Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(73)

“Places of the purest calm.” If I closed my eyes I could imagine it. No, I could remember it. Calm that felt like clean silence all around you. But what Castor was referring to couldn’t have been the same as what I’d felt in Pastor Charles’s cellar. Could it? Pastor Charles didn’t know the cellar’s secrets. It was the traveling religious sect that had created it, and they’d never told him how. Was I just jumping to conclusions?

His spiel about phantoms and spirits hadn’t left my mind since we’d first met him in the church, but I still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The cellar itself simply felt like it had more cylithium in it than you’d expect. That was the simpler explanation, not all this craziness about the universe, cosmic connections, life, death, and fate. But still, it was incredibly strange. Feeling calm and safe in a cylithium-rich area. How?

Blackwell was curious about it too. He underlined “those lands,” but wrote nothing next to it.

The door creaked. Oh god, did I not lock it? Ducking behind the desk was my first reflex, and a stupid one, because it wouldn’t take much effort to find me crouched here. It was too late to change my mind, though, because whoever it was had already entered the room. I held my breath, flinching at each footstep. Poor Crane was still safely inside the closet. As long as whoever it was didn’t come near this corner of the room, I wouldn’t be stuck in the awkward position of having to explain why I was breaking, entering, snooping, and hiding.

But it looked like I wouldn’t have to. I could hear the footsteps retreating, and the following soft click of the double doors.

Then . . . nothing. Whoever it was had left.

I waited for a minute more, listening until I was comforted enough by the silence to pop back out from under Blackwell’s desk.

“Hi!” Rhys waved at me from the other side of the desk.

My heart jumped into my throat as I stumbled back and nearly fell over Blackwell’s chair. Rhys leaned over the desk and, after catching me by the wrist, pulled me upright.

“Wh-what,” I breathed, my throat still tight. “What—”

“—am I doing here?” Rhys held up his phone. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“I put my phone on vibrate.” I picked up my bag. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t hear it.”

He’d clearly cooled off since the time I’d last seen him. Rhys looked around the study, then at the open book on the desk. “What are you doing here?” He slid the book around so he could read the words. “The Castor Volumes?”

“Just doing a little studying. Since I was bored.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, come on.” I leaned over the desk. “Is this the face of a liar?”

I figured he’d argue some more. I wasn’t expecting him to grab my chin gently, turning my face left and right as he inspected it. His fingers were slightly calloused; I could feel them scratch delicately against my skin. Warm.

“All right, I believe you.” He let me go with a little smile.

“Huh?”

He shrugged. “You’re neurotic and adorable. How can I not believe you?”

“Oh . . . g-good,” I said, trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest. I cleared my throat. “How did you even know I was here?”

“My mother told me.”

“Your . . .” The beautiful woman I’d found outside with a strange penchant for cryptic behavior. “She’s your mother?” No wonder her face was so familiar. Rhys certainly had some of the strong features I recognized in his father, but he’d received his gentle beauty from his mother. That was clear now.

“Yeah. She lost her wedding ring. I’m supposed to be looking for it. She’s the director’s wife, after all. Gotta have her ring, I guess.” Though he looked a little annoyed, his face softened as he spoke about his mother. It was a stark contrast to how I’d seen him around his father; not too surprising given what I’d just learned about the man.

My heart dropped at the thought. I fidgeted awkwardly. “Did you . . . did you want something from me?”

Rhys slid a hand through his messy black hair as he looked away from me. “Well, first I thought I should apologize about what happened back there. Brendan and I . . . We have our issues, but it’s not something you should have to worry about.”

“No, it’s okay.”

He watched me self-consciously from the corner of his eye. I didn’t know how to approach the subject of his father, or if he even wanted me to. It felt intrusive to bring it up.

“I also wanted to apologize for what my father said to you,” he said, surprising me.

“It’s all right.” I shut the Castor Volume discreetly, making sure the red ribbon was in its original position between the thin pages. “You don’t have to apologize for someone else’s actions.”

“I guess the problem is I have trouble apologizing for my own.”

I lowered my head, clutching my bag closer to me. I knew there was a chance that the sadness in his eyes wasn’t just because of his family. That he was haunted by more than just his past in Greenland. But I’d already chosen not to believe that he could have murdered his own friend. I just had to stick to that. My legs twitched as he came around the desk, but this time I didn’t back away from him. And when he grabbed my hand, I didn’t pull it away.