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Authors: Robyn Bachar
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caught the impression of what had happened. The door had been open, the creature waiting within the shadows for Mr. Gryphon. It was afraid…afraid that he knew something, a damning piece of information. It sprang forth as Mr. Gryphon passed, and he tried to defend himself with a fire spell, but it went wide and splashed against the wall.
I returned to the hallway and relayed the information to Lord Willowbrook, and when I glanced back the spirit was gone. Hopefully it moved on to what lies beyond, though I had no way of knowing its fate.
“Did Mr. Gryphon say anything to you before he parted your company?” I asked.
“No, unfortunately.” Lord Willowbrook frowned.
“I hesitate to mention this, for I don’t wish to make any accusations, but until recently Miss Morgan was fond of Mr. John Farrell. He was not in the ballroom during the time of her murder, and he was not in attendance when I read the auras of the guests there. Perhaps if we spoke with him I could read his aura and confirm whether he remains a sorcerer.”
“I will see that he is brought to you,” Lord Willowbrook said. “First I need to make arrangements for Mr. Gryphon’s body, now that we have determined what befell him.”
“Our rooms are near here,” Simon spoke up. “Mr. Black and I will keep Miss Wright company while you see to that.”
“Is that acceptable?” Lord Willowbrook asked me.
“Yes, that’s fine.” I was not thrilled at the idea of more time spent in Simon’s company, but I trusted that I would be safe with him. Something pricked at my curiosity, and I peered at Willowbrook. “Where did you move Miss Morgan’s body to?”
His bushy white brows rose at the question. “The wine cellar, for the time being.”
I chewed my bottom lip—it seemed a logical place to store a body, but it also seemed a good place for a master necromancer to hide. “Has the wine cellar been searched for the killer since then?”
“I’m sure it has been.”
“Would your men have been able to spot him, if he was hidden in the shadows?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, Miss Wright. I can assure you that they are very thorough.”
I nodded, but unease settled in my mind, and I was plagued with the feeling that there was something I should be doing or had forgotten to do. I took Michael’s arm and let him lead me away, and my distraction continued as I entered Simon’s room. The suite had a small sitting room, and I fidgeted with my shawl as I perched on the edge of a chair.
“You seem unsettled, Miss Wright,” Simon commented.
“It feels…wrong somehow. It is difficult to put into words.”
“The wine cellar concerns you?” he asked.
“Yes. The impression that I had was that the necromancer was not merely lying in wait for Mr. Gryphon, but that he was actually within the shadows, as though concealed by magic. If that is true, how could anyone see him without unraveling the spell first?”
The chronicler nodded. “It is within a necromancer’s power to do so. That would explain why no one has had success in locating him… You might be able to do it.”
“Me?” I repeated.
“Yes. You may be able to see the energy of the spell or his aura beneath it.”
“You can’t be suggesting that she search for the murderer,” Michael said, his tone incredulous.
“Miss Wright may be the only one able to see him,” he countered. “But we will wait to hear from Lord Willowbrook. Perhaps we will be fortunate and find that Farrell is the master necromancer, and he is asleep in his room.” Simon smiled dryly, and it was not a comforting expression. “If you wish, I will leave you for a moment. I’m sure you must have matters to discuss.”
“Yes, please,” Michael replied. I frowned up at him, for it was not at all appropriate—though that seemed to be a theme for the evening—and Simon left the room.
I rose, my anxiety demanding that I pace and wring my hands, but I was distracted by Michael’s nearness. I took a deep
I returned to the hallway and relayed the information to Lord Willowbrook, and when I glanced back the spirit was gone. Hopefully it moved on to what lies beyond, though I had no way of knowing its fate.
“Did Mr. Gryphon say anything to you before he parted your company?” I asked.
“No, unfortunately.” Lord Willowbrook frowned.
“I hesitate to mention this, for I don’t wish to make any accusations, but until recently Miss Morgan was fond of Mr. John Farrell. He was not in the ballroom during the time of her murder, and he was not in attendance when I read the auras of the guests there. Perhaps if we spoke with him I could read his aura and confirm whether he remains a sorcerer.”
“I will see that he is brought to you,” Lord Willowbrook said. “First I need to make arrangements for Mr. Gryphon’s body, now that we have determined what befell him.”
“Our rooms are near here,” Simon spoke up. “Mr. Black and I will keep Miss Wright company while you see to that.”
“Is that acceptable?” Lord Willowbrook asked me.
“Yes, that’s fine.” I was not thrilled at the idea of more time spent in Simon’s company, but I trusted that I would be safe with him. Something pricked at my curiosity, and I peered at Willowbrook. “Where did you move Miss Morgan’s body to?”
His bushy white brows rose at the question. “The wine cellar, for the time being.”
I chewed my bottom lip—it seemed a logical place to store a body, but it also seemed a good place for a master necromancer to hide. “Has the wine cellar been searched for the killer since then?”
“I’m sure it has been.”
“Would your men have been able to spot him, if he was hidden in the shadows?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, Miss Wright. I can assure you that they are very thorough.”
I nodded, but unease settled in my mind, and I was plagued with the feeling that there was something I should be doing or had forgotten to do. I took Michael’s arm and let him lead me away, and my distraction continued as I entered Simon’s room. The suite had a small sitting room, and I fidgeted with my shawl as I perched on the edge of a chair.
“You seem unsettled, Miss Wright,” Simon commented.
“It feels…wrong somehow. It is difficult to put into words.”
“The wine cellar concerns you?” he asked.
“Yes. The impression that I had was that the necromancer was not merely lying in wait for Mr. Gryphon, but that he was actually within the shadows, as though concealed by magic. If that is true, how could anyone see him without unraveling the spell first?”
The chronicler nodded. “It is within a necromancer’s power to do so. That would explain why no one has had success in locating him… You might be able to do it.”
“Me?” I repeated.
“Yes. You may be able to see the energy of the spell or his aura beneath it.”
“You can’t be suggesting that she search for the murderer,” Michael said, his tone incredulous.
“Miss Wright may be the only one able to see him,” he countered. “But we will wait to hear from Lord Willowbrook. Perhaps we will be fortunate and find that Farrell is the master necromancer, and he is asleep in his room.” Simon smiled dryly, and it was not a comforting expression. “If you wish, I will leave you for a moment. I’m sure you must have matters to discuss.”
“Yes, please,” Michael replied. I frowned up at him, for it was not at all appropriate—though that seemed to be a theme for the evening—and Simon left the room.
I rose, my anxiety demanding that I pace and wring my hands, but I was distracted by Michael’s nearness. I took a deep
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