Winchester Stone
I strode through the hall, never glancing at the rest of my house once. What was the point? Every single protection I had baked into the bricks and carved into the stones and floorboards was still there. Nobody – and I was most certain of that – would ever break into this place. Or rather, if they were lucky enough to get in here, they would never escape.
With my hand on a carved rail, I walked down to the lowest floor. There, I spied the guard of my soul crystals. The man was not polite enough to snap a salute. For he was not a man and also had no hands. He was a guard I had scrounged from a graveyard on one of my many tasks. A ghost who had lost most of his mind a long time ago, all he had left were instincts. Instincts that could be programmed by the right dark spell.
Ignoring him, I moved him to the side with a swipe of my hand and a charge of magic, and I walked down into my soul garden.
I did not just keep crystals here. I had all sorts of supplies. If anything were to ever happen to me, I could theoretically retreat in here for months. There were cans of food, soil to grow more if I had to, and, critically, the very power that would keep me hidden from even my brother.
I stopped and stared at my crystals.
I heard their singular song. Closing my eyes, I let it sweep over me – my first moment of reprieve all day. And it would likely be my last, too. For presently, I heard a knock on the door upstairs.
My guard would ensure no one would get into the house while I was down here, but I still hurried. There was no need for a pointless haunting today.
Placing the crystals down, knowing the other crystals would care for them and soon knit them into the soul garden with those luminescent emerald leaves, I hurried upstairs, closed the door with a swipe of my hand, nodded once at the guard, though it was futile, and soon reached the front door.
I did not know who I expected. Perhaps somebody from the Academy? Maybe there’d been a problem? If I were wise, I’d find some way to subtly bring up the séance in the cemetery.
But wisdom suddenly got stuck on my lips and formed an immovable lump in my throat. For as I yanked the door open impolitely, I froze.
“Winchester,” somebody said in a soft voice perfect for waking up next to. The kind of voice that, even if the clouds were falling from the sky and the sky itself had inverted to crush you flat, would still soothe one’s nerves. That right there was the voice of heaven. A heaven I had lost.
Grace Lambert took a soft step forward, for everything about her was soft. She wore a peach dress, hand warmers, and a perfect bonnet. It could not hide the mournful look in her eyes.
“I’m sorry to call on you at this time of day.”
“It’s late in the evening,” I tried. My instincts told me to slam the door closed. And if I wasn’t man enough to do that, simply close it, slide down it, and spend the rest of the night there in front of it, mourning what I’d lost. For the woman in front of me was perhaps, arguably, the greatest thing I’d ever had. And I certainly did not have her anymore.
But Grace had always been good at reading me. She pushed a hand forward. I noted then that it trembled. “Please, Winchester, I know it’s rude of me to call on you like this, but I couldn’t think of anyone else. And I desperately need help.”
I’d been halfway through turning around to ignore her. One word piqued my interest, wrapped its cast-iron grip around my heart, and held me in place. Never had a man frozen as much as I did now, nor had his heart stopped as completely. Every cellular process, every minute physical one, too, all paused as I slowly turned my head around. I did not control my expression and nor did I see the point. Any passerby would’ve recognized it. As did Grace. She winced. But then she bit her lip, quickly showing the one personality trait I’d loved the most about her. She did not give up. She pushed on. Never in a harsh way, but always in a determined way. She had reminded me of the slow trickle of some mountain stream carving through the heart of a valley. It did not matter how large and strong the rock had once been. Under that gentle caress, it would change its ways.
Who knew what kind of man I would be today if she had not chosen to leave me?
Especially for who she had picked instead.
“If you require assistance, speak to my brother,” I said.
I went to close the door. I couldn’t. Her hand jolted up and locked on mine. Now I could feel just how much she was trembling. It was gut-wrenching. Or at least it was until I shut that sensation down, steadfastly telling my brain to ignore any more like it. I would not have my reason railroaded by Grace again.
“Please, my mother… the old maid in her house died. I think… I think someone is fabricating a crime to entrap us. Please.”
My sharp eyes darted toward her. Her mother was a witch. One of the few among the aristocrats. Usually an untouchable position, times had been strange of late. Hence all of the soul crystals in my basement. If you were different, you had to protect yourself.
But one would think mistress Arlene Lambert would never attract the wrong attention. From the look in Grace’s tear-filled eyes, that assessment was incorrect.
“I believe someone’s targeting her. Please. Something’s missing, too. Something… important.” Grace usually never lost her words. Now she stumbled over every syllable as if somebody had put stones in them to trip her up.
Do not let your intrigue be activated, I counseled myself. Turn. Leave. This is not your business.
I could scream all of that in my mind. But could I say it out loud? Especially as Grace took another soft step toward me, her pleading gaze saying it all. “Please, Winchester. I know you’re the only person who can help.”
I opened my mouth again to question why she couldn’t call on my brother.
I almost did, but then the look in her eyes begged me not to.
“You must help. And we must track down what my mother’s lost.”
“What has she lost?”
Grace furtively darted her gaze to the left.
She had a talent for only ever telling you as much as she thought you’d need. Which meant, whenever you spent any time with her, there would always be gaps. Great big gaping gaps that would let the cold breeze in to chill your soul. I knew that. I remembered the wounds it had left in my particular soul. And my fingers tightened around the door one last time. But then a single tear trailed down Grace’s cheek. She closed her eyes for a few short seconds to re-gather her nerve. Then she simply looked at me. She did not plead again. She was either out of breath or reasons to try.
My shoulders caved first. Then, like a genuine cave-in, it reached my hand. It pulled it down. I looked at my feet. “Very well.” Reaching behind my door, I grabbed a thick winter jacket.
As I paused on the threshold of my house, I turned.
Though Grace would have no clue, my gaze darted down the steps to my basement. The soul crystals would be safe. But would I be? It was inadvisable to get sucked into my brother’s fiancée’s troubles. But it was impossible not to try.
I had always told myself I didn’t have a heart. And now, as this treacherous kingdom went to hell, was not a good time to find out I still did.