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He laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sound. I let the silence settle around us, imagining what his real laugh would sound like. Rusty, creaky, as unused as the pump for a forgotten well.
A wave pushed the rowboat those last feet to the dock. We strode out to it. The young man nodded at Rafe alone.
“Where’s your mum?” he asked. Rafe, unsurprisingly, ignored the question, climbing over the gunwale and settling himself on a bench close to the stern.
“Mrs. Gallagher is staying here to run the lighthouse. Rafe will speak for her, and I will speak for the San Francisco Witches’ Council.”
The young man blinked in surprise. Still, he stepped aside so I could climb aboard. Once I was seated, he used his paddle to shove off. I had to shift my feet to keep them out of the puddle at the bottom of the boat, and for the first time I wondered if perhaps I should have let Rafe go it alone.
Yes, I could speak for the Council and by extension, the Congress of Witches, but what good would that do here, in a place where they’d let one man rule them for some twenty years? Martin Gallagher had apparently held them in thrall, and Rafe seemed intent on furthering his father’s rule.Especially if he now possessed the Ferox Cor.
That thought gave me something new to worry about. I’d volunteered for this job so I could soften his sharp edges, but what if they truly angered him? Whether he relied on the Ferox Cor or not, he still possessed a world more power than me. He could flatten everyone in the room before I could do more than wring my hands.
The closer we got to the fishing boat, the lower the clouds drifted, until it seemed we were paddling through their thick, misty depths. The only sound was the flap and splash of the waves and the paddle. Any seabirds around had had the good sense to hide in their nests, out of the dreary cold. Before we reached our destination, I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering.
An older man, clearly the one in charge, awaited us on the ship. If he had questions about the missing Mrs. Gallagher, he kept them to himself and invited us aboard. I let Rafe go first. He passed his cane over, then gripped the side with both hands. This ship rode a good two feet higher in the water than the rowboat, but Rafe managed to climb over with a fair amount of grace.
I was not so fortunate, but at least I didn’t go swimming.
We were ushered into the small cabin where – thank the Lord –a small iron stove burned merrily in the corner. My hands were nearly as numb as my feet. Before, Rafe’s silence had invited chatter, but now he squashed it. I still didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, and I could only hope the missing bits wouldn’t cause us too much trouble.
It took less time to reach the city dock than I’d expected. A good thing, too, as the wind picked up, rocking the boat and adding nausea to my list of complaints. The captain and his crew of one tied us up to the dock. Rafe climbed onto it, testing the surface with his cane.
It was the first time I’d seen him move with anything less than complete assurance.
He took several steps and stopped; his posture so stiff I thought he might snap. I scrambled after him. Once I reached his side, I waited a moment to see if he’d lead the way. When he didn’t, I guessed that he might need some assistance.
And that he’d cut out his own tongue before asking for it.
I laid a light hand on his arm and spoke quietly. “It’s this way.”
He shook me off with something like a growl and took an uncertain step. Though his difficulty was plain, we’d never discussed anything unusual about his vision, and this was not the time nor the place.
“Would it help to put your hand on my shoulder?” Again, I spoke low, my tone soothing, inoffensive.
“No.” Tapping with his cane, he made his hesitant way down the dock. I stayed close to his side, all the while wondering why I bothered. He’d more than likely meet my concern with rudeness. It seemed to be his way, and I had no idea how to earn his trust, a situation that fell outside my previous experience.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was making people like me.
Still, as we neared the end of the dock, I said, “It's down a step to the road, and then some six feet away a cab appears to be waiting for us.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I said nothing more but made sure to stay close to his side.
A gust of wind caught us as we approached the cab. Inside, we found blankets folded on the seats and a pair of heated bricks on the floor. I debated offering to help Rafe get settled, then decided I’d done enough. He sat as still as a statue, lips compressed in a small frown. I gave up trying to plan for eventualities and simply enjoyed the warmth.
We’d deal with the newly born Council when we were faced with them.
The driver took us up a hill steep enough to make me worry for the horse’s health. In the gaps between houses, we caught a view of distant water, though the rippling surface suggested a lake rather than the ocean.
We reached a neighborhood where small lawns and young trees filled in the blank slate left by new construction. The cab came to a stop and the driver pointed us to a stately Georgian, with balanced rows of windows on either side of the deep red front door. If I stayed close to Rafe’s elbow, he moved with greater confidence, so together we went up the center walkway.
We were greeted by an older woman, her dark gown and upswept hair from an earlier era. She directed us to a comfortable dining room, where half a dozen men and women were seated around a large mahogany table.
Rafe took the seat closest to the door, opposite the man I guessed was Oliver Stevenson. I sat at Rafe’s right hand, putting my back to the windows, so I wouldn’t be distracted by the view. In this house, in this room, Rafe appeared reduced, shrunken somehow. His normal pallor took on a sallow hue, his cheeks sunken, his eyes distant behind his amber glasses.
In the interest of keeping us both safe, I made an effort to meet each person’s gaze with a smile. If they wondered about my presence, no one spoke their concerns out loud.
