back were sockets of white.
“Answer me, Ruby!” Brania screamed.
“My name isn’t Ruby, and I have no connection to this Penry,” the girl replied. “However, I have returned because of my brother.”
Clutching her knees closer to her chest, Imogene didn’t believe a word the girl was saying. She looked just like Penry; she had to be his sister. “You’re lying! You are Ruby!”
If Ruby heard Imogene’s protest, she didn’t give any indication. She stared directly at Brania.
“Behind the picture across from the desk in your father’s office you will find a book hidden in the wall,” she said. “Give it to David and tell him that I would like him to read me a story.”
Brania realized this girl had no connection to the dead kid whatsoever. Whoever she was, whatever she was, she was only using Ruby’s body as a host, a conduit so she could walk the earth. And make contact with Brania’s father. “Who shall I tell him is making this request?” Brania asked.
Just before she left the cave, Ruby answered. “Tell him that Rhoswen has come home.”
Wasting no time Brania raced out of the cave and to David’s office. She didn’t see a trace of Ruby or Rhoswen or whatever her name was, not that she expected to. She also didn’t care that she was leaving Imogene alone. Brania knew she shouldn’t abandon her so abruptly since she was vital to the success of her overall plan, but she would make it up to her. Right now she had work to do.
Slipping inside the anteroom, Brania’s shadow comingled with the black and gray projections created by the trees outside to form a surreal landscape in the mirror. Roused from their sleep, the archangels were curious to find an intruder in their midst, Zachariel most of all, but even he was ultimately helpless to stop Brania from entering David’s office. By the way she moved, without hesitation and with purpose, it was clear that nothing could stand in her way.
Brania removed the painting and saw that its placement was more than ornamental; it concealed a small safe. With a thief’s dexterity, she turned the knob and using her preternatural hearing listened for the telltale clicks. The first number was eleven, then twenty-five and sixty-four.
Peering into the safe, Brania saw several letters and a stack of faded parchment wrapped in strips of worn leather and marked with David’s stamp, one unfurled wing made of red wax. Pushing them to the side she saw sepia-toned photographs, money of every conceivable international currency dating back to the sixteenth century, and finally, tucked behind an ornate silver and gold mask adorned with black ostrich feathers—an odd keepsake indeed—was a book. Even if Brania had seen it in an overstuffed library she would have known it was the book Ruby, well, Rhoswen, had instructed her to find. On the faded cover was a raised marble inlay, a remarkably detailed depiction of a white rose.
“Zachariel told me I had a visitor, but I had no idea it would be you,” David said. As if of its own accord the door closed behind him as David took one step, two steps, three steps closer to his daughter, his expression slowly shifting from amused to incensed. “Or that I would find you rummaging through my personal effects.” The only reason he stopped moving was because Brania held up the book in front of her, the marble rose a stronger deterrent than a sharp-edged wooden stake.
“What are you doing with that?” David asked, his voice a low, gruff whisper.
If it hadn’t been for the flames from the fireplace that had ignited the moment David walked into the room, the silence would have been overwhelming. “I think the more appropriate question, Father, is who is Rhoswen?”
The name struck David like lightning, unexpected, quick, violent. He had known this day would come, he had sensed it for months now, but he had never entertained the thought that it truly would arrive. The day when he would have to acknowledge his past and remember the pain, the agonizing decision he had once made that brought him to his present state of glory. No! Not everything had to be revealed. Brania might be his daughter, she may be inquisitive and insightful, but she was still a woman and therefore insignificant. No, he only had to tell her enough of the story to keep her satisfied. “Rhoswen is my sister.”
“What?!” Brania cried. “How come I’ve never heard of her?”
Give her another morsel, another benign piece of information. “She died when you were an infant,” David replied as he sat in the mahogany armchair near the window, to the casual eye appearing calm and aloof. “It was heartbreaking and, like so many things that break the heart, her demise went unmentioned. Until now.”
Brania stared at her father, certain that he was telling her the truth, but also certain that there was much more to the story. “How did she die?”
Crossing his legs, David traced the seam of his trousers with his finger to keep the rest of his hand from shaking. “She was murdered.”
“Murdered!”
David was surprised to find that his hand lay still on his knee. Perhaps the memory no longer had power over him; perhaps enough time had passed; perhaps his mind had finally convinced his soul that he was innocent. “It was a barbaric time,” he said. “Murder was a common, albeit, unfortunate occurrence. And in Rhoswen’s case, random.”
So her aunt, her father’s sister, was a murder victim whose spirit just happened to be taking up residence in the body of the twin sister of a murdered student. Logically, Brania knew that was a strong enough link to connect the two, but emotionally she knew otherwise. “What’s the significance of this book?”
Blinking his eyes to forbid the tears to appear, David knew that if he looked away from the marble rose Brania would correctly presume that it was more than decorative. It was a symbol, a symbol of his past, a past he wanted to stay dead and buried. But a past that clearly had a mind of its own. “The book belonged to my sister,” he said. “The name Rhoswen means the white rose.”
All the pieces finally fell into place. Brania understood why she had awakened inside a circle of white roses. There was a reason why Rhoswen’s eyes looked like two round, white canvases. Her mind racing almost out of control she realized the scope of Rhoswen’s influence was immense. The flowers that grew outside of St. Joshua’s, that had grown there for centuries, were not an anomaly; they were not formed by nature but were the product of this supernatural spirit, who had endowed them with incredible, life-altering powers. Brania didn’t know why, but she knew David held the key to unlocking all of Rhoswen’s secrets. She had never been more grateful that she had her own secret with which she could barter.
“Rhoswen said that she’s returned and she would like you to read this book to her.”
When Brania placed the book in David’s hands, it was as if she had branded him with a white-hot poker. He felt as if his flesh, his heart, even the remaining pieces of his soul were singed, and it took all his formidable strength not to let the book drop to the floor. “You’ve spoken to my sister?” David asked, sounding younger than Brania had ever heard him sound before.
“More than that,” she gloated. “I’ve seen her.”
A rumble began in David’s stomach, so loud, so forceful, he thought for sure the sound would make his body shake uncontrollably, that Brania would think he was in the throes of an epileptic seizure. His vision started to blur, his head grew dizzy, and he had no choice but to close his eyes or else risk falling off the chair.
Never in all her years had she witnessed her father look so emotional, sound so affected by circumstances that he did not create. It was unsettling, and even though a part of her wished her father possessed such sentimentality, she knew the man’s psychological makeup too well. This was all an act. An act that, for the time being, Brania felt she should play along with. “It will be a wonderful reunion,” she said. Softly she touched his hand and immediately thought the gesture might be too much, but then figured if her father could play the scene to the hilt, why couldn’t she?
“I have another surprise for you,” Brania added. “I know how we can find The Well.”
This time David did almost drop the book he was holding, but before it fell from his lap he grabbed it, his fingers gripping it so tightly they threatened to tear it in two. “How? Tell me!”
