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“I am. Rafe, let ‘em past.”
The man stepped aside and I felt a shift, as if something solid had given way.
Or as if a spell had broken.
The darkness lifted, although the rain didn’t stop. Miss Barnes and I shared a glance. The crease in her forehead showed her concern, something I seconded.
If Martin Gallagher had been the witch, who had set the spell that wrapped the lighthouse in darkness?
And who the hell was Rafe?
Chapter Three
The man, Rafe, walked toward the house. We were almost there when I noticed his cane. Rather than lean on it for support, he held it in front of him, the tip low to the ground, and swung it gently from side to side.Odd.
Della Gallagher looked as weary as her voice. She stepped aside so we could enter her home, her shoulders slumped and her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
I stopped before going more than a handful of steps into the small foyer. I tried a sympathetic smile. “My name is Vincent Fairchild, Mrs. Gallagher, and my associate is Margaret Barnes. We traveled from San Francisco to offer you any help you should need in this difficult time.”
Miss Barnes gave me a sharp look, likely for speaking on her behalf, but she didn’t interrupt. Mrs. Gallagher, however, sighed, as if my words had increased her heavy load.
“Say the word, Mother, and I’ll see that they’re gone.”
Mother?I glanced from Rafe to Mrs. Gallagher. “You’re the boy?”
For the first time, he turned in my direction. He had several inches on me and in his black cloak he looked twice as broad. His features were strong, his mouth well formed, though a pair of amber spectacles concealed his eyes. “Boy?”
His raw contempt set me a step back. Fortunately, Miss Barnes spoke up. “Madam Munro told us Martin Gallagher lived with his wife and a child, a boy.”
Mrs. Gallagher glanced at her son. “The Council doesn’t know as much as they think,” she said, then closed her mouth as if to keep in more thoughts.
“I have a letter…” I held it out in Rafe’s direction. His expression never changed, nor did he move to take it, so I passed it to his mother. We all waited while she opened the seal and began to read, her mouth moving over the words.
“I shouldn’t have written her,” she said finally. Rafe made a scoffing sound, but offered no other opinion.
“I did wonder why Seattle’s Council didn’t make arrangements.” Miss Barnes spoke prettily, almost as charming as I could be.
“Because Seattle doesn’t have a Witches’ Council.”
Rafe spoke over top of his mother. “Martin would never allow for such a thing.”
Martin?Despite my curiosity, I saved my question for later, reasonably sure the reason Rafe called his father by his Christian name would prove interesting. “Thank you both for accommodating us, then, especially while you’re grieving.”
Rafe’s laugh held more bitterness than humor. “Are you sure, Mother? We have too much to do to parry platitudes with these two.”
Stung, the heat rose in my cheeks. Miss Barnes again proved better at maintaining her composure “I’m a weatherwitch,” she said simply. “It was the Council’s intention that I should offer my assistance while they develop a more permanent plan.”
“It’s too late, son.” Della Gallagher’s deadened tone made my own heart hurt. She wasn’t yet fifty years old, yet grey speckled her wild curls, the kind of curls that were never really tamed. “They couldn’t leave now anyway. There won’t be another supply boat until Monday at the earliest.”
“We brought provisions,” I said, lifting the heavier of my bags, hoping to prove we’d cause as little trouble as possible. If Rafe and his mother sent us away, we’d have no way to get back to the city.
And no way to find the Ferox Cor.
“Where will they sleep?” Rafe might have aimed the question at his mother, but he seemed to be staring off to her right.Odd.What were those glasses for?
Mrs. Gallagher shrugged hopelessly. “There are only the two bedrooms. The girl can bunk with me and you and the other—”
“No.” A single word, calling out a line he would not cross.
