“I could offer you a variety of reasons. I am Tarnaroqui and undarios. I need to seek a new job.”
“But?”
Gracielis looked down. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I think . . . I think it will be better if I go away, for now at least.”
“Because of me?” Again, there was no answer. Thiercelin said, “Have you seen her? Yviane, I mean?”
“No, monseigneur. Nor do I expect to.” Gracielis looked up. “Such deaths . . . They don’t tend to leave ghosts.”
“I see.” Thiercelin counted his breaths. “If I asked, would you stay?” Gracielis shook his head. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t really want me to.”
It was true. Thiercelin sighed. “Then, will you write to me?”
“With pleasure, monseigneur.”
“Thierry.”
Gracielis smiled. “Thierry, then.”
“Thank you.” The clock struck the hour, quarter past two. “I should go, I suppose,” Thiercelin said. “I’m interrupting your packing.” He headed to the door, began to open it. Then he turned. “Thank you, Graelis. For everything.”
There was no reply. Thiercelin left the room and closed the door softly behind him.
Living With Ghosts Page 48
