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“Get dressed, both of you.” Margaret turned to go. “And Rafe, let Vincent talk to her. You’ll only get yourself in trouble.”
She left us with the door open just a crack. I closed it and turned. Rafe didn’t move, which put us belly to belly. Strands of dark hair framed his face and those bottomless eyes seemed to see deep inside of me.
“Where are your glasses?” I asked, because otherwise I was going to drag him back to the pallet on the floor.
He sighed, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m not sure, nor can I remember where I dropped my cane. Goddamn them.” He pushed away from me and stood with his fists on his hips. “Selfish bastards, the lot of them.”
I approached slowly and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get dressed.”
The only way out was through.
Margaret had dressed herself fully and was passing around cups of coffee when we came in. Without his cane, Rafe walked more slowly than normal, but his steps were sure. Margaret and I shared a quick and worried glance, and then I faced the woman who’d sent me here.
Madam Munro sat in the front room, taking up the window bench with her presence. Her regal cheekbones and stern expression looked even grander in this humble setting.
Grander, and more intimidating.
She hadn’t come alone. A woman stood near the window, holding the edge of one of the curtains so she could peer outside. “Sometimes the clouds look like mother-of-pearl.”
She turned and my jaw dropped. Mrs. Morrison smiled at us, her delicate lavender frock as out of place in these rustic surroundings as a jeweled brooch on a beggar.
“Why are you here?” Rafe asked, his tone freezing cold. I moved closer to him, to take advantage of his shields. He’d chosen his one decent frock coat and trousers that were very nearly clean. With his hair combed back from his face and dressed in respectable clothing, his dark eyes were somehow larger and blacker. The psychic, however, did not appear at all disturbed.
“Who are you to be asking any such questions of us?” Madam Munro’s anger crackled through the room.
Rafe met her with frigid calm. “Rafe Gallagher. Who are you, and why have you brought a psychic into my home?”
“Agatha Munro. I’m the head of the San Francisco Witches’ Council, and Mrs. Morrison is here on my order.”
Her lack of etiquette made her ire plain. The way the two of them stared at each other, there’d be no need to tell Madam Munro about Rafe’s power. It poured from him, and though her expression never changed, I could feel her surprise. She met his strength with her own, until the very air seemed to vibrate.
“Aunt Aggie?” Mrs. Morrison broke through their stand-off. “Please do introduce us.”
How she’d managed to keep her lovely dress in pristine condition while traveling by fishing vessel was a mystery, though Madam Munro looked equally tidy. In comparison, I felt grimy and worn. I stood straight, however, and if I couldn’t smile, at least I didn’t scowl.
“We’ve met before,” I said. Schooling my expression was a challenge, as I badly wanted to yell at them both. “If you’ve been working for Madam Munro, why was I sent to find the Ferox Cor?”
“It’s been destroyed,” Rafe said.
Madam Munro glared at him. “What?”
Rafe simply gazed in her direction.
“Last night, Madam Munro,” I said, mainly to fill in the threatening silence. When no one else spoke up, I continued, describing the events of the last week, attempting to find a balance between brevity and adequate detail for understanding.
Madam Munro interrupted me only once, to ask, “You’re sure it was Rutger Smit?”
“Yes.” He’d known me and I’d known him. There was no doubt in my mind that my old workmate had come here to do us harm. She didn’t question my assertion, so I continued my sorry tale. Only when I told her we’d sent Rutger and Stevenson to their watery grave did her expression change, becoming somehow sterner.
“I suppose it can’t be helped now.” She gave Mrs. Morrison an expectant look.
Mrs. Morrison shrugged, a subtle gesture of resignation. “He’s telling the truth, and it appears they did what needed to be done. The Ferox Cor is beyond the reach of anyone who would put it to ill use, and we’ve found the final piece of the puzzle.”
“What puzzle?” The words escaped me before I could frame them in a more politic way.
Madam Munro faced me fully. “We’ve been following young Smit since shortly after you left San Francisco. Something about the events of that Saturday night rang false, if you will, and with you safely off the playing field, our attention was drawn to his absence.
“We didn’t realize you had a thaumaturge following you until too late,” Madam Munro said, sounding more annoyed than sympathetic. “Meredith has been sending me regular updates, you see. Your telegraph came as we were almost out the door on our way here.”
