Page 90 of The Lighthouse Keeper

“The forest.” Rafe’s tone brooked no discussion. That didn’t stop his mother.

“No.” Even leaning on Margaret’s arm, Della spoke firmly. “Your workshop has more wards than anywhere else. We’ll go there.”

Rafe froze, clearly caught between the desire to argue and his concern for Della. His mother braced herself on the window ledge, as if she needed to catch her breath before climbing on the chair.

“Come on,” he said, offering Della his hand. “We’ll go to the workroom. Vincent, can you unlock the door for us?”

“It’s unlocked.”

Rafe snarled a curse, though he cut it off short because Della reached for him. Carefully lifting her out through the window, he lowered her to the grass. Margaret followed, one hand on his shoulder to help her scramble over the sill.

We left without bothering to close the window, moving in a silent cluster to the workroom’s door. Rafe pushed it open, breathing another curse when the knob turned.

The sense that we were being watched settled over me. It could have been the Cor, or Martin’s specter, or hell, maybe it was the shelf full of small carved creatures. Something knew we were here.

Something, or someone.

I didn’t dare make a witchlight. A fire in the grate would also show us up, and although the room was chilly, it was warmer than the forest would have been.

Rafe’s pallet was still unrolled in front of the grate, and Margaret helped Della over to it. Rafe stood at the door with his back to the room.

“Resetting the wards?” I said softly.

“Mmhmm.” He left off his task, settling into the room’s only chair. I took off my overcoat and draped it around Margaret and Della, who huddled together on the pallet. My feet were wet and cold, but those two were colder.

We needed to come up with a plan, one that didn’t involve waiting until close to midnight.

“Do we know how many helpers Rutger has?” I asked.

“Stevenson’s going to be out for a while.” Margaret’s voice held a note of pride, and I found I couldn’t blame her for it.

“At least four others,” Rafe said. “I saw them come out of the forest.”

“So there is a way through?”

He waved off my moment of outrage that was really more annoyance. “More likely they did some kind of transport spell. Does your friend have the skills for that?”

“My friend,” I said bitterly. “Possibly, if it can be done with a ritual. There wasn’t much call for him to use his gifts in our work.”

“Why’d he take that job, then?” Margaret asked.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Why would a ritual master have agreed to work for the liaison’s office? “When we met, he told me about his gift, but until he got here, I never saw him use it.”

Our conversation petered off, as if we were all busy cataloguing our complaints. It was cold, we’d missed breakfast, likely lunch, and even dinner. I’d so utterly lost track of time I couldn’t tell. Mostly I debated with myself, unsure whether or not I should tell Rafe about the amulet. The thing sat in my pocket, heavier than an object so small should weigh.

If I told him about the amulet, he’d likely try to take it from me. That might be the best course, as he’d be the one most likely to destroy it.

But then I’d have nothing to give to Madam Munro.

I found that thought was less distressing than it had once been. Madam Munro wasn’t here, she hadn’t learned the things I’d learned. Bringing the Ferox Cor to San Francisco would cause more problems than it would ever solve.

“Rafe, I—"

The door rattled, hard, and someone began hollering when it wouldn’t open.

“Damn it.” Rafe went to the window closest to the door, touching the sash and murmuring. He crossed the small room, stepping around the women on the pallet, and performed the same spell at the other window.

“Now they know where we are.” Della straightened her shoulders, her face pale but her expression resolute.

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