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“Winding the light’s mechanism.”
“I thought I’d poke around a bit outside, maybe look in that room on the other side of the tower.”
“Do you think we’ll find the Cor there?”
I almost laughed. “Anything is possible, and the sooner we find the thing, the sooner we can go home.”
On that note, we went outside. The sun shone weakly, though the bank of clouds hovered in the west. The wind was brisk, however, raising little whitecaps on the surface of the water. The tide was out further than it had been on our arrival. I strode to the water’s edge, stepping over damp rocks and the little pockmarks made by clams under the sand.
“Wonder what that is?” I pointed at the green shadow of land lurking across several miles of open water.
“Della says it’s called Bainbridge Island.”
I glanced at her over my shoulder. “Della?”
Margaret shrugged. “Just because we won’t be here long doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly.”
“Good point. Attract more flies with honey, et cetera, et cetera.”
She pulled a face. “Didn’t you tell me you’re known for your charm? Maybe you should try using it on Rafe.”
Before I could conjure an appropriately scathing rejoinder, I saw a boat. It was coming from the south, slicing through the waves with sails caught full in the stiff breeze.
“Hoi!” I jogged forward until the waves lapped against my boots. I waved my arms, though the boat was likely still too far away to see me.
Margaret clattered across the stony beach to stand next to me. “Wonder where they’re going.”
The boat turned, heading away from us, and my arms dropped. “Now we’ll never know.”
The words had just left my mouth when the boat turned again, this time heading towards us. When level with the lighthouse, its sails went slack, as if whomever was in the boat meant to stay. Even though the boat was a couple hundred feet from the beach, I hollered a second time. “Hey! We’re here.”
“Who are you?” The sailor’s reply was faint, but his challenge came through.
“Name’s Fairchild, and this is Miss Barnes.”
“Where’s Gallagher?”
I glanced at Margaret. Did no one know the man had died? Yelling about it seemed a poor form of delivering the news. “Rafe went out this morning. Not sure where he is.”
“Rafe?” The man was too far away to accurately read his expression. “I meant the old man.”
“What?” I needed to buy some time to figure out how to respond. If Della Gallagher had kept her husband’s death a secret from the sailor, there must be a reason.
“You are not welcome here.” Rafe strode down the beach, cane swinging and black cloak swirling, hand raised as if he meant to push the boat away by willpower alone.Willpower or magic.
The man on the boat laughed. “Surely you can say hello to a neighbor.”
A frisson of power raised the hairs on my skin. Margaret clasped my arm, drawing closer to me, for which I was grateful. I’d seen witches cast spells before, powerful witches, intent on each other’s destruction. Rafe’s incantation put them to shame.
The air around us darkened, as if the clouds from the west had rolled across the water, blotting out the distant island, the waves, the man in the boat.
“I’ll be back, you devil, and next time Martin won’t be here to protect you.” His words, a threat and a promise, came from an even greater distance than before.
Rafe did not reply, unless you counted his subterranean murmur, words I could not decipher.
We stood frozen until Rafe dropped his hand, releasing the spell. He stood some six feet ahead of us. I increased that distance by several steps. Margaret came with me, both of us backing away until we reached the grass. Still Rafe stood facing the water.
My mind was a jumble of questions and from that jumble, I pulled a single thread. Della Gallagher said she’d written to Madam Munro, but had she told no one else? Hadn’t there been a funeral, an announcement in the newspaper?
