by Kelley York
Preston cards his fingers into my messy hair. “If you’re blaming yourself, don’t.”
Easier said than done. But I’m not about to wallow in self-pity—at least not in front of Preston. But, oh, I have so many questions for Crane now.
“The notebooks… Do we have them?” I ask.
“Sid grabbed them back at the cliffs. Imagine they’re in Crane’s hands by now, or they will be whenever he wakes.” Preston yawns. He couldn’t have slept well in that chair and hasn’t had nearly the time I’ve had to rest.
So I fall silent. Sure enough, it isn’t long before Preston’s breathing evens out and his arms around me have gone limp and heavy. I remain with him for an hour, simply savouring the feel of his nearness, the steady and familiar beat of his heart. I’m loath to get up and leave his side.
I do eventually untangle myself from him and get out of bed. A dull, throbbing ache radiates with every movement. My rucksack, tattered and filthy, lays on the floor near the door. Everything inside is a mess, too, but I manage to find a shirt that is at least relatively clean to slip on.
The farmhouse is dark but warm. A faint aroma of spices hangs in the air. It’s comfortable. Safe.
I follow the scent into a kitchen, where Sid stands alongside a woman with dark hair, plaited and pulled forward over one shoulder. The woman turns, smiles.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
Her voice strikes a chord in me. This is the voice I heard as I drifted in and out of sleep earlier—not Mother at all. “Yes, um, Miss…?”
“This is Cora,” Sid says with a lopsided grin. “She’s the Folgers’ daughter. Been helpin’ us look after you and Nate.”
I dip my head into a polite nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Folger. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and hospitality.”
“Please, just Cora is fine. Come in, come in. Would you like something warm to drink?”
“That sounds wonderful,” I admit, stepping further into the room. Cora offers me a steaming mug of apple cider. It almost scalds going down, but it’s such a pleasant sensation after being cold for so long. I fold my hands tightly around the cup, letting the curls of steam lick at my face.
“There’s some leftover sausages and a few hardboiled eggs there from supper,” Cora says. “Help yourself. I ought to leave you two to talk.”
She exits the room. Sid watches her go intently and with a look of near disappointment. She sighs and swivels her attention to me. “First time I got her to myself since we’ve been here. Thanks a bunch.”
My eyebrows lift. “Was I interrupting something?”
“Well, no. Not yet.” She sniffs, reaches for her own cup. “How’re you feelin’?”
“Sore, but alive. Thanks to you.” I draw a chair over to have a seat. Sid props herself on the edge of the table.
“And your friend?”
“I spoke with him briefly and left him to sleep. He needs it. Is Mr. Crane all right?”
To that, her gaze diverts off to nothing in particular. “Yeah, he’s… I mean, he’s alive. A bit out of sorts. Think he pushed himself too hard.”
I bite at the inside of my lower lip. How much will she tell me if I prod? If she’s feeling congenial, then this might be my only chance to get any answers. “What he did to Philip…”
“Louisa, too,” Sid adds, sipping from her mug. “He took them both out.”
A pause. “What was it that he did? What is he?”
A faint scowl tugs at her features. “He’s a goddamned person. What else would he be? He’s just…” She sighs, runs a hand over her face. “It ain’t my business to tell Nate’s story. If he wanted you to know, he’d tell you.”
Blast. So close. “What will you two do now?”
“We still got a job to do. I have the notebooks and they belong to our employer.” She shrugs.
Suppose that answers the question of what happened to the books. What a shame. Miss Bennett would have been able to make some sense of them. I hope the notes we took are still in order and will be of some use.
Sid sips at her own cup. “Say, I wanted to ask you somethin’.”
“What is it?”
“The ghost. The one you said was attached to me.” She hesitates. “Is he still here?”
My gaze shifts. He is, of course. The vaguest shadow lurking at her side. “Always.”
She looks down into her cup, tapping a finger against the rim. “Don’t suppose he’s said anything since you first brought it up?”
“I’m afraid not. Not that I’ve heard.” I study the spirit, whose dead eyes have found mine and are locked on me. “Do you know him?”
There’s a long pause where I think Sidney is debating how much she wishes to tell me, if anything. “My pa. He died a few years back. Accident, workin’ the railroads. I was the only family he had left after the war.”
She’s alone.
I know that feeling, don’t I? No real family to speak of. “Can you sense him?”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. Sometimes I think…” She stops, shakes her head. “Sometimes I feel him, like he’s looking after me. I get these intuitions now and again, like…these strong feelings. About people, about places. It started after he died and I kinda always thought it was him, helping me out.”
A smile touches my face. “Has he ever steered you wrong?”
She snorts. “Nah, but I oughta get better at listening. Never did feel right about Hugo, and I ignored it.”
“And what about me? What sense do you get from the two of us?”
“You really wanna know?” Sid pulls up a chair to sit across from me, slouching back.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Well, I get good feelings from your friend. Like he’s dependable, I guess. From you…” At this, she eyes me, seeming to select her words with care. “It changes. Mostly, it’s good. A quiet, soothing sorta feel. But now and again, like back at Carlton’s…”
I frown when she trails off. “Yes?”
She sighs, rubbing the back of her neck with a shrug. “You scared the hell out of me.”
That was not the answer I’d expected. It must show on my face, because Sid laughs.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s the same sorta feel I get off Nate a lot of the time too. I think when you two are doing the ghost-thing, it just sets off warning bells.”
No one has ever told me before that I frighten them. I’m not certain what to do with that information either. When it’s clear I’m at a loss, Sid smiles and stands, placing her cup upon the counter.
I look down into my drink, debating. I still have questions, but they ought to be selected carefully. I suppose there is really only one that matters right now. One that I don’t believe for a second she will answer, unless our conversation has left her feeling particularly agreeable.
“…What is The Order?”
Sid goes still, before slowly turning to face me again. “That’s not a question you need an answer to.”
“But it is. Our friends—the ones you mistook us for—if they’re involved, if they’re targets somehow… I want to keep them safe.” I frown. “You know what that’s like.”
She braces her hands against the countertop, silent. Tapping her fingers against the worn wood. “If you wanna keep them safe, then you tell them to keep their noses out of things. Stick to hunting local spirits and get out of the big stuff.”
“The big stuff… Do you mean like the possessions that happened in Buckinghamshire?” I’m getting somewhere. I don’t yet know where, but somewhere. “Sid, please…”
She whips around, pinning me with a cold stare. “Look, I like you, kid. I’m glad we didn’t have to kill you, but make no mistake that we would’ve if it had come down to it. Because of this chase you took us on, we gotta explain to our boss why we’re down three people. If you think I’m gonna add onto our troubles by telling you shit I ain’t supposed to, you got another think comin’.”
She stalks out of the kitchen
, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a rapidly cooling mug of cider.
CHAPTER 29 – PRESTON
Two days pass before Mrs. Folger lets me look at my face in a mirror. The stitches are neatly done, but no less gruesome. While I can’t say that I’ve ever worried much about my appearance, even I have to admit the scars these are going to leave behind are going to prompt an absolute fit from my family back home.
What does bother me is my right eye. It’s still healing, they say, but no one could give me a proper answer as to whether I’ll ever be able to see out of it again. A nuisance, more than anything, and certainly one I could do without.
I’m given leave to have the bandages off now, at least, so long as I’m careful and keep the wounds clean. Now and again, I catch Benji watching me with an indefinable look etched into his features. He’s feeling better himself, but he tires easily and naps throughout the day. I try to lay with him and no one seems to question it—at least not to our faces. Small blessings. He touches my face at night and I know he’s blaming himself for this, which only makes me all the more determined to assure him I’m unbothered by this new addition to my physical appearance.
“They’re just scars,” I murmur against his hair. “They’re proof I survived.”
Does such a response make him feel any better? I’m not sure. But he doesn’t press me on it and I’ll admit, having him reach out to touch me just to reassure himself that I’m all right is not a bad feeling.
Sid, being the only one not horribly injured from our last several days, has taken to helping around the farm. In part, I think, trying to thank the Folgers for their hospitality. Not only in housing us, but in feeding us, too—and they’ve refused any payment for their assistance. Also in part because she seems quite fond of Cora Folger, puppying around after her and making eyes at the girl not unlike James makes at Esher. Maybe I’m overthinking it. It’s hardly any of my business.
I have not seen hide nor hair of Crane. At one point, I’d been certain he would emerge from the room he is sharing with Sid—namely, when Sid, Mr. Folger, and some of the other nearby farmers, set out to deal with both the bodies of Hugo and Rogue. I offer to go along to help, but Mrs. Folger insists I stay put. Crane doesn’t make an appearance. I take that as a testament to how poorly he’s feeling.
Or maybe going back there hurts too much. I don’t pretend to know.
Any time I try to ask Sid about him, she shrugs and says, “He’ll be fine. Give him some time.”
We seem to be made of time right now, with none of us in any hurry to be anywhere else. Although I would be lying if I said I wasn’t eager to take Benji and get as far away from here as we can.
On the fifth day, I wake to find myself alone. It’s almost disorienting to reach for Benji and not find him there. I slide out of bed, wash, dress, and apply some more salve to my various wounds before emerging from my room.
The Folgers are out and about, busy with the farm. Sid waves me over when I step outside.
“Mornin’,” she calls.
“Good morning.” I squint. It’s a clear day out for a change, though still chilly, still damp. “Have you seen Benji?”
“He and Nate went out for a ride a bit ago.”
My stomach about bottoms out. I swallow hard. It’s fine. It’s all fine. “Where?”
She shrugs. “One of the nearby beaches. Why? Worried?”
“The pair of you did chase us down and hold guns to our heads,” I say dryly. “Is there a horse I can borrow?”
Sid laughs and waves me off. “C’mon. I’ll go with you.”
We saddle one of the horses Sid managed to find running loose in the woods. It’s apparent she’s growing more familiar with the area surrounding the farm, because she takes several winding trails to one of the beaches without hesitating to wonder if she’s going the right way. The trail drops us right out onto the beach where we can see another horse tied to a tree and grazing on dewy grass. We leave ours there with it and venture out onto the sand.
I see Crane first, seated atop a boulder with his back arched and head bowed. Reading, it seems. Sid wastes no time in scaling the rocks to join him. I continue, however, walking between the climbing limestone cliffs and the water.
Benji stands up ahead. His shoes are off, trousers rolled up to his knees, shin-deep in the water. His head is tipped back and his eyes are closed. The wind slides through his hair, caresses it from his face. He does not move, does not speak. He’s simply existing in the moment.
He looks at peace.
And he’s beautiful.
I could watch him all day like this. I do, for a while. When I finally approach, he hears me, opens his eyes and tips his head to look my way. His mouth curves up into a smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I greet, coming up beside him. “Woke up without you and got a bit worried.”
“I’m sorry. I did try to wake you, but you were sleeping like the dead.” Benji takes my hand. His skin is cool to the touch, and there’s sand on his skin as though he’s been playing in it. Sure enough, I spot a small castle-like mound constructed not far away, although it’s going to be destroyed by the rising tide before long.
To his apology, I shake my head. “I see you got Crane out of his room. How’d you manage that?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t. I believe Mrs. Folger prodded him out, said he needed some fresh air and sunlight.”
“How is he?”
“Hmm. Quiet. Distant. Aloof?”
“So, back to how he was when we met him.”
“About, yes.” Benji slides his gaze back to the ocean. “I tried to ask him about The Order. He ignored me.”
That’s no surprise, is it? We’d have better luck getting information out of Hugo’s dead body. “So much for that.”
Benji draws in a deep breath. The air is cold enough that it puffs in front of his face on the exhale. “He’s reading the notebooks.”
I peer back toward the boulder a fair distance away. Crane and Sid are still seated atop it. “And…?”
“And… I don’t know. Clearly, he understands at least some of it. Do you suppose he’ll share what he learns?”
“Unlikely,” I mutter. When Benji squeezes my hand, I turn my attention back to him. He smiles.
“Our notes appear to be intact. We still have something for Miss Bennett and Spencer and Esher.”
Something is better than nothing. I draw him closer to my side and begin to stroll farther down the beach. “Speaking of… Now that this is all over, we have an important question to figure out the answer to.”
He hmm’s. “Where we go from here?”
“That would be it.”
“I think we’ve proven that wherever you choose to go, I will follow.” Benji says this easily, as though there’s not a question about it at all. Except there is, because—
“We came all this way for me, Benji. Where we go next is up to you.” I halt, pull him to me, and brush a stray curl from his cheek. “Compromise, isn’t it?”
His long lashes lower in reflection. “Can I think about it? Just a bit longer, until we have to leave here?”
I chuckle. “You’re lucky I’m not the sort who needs everything planned out ahead of time, eh? Take all the time you need.”
He smiles widely, and it might be the first time he’s smiled at me like that since—ahh, since before his mother died, isn’t it? So mired in his grief and trying to figure himself out that nothing has brought such happiness to his face until now. I’m glad for it. Benji rises on his tiptoes, presses a cool kiss to my lips that tastes like an ocean breeze, and murmurs against my mouth, “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 30 – BENJAMIN
Two days later, we wake to Sid and Crane preparing to leave. They’re taking a single horse, which I suppose means they’re leaving the other one for us—a surprising show of kindness, really—and their meagre belongings are already packed by the time Cora sends us outside to say our farewells to them.
Crane ha
s scarcely spoken a word to us since he began to come out of his room. Oh, he’s been a perfect gentleman to our hosts. Even with his arm in a sling and a bit of a limp to his gait, he’s insisted on helping around the farm as much as he can. We all have, as our strength has begun to return. Although my chores have consisted mostly of tidying up about the house and helping with the cooking. I’ve learned a few things from Mrs. Folger and Cora, and also taught a few things, too. As it turns out, the Folgers immensely liked some of my Chinese recipes.
Now, Crane glances over, seems disinterested by our presence, and resumes readying his horse. I wonder if he’s named this one. I wonder if he’ll grow as attached to him as he was to Rogue.
Sid dusts her hands on her trousers and flashes us a grin. “Come to see us off?”
“We didn’t even know you were already planning to leave,” Preston says.
She shrugs. “Can’t stay here forever. We got things to do, places to be. Shame, though; wouldn’t have minded stickin’ around a bit longer.”
I try to hide a smile. “Will you write to Cora when you’re gone?”
“Don’t get sassy with me, boy.” She sniffs, steps over to us, and plucks the Stetson from her head. Rather than lean up, however, she grabs Preston by the front of his shirt and yanks him down so that she can place the hat on him. He blinks once, startled, and touches it absently.
“What?”
“You’ve been eyein’ it. I can get another.” She draws back, studying us. “Will you be going back across the pond after this?”
I smile a little. “We haven’t figured that out yet. I suppose we ought to make up our minds soon.”
She nods, expression sobering. “You remember what I said, right?”
Stay out of the big things, right? “I remember.”
“Good. I’ll see you around, maybe.” She ruffles my hair in a way that feels oddly sisterly and makes me wonder if she has a little brother or sister somewhere. Then again, with the way she fusses over Crane, one would almost think the pair of them are siblings too.