Page 20 of The Lighthouse Keeper

Her clear-eyed determination impressed me. “Then I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Finding the Ferox Cor will help a great deal, as will keeping Martin Gallagher on the other side of the veil.”

“You’re very persuasive.” We shared a smile. “As Rafe said, we have nine days. Let’s see what we see.”

Margaret went her way, and I went mine. Despite my best efforts, however, I had little luck. I didn’t find any stray sources of magical power, nor did I find a man’s dead body. Rafe appeared after dinner, looking both unwell and unwashed, his hair a tangle, his nails half-moons of black. Clutching his cane, he barely acknowledged his mother and Margaret, direction is full attention at me.

“You’ll be on that supply boat when it leaves tomorrow.”

He had me at a disadvantage, as I’d been tucking into another of Della's savory stews. He was markedly taller than me when I was on foot. In this rickety dining chair, he towered over me.

“Not until after Samhain,” I said, keeping my voice firm.

“No. You will leave tomorrow.”

I glanced at Margaret. Her eyes were so wide I couldn’t tell if she meant to laugh or cry.

From the stove, Della’s voice came as calming as one of her salves. “Vincent, why don’t you give Rafe your seat.”

I rose. He did look like he was about to topple over. “Please.” I gestured to the seat, realizing he was unlikely to see me.

He found his way, however, collapsing into the chair as if his limbs simply could not hold him any longer. Della brought him a bowl of chowder, though she grimaced when she saw his hands. “Let me get a towel.”

With a damp, soapy towel, Della knelt at Rafe’s side and took hold of his hands. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard, son. I’ve taken their measure. Both of them. They’re willing to help us.”

“They don’t know what we need of them, and if they did, they’d run.” Even beaten down, anger twisted his tone of voice. That same anger –or was it fear?– reminded me that Rafe Gallagher wasn’t some tortured hero. Hell, he might even be possessed by a demon. That glimpse of his woodshop had shown me a softer side of the man, but his was still a dark and dangerous soul.

Girding myself for battle, I stepped into the fray. “Tell us. If you tell us what you’re afraid of, we can understand how best to help you.”

Rafe’s cane toppled to the floor. Both of his hands were fisted in his lap and the veins stood out in his neck. “I’m not afraid for myself.” The words came from between clenched teeth. “I am ready, but I can’t be distracted by a dilettante and his—”

“Rafe.” Della spoke sharply.

“Mother,” he snapped back.

Margaret eased herself from the other dining chair and came to stand next to me. “We’ve decided,” she said. “We’re not leaving till after Samhain.”

Della looked up from Rafe’s hands. “Thank you,” she said.

He did not respond to her, nor did he look up from the floor when Margaret and I left.

We hovered in the front room. Though we’d become friends, we weren’t close enough to take refuge together in a bedroom. Della’s voice rose, and I made a deliberate effort to ignore her words. If Rafe responded, he spoke too quietly to overhear.

“You are something of a dilettante.” Margaret’s sly smile took the sting away. If she meant to make me laugh, she succeeded.

“Yesterday he called me a carnival barker.”

“I don’t know whether I should laugh or feel jealous that he hasn’t called me anything at all.”

I returned her smile, though my effort felt stretched. The entirety of the room’s furniture included a padded bench near the window and two straight chairs with pillowed seats. A diminutive table sat between the chairs, the oil lamp taking up most of its top. The floral fabric covering the bench and seat cushions added warmth to an otherwise spare space. There should have been a picture on the wall, or maybe a bookcase.

Or maybe even a shelf filled with Rafe’s handiwork.

Feeling as if I’d stumbled onto an unfinished stage set, I settled on the bench. “He might be right.”

Margaret took one of the chairs, anchoring both of us in place. The lamp threw her profile into relief. While she wasn’t conventionally pretty, her strong features and ready smile made her a striking woman. “Who might be right?”

Rafe, obviously. “Forget I said anything.” I pulled out my pocket watch, unwilling to whine about something so petty. “What time does the sun set in this town? It’s only five thirty yet it’s already getting dark.”

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