The real Wolf of Roche Rock.”
He raised his hand, fingers gliding along his own jaw. “And these killings ... Heaven knows the Tregarricks before me were not always careful. But it’s been more than five decades since my family was responsible for a death, so it’s hard to imagine that these recent attacks and your sightings of the creature aren’t connected. Especially considering you found a victim ... and then became one.”
At that moment a bird fluttered down to the slab—another magpie—startling me.
“I imagine all these recent shocks are taking a toll on you,” said my companion, noticing.
“I suppose they are.” Though in that moment I felt safe. Withhim. Even if not entirely safefromhim. Which made no sense at all. “I saw a magpie in that same spot before I was attacked here. I saw one in Mr. Roscoe’s leaves, too.”One for sorrow ...
“As a tasseographer, you must be a believer in signs.”
I slowly shrugged. “I don’t know that I ever was until recently, though my mother often spoke of them.” I looked again at the bird, whose head tilted from one side to the other as it watched us. “A magpie is said to be a messenger from the spirit world.”
“Perhaps it’s your mother looking out for you.”
My eyes drifted back to his face. His words had been soft, and his eyes were kind. “I hadn’t thought of that. I do believe it tried to warn me before it flew off, though I didn’t understand it at the time.”
A tapping noise drew our attention—the bird had gotten hold of a snail and was knocking it against the rock. When finally the shell broke, the bird nipped the creature out and flew away.
“I know you think me reckless,” I said, looking at him. Again I watched a movement in his jaw. “Jack does, too. He speaks to me like I’m a child who ought to know better. But I have no wish to die.”
“It had occurred to me to wonder.” My raised eyebrow brought a slight smile to his lips, and I felt a tickle of warmth in my belly. “But Ibelieve I’m coming to understand you. You’re simply comfortable taking risks to help others.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “No more so than anyone else, I don’t think.”
“On that, we may have to agree to disagree.”
His gaze wandered back to the pool, and I was able to breathe again. “Well, none of this means I’m not frightened. I still see Mr. Roscoe’s face when my eyes are closed.”
“I can imagine. My violence must have frightened you, too, though you seem to have forgotten it.”
My heart drummed. “I was frightened at first. But it wasn’t what you might expect. After a few moments, I began to feel ... calm.” It wasn’t quite the right word, but I found I couldn’t speak of the other sensations that had come with that calm feeling. Not to him.
“I think that’s meant to happen,” he said grimly. “A spider injects a venom that paralyzes its prey.”
I shivered, not caring for this picture. “Do you realize that when you talk about ... about your nature, you don’t describe it as if it were a disease? You compare yourself to creatures. To animals that hunt.”
He eyed me. “You’re thinking again of Goosevar, and how he might be connected to my family.”
“I guess I am. It does feel as if there’s something we need to uncover there, though I’m not sure how to go about it.”
He stiffened. “You must leave that to me.”
Silence filled in between us like fog, and I began to dread his leave-taking. I had never expected to see him again, and I feared this time might really be the last. I had helped him all I could. It was forhimto find the creature on the heath. My presence would only distract him.
If this was the last time, I’d have nothing to lose by asking a very personal question that had been turning in my mind the past few days.
“What does it feel like toyou?”
I watched his chest rise and fall slowly, and he clasped his hands behind his back. I wondered whether I would have to explain what I meant, but he said, “I don’t like speaking of it, though I suppose I owe you an answer.”
“Well,” I replied mildly, “Ihave spoken of it.”
His gaze drifted to the birch coppice a short distance away. I heard the infant-like cry of a rabbit, caught by a fox or snare.
