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It was not a guarantee, but a lead was more than they’d had before now. The start of that lead came via his wife being tortured, and so they’d already paid dearly for this clue.
They crouched around the laptop to see the proof of their suspicions.
Chester, who looked more suited to that era than this one, was wearing nondescript clothing in the black-and-white newsprint photo. He had on short pants that came to his bony knees, a shirt that hung loose on his frame, and a sunhat. He looked harmless—unless, of course, a person looked at the calculating expression on his face.
He was pretending to be a sheep, butthatwas a predator’s gaze.
“The site was looted in 1913,” Iggy read. He paused then, scowling, before adding, “I was dead by then, so I don’t know much about where Chester was. However, we know that the site was disturbed by a group with shovels. Obvious assumption is that they were looting, but what if that theft was also a cover to leave something behind?”
It was as logical an answer as anything else. The images on the screen weren’t a perfect match to the image Geneviève had drawn from Chester’s mind. However, there was proof that he had been there over a century and a half previously.
And Skara Braewasa site monitored by Historic Scotland. Geneviève had seen that sign.
“We shall go there, rip open the earth, and locate this weapon.” Beatrice nodded and closed the laptop. “Then we shall use the sword or ax or whatever it is to dismember him.”
“He’s an alchemist, Bea. Likely it’s potion or rock or scroll,” Iggy countered.
“Then I shall pummel his brains with this rock.”
From behind him, Eli heard a voice say, “So we’re basically doing rock, paper, scissors, potion?”
Eli turned as Geneviève grinned at them. She’d barely slept, but she already looked calmer. Rest could be brief with her peculiar biology.
“What do you mean?” Beatrice asked, frowning in a way that made her seem older than her ease with technology would claim. “There are no scissors.”
“Rock, paper, scissors. It’s a child’s game.” Geneviève clarified gently. “Except we’re adding sharp things in place of scissors, as well as a random potion, so rock, paper, scissors, potion.”
Beatrice nodded, though it was clear she was not sure what precisely Geneviève was saying. “I shall kill him with anything I find. Chester must die.”
“Agreed,” Geneviève murmured.
Beatrice turned her gaze on Eli. “And your uncle will atone for his willingness to sacrifice my granddaughter. I do not forgive his insult to my heir.”
Eli tensed, but he couldn’t defend his uncle. Instead, he said, “You might want to speak to the widow Chaddock. She is also rather angry with him.”
Beatrice frowned. “She had not mentioned it.”
Iggy stretched. “Fae King wants to make an honest woman of her. Marry her properly.”
At that Beatrice laughed, a sound as cold as the slithering things that crept into ruins, and said, “As if marriage makes anyone honest.”
Her obvious disdain of the very thing that Eli held most sacred stung, but Geneviève came to sit on his lap and whispered, “I don’t know that it makes me honest, but I amhappyto have married you.”
And that was enough for Eli to dismiss Beatrice, Ignatius, and his own thoughts about Chester and about his uncle. The world’s opinions mattered little.
Everything he had ever needed was right here in his arms.
13
GENEVIÈVE
Iwas glad to hear the hope in the voices of those here with me. I’d seen my great-times-great grandmother broken after Chester had attacked her, and I’d seen the fear in her eyes. I’d heard Iggy say over and over that I must not confront Chester. That had rankled. I was not easy about fear. Confrontation and damn-the-risks had always been my way. It was, in brief, a lot of why I had resisted the mere thought of one day having a child. How did anyone bring a child into this world of hate and violence? How could I protect a child from murderers and bigots?
I make the world safer.That was my best answer. I had to make the world a safer place, and not just for this possible future child. I had to make it better for those who were here already.
No hiding. No breaking.
Eventually Eli and I returned to the nest of blankets where I’d cat-napped earlier. I was still tired, but the fear of losing him that Chester had triggered—or maybe that my imprisonment had triggered—meant that I had only been able to doze earlier. I wasn’t clingy, but I think that the fear of separation made me feel that way today.
