A Grave Inheritance (15 page)

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Could be the ghosts you were talking about earlier.”

“Probably just a rat,” I said pointedly, opting to salvage my dignity rather than confess that a ghost had been my first thought.

“Would you like me to go look?”

I was tempted to say yes, but shook my head when I saw the low wooden door behind him. The smell of burnt herbs was too pronounced for me to doubt what lay just out of sight. “Where is the other key?”

Henry already had it in his hand. He slid it into place and dislodged the bolt. The door creaked open, releasing the full force of the burnt herbs. Without pause, we both ducked beneath the doorframe, and entered the vault. Once inside, Henry’s head nearly brushed the ceiling, which was lower than in the previous chapel, and so curved it felt for a moment like we had stepped into a barrel that had been tipped on its side. The room was also much smaller, no more than ten feet across at best. At first glance it appeared to be empty until we took another step and the lamplight fell on an altar near the far wall.

I crossed the room with Henry close behind. This altar was much shorter than the two previous altars I had seen tonight—the perfect height for someone to kneel rather than stand. Its smooth stone surface bore the blackened scorch marks from numerous fires. Deep scratches marred the two far corners in what appeared to be words carved into the stone.

I bent closer. “Will you move the lantern over here?”

Henry obliged and I read
Brigid Baudach
.

“We found the right place,” I said, smiling as I moved to the other corner. Henry followed with the lamp and my eyes grew wide at the sight of the inscription—
Caitria Ni Brid 218 AD
.

Henry ran his fingers across the carving. “Does this mean anything to you?”

“Caitria was the first
leath’dhia
to leave Ireland,” I said excitedly. “This altar was opened for her more than 1500 years ago.”

Henry nodded. “Well, you best get started. Do you need help with your laces?” His tone was flat, his face impassive.

“I can manage,” I said, rebuffed by his apparent lack of interest in either the altar or me.

He turned around, and I changed as quickly as possible, leaving my clothes in a heap where they landed. Dressed in the white linen sheath, I knelt at the altar and placed the herbs in the center where the stone was most heavily charred. Sparks from the flint showered the dried stems and leaves. At the first hint of smoke, I took a deep breath and began to recite the Gaelic words.

The sound of Henry’s boot scraped against the floor. Distracted, I stopped chanting and stole a peek from beneath my lashes. No longer facing the door, he had turned back around to watch me.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “Are you going to finish or not?”

I wasn’t used to being stared at during this private moment, let alone by someone who was doing so little to conceal his irritation. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Would you like me to turn around?”

I glared at him. “If you don’t mind,” I said crisply. He turned, and I took another deep breath.

Brigid Buadach, Buaid na fine,Siur Rig nime, Nar in duine, Eslind luige, Lethan breo. Riar na n-oiged, Oibel ecnai, Ingen Dubthaig, Duine uallach, Brigid buadach, Brigid buadach.

I repeated the words three times, chanting so low and fast I was surprised when it actually worked and I found myself standing in a thick gray mist. Habit moved me forward into the warm sunshine, my feet sinking into the velvety soft grass at the garden’s edge. Looking about, my first thought was that my soul had been carried to the same garden Brigid had created for my grandmother in the Colonies. Everything appeared the same, the trees and flowers all placed where I remembered. But there was one difference not visible to the eye—this garden felt ancient. The power that pulsed all around me, through me, was deeper and richer than anything I had ever felt before.

The sacred spring bubbled a short walk from the garden’s edge. I knelt down on the grassy bank and reached for the silver cup that had been left near a cluster of small white flowers. Water droplets clung to the outside of the cup, wetting my hand. I turned it over and emptied the remaining water onto the grass. The discovery startled me, to find it had been so recently used. All I could think was that Julian had come before me, which also explained why the vault smelled so strongly of herbs.

It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. Quite the contrary, I found that thinking of Julian gave me a sense of comfort I hadn’t experienced since my father’s death. Henry was partially right when he referred to my power as unnatural. I preferred to think of it as unusual, something so unique that it set me apart from everyone else in the mortal world. Except for Julian.

I dipped the cup into the spring, filling it to the top. I drank quickly, then filled the cup twice more as the fire began to burn inside of me. Tingling with power, I stretched out in the grass and stared at the vivid blue sky.

After being away from the Otherworld for so long, I would have stayed for hours if Henry weren’t waiting back in the vault, probably annoyed by the time I had already spent. I did allow myself the luxury of several long minutes while my thoughts drifted at will. The tension faded away, all the accumulated worry and anger from earlier this evening. I had no doubt that Henry loved me, that his own anger had stemmed more from fear than anything else. Not that I had a choice regarding the boy, but if the roles were reversed, I might have reacted in a similar manner.

Now it was time to let bygones be bygones. Henry loved the feel of my skin when it was freshly saturated with power, and I stood from the bank anxious to see how adverse he really was to my being so different.

The sun faded the moment I stepped back into the mist, and I soon found myself kneeling at the altar. Henry leaned against the wall, his eyes closed and a serene look that beckoned me closer. Careful not to make a sound, I pushed to my feet and went to him, Brigid’s fire radiating from every pore as I rose on tiptoes to brush a kiss on his mouth. He responded at once, encircling my waist and pulling me hard against him. With a soft moan, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

His kiss grew deeper, then his mouth dropped to my neck, his hot breath sending delightful tremors through my body.

“I hoped you would have second thoughts about my power,” I murmured, pleased by his reaction.

He froze, his body growing rigid against mine. Slowly lifting his head, he reached up and pulled my arms down, placing them at my side.

I looked at him, startled by the sudden change. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked it when I’ve just returned from the Otherworld.”

“Not this time.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Get dressed. It’s time to leave.”

“But Henry—”

“I said get dressed, Selah.”

Humiliation burned in my skin. I spun around and stormed back to the pile of clothing. Putting my back to him, I yanked the sheath over my head and threw it in the basket. I stood still for a moment, shaking with rage. What did he expect from me? That I would grovel at his feet, beg forgiveness for something entirely out of my control? That I would risk my soul to save my body?

I gave a derisive snort, picked up my shift and tugged it over my head.

Maybe when hell freezes over.

Chapter Eight

Mr. Faber

I stayed in bed the next morning, too tired and depressed from last night’s events to get up. After drinking so much from the sacred spring, I should have been bouncing with energy. Instead, I remained buried beneath the bedcovers, in blatant disregard to the sunlight that spilled into the room from around the edges of the draperies.

A tentative knock sounded on the door. I ignored it, tossed onto my other side and pulled the quilt up to my chin. The creak of hinges was followed by the sound of soft leather soles on the wooden floor.

“Are you awake, Selah?” Nora asked. “Beth told me that you fainted on the front steps after returning home from the theater.”

She sounded so worried that I couldn’t help from rolling back over to look up at her. “I just got a little light headed. Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s all my fault. I should never have stayed knowing that you were walking home in the cold. Please say you forgive me.”

I propped myself up against the headboard, surprised by her entreaty. It hadn’t occurred to me that Nora would actually blame herself for my fainting. “There’s nothing to forgive,” I said. “It was just a stupid fainting spell. If truth be told, I’m embarrassed by the trouble I caused and would prefer not to think of it again.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” she teased, her good humor returned. “But have it your way, I’ll not be one to argue.” She crossed the room and opened the drapes. “That’s better. It’s a beautiful day, I hope you don’t plan to spend it cooped up in the dark.”

I blinked against the onslaught of sunlight. Returning to the bed, she sat down next to me, and I scooted over to make more room. Though she wore the usual gray wool gown, her appearance looked altered. Her hair had been styled a little softer than normal, but even that change wasn’t enough to explain the difference. Then I noticed her face.

“You’re glowing with happiness. Did something happen this morning or are you still walking on clouds from the play?”

She released a dreamy sigh. “Last night was the most wonderful night of my entire life.”

“What did you think of Justine Rose?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me. “Was she everything you expected?”

“Everything and more,” Nora laughed. “It doesn’t seem right that one woman should possess so many talents. Not only can she act and sing, she’s smart as a whip. If I didn’t like her so much, I would surely hate her.”

Fair or not, I already did, and only partially for her attempt to seduce Henry from the stage last night. They may not have consummated their relationship, but a niggling jealousy still ate at me for the other intimacies that allowed her to look at him so knowingly.

“Did you get your fill of the theater,” I asked, a slight strain in my voice, “or will we be sneaking out again? I for one would be in favor of seeing
Tom Thumb
at the Haymarket.”

Nora fell silent and started fidgeting while she thought. In between her fingers I caught a glimpse of something peach curled into her palm. “Selah,” she said at last, drawing my attention upward. “Have you ever dreamed of doing something really crazy?”

Dreaming was hardly necessary—my life embodied the very essence of crazy. “Like what?” I asked.

She looked at me, all the previous mirth gone from her face. “Like becoming an actress.”

My eyes grew wide. “On the stage?” I asked aghast. “In front of an audience?”

Nora laughed outright. “Where else would I mean?”

“I get butterflies just playing the harpsichord for anyone other than you. Why would I ever want to perform on a stage?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it would be amazing.” She paused for a moment. “And because I’ve dreamed of becoming an actress for as long as I can remember.”

“Be serious, your childhood dream was to run off and join a pirate crew like your grandfather. And once you were captain, you promised I could be first mate.”

Nora gave me a wry smile. “Well, being an actress was always a close second.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” I snorted with amusement. “Please, tell me you’re jesting.”

“No, I’m not,” she snapped, “so you can stop laughing.”

The sharp tone caught me by surprise, and I winced inside from just how much I had misjudged her mood. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made fun.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I understand we’re not children anymore, Selah. And I honestly thought I was over the notion until you bribed me with a trip to the theater if I came to London. And then last night, when I was watching Justine, I realized how much I wanted to be on stage.” Her eyes turned imploring. “Be honest. Selah. What do you think?”

“I think that you would be brilliant,” I said, speaking slowly as I considered my next words. “And that you can’t be both a Quaker and an actress. The elders would never allow it.”

“I know, it’s impossible and preposterous all tied into one. My family would disown me and I would never be able to step foot in Hopewell again.” She sighed. “I shall put it from my mind.”

She was still fidgeting, so I reached over and opened her hand. A satin rosette pin rested in her palm. She looked at the pin and her face lit up. “Some girls were selling them as keepsakes for Justine Rose. James purchased this one for me.”

“How very gallant of him,” I said, even managing to sound sincere. Maybe the troll had a heart after all.

A blush crept up her neck into her cheeks. “Yes, he is gallant.”

Alarm brought me upright. “You’re blushing! Is there something going on between you two?” Their friendship already pricked like a bur beneath my skin. Anything more would feel as though I had been tossed headfirst into a sticker bush.

“Of course not.” Nora jumped to her feet. “Andrew and Jane Saxby offered to take me and Mother on a tour of St. Paul’s Cathedral this morning. They have promised to say nothing of the theater and to pretend that we met yesterday when they came over to visit with Cate after Mother went to bed. You are welcome to join us if you like, though I assume you would rather have the time alone with Henry.”

The mere mention of Henry’s name made me falter. My blood boiled anew each time I recalled last night’s events, both the insult and the rejection. “He’s busy today,” I said, while mentally cursing him for a prat.

“Then why don’t you get dressed and come with us? After St. Paul’s we are to have a picnic in the park. This may be the last nice days until springtime.”

Having to be sociable with anyone other than Nora seemed intolerable at the moment. “You’ll need to go without me. I’m still a little tired from last night.”

Nora didn’t argue. “You do seem out of sorts this morning. Maybe some more rest will do you good.”