Graham motioned for them to come inside. John followed behind his mother and Danny. He kept his gaze low, like he was embarrassed about his earlier display. It only made the weirdness Graham had been feeling toward him intensify. Something was definitely amiss.
“John, are you okay?” he asked, not bothering to dance around the issue.
“I’m fine,” John said, jerking his gaze up from the floor in a forced display of dominance. “How’s Helena?”
So he wanted to put on the show. Fine. Aye.
“She’s doin’ better,” Ayre said, taking control of the conversation. “She’s just a wee bit knackered. We just need to love and support her right now. And not be burdenin’ her with our troubles.” She looked between him and John as she spoke. “Graham has a picture he’d like you all to see. Don’t you, Graham?”
He clicked the screen back on and flipped back to the image of the brand. “Do any of you recognize this marking?”
Rose and Danny took a quick look and shook their heads, but when John took the mobile, what little color left in his face drained away.
“What’s the marking? What does it mean?” Graham pressed.
John clicked the screen off and handed the mobile back to him. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen that kind of thing before.”
Just the thin sheen of sweat that was covering his forehead proved he was lying.
“Don’t play me for a fool, John. You know what that is. Tell me.”
John turned to Rose and slipped his hand into hers. “I don’t know what the marking means. Besides, what does a dead man’s brand have to do with Helena?”
Though it was possible John could have put the pieces together and figured out that the brand was Neill’s, no one had told him—which meant he knew a hell of a lot more than he cared to show.
“Ayre, tell him what you told me, about the murderer.”
“It’s just a vision, Graham, but you all need to take action to find the people behind the murder. They’re only beginnin’.”
“They?” Danny asked.
Ayre nodded. “Only one person killed Neill, but there are others behind him. Others who want dark things. From what I was shown, their souls are as black as midnight, and they fear only their failure.”
“Who?” Danny continued.
Graham gave Ayre’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “She doesn’t know. And I have nowhere to start. All I have is this,” Graham said, lifting his mobile. He looked to John. “That’s why it’s vital you tell me anything you know.”
“Ayre must be mistaken. You know how fickle the gift of sight can be. It may be showing her something that never happened, and may never happen. Neill’s death has already been ruled a suicide by my man. This needn’t go any further.”
“You know his death wasn’t a suicide. If you don’t actually do something, many other lives could be in danger.” Graham tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it was nearly impossible. “Do you really want more blood on your hands?”
Chapter Eight
THE WORLD WAS DARK, and no matter how hard she tore at her reality, Helena couldn’t break through the thick nothingness. It was like a black litter bag pulled tight around her body, and with every second that passed, she was one second closer to suffocation.
She couldn’t let them win. She couldn’t let her affliction stop her from experiencing the world. She couldn’t fall into the depths and not return.
No.
She sobbed.
She couldn’t.
There was a voice near the edge of her consciousness, barely audible through the thick plastic nothingness; the sound was familiar, soft, and airy. Helena strained to hear, feeling nearly deaf in the reverberating silence.
There it was again. The voice. She reached for it like a child starved of human contact.
It was a woman’s voice. “She’s going to be fine. Don’t fight with your father.”
“Stepfather.” She recognized Graham’s voice.
“You know what I mean,” the woman said, her voice becoming loud enough that Helena could tell it was Rose.
Was she having another vision?
“He’s done so much for this place. We’ve all made mistakes. And if he says the death was suicide, I’m sure it was a suicide.”
“Mother, why are you sticking up for him?”
“Graham, love, I just trust that he has his reasons. He’s not an evil man.”
“No more fightin’,” Helena whispered, trying to stop her mind from pulling her deeper into the blackness as their words forced her farther into the recesses. “Please...no...”
There was the touch of a hand on her cheek, and she reached up, but there was nothing there.
Her heart threatened to implode. Was this her new reality? Half-feeling and stuck in perpetual blackness, but able to hear the world moving forward without her? This feeling—it had to be what hell felt like. Or was it purgatory?
“Helena?” Graham’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Come back to me, my love.”
Did he really love her? He had told her that he loved her once, but it had been so long ago that the words seemed more like a fantasy. He had even spoken of marriage, but she had put him off.
It was no wonder he hadn’t spoken of love again. Perhaps she had broken his heart. Once a thing like that was broken, the stitches of time and the glue of words could mend it, but it would never be quite the same again—and while the mind might forget the trauma, the heart never would.
“Helena?” Graham asked again.
Far away, at the edges of the blackness, a light rose from the darkness. A tunnel.
Was this it? Was this what the end of life looked like?
No. She had so much more to do. So much more to experience. She wasn’t ready.
“Graham,” she called, hoping he would somehow come to her rescue and pull her free of her fears.
“It’s okay, my love,” he whispered, his voice closer. “Fight. You are strong. You have to come back. I need you. We need you.”
We? Who was he talking about?
The orb of light grew, enveloping her and making the chill that had filled her start to drift away.
There was the feeling of a touch on her cheek. She reached for it, and this time her fingers grazed over Graham’s. His fingers were warm, and as she touched him, he stopped stroking her face and took hold of her hand.
“Are you there? Are you really there?” he asked, his tone slightly high and panicked, as though afraid he might be getting it wrong.
She forced her eyes open. Graham and his family were standing around her, even Mr. Shane, but no one from her family was there. Wherever there was. The bright fluorescent lights burned her eyes, forcing her to grimace.
“Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse and almost robotic even to her own ears.
“We brought you to the infirmary,” Graham said.
She gasped as she remembered the infirmary in her vision. Had they brought her to the bowels of the manor? Was Rose setting to work to...Helena tried to recall exactly what Rose had been doing, but she couldn’t quite make heads or tails of what she’d seen. All she could think of was the feeling of danger and fear that had risen within her as she’d watched Graham’s mother.
Her hand tightened on Graham’s. “No. Get me out of here. I can’t be here.” She glared at Rose.
The woman had a confused look on her face. “What’s the matter, dear?”
“Get out,” Helena said, her voice quiet.
Rose didn’t move.
She tried again, this time with more force. “Get. Out.”
Graham looked over at his mother and motioned for her to step out. Mr. Shane took Rose by the hand and led her from the room.
Ayre stood at the end of the bed, smiling knowingly.
“When you’re ready, child, I’m around. You come find me. We’ll talk. For now, rest.” She moved to walk out of the room with Danny, but stopped and turned back. “And don’t worry about what h
asn’t yet come to pass. Our visions can be wrong, my child. You know this. We are only given the moment in time the Fates have chosen.”
The woman was talking in riddles again, but now, thanks to the banging in her head, Helena couldn’t handle the pain of trying to decipher the woman’s words. Helena answered with a simple nod, but Ayre gave her that familiar knowing and disapproving look as she led Danny from the room. “I’m here for ya. Always,” Ayre repeated as she closed the door behind them.
Graham glanced back at Helena with a look of deep concern on his face. “What happened? What did you see?”
Helena’s hands were shaking, though she didn’t know exactly why.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him the truth or not. Maybe Ayre was right. Maybe the vision was wrong. But Helena couldn’t shake the terror that filled her. Rose had meant to hurt someone, but whether it was Helena or someone else, she couldn’t be sure.
A terrible thought struck her. What if Rose had been behind Neill’s death?
She rolled the idea through her mind. Rose wasn’t big enough to have taken Neill down—even hurt, Neill would have been stronger than the petite woman. There was no way she could have been responsible for his death, and that was to say nothing of the fact that he had been strung up from the roof. She couldn’t have easily reached the ceiling, and it was doubtful she could have lifted the body.
Helena sucked in a long breath and tried to gain control over her frenzied thoughts.
Even her vision with Graham in his bedroom had been inaccurate. Nothing was set in stone, not when it came to the future. Maybe it had just been a way for the world to warn her of something, or set things on a different course. Or maybe it was just a vision sent to torture her and make her question her own sanity.
Her thoughts fluttered to her vision of Graham. His red kilt. Standing beside the bed as she waited for him to slide in beside her. She squirmed as she remembered exactly what had happened.
She looked up to Graham. “Are you okay? Ya know, after what happened in your room.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but guppied for a moment. “Am I okay? You’re the one in the hospital bed who just went a bit mad on my mother.” He paused. “Are you okay?”
She looked down at her arms, where she’d been jabbed and prodded and IVs had been stuck into her veins. Reaching down, she pulled on the lines, ripping the clear tape from her skin and pulling out the needles that fed liquid into her body.
“I’m fine. I just need to get out o’ here. I shouldn’t be here. It was just a vision.” She spoke fast, her words coming as quickly as her thoughts.
She had no idea what to do, where to go, or how to explain things to Graham, and shrouding it all was her embarrassment. They’d finally taken the next step in their relationship, and she and her gift had managed to ruin it all.
When would she be done failing?
As she stood up, a cold draft wafted over her skin, which was barely covered by the hospital gown. Graham looked away, giving her a moment to pull the back of the gown closed. He had just seen her naked in his bedroom, but now he didn’t seem to want to look at her again. Was he feeling just as embarrassed as she was? Or had he been unimpressed with what he’d seen?
She tried not to consider the latter possibility. No man in history had ever looked at a naked woman and not really wanted to look at her again. No matter the woman’s size, shape, or ethnicity—men were born to love the female form. Sure, there may have been some they liked better, but like her da used to say, “There’s a lid for every pot.” But what if she wasn’t the lid that Graham was looking for?
For a moment, she considered closing the blinds and stripping down just to test his reaction. She would know immediately whether or not he thought her naked body was beautiful.
But then she thought back to the way his body had pressed against hers. He had responded to every touch, every kiss. Maybe she was just being overly sensitive.
She walked to the small closet at the corner of the room. Hanging inside was a fresh set of clothes Graham must have brought down for her.
“Where did ya put the clothes I had on?”
Graham walked over to the windows to the hall and pulled the blinds closed so she could have a bit of privacy.
“I had your sister bring you a set of clothes up from the cottage, and she took the others to be laundered.”
Helena was a bit relieved. First, because her family had been to see her and Angel had come to help, and second, because Graham hadn’t been the one to sift through her knickers and pullovers trying to find clothes.
“Why didn’t she stay? Kids?” Helena yanked on the pullover and jeans and slipped her feet into her shoes. Her arm ached where she had freed herself from the IV. There would definitely be a bruise tomorrow.
“Actually, she said she had some errands to run, and apparently there’s some big rally goin’ on in Adare.”
“What kind of rally?”
Graham shook his head. “I don’t know, but she said it was making it hard to get around, and the locals are starting to complain.”
“Does Mr. Shane know about it? He’s gonna be upset if he thinks it’s interferin’ with the grand openin’ tomorrow.” She glanced at the windows leading to the hall. “Is he still here?” She grabbed her purse, which Graham had set on the floor of the closet.
Graham walked to the door and cracked it open. “No. I think he wanted to run Rose and Danny back to the manor.” He clicked the door shut and checked his watch. “If you’re feeling up to it, I have an idea.”
“Huh? An idea about what?”
“About Neill. I was thinking about his employment records. Maybe we can find out where he’s from, or why someone would have a grudge against him—it’s probably pointless, but we got to start somewhere. If Ayre was right, we need to move fast.”
“What if this is just some random killing? Ayre said the person has a black soul. Maybe they’re killing for the thrill of it or somethin’.” She motioned to the bed. “Everyone in this place has real issues, many of which are psychological. Just look at what happened to me. I had no idea where I was, or what I was doin’. What if I had been possessed? For all I know, I could have been out of my mind, killing randomly.”
“I think we would’ve noticed if someone who was a danger to others was out of their room. Security is tighter than it was before. The nurses learned their lesson. And Giorgio has accounted for all the patients and staff, save a few who were on break.”
“Not everyone in this place can have an alibi, Graham. If that were correct, then a murder would have never occurred. Whoever killed Neill had to have been in this building—”
“Or had access to the inner building.”
“Or found a way to gain access from the front desk.”
Graham gave a resigned sigh, like he was frustrated with the onslaught of questions and the lack of available answers. “There has to be something we’re missing.”
Chapter Nine
THE SOUNDS OF HORSES neighing from their stalls echoed toward them as Graham and Helena made their way through the back entrance of Clonshire Equestrian Center. A black mare stuck her head out over her gate, gave them a curious glance, and smacked her lips as though to say that if they gave her a pellet, she would stay quiet.
Helena gave a light laugh. “At least we know someone we can pay off.” She walked to the bucket that rested near the haystack, grabbed a handful of pellets, and generously offered them to the nosy mare.
“Where’s the horse that fell on Neill? Is it okay?” Helena asked, motioning around the stalls.
He hadn’t thought much about the piebald gelding. “He seemed to be fine.” Graham walked down the row of stalls to the one marked with the horse’s picture. Beneath the image was the name “Rough and Tumble.”
Helena let out a small laugh. “Aye, they named him right.”
The gelding poked his head over the door and drew in a long breath, huffing as he took in their scent. He whinn
ied in recognition and threw his head as he looked toward Graham.
“He remembers ya,” Helena said.
Graham walked over to the horse and scratched his forehead, right under his mane. The horse tilted his head slightly, as if encouraging him to scratch just a bit harder. Graham looked over the horse’s body. He seemed to be standing well, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a normal way, and there were no cuts or visible marks. If he hadn’t known that this was the horse that had rolled over Neill, he wouldn’t have suspected the animal had been involved in what should have been a deadly accident.
For a moment, he wondered if maybe this was another joke the Fates were playing. It was like they were showing him and Helena that no matter how hard they—or rather, Helena—tried to save a life, it was really the Fates who controlled a person’s destiny. No mortal being, not even one with gifts, could alter the Fates’ plans forever.
Or maybe there was no such thing as the Fates. Perhaps they were all merely moved around this plane of existence by simple forces of action and reaction, small choices that led either one way or the other. Maybe what happened in people’s lives was nothing more than cosmic randomness. If not, he hated to think why the Fates had chosen to make life hard—or what mistake he had made to call this mess down upon them.
“I’m sorry about what happened.” Helena stepped beside him and ran her hand down the other side of the gelding’s face.
“Huh?” Graham asked, trying to follow her train of thought.
“I mean, back in your bedroom. I didn’t mean for me to...ya know. I wish I could stop what’s happenin’ to me. I just...I’m sorry.”
A thin layer of sweat rose on his skin. “Don’t be sorry. You can’t control everything. And you losing yourself to your vision wasn’t your fault.” It had been his. He had thrown her over the edge. He caused her to lose herself—and not in a good way. “It was mine. We shouldn’t have...”
“We shouldn’t have tried to make love?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of strength. “That’s crazy, Graham. We need to have a relationship that’s full. If I hadn’t waited so long, maybe...”
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