Page 21 of Of Fate and Phantoms
"Wrong, perhaps," Lincoln said, "but not mischief-making. If she wanted to cause problems, she could have done so before now and in far more dramatic ways."
The Prince of Wales stiffened and his eyes narrowed as he once again searched Lincoln's face. "What do you mean?"
Lincoln calmly rose. He was taller than the prince, his shoulders broader, his frame leaner. Yet the prince didn't shy away. "Do you wish me to elaborate?" Lincoln asked. "Here?"
The prince's jaw worked and he lowered his head. "It would seem we are no better off than when we started. The meaning behind Leisl's vision is still a mystery."
"Your lady mentioned a break-in," Lincoln said. "What happened?"
"Is that important?" the queen asked.
"It may be."
The Prince of Wales strode to the fireplace and rested his elbow on the mantel. "Not exactly a break-in. The palace is a hive of activity at all hours. Servants come and go. No one needs to break windows to get in, they simply need to act as if they ought to be here."
The spirit strode to the window and looked out to the garden. "It never would have happened in my time."
"Was anything taken?" Lincoln asked.
"A portrait of the two of us taken shortly before…" The queen's lower lip quivered. "Before you became ill, my love," she said to the empty space beside her. I didn't have the heart to tell her he was no longer there.
"I remember it," he said, coming to sit beside her again.
"I kept it on the side table in the small music room."
"Was anything else taken?" Lincoln asked.
"Not that we noticed." The Prince of Wales glanced around the rather cluttered room. There were so many things—how would they even know if one little picture went missing?
"My private letters were disturbed," the queen said.
"What?" her son bellowed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"That is no way to address your queen," the ghost said at the same time his widow said, "Do not speak to me in such a manner, Bertie."
"Apologies," the Prince of Wales said tightly.
"I didn't think it important until now." She dabbed her handkerchief to her nose. "Nothing was taken, you see."
"You mentioned a genuine medium earlier," Lincoln said. "Were you never tempted to commission her to contact your husband?"
"The queen is above that sort of thing," the Prince of Wales said.
"I did make inquiries, as it happens." The queen's short, blunt hands screwed up her handkerchief. "I never told you, Bertie, because I knew you wouldn't approve. In fact, I've consulted no less than five mediums. The first four were all frauds. I knew that almost immediately. The fifth, the one recommended by my friend, was different. First of all, she was reluctant to come here. When I insisted, she obliged, but refused payment. We wandered the palace and gardens for hours, but she sensed no spirits. She explained that she can only communicate with spirits who have not crossed to their afterlife. Spirits who linger here usually have something they need to do before they move on, a score to settle. Since she couldn't see my husband's spirit, she said that meant he had died a contented man and departed this realm."
Two sets of living eyes and a pair of dead ones fixed on me.
"If that's the case," the Prince of Wales said slowly, "how canyouspeak to my father, Miss Holloway?"
It would seem I had to admit it after all. I glanced at Lincoln, but he offered no guidance. He was leaving the decision to me. "I am not a medium," I told them. "I am something rarer, known as a necromancer. I can summon a spirit no matter where they are."
"Remarkable," both princes murmured.
"The name of this medium?" Lincoln asked the queen.
She tore her stunned gaze away from me. "Why do you need to know it when she wasn't able to see my husband's spirit?"
"I like to know things," he said simply.
