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“Margaret?” When she didn’t flinch, I shook her. “Margaret!”
She gasped, grabbing ahold of my arm. “Don’t. They’ll hear us.”
“What?” I squatted to bring myself eye level with her. “No one is here. Just you and me.”
“Oh.” She blinked, her gaze meeting mine with some level of understanding. “Of course. I must have been dreaming.”
I stood and offered her my hand. “You decided to stop for a nap before winding the light’s mechanism?”
We managed to get her standing upright. “I…didn’t? I don’t know.” Brows drawn, she frowned at the floor. “I remember…leaving the kitchen. Stopping for my coat.” She patted the woolen lapel. “The tower…the stairs.” Her frown turned to a grimace of anguish. “I don’t know.”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “You’re all right now. Let’s just wind the thing and go back to the house.”
She met my gaze, tears welling in her eyes. “You mustn’t touch it. They’ll know if you do.”
Giving her a gentle shake, I let go and turned toward the mechanism. “I don’t know who you mean, but the light’s gone out. Between that and the fog, there are boats out there who could be in real trouble.”
“You’re right. I must have been dreaming.” Her drawn brows gave her an uncharacteristically puzzled look.
I reached for the handle. Her plea must have had some effect, because I moved slowly enough to feel the frisson of power before grasping the metal arm. “What?” I whispered.
“Do you feel them?”
“Not sure who you mean but let me try one thing. Do you have a coin? A hairpin? Something small.”
Margaret pulled a hairpin from her braid, allowing it to spill down her back. “Here.”
Running the bit of wire between my fingers, I pushed the little power I possessed into it. Instead of a hairpin, I held a pair of pincers about eight inches long.
“Let’s see if this’ll work,” I murmured, reaching for the mechanism’s handle. I grabbed it between the pincers’ teeth, fighting the repellent feel, as if I forced magnets together by their opposite poles. Just keeping hold of it had sweat breaking out on my brow.
“Pull on my arm.” I managed to grind the words out, my teeth clenched with effort.
Margaret understood, and with the addition of her effort, I managed to drag the handle down, restoring the mechanism to action. The sudden flash of light near blinded me, and when the glare faded, I held a misshapen hair pin. I couldn’t help laughing, and Margaret joined me.
“What the hell is going on up here?” Rafe appeared at the top of the stairs, his cane crowding Margaret closer to me.
The fierceness of his scowl sobered me. “Someone put a spell on the handle.”
“What are you talking about?” Rafe mounted the final stair, attention fully on the winding mechanism.
He reached for the handle without acknowledging my muttered, “careful.”
As I had done, though, he stopped just short of grabbing hold. He brought his hands together, palm to palm, and for a moment he stood very still. When he again reached for the handle, there was no hesitation. He grabbed it firmly and after a moment I felt a sharp pop.
“There,” he said. “That’s taken care of.” He rubbed his palms together, expression unreadable. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
Somehow Margaret beat him to the stairs. “Someone needs to figure out what that was. I can’t help you, so if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to the house.”
She clattered down the stairs, leaving Rafe and I alone. Unfortunately, the first words out of my mouth were fairly thoughtless. “Your father’s been busy today. I found Margaret trapped in some kind of terror triggered by the spell on the handle.”
“I don’t think it was Martin.” He stood awkwardly, half turned toward the stairs. “He…wasn’t subtle.”
I blinked. “Sending Margaret into a nightmare was subtle?”
That forced a chuckle from him. “If Father had set the spell, she’d be dead.”
“Oh, well yes then, subtle. Maybe someone from the Seattle Council?”
