I now had nine more weeks to tolerate that insufferable man—one to travel to Philadelphia and secure passage to England, and another eight at sea. I only needed to be patient awhile longer. Then Henry could deal with James, though it was probably too much to hope that he would be dismissed from service as the two men happened to be the best of friends.
Alone once more, I returned to the hearth to stir the liquid simmering in one of the large black pots. Steam rose up, bathing my skin and chasing away the last of the chill left by Mr. Chubais. Based solely on our conversation, I failed to understand his connection to the goddess born. Yet what his words did not clearly disclose, I felt confirmed a hundred times in my core—the man could not be trusted.
Something about him gave me the jitters. Upon deeper reflection, I knew it wasn’t his unusual appearance, the pasty white skin and pink eyes. As a healer, I had seen much worse and wasn’t bothered by such physical afflictions. His soft voice and tendency to sniff the air were disconcerting, but even these mannerisms could not explain my strong aversion to the man. Something else persisted, something much deeper than the eye could see. If not for the cryptic message, I would have preferred to never see him again, which could well be the case gauging by the lengthening shadows in my apothecary. At first light I was leaving for Philadelphia. The man had less than twelve hours to recover from the heat enough to send word. Message or no, my reunion with Henry would not be delayed by even a day.
Midnight came and went by the time I wiped the last pot clean and then looked around, satisfied with my work. The room was tidy, everything neat and in place just as my mother would have liked it. Before her death we had spent countless hours working together in this room, my mother teaching me the art of healing and the many secrets of our kind. I smiled from the memory when tears unexpectedly stung my eyes. Was I really going to walk away from this? From everything I had ever known?
Needing to clear my head, I crossed to the open door and inhaled a deep breath of the sweet, earthy scent of ripening wheat. The full moon cast a silvery glow as I stared toward the small family plot where my parents and maternal grandparents were buried. Beyond that, hidden deep in the forest stood the altar that served as a passageway into the Otherworld and the source of my power. For eighteen years Brighmor had been the center of my world in one form or another. Then Henry stepped off a ship and changed my life forever.
A pang of longing began to swell in my chest, and for the first time since he left, I felt apprehensive about leaving my home to travel halfway across the known world. What if I depleted all my power before I could cross into the Otherworld? Or if the ship sank and I ended up drowned at the bottom of the Atlantic? Or if I did make it to England only to learn that Henry had experienced a change of heart and agreed to marry Princess Amelia after all?
This last thought proved worse than the others put together. I shoved it aside, unwilling to even consider the possibility. My mind was decided, and I wasn’t about to throw away my only chance at happiness because I was too scared or nostalgic to leave Brighmor. These stone walls were sturdy. They would still be here when I returned—if I ever returned.
A gentle breeze stirred the night air, brushing the stray hair around my face and causing the candles to flicker on the table behind me. My new life would start tomorrow. Until then I needed to sleep, at least a few hours before the sun came up. I turned to go when something moved in the trees nearest my garden, a flash of white that disappeared in the blink of an eye. My nape prickled in warning, strong enough to make me shudder.
“Who’s there?” I called.
Silence followed and I took a cautious step back into the doorway.
A full minute passed while I waited for any sign of movement. Nothing appeared, and after another minute of watching, it became clear that exhaustion had finally gotten the best of me.
With a muttered curse, I closed the apothecary door and extinguished all the candles, save for one to navigate the darkened house. On a whim, I also picked up Brigid’s knife on my way out of the room. Certainly, such a blade would come in handy on the voyage.
From the servants’ wing, I passed through the kitchen, my meager light temporarily aided by the red embers glowing in the cooking hearth. Another door led to the main house, into a long hallway so black my candle did little to dispel the darkness. I continued toward the front stairs, thankful for the thin strip of moonlight that spilled across the hallway from the adjacent room.