“Your relationship goes much deeper than you realize. BeforeScarlett’s mother married Mr. Lennox, Marie-Louise had a brief affair with aWelsh miner who’d struck it rich. A man we both know quite well.”
I reach for the gazebo railing and sit down on a bench, lettingit all sink in. My father, the same John Grayson that I’ve grown up with, hadan affair. With Marie-Louise Lennox, the woman who committed suicide lastNovember. The idea of him having an illicit affair with anyone seems ludicrous.And a trifle repugnant. But having met the vulnerable Marie-Louise, my heartgoes out to her.
Mary Arden continues with her narrative. “Their liaison beganbefore he met your mother. John told Marie-Louise he would never marry a poorgirl like her, and when she found herself in the family way, she wed Lennox. Hewas a cruel man and abused Marie-Louise and her son terribly. James Scarlettisn’t one to forgive and forget—especially where his parents and half-sisterare concerned.”
I’m his half-sister? “But he’s descended from Archimendax, notVeritas.”
“Oh you’re wrong, Hester. He’s descended from both—Veritas,through your father, and Archimendax, on his mother’s side. A unique and lethalmixture.”
It makes sense, actually. Why Scarlett is so difficult toread…and so powerful…and why he has a vendetta against me. Truth heats mybones, and I know Mary Arden is right. Although I do not trust her beyond thebasic facts of the story.
“Fine,” I say, picking up the sledgehammer and cane. “We shouldgo—”
“I cannot, Hester. Scarlett has shielded himself against mypowers. Whatever magic I cast upon him will be thrown back at me a hundredfold. I will not help you in this fight, but the shielding has cost Scarlettdearly. His strength is less than before.”
He was stronger? His abilities greater than they are now? Well,that’s just bloody wonderful. I nod and make for the stairs of the gazebo,feeling the weight of my burden. She walks with me to High Street.
“What can he do?” I ask, unsure I want the answer.
Mary Arden sighs sadly. “It’s not that Scarlett has a largenumber of gifts. But truth and falsehood each have great power, don’t they? Mixthem together and you’ve got a dangerous weapon. Beware the Serpent’s Tongue,Hester. Unlike Compulsion, it’s subtle and can be sustained indefinitely. And hehas some elemental powers.”
I drop my pitiful sledgehammer and rake/cane on the sidewalk,lean forward and rest my hands on my thighs. Don’t throw up. Don’t have anapoplexy. Breathe.
“No reason to fret, child.” My aunt whacks me on the back. “Fragilenerves never won battles of magic! It’s boldness that’s called for.” She picksup the hammer and cane and pushes them into my hands. “Now where was I?”
No place good. “The Serpent’s Tongue?” I reply.
“Oh, yes! Scarlett mixes reality and illusion, lies with half-truths.Beguiling, coaxing. He can have no happiness of his own, and therefore, seeksthe misery and dominion of others. Strike him now, or he’ll kill all those youhold dear.”
As he did mine, she whispers in my head.
The impact of her words hits me. I turn toward Mary Arden.“Will you teach me how to shield them? Keep my friends safe?”
“Triumph today, and shielding will be unnecessary. There’squite a price involved, anyway. I’m not sure you’d be willing to pay it.”
Her words cause a shiver of alarm to run the length of myspine, and I wonder if she’s using Compulsion on me. Maybe it’s her hope thatScarlett and I kill each other. Two birds with one stone.
“What about those elemental powers you mentioned he possessed?”I ask.
But the old woman seems not to hear my question and leaves mewithout saying farewell. Just a pat on my shoulder and a vague reminder. Rememberthat favor you owe me. I’ll be in touch.
A gust of wind tosses my skirts, thunder rumbles, a fewraindrops fall. The air crackles with supernatural energy as I hasten toward myfate. As though they sense a whopper of a storm brewing, the people ofStonehenge scramble inside. I hear merchants pack up their wares, and shoe-shinemen gather their brushes. The usual crowds head home to supper, or to the RedRooster for a drink. Tourists take refuge in their hotels.
Wishing I could hide with them, I cross the nearly desertedstreet. I extend my hearing despite the noisy weather, and determine the numberof souls at the station ahead. Thankfully, only a handful of people are waitingfor the last two trains. Rounding a corner, I bump smack into Tom. Of all theplaces for him to be. Why here and now?
“I’ll be damned,” Tom says, half drunk. “Come to give me agoodbye kiss?”
I push him away with my rake/cane. “No.”
“Heavens lass, you spoke. Soft-like but I heard you.” Hewhistles, takes a step closer. “Dress covered with dust and carrying a hammer.Trouble at home, Mrs. Kelly?”
“Not your business anymore.”
Tom grabs my hand. “Don’t run off just yet. Let’s shake atleast.”
The sledgehammer strikes the ground, but I barely notice.Memories are being passed to Tom through our old telepathic connection. Icannot move an inch—we are grafted together at the palm. He sees our childhood,the time we spent together growing up, the cases we solved, his death, andrevival. The vision ends with my visits to his hospital bed last December, andthen I pull my hand away, barely daring to hope. Is this the answer? Will theold Tom return?
“What in hell?” he says, breathing fast.
Beneath the liquor, Tom smells of fear and confusion. No love,no happiness at being reunited with me. Instead, he seems like a bewilderedstranger observing another man’s life, not his own past. I sense that thisother Tom is a decent person despite the drinking and bitterness. Scared he’sdelusional, not entirely convinced that what he saw was real, but good deepdown. I could try telepathy. That might convince him of his history, make himbelieve.
And then he’d insist on helping me fight Scarlett.
Let the man go, Hester. He needs to leave Stonehenge before itkills him for good. My chest feels hot and jumpy inside. I once imagined our namesfiguratively carved there on my heart. Like the initials Tom whittled acrosstree trunks when we were little.
“You’re a Visionary,” he mumbles. “And I’m the Interpreter.”
Tom takes something from
