Page 55 of Of Fate and Phantoms
She knew of another like her? She had claimed not to. Had she lied, and there was a family member, after all?
"I see," Lincoln said simply. He turned to me and I blanched at the odd look in his eyes. A worried look.
What did I have to do with any of this?
And then I understood. Harriet meant herfathercould help us. He was the only other person she'd ever known who could change shape like her. But he was dead.
I drew in a deep breath to steady my suddenly pounding heart. "It's fortunate that I came."
"Will you do it?" Harriet nibbled the skin on her top lip and glanced between us. "Will you summon his ghost here?"
"It seems like a good idea," I said. "Indeed, it's the only idea we have at present. What's his full name?"
"Wait." The single word dropped from Lincoln's lips like a stone. "He's a supernatural."
"A shape-changer, nothing more," I assured him.
We'd once encountered a midwife capable of breathing temporary life back into the newly deceased using a spell. Her magic had allowed her spirit to ignore my commands when I directed it back into her body. If she'd been a cruel, hateful woman, she could have done enormous harm to the living in those few hours. We did not want a repetition of that incident.
Lincoln crouched before me and rested his hand on my knee. He didn't speak or offer counter arguments. But I knew from the look in his eyes that he was remembering the midwife too.
I placed my hand over his and touched the amber orb tucked beneath my clothes. It throbbed in response. "He's a shape-changer," I said again. "Not a necromancer or whatever Estelle Pearson was."
"Good heavens, no," Harriet said. "Why would you think that?"
Lincoln swallowed then gave a single nod. He stood and glanced at the door then the window—deciding which to guard, I assumed. He chose the window.
I turned to Harriet. "What's your father's name?"
Chapter 8
The heartof the imp inside my amber necklace beat steadily, albeit faintly. It held no fear of the spirit coalescing into the shape of a tall, solidly built man with an equine nose and untidy mutton chop whiskers. I wasn't afraid either, merely uneasy. But until I knew that the barefoot man wearing a nightgown was harmless, my gut would continue to churn and I wouldn't let go of the orb.
"Good evening, my lord," I began.
Harriet's gaze darted around the room. "Where is he?"
I nodded at the figure, an imposing man, even in death. The mist shimmered, as if the spirit couldn't quite keep his form, then steadied.
"Harriet?" he murmured. "What are you doing here?" Then, louder, "What is the meaning of this?"
"You're dead," I said quickly.
"I know that. Are you? Is…is she?"
"No, she's alive. We three are, but only I can see you."
"I'm alive and in excellent health, Daddy," Harriet said cheerfully. "Don't worry about me."
Lord Erskine's wooly brows drew together. He studied his daughter and then Lincoln, standing impassive by the window. "Who're you? And who's he?" I put up my hands to stop his questions, but he ignored me. "What are you doing in my daughter's bedroom? And why has my rest been disturbed? Where's Gillingham?"
I introduced myself and Lincoln, and explained about my necromancy. "It was your daughter's suggestion that we summon you," I told him. "You see, we need your help. We need to understand more about how you and your daughter are able to change form."
The spirit shimmered again and clasped his hands behind his back. He studied Harriet, sitting primly on her bed, a look of expectation on her face. "I don't know what you're talking about," Erskine growled.
He reacted as I expected, but it still irked that I had to win his trust when his own daughter believed us. "Harriet has told us everything she knows, but it's not enough. We need to know if there are others like you, and if it's possible to change into anything other than a…a wolf-like creature."
The mist drifted away then suddenly swept around the room, darting over furniture, up to the ceiling, and plunging to the floor.
