Page 9 of Written in Red

Mercury nodded solemnly. “And what have you discovered in your liberated tome?”

With a wave of the Scholar’s hand, the floating book opened and flipped through a few pages before stopping.

The Scholar cleared his throat—something he couldn’t possibly actually need to do—and began reading. “‘The first known recording of a ghost being exchanged for another was etched into boulders near a place known as Hrendan Cnoll. The name shifted as the language did, coming to be known as Palatine Knoll.’”

The Scholar looked up at Mercury in the exact moment the significance of that settled on Mercury’s spinning mind.

“Palatine Knoll? That is our village.”

The Scholar nodded.

“The previous name—Hrendan Cnoll—what does that mean?” Mercury asked.

“’Tis Old English. Means ‘the hill of rending.’ ’Tis a name for a place where things are broken and torn and ripped apart.”

Tension wrapped around Mercury’s chest. “This place where the first ghostly attachments were ripped apart was ‘near’ the village of Palatine Knoll?”

“It was.”

“Aventine Manor is near the village of Palatine Knoll.” Mercury had long ago learned to not trust coincidences.

“What was it, Mercury Raine,” the Scholar asked, “that brought you to Aventine in the first place?”

“It was near to London without being too near. It had space enough for my ghosts to not be tripping over each other and for me to have a bit of privacy. It was comfortable, but also oddly fortified. It felt safe, which was a rare thing for me.”

The Scholar shook his head. “I didn’t ask why it was you chose to purchase Aventine. I asked what brought you here.”

“A fellow broker was selling it,” Mercury said. “And his description was intriguing.”

“How’d you meet this broker?”

How had he met him? “I . . . I don’t remember.” That was odd. Mercury had an excellent memory.

“What was his name?”

His name? He didn’t remember that either. Mercury didn’t like these gaps in his recollection. “How is it that there are ghosts remembering things about me they should not know at the same time that I cannot recall things about myself?”

“Something is breaking,” the Scholar said. “And it is connected to you.”

“Granny Grey told me when she first came here that there is a storm building and I am at its eye.”

The Scholar waved his hand. The floating book closed and tucked itself under one of the ghost’s translucent arms. “You were drawn to Aventine. There must be a reason.”

Mercury shook his head firmly. “No more mysteries. No more secrets I cannot even begin to uncover. I am drowning in them as it is. They are endangering me and my ghosts and Tacey.”

“This is a place of fractures. It’ll break us all, I suspect.”

Mercury forced a thick swallow. “‘Unless.’ This is the point where you say, ‘Everything will be terrible unless. . .’ What is the unless? What do I need to do?”

“So much about you is impossible, Mercury Raine. You have more ghosts than any one person has ever been known to have. Ghosts with Phantomic Memories of you—memories of things you, yourself, do not even remember—are being pulled to you. And I would wager there are things your ghosts should remember, but inexplicably cannot.”

Mercury didn’t nod; he was certain he didn’t have to.

“Your life is broken in many ways,” the Scholar said. “And you have been brought to this place that further shatters things. There must be a reason. The mystery of why you have been led here and why you have spent your life encircled by brokenness is, I suspect, crucial to solving all the other mysteries surrounding Mercury Raine.”

Mercury carried a ladder-back chair down one of the dark tunnels. Torches had been lit, but it didn’t render the space truly bright. He stepped into the ghost-trapping room where he had placed a lit lantern upon retreating below ground after his conversation with the Scholar.

The mysteries surrounding Mercury Raine.