Page 109

He nods again, grinning slightly. “Good luck righting all of this”—he gestures to the mess—“before Rhona sees.”

“Don’t remind me,” I groan.

He chuckles. “Too bad there’s not a magic button for that, aye?”

“Yeah,” I snort.

I heave a sigh when he closes the door behind him, leaving me with my chaos. It occurs to me that Iwillneed to get all of this put back where it was if I want to avoid having to make explanations to Rhona, and seeing the mountain of mess before me—it’s a dauntingtask. Especially without the adrenaline of thinking I was seconds away from finding something like I had earlier.

I sigh. It really is too bad there’s not a magic button or something.

It takes a few seconds for the thought to settle, and when it does, I go still, my mouth falling open. I look around at the piles and the stacks of things laid about haphazardly, and I wonder to myself if I’ve been going about this the wrong way.

Maybe you are a bloody hound.

You’re not a dowsing rod.

I can hear Lachlan in my head, but I can’t help wondering:Could I be?

I rush to my feet, careful to avoid any piles so that I don’t trip—the last thing I need is to give Lachlan more ammunition for his assertion that I’m clumsy—closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. I can remember that day in the old Greer castle, the way it felt in that secret room. The strangeconnectionI felt to something I still can’t quite name.

I search for it now, hell, I fuckingbegfor it—chanting nonsense in my head, pleading with whatever force it is that’s found me to just give mesomething.

Come on, I urge silently.Where are you? I know you’re there. I can feel it. Just give me this one thing. If you never do anything else for me, just let me have thisonething. Come on.Come on.Just show me where you—

I gasp when I feel it, that pulsing thread of energy that calls to me, whispers that I do something. I don’t even care that it’s vague and doesn’t offer any real instruction, too thrilled with the fact that Ifoundit, that I’m another tiny step closer to getting a handle on whatever it is that came to me when I came here.

I spin on my heel, feeling something calling to me from…thefloor? I wrinkle my nose, frowning. There are papers scattered about, sure, but unless they’re somehow torn-out journal pages that are written in code…

I fall back to my knees, swiping the papers away. Beneath them, there is only the solid wood floor that is scuffed and ancient and has probably been here for more years than I can comprehend—too neatly laid to house any kind of secrets, I think. Too perfect, really, even in its ancientness. There’s no way that there’s—

Then I see it.

A hole in the wood that’s no rounder than a finger, sitting at the corner of one neat plank that’s almost tucked completely under the bed. Standing, you wouldn’t even notice it. I drop to my belly and crawl under the bed, teasing the hole with the tip of my finger and feeling a rush of excitement when I find empty air beneath.

My heart begins to drum heavily inside my chest as I hook my finger and start to try and work the board loose, the wood fighting back, no doubt having sat untouched for more than two decades. It creaks and groans and tries its best not to give way, but after a minute of tugging and cursing under my breath, the board comes loose, revealing a hollow compartment beneath.

And there it is.

Cracked leather, yellowed paper, and all. It’s bound with a frayed strap of separate leather, and I pull it out as gingerly as I can, not wanting to damage it. I sit up and cross my legs as I turn it over to study both sides, seeing nothing particularly special about it, but I canfeelit, oddly. That same energy, that connection that led me to it. Like whatever strange magic that lives inside me touched this once too.

I carefully unbind the leather strap, knowing I should probably wait for Lachlan but simply too impatient to do so, grinningmaniacally the entire time I’m opening the thing until a loose piece of paper falls from inside the cover—old but not nearly as old as the rest of the journal. It’s onnotebookpaper, for God’s sake. And when I see my dad’s handwriting, something I would recognize anywhere even though it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen it—the air gets trapped in my lungs.

Mum,

I don’t know if you’ll ever find this. I’m not even sure if I want you to. If you read what’s inside this journal, you’ll know the truth of why I left, and I don’t know what’s preferable—you being disappointed in me for leaving, or knowing with certainty that I left because I’m a coward.

Maybe one day I’ll find my courage, but know that I didn’t leave because of you. Not really. I couldn’t bring myself to test fate, couldn’t make peace with not knowing what was to come—so I left. For her. The story in this journal is entirely true.All of it.Of that much, I’m sure. And that’s why I couldn’t take a chance. That’s why I had to leave while I still could.

But one thing has been, and will always be, certain.

I love you.

Duncan

I’m sobbing again. It seems like that’s just the theme of the evening.

Seeing my dad’s words, hearing his voice in them, especially knowing what reading this would mean for Rhona…it’s too much. I clutch the letter to my chest, not even sure how I would begin to explain it to my granny so that I could share it, but I’m so full of griefat this moment that I can’t bring myself to think that far ahead. There are too many questions. Too many things I don’t understand.