Page 121 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Wickham nodded, his eyes still on me. “For Fallon.”

46

Lies Of An Old Man

Iwoke to the rumble of thunder.

Hail rushed at my window and pelted the glass like a class of school children throwing pebbles by the handfuls, trying to wake me up on purpose. The taste in the air was new—an announcement that the seasons had changed in the night. Our English summer was over.

I went to my closet and pulled out the fluffy pink robe I bought to remind me of my no-longer-homeless friend Charlotte. I pushed my feet into the matching slippers and left my room and the ruckus of the storm behind.

Lightning flashed and lit the foyer as I passed on my way to the study. “One thousand one—”

The crack of the nearby strike forced a yelp out of me, and I ran, half-expecting the windows to shatter. I hurried into the leather-and-paper-scented room and closed the door behind me. No windows here. Was that why I’d come? So hard to remember. Despite the scare, I wasn’t fully awake. I’d been dreaming of mist. Different colors, seeping out of their fancy containers.

Oh, yeah. Now I remember…

Wickham was going to bury the books again. Even his own, as if he’d memorized all the important tidbits and didn’t expect to need it anymore.

I flipped the third switch that controlled the recessed lighting in the coffered ceiling. Due to the hour and my dazed state, I didn’t need much to see my way. Stepping deeper into the room, however, I realized someone had beaten me there.

A man sat on the couch, with two boxes on the floor in front of him. He held a flashlight against his shirt, as if I wouldn’t recognize him that way. But it could only be one of two men…

“Flann?”

His shoulders relaxed. “Catch yerself on, then.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“No matter. Welcome to the party.” He nodded to the cushion beside him.

As I moved closer, I noticed the book on his lap and the open box sitting next to his hip. “You got it open? I came to take one last look at the boxes, but never really expected to get inside.”

He grimaced. “I’ve been rather naughty,” he said quietly. “Wickham’s focus is always on the book…not so much upon the box.” He tilted the thing forward, revealing a strip of duct tape along the inside lip. “Blocked the latch from catchin’. He mustn’t have noticed.”

“I thought his spells would have sealed it anyway.”

“Well…yesterday, someone interrupted him, and he never quite finished.” Flann grinned like a satisfied cat, then he sobered. “Obviously, he’ll never forgive me, but my curiosity won out. And didn’t he add Brian and me to the team, due to our curiosity? He shouldn’t be surprised.” He stared down at the book. “Of course, I suspect what I’ll find…”

“What’s that?”

“The entries of Soni’s power being passed to Walter and then to Wickham.”

I patted his hand. “I don’t think you’ll find a word about it.” Then I told him about the night I heard Wickham ripping paper, the first time he’d been left alone with the book.

Undaunted, Flann opened the cover and flipped to the back, then backtracked, looking at the crease between pages, not the words. “If he’s ripped any out, there will be traces.” He then tilted the book to show me a narrow row of ragged edges deep in the crease. He ran his fingers along the bottom of one page, then jumped to the next. “After Soni’s listed, there’s nothing more about her power. After that, there’s a message for Wickham, urging him to take on the full responsibility of the clan. It goes on about some of the people of Muirsglen.”

He offered the book to me, but I shook my head and knelt by the other boxes.

“This is where the real secrets are,” I said. “If the Fae king is dead, no one will ever read them.” I ran my hands over the smaller one, wishing someone had stuck a little duct tape over the latch. They hadn’t. I then lifted it to set it aside, so I could test the bottom one. When I set it down, my hand caught on the edge and it sliced into the fatty part of my palm, at the base of my pointer finger.

I hissed, and Flann was suddenly beside me. In the dim light, I didn’t realize I was bleeding until I’d already dripped on the lid.

The box jumped—all by itself—and my heart stopped. Flann gripped my arm and we got to our feet to back away. There was no telling what kind of creature was inside and I didn’t have a weapon on me.

The box sat silent as ever, but we kept backing all the way out into the hall, my fluffy slippers making it easy to move silently. Flann pulled the door closed, turning the handle slowly until it caught.

“I’ll hold the door,” he mouthed. “You fetch Wickham.”

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