Ghostlight (The Reflected City Book 1) by Rabia Gale (english love story books .TXT) 📕

She smiled at Arabella, wry with a touch of humor. “I apologize I could not help you. But I think you and Trevelyan can solve this on your own. Help him, child, and yourself. He risks much for you.”

And with that, she left the room, her skirts rustling across the floor, the stick tip-tapping, leaving Arabella rooted to the spot.

Chapter Ten

“Lord Atwater.” Trey positioned himself between the parliamentarian and the only exit out of the small room. “A word with you, if you please?”

Atwater was a man still in the prime of his life, with a full head of greying hair. His height masked his thickening girth, and his face was open and good-humored, his light blue eyes pleasant. Trey privately thought that the confidence and affability he projected had gone further in making his career than any political acumen or hard-earned wisdom.

“Ah, young Shield, is it not?” Atwater’s lips curved in a ready smile, but there was no warmth in his mild eyes. “Ah, forgive me, it is Lord St. Ash now, of course.”

Trey bowed stiffly, acknowledging Atwater’s self-correction. “This will take but a few moments of your time, sir.”

Atwater gestured around the room. “My dear young man, surely this is a night for dancing and entertaining, not business?”

“Not in my line of work,” said Trey. He observed Atwater’s entourage, noting how all of them were unimportant hangers-on. Surely Atwater could afford a better class of sycophants? They melted away with muttered excuses when Trey turned a cold look on them. Not nasty, just making it obvious they weren’t needed. “Perhaps your clerk did not give you my messages?”

Atwater looked around the mostly-empty room. Old Lord Mosely, corpulent and gouty, snored in a chair, a handkerchief over his face. Two undistinguished men were hunched over an intense game of cribbage.

There was no one to intervene. Trey had timed his move with care. With his hand at his side where Atwater couldn’t see it, he made a small gesture. The spell he had prepared sparked between his fingers and shot across the small distance between them.

“Yes, my man did say you had asked to see me,” Atwater said, resigned. He wasn’t smiling now; he just looked weary. “What d’you want, St. Ash?”

“This won’t take long,” Trey assured him. “I want to know your whereabouts Wednesday evening.”

Atwater raised his eyebrows. “Am I under investigation?” he asked with surprised hauteur.

“You may have knowledge that will aid me in a disturbing case.” Trey took note of Atwater’s reaction, the slight tensing of his shoulders and the narrowing of his eyes.

“Well, then ask for it directly,” said Atwater shortly, seeming to remember he was Trey’s senior and a member of Parliament.

“I’d rather not,” said Trey. His spell, a small thing of grey aether shot through with silver runes, detected no trace of the Shadow Lands on the man.

All that meant was that Atwater had had no recent direct dealings with the ghoul.

That didn’t mean much. And Trey wasn’t a good enough rune master to cast a halfway-reliable truth spell.

Atwater eyed him, as if wondering how much rope Trey was giving him to hang himself. Then he spread out his hands with a twitch of his shoulders. “I was in meetings at the palace late into the evening. Afterwards, I took a hackney to Green’s where I had supper and met with friends. It was past midnight when I returned to my rooms. I’m sorry that I didn’t think to ask the hackney driver his name, so he could corroborate my story.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

“I have a witness,” said Trey, “who spotted you in the Fleet that evening.”

Atwater waved a dismissive hand. “The person was obviously under an erroneous assumption. In the twilight, anyone can mistake a superficial resemblance.”

“The witness claims,” Trey went on, “to have seen you coming out of a particular pawnshop. Moreover, a pawnshop whose owner was found murdered by a ghoul this morning.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Atwater, with an impatient twitch. “But I have no connection to the incident at all. You’re wasting your time here, St. Ash.”

“Forgive me, but I have to follow every lead. You understand.”

Atwater unbent enough to bestow a small smile on Trey. “Of course,” he said with a heartiness that rang false. “Your service to Vaeland is exemplary.”

“Seems an unlikely connection, but I suppose I’ll have to prod the accident victim, then,” mused Trey, half to himself. “We’ll have to bring in a better spirit seer.”

Atwater’s smile froze in place. For an instant, something flickered in his eyes. Then the expression was gone, and Atwater said, “You must do what you must. If you’ll excuse me.” He stalked off.

Trey watched Atwater leave the room, his back stiff. His spell fluttered after the politician and landed on his coat. There, it sank into the fibers and dimmed.

He’d use the aether to keep track of Atwater’s movements. Trey was sure the man knew more than he’d been telling. He had not misread the fleeting emotion in the other’s eyes.

It was fear.

The Duchess’s message found Trey at the foot of the servants’ stairway leading up to the private rooms. He’d already been accosted by Charlotte Blake, demanding to know what he was doing to help her friend, and a distant relative who’d strongly hinted that he should dance with her daughter. Trey managed to fob both women off and escaped through the servants’ corridors.

A robin, built out of intricate, interlocking runes, flew onto his shoulder. Hues of red misted into his face and the Duchess’s voice rang out in his ears.

“I’m sorry, Trevelyan. I cannot unlock your friend’s memories. But she may find a way to unlock them herself. I sense that this is but a ripple from something greater and more dangerous, though. Be careful.”

And that was it. Trey frowned, not liking to be reminded of the Duchess’s age and failing health. She’d been one of the most powerful Truth-tellers in Vaeland for decades, making her a fitting