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Surely the day was dark enough for it to be suppertime, and breakfast was a distant memory. Still, something in her tone made me uncomfortable, as if there was some other reason she wanted to be alone with Rafe.
Maybe he eats small children for his dinner.
The thought had me choking on a laugh, one I declined to share even after Mrs. Gallagher left us. I dared a glance at Margaret, but she was dishing up two bowls of the soup. “This is good,” she said. “Nice and thick.”
I set myself to slicing bread. “Smells wonderful.”But why are we talking about soup with all that’s going on?
We sat opposite each other, steam rising from our bowls and thick slices of buttered bread at the ready. The first spoonful of soup reminded me of just exactly how hungry I was, and for a while we simply ate without speaking.
Once I slowed down enough to breathe between bites, I looked up to find Margaret watching me. “There’s something strange here, isn’t there,” she said, with none of the lift in her voice that would make it a question.
“What makes you say that?” I agreed with her wholeheartedly but wanted to hear her point of view.
Her nod said she knew what I was up to. “There are too many things that don’t match up. I’m beginning to wonder if Martin Gallagher even existed, and if finding the Ferox Cor is some kind of snipe hunt.”
I laughed despite a twinge of pain. As a youngster, every time my uncle visited, he’d take all us kids on a snipe hunt. We’d sneak through the neighborhood after dark, trying to catch those elusive beasts. Only later did we learn that there was no such thing as a snipe and the adults found the game just as entertaining as we did – though for different reasons.
“I think he existed,” I said, bringing myself back to the problem at hand. “Madam Munro’s information might be somewhat inaccurate, but I can’t imagine she’d be so completely mistaken.”
“You’re probably right.” Margaret turned her attention to her bowl.
Before I took another bite, however, I shared a thought that made me uncomfortable. “If Rafe has taken possession of the Ferox Cor, he might have acquired the power to set that concealment spell.”
Margaret glanced at me, her expression grim. “Let’s not borrow trouble.”
“Of course.” I turned my attention to the stew, reasonably sure trouble would find us whether we borrowed it or not.
Once we’d sopped up every bit of our dinner, Margaret taught me to wash dishes. A hushed conversation told us mother and son were in the tiny sitting room, which I would have to pass in order to reach the bedroom.
Mrs. Gallagher returned my soft “good night”, although Rafe stayed silent. He tracked me, though, his dark attention a soft weight until I closed the bedroom door.
Rather than immediately climb into bed, I packed my pipe and lit it. With only the light from the pipe’s cherry, I recreated the image of Rafe’s stern profile in my mind, noting the play of candlelight and shadow.
Especially those shadows cast by his amber glasses.
Chapter Five
I woke to darkness. It was easier to conjure a witchlight than to light the oil lamp. Climbing out of bed produced a chorus of snaps and groans as the muscles in my back let go of the cot’s imprint. I fished my watch from the pocket of yesterday’s waistcoat. Seven in the morning. From my window I could see only the shadowed forest behind the house.
Had the sun refused her daily rise? Or had this faraway place been abandoned by the light?
I shivered, shaking my head to rid it of fancies. The subtle hum from the kitchen let me know that others had already risen. I dressed in clean underthings and a fresh collar, hoping yesterday’s shirt and suit would suffice.
I needn’t have worried. No one but Margaret made note of my arrival in the kitchen, although Rafe did nearly knock into me on his way out.
Margaret had made coffee, for which I was deeply grateful. A slice of buttered sourdough and one of the eggs Margaret scrambled made up my simple breakfast. Mrs. Gallagher helped herself to an egg, too, and after a few bites she murmured thanks.
“You can leave the dishes,” she said, but Margaret responded that cleaning up would be no problem. They were still negotiating when I left, though both offered me a cheery goodbye.
Back in the bedroom, I pulled out the packet of papers Madam Munro had given me. It occurred to me that if Margaret made a friend of Mrs. Gallagher, we might find what we were looking for more easily. Immediately I regretted that thought. Mrs. Gallagher seemed to be a lost soul, and it would be cruel to gain her trust, only to abuse it.
Madam Munro’s papers contained no surprises. A typewritten sheet with as much detail about Gallagher’s life and family as the Council possessed, two pages of information about the Ferox Cor written in a nearly decipherable hand, and a letter from Madam giving us her official blessing. According to these documents, Rafe was a child, Martin Gallagher was a weatherwitch, and no one knew what Gallagher had done with the Ferox Cor. The facts were laid out plainly.
She’d included a map. The lighthouse sat on the tip of a wedge of land that jutted out into Puget Sound like a bird’s beak. South of this location, Eliot Bay provided the deep harbor the city depended on. Areas where the wilderness had been tamed were blocked out in neat little squares. The bird’s beak, the area behind the lighthouse, was empty. We were miles from civilization.
After pawing through the papers a second time – or a third or fourth time, all together – I gave up. Donning overcoat and hat, I made ready to go outside.
Margaret met me in the front room. She was also dressed to go out. “Where’s Mrs. Gallagher?” I asked.
