by Jade Astor
“That isn’t the point!” Roark snapped. He seemed to say more, but seemed to reconsider his outburst and stopped. Slowly he unclenched his fists. Stephen saw his chest rise as he sucked in a deep, calming breath. “Stephen, I have to tell you something.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m almost ashamed to repeat such nonsense, but I think it’s relevant.”
Puzzled, Stephen stared at him. “Uh…okay.”
Roark’s mouth became a taut line. “The fact is, Stephen, our mother was a witch. At least, that’s how she identified herself. She came from a family of witches who were driven out of England and decided to set up their coven in the New World. As you know, the Fairbournes also had a connection to occult practices going way back.”
“The painting. Obadiah and the gaol fire. I remember.” Stephen swallowed. “Are you saying it’s possible your mom really did try to contact me through my dream? Like…using some kind of spell?”
It sounded crazy even to his own ears, and Roark’s disgusted expression proved that he shared that opinion.
“Of course not. I just mean that the book you saw might be connected with some of the unsavory practices, shall we call them, that have taken place in this house from time to time. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that someone might want to recover the book for that very reason.”
Stephen blinked. Surely Roark had to be joking around with him. “Are you saying there’s some budding witch…or warlock…on the grounds of the estate, using the book to stir up a big cauldron of bats’ wings right now?”
His teasing only made Roark angrier. “The book itself has no real power. It’s the way someone might use it that worries me. Besides, if neither you nor I have it, that means it has in fact been stolen. I can’t imagine Malcolm carrying it off without saying anything.”
“Stolen?” A voice broke in. The two of them looked up to see Justin striding into the room. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were back. How’s Unc?”
“Uh….he’s doing well. Grouchy as always. That was encouraging.”
Slowly Justin seemed to sense the tension crackling in the air. “What’s going on?”
Briefly Roark filled him in on the conversation about the book, thankfully omitting any mention of Stephen’s weird dream. Justin listened with a worried expression on his face.
“You mean some thief came into the library and grabbed the book because he wants to cast magic spells? That’s wild. I’ve heard some of them can be really nasty. They attack your crops, your livestock, and even your manhood. Now that’s really going too far, don’t you think?”
“You’re making a joke of it, as usual but it’s not a laughing matter,” Roark snapped at him. Stephen was careful to tamp down any trace of amusement, though as usual, Justin’s take on matters entertained him. Why did Roark always have to be such a pill? “Or is there some reason you’re trying to downplay the importance of what happened?”
“You think I have it?” All traces of Justin’s humor vanished. “That’s some accusation to make without a shred of evidence. I could just as easily accuse you and claim you’re making a big deal of it to throw suspicion off yourself.”
Roark made a cutting motion in the air, and Stephen worried they might come to blows. “All right. This isn’t getting us anywhere. I suggest we go to the library right now and see if we can locate this mysterious book. Maybe Stephen’s right and it’s just been misplaced. A lot’s been going on these past few days.”
Without waiting for either of them to respond, he spun and headed for the door. Shaking his head, Justin held out his hand to help Stephen up.
“I’m sorry for the way he’s acting. I really don’t understand what’s gotten into him. I had no idea he cared about those crummy old books so much.”
“I don’t really care what he thinks about me. I just hope he isn’t accusing my uncle of carelessness,” Stephen said as they set off together for the library. Roark, storming ahead of them, had already disappeared down the hall. “That would devastate hi, and he needs to stay calm and get better.”
“Maybe he thinks you took it,” Justin said. This time, Stephen couldn’t tell if he was joking around or not.
“If I wanted to take any of the books, I’d just sneak them upstairs to the guest room and hide them in my suitcase. I wouldn’t go around calling attention to what I’d done.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Justin soothed. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.
As they walked, Justin reached out and took Stephen’s hand, closing the distance until their shoulders brushed together.
The sudden closeness made Stephen uncomfortable, reminding him of the way the figures had crowded around him in his dream. Not wanting to hurt Justin’s feelings, he forced himself to smile and walk along beside him. After all, in his dream it had been Roark who had tried to pull his into that nefarious circle with his mother, not Justin. If either of the brothers represented a threat to his safety, it was Roark. Stephen was convinced of that.
“It’ll be okay,” Justin whispered. “I’ll always look out for you where Roark is concerned.”
Chapter 13
By the time they got to the library, Roark had already planted himself in the center of the room, scrutinizing each bookcase and flat surface. Stephen wondered what he expected to find. He didn’t even know what the book in question looked like—or did he?
“Okay, let’s get on with it. Show me where you initially found the book and where you thought you left it.”
“I first noticed it right over here.” Stephen ignored his condescending choice of words and moved over to the corner of the wall-sized shelf. He slid his hand between the two large books that had originally concealed it. Roark stepped up beside him and removed both of them. Shifting them to the crook of one arm, he patted the empty shelf space and probed behind the books that remained. A cloud of brown dust, accompanied by a stale, musty odor floated into the room.
“As you can see, it isn’t there now,” Stephen went on. “Next I carried it over to this table and put it down next to my laptop. Over the course of the day I piled other books on top of it.” He made it sound casual, almost an accident. Did Roark know he was stretching the truth, to put it mildly?
He pointed, and Roark spread them all, including the ones he’d taken from the shelf and the fly-fishing book, across the table. He spent some time opening each cover and rifling through the pages as though he expected the missing volume to turn up tucked inside one of them. Finally he stepped back with an exasperated sigh.
“Nothing. Stephen’s right. It’s not there anymore. Someone took it.”
Stephen paused, noticing that Roark’s search had failed to turn up something else that should have been there—the news clippings describing the disappearance of the two servants. And now that he thought about it, the book with the doodle of Istharios on the endpaper was gone, too. For the moment, he said nothing. He was already in enough trouble with Roark. No need to make it worse over two yellowed scraps of newspaper. Besides, it might still be inside the fishing book somewhere. Possibly Roark had managed to flip past it.
“Not necessarily,” Justin argued. “Like we said before, maybe it just got moved in all the activity when his uncle went to the hospital. Why don’t we do a systematic search? Roark, you examine that side of the room and I’ll do this one. It shouldn’t take too long.”
“You’re forgetting we have no idea what this book looks like. A small antique book with a dark binding describes three quarters of what’s in here.”
“It had a ribbon around the cover,” Stephen said. “That’s not especially unusual for books of that age, but it will help narrow things down.”
“There you go, Roark. We have Stephen right here as a consultant. If we see any likely candidate, especially one that seems out of place or upside down or whatever, we can just call him over to take a peek. Meanwhile, he can poke around on his own.”
“Don’t move things too much,” Roark caut
ioned him. “We don’t want to undo all Vernon and Stephen’s hard work.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Stephen said. “Everything I’ve done so far is in my computer. I’m sure we’ll have to backtrack a little when and if Uncle Vernon comes back. But he and I will catch up somehow, if it ever comes to that.” He paused, remembering a thought he’d had earlier. “You know, I just remembered that the computer later turned up in the guest room. Whoever moved it might remember how the books were arranged—or might have moved them around to unplug the cord or something.”
“Ivy, most likely,” Justin surmised. “I think we can discount Leo. I doubt he could even read a book, never mind identify a valuable antique one. And he wouldn’t dare mess around with a guest’s computer. I would personally kick his ass for that and he knows it.”
“Why don’t you go and get Ivy so we can question her?” Roark suggested.
Justin smirked. “Me? Isn’t Ivy at your beck and call most of the time? You could probably get her down here much faster than I could. Just bat those long dark eyelashes of yours at her.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that, and I’m not going to guess. Most likely she’s in the kitchen helping her mother prepare dinner. You can start your search there for maximum efficiency.”
“Fine. I’ll just tell her you want to see her. That should get her here in a hurry. It usually does.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Roark said after Justin strode from the room. “As Justin is fond of saying to anyone who will listen, he’s not good at keeping his emotions to himself. My asking him to do anything seems to set him off these days.”
“What is it between you two? Why do you hate each other so much?”
“I don’t hate Justin. And I really do need him to go and bring Ivy to us. My going would most likely cause…well, a misunderstanding, for lack of a better word.”
“You mean you don’t want Ivy to think you suspect her of taking the book? You’re right—that would definitely hurt her feelings.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious the two of you have some kind of relationship going on, even if it’s not a healthy one. Or maybe you did in the past.” The words came out harsher than Stephen intended. It must have been his dislike for Ivy, he reasoned, that caused him to hate the thought of Roark and Ivy involved with each other. Otherwise, it wasn’t any of his business. Really, Roark could date Mrs. Mulgrave for all Stephen cared.
All the same, Roark’s cynical response filled him with irrational relief. Then Roark did something even more surprising. Reaching out, he gripped Stephen’s hand in a firm squeeze and stared directly into his face with wide, almost wild eyes. “I don’t give a damn about Ivy’s feelings. If she took that book, I want to know about it—and I want to know why, too. One way or another, I’m going to find out.”
His vehemence made Stephen blink. It seemed to surprise Roark, too. He looked down at the table and exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. I was just imagining what could have happened if…whoever it was…came in here for the book before you left for the kitchen. Bad enough your uncle was hurt. But if you’d been here too….”
“What? Are you suggesting that…? No, Roark, that’s impossible. Whoever took that book had no intention of hurting me or anyone else. What happened to Uncle Vernon was a freak accident.”
“I hope you’re right. Because when they rolled your uncle out of here on that stretcher, all I could think of was…well, never mind.” He shook his head as if trying to shake off uncomfortable emotions as well.
Unexpectedly, Stephen’s mind flashed back to that first meeting with Roark in his uncle’s store. What would you do if you found a book that was evil, Roark had asked him. Stephen hadn’t been able to answer then. He still couldn’t. But at least now he had an idea of what an evil book might look like. Its pages might contain strange language, red ink depicting fire, and drawings featuring monsters and robed figures gathered in a conspiratorial circle.
Now that he thought about it, the flames in the book reminded him of what had happened in Justin’s room. The robes worn by the silhouetted figures likewise brought to mind the fire-damaged hooded sweatshirt he’d seen by Justin’s bed. He began to sweat a little. Life really did imitate art in this peculiar house.
Roark began pacing again. “Okay. So back to this book. Hopefully it was nothing more than one of my ancestor’s feeble attempts to fanboy Edgar Allen Poe. We’ll keep looking, but somehow I doubt we’ll find it in here.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring it to you right away, Roark. I wish now I had.”
”It’s okay. I understand why you couldn’t.” Their eyes met, just for a moment. Roark turned back to the shelves and resumed his search. Or was he pretending to? Maybe he really did know more about the missing book’s whereabouts than he was letting on. Had he insisted on questioning Ivy because they were in on the theft together? Stephen had no difficulty imagining Ivy lying or stealing on Roark’s behalf. Maybe their bickering was only an act. Everyone at Fairbourne House, it seemed, was playing a role.
Behind him, the door squeaked and Justin reappeared. Ivy was with him. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Stephen and Roark standing close together, even though Roark’s back was turned.
“I’m sorry I stomped off like that, Stephen,” Justin said, addressing him as though Roark were no longer in the room. “I lost my temper. I shouldn’t let certain people get under my skin. Anyway, Ivy says he’d be happy to help in any way she can. Just ask her whatever you want.”
All business now, Roark pointed to the chair in the corner. Ivy sank into it. “Thank you for cooperating, Ivy. As Justin might have told you, a few things were moved around in here when Mr. Carlyle was injured. We just want to put everything back the way it was. I have a few questions for you.”
“You know I’m always happy to lend you a hand, Roark,” Ivy said with theatrical sincerity. She flashed him a sharklike smile and perched on the edge of the chair cushion with complete confidence, stretching her long legs out. Stephen noticed that Roark seemed totally disinterested in Ivy’s willowy figure, accentuated by her too-short skirt, chunky black heels, and low-cut top. Her nearly constant overtures would appeal to most any straight guy…yet Roark seemed immune. Stephen found that so distracting that he only half-listened as Roark explained to Ivy that a potentially valuable book had been misplaced on the previous afternoon. He avoided any direct accusations as he inquired about what she might have seen or moved when she came to get Stephen’s laptop.
“Actually, I was careful not to disturb anything,” Ivy said sweetly. “I just picked up the laptop, put it in the case with the cord, and took it upstairs to the guest room.” Briefly her gaze flicked to Stephen, and any pretense of civility melted. “If he says I did something to his computer, he’s lying. I’m not stupid, even if I am just a maid around here. I know how to shut down an operating system safely. I saved the spreadsheet, too.”
“No one said anything about the computer. I asked you about the books.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t take any of them out of the room. Why would I? This kind of stuff doesn’t interest me at all. The books are so dusty I wouldn’t want to touch them, and some of them smell terrible. Like mildew. I don’t see how Stephen and his uncle could even breathe in here.”
“All right,” Roark said in a resigned voice. “Thanks for your time. You can go back to whatever you were doing before.”
Ivy threw him a dagger-sharp look before standing, pivoting, and sailing back into the hall.
“Well, that was a waste,” Justin said. He leaned against the center shelf, arched one eyebrow in amusement, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Back to square one, I guess. Now, if you’re done berating Stephen for the time being, Roark, I was hoping he and I could spend a little time together before dinner. I wanted to hear more about his visit with his uncle, among other things.”
As always seemed to happen when he and his brother spent more than a few min
utes together, Roark’s mood turned as foul as the weather outside. Juxtaposed with his lack of interest in Ivy’s desperate attempts at flirtation, his always-simmering resentment of Justin took on a new flavor. Stephen glanced down at his own hand, and the spot where Roark’s fingers had rested, just for a moment. His touch, brief though it had been, struck Stephen as more intense even than Justin’s kisses.
“Fine.” Roark bit off the word and made one final effort to sort through the books on the table. He stacked them up, edges perfectly aligned, and stood waiting for Justin and Stephen to leave. “I’ll close up after you.”
“Suit yourself. See you at dinner, bro.” Justin winked before taking Stephen by the hand and leading him out of the library. For the first time, Stephen didn’t welcome either his gesture or his affection. Maybe that was because he saw the flash of hurt in Roark’s eyes as they stepped into the hall together.
“I thought maybe you’d like to see my new, temporary room,” Justin said, pulling Stephen along toward the staircase. “The bed’s pretty big in there, too, and the mattress seems extra bouncy. I’d be happy to demonstrate for you if you’re interested.”
As they climbed the stairs, Stephen offered an apologetic smile. “It’s been a long day, Justin. I’m just not good company right now, especially when I drift off to sleep. Ask Roark about that.”
Irritation flickered over Justin’s face. “Roark again. Always Roark. Who cares what he thinks of you or anyone else? I was hoping you’d be happy to be alone with me and stop worrying about him for a change. But I guess I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Justin. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just being honest. He said I really freaked him out when I came out of my—well, dream state or whatever it was. I don’t want to do that to you.”
