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Silence fell. The heavy atmosphere of dread thickened further. My breath came in short gasps, and Margaret was crying openly. Della shuddered, her shoulders twisting.
And then she threw herself backwards, upending the chair.
A hawk’s scream broke the silence. Rafe caught Della before she hit the ground. He eased her to the floor, his dark hair hiding his face, making it hard to see his expression. Della did not appear to be breathing. Rafe murmured to her. “Mother? Mother are you all right?”
“You must not touch me,” she whispered finally. Her lips were cracked and dry, as if she’d spent the day in the desert. “It tried to bend me to its will, and if it does it again, you must not intervene.”
“Nonsense.”
She opened her eyes, looking right at her son. “It will try to get to you through me, Rafe. Promise me. I’m strong enough to fight it off alone.”
Rafe did not respond. The two of them made a single being, so wrapped up in each other that Margaret and I might not have existed. I extended my hand, helping Margaret to stand. Without words, we retreated, stopping when we reached the door.
Whatever conversation Rafe and his mother were having must have ended, because Rafe stood and pulled Della to her feet.
Only when Rafe sighed, his face as pale as Margaret’s did I dare to say anything. “What just happened?”
My question was simple enough, but neither Gallagher gave me an answer. “Come now,” I struggled to keep my tone measured. “Something just happened to you, Della, a fit of some kind. Margaret and I cannot help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”
“Wasn’t a fit.” Della’s voice was hoarse, her eyes shadowed, and sweat beaded along her brow. “What do you think, Rafe?”
Rafe stood with his head bowed. He held his cane in front of him, both hands on it as if it were some kind of magical staff. “I will explain, but first, let me check the wards one more time.
“They’re fine.” Della wavered, barely able to keep her feet. “They protect us from what’s outside, but this, the Ferox Cor, is already here.”
“Mother.” Rafe’s word held a world of warning.
Della shook her head, ignoring her son’s admonition. “We cannot fight something that’s already behind our defenses, and the Ferox Cor is Martin’s legacy. It will be with us as long as he is.”
Her knees folded and again, Rafe caught her. “I’ll help her to bed, and then I must see to the wards. We can talk tomorrow.”
The gravity of his tone weighed on me. We were going to hear something that filled Rafe Gallagher with dread.
Filled me with dread, too.
Chapter Fourteen
Della slept, Rafe absented himself, and Margaret and I stayed in the kitchen where it was warm. Taking advantage of our time together, I described our excursion to see Martin’s cave and our battle with the hawk. The end of our discussion could be distilled in two words:
Be careful.
Margaret made a light supper of an omelet with hashbrowns, leaving some on a platter for the Gallaghers. When we’d exhausted our conversation, we both retired. I slept, but it was an uneasy sleep, filled with visions of errant magic and growling dogs.
The next morning, Della invited us to the front room as soon as we finished breakfast. She and Rafe took the two chairs, leaving the bench for Margaret and me. Rafe gazed at the floor, while I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees.
If we were going to get answers, I had to make sure the correct questions were posed.
“First,” Rafe began, “I’d like to apologize to Miss Barnes. I should not have insulted you yesterday.”
“Oh.” Margaret blinked at him. “Thank you.”
An awkward silence descended, broken by Della’s sharp inhale. “So. Have you ever heard of the Ferox Cor?”
Margaret and I answered in unison.
“Yes.”
“No.”
