By the time he caught up with her, she had the book open, already reading it as she walked with purpose in the direction of Belmary House. He took her elbow to keep her from tripping or running into someone, but he had a feeling it was wholly unnecessary. If Maria was in there somewhere, it was deep, deep down. She certainly wasn’t in charge right now. He watched her turn the pages, her eyes darting back and forth as they ate up the words.
A couple blocks from the house, he started to drag his feet, making Maria slow her pace as well. She either didn’t notice or care, lost in her story. He was a bit envious, but he had no such means of escape.
Should he go in through the front door? That would mean facing either the housekeeper or the butler, and while the servants doted on Ariana and her brothers and had never been unkind to him, he didn’t want to be announced like a guest. He also wanted to speak to Ariana and get caught up on what had happened in the time he’d been gone before he faced his parents. And how was he supposed to explain Maria? Surely all of London was going mad looking for her. They were in a part of town where everyone should recognize her, especially if it had come out that she’d gone missing. For the first time he was grateful for her creepy ability to make herself go unnoticed.
His vow to be honest shrank away the closer he got to actually having to admit everything. No, he needed to speak to Ariana first so she could help him explain without making a muddle of things as he so often seemed to do. Thinking about how close he was to seeing her again made him relax somewhat. She would make everything better. He was well past believing anything could actually be completely fixed, but he’d take better. He wished he’d never stormed off to Moldavia, never left her behind in the first place. But if he was wishing to change things, he had to admit he needed to go back quite a bit further than that. He shook his head and sighed. It wasn’t worth thinking about.
Maria stopped and closed her book, grabbing his elbow so he would stop his urgent pace toward Belmary House.
“Finished already?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated at the delay.
She blinked slowly and looked down at the book in her hands as if she only just realized it was there. “No, I’m saving some for the trip home.”
Home. She meant Scotland. He’d almost forgotten they still had to get all the way back up there. Exhaustion nearly overwhelmed him and all he could think about was the plush, safe room he was so close to. Family, friends, sleep. He swayed on his feet before focusing on her increasingly stormy look.
“Can’t you let her out yet?” he asked, hoping to forgo the long trip up north altogether.
“She’s not ready,” was the stubborn reply. The same reply he’d been getting since they left the Povest village.
“Are you being honest? Or do you just want to get to Scotland to remember your name?”
She narrowed those glittering eyes at him. “I don’t tell lies.” He flinched. That was a low blow. Or a deserved one. “We’re going to Scotland.” She tucked the book under her arm and glared at him until he looked away.
“Fine. Let’s find Ariana and sort my nonsense out, then we’ll sort yours.”
She looked up and swiveled her head like a dog scenting the air. “Something’s wrong.”
“You’ve only now figured that out?” he asked sarcastically.
Without answering, she made a beeline in the opposite direction of where they were heading. He was too tired to argue and hurried to keep up. They headed behind the wooded park that backed up to Belmary House. It was surrounded by an ivy-choked stone wall. He thought the land belonged to the Alexanders, and knew people hunted on it sometimes. As small children, he and Ariana had occasionally gone adventuring in the woods, but it was a tame substitute to the wilds of his own home.
He followed her as she scrambled nimbly over the wall, through the trees and brambles, realizing she was leading them up to the back of the house. When they reached the wall again, she stopped and frowned.
“Do you smell that?”
He took a big sniff. Trees, something smoldering in the London air. “Smell what?”
She gave him a disappointed eye roll and cocked her head to the side. “Listen.”
He stamped his foot, fed up with her ambiguity. “What am I supposed to be smelling or hearing?” he demanded, smacking the wall and hurting his palm. God, he was tired.
“Owen?” A tearful voice came from the other side of the wall. He’d know that voice anywhere. Had been longing to hear it again for days.
He flung himself at the wall, hoisting himself to the top with one last burst of strength. It instantly faded at what faced him on the other side. Ariana jumped up and grabbed his hands.
“It is you. Oh, thank goodness you’re back.” She dropped his hands, sat down at the foot of the wall and sobbed.
He felt like doing the same, unable to keep his eyes from darting left and right. It was all gone. He knew what he was supposed to be smelling now. What he thought was typical London’s bad, burning smell was the charred remains of Belmary House. He recognized the wall he still clung to, the small fruit orchard which had miraculously survived. But where the house had been was now a massive expanse of blackened rubble, piles of sooty bricks and stones, the odd plank of wood eerily standing up here and there like grave markers.
His heart seized and he dropped to the other
