The Visitor(73)

“It’s not that late, and why are you really here?”

“Dr. Shaw called. He said you had a scare today.”

“He shouldn’t have bothered you with that,” I said in annoyance. “You have enough to worry about right now, and anyway, nothing happened that I couldn’t handle.”

“What did happen?” He was still holding my shoulders, still studying my face in the moonlight. “What’s this about Louvenia Durant’s grandson following you?”

“I’ve seen him around in a few unexpected places, but I don’t think there’s any cause for alarm.”

Devlin was silent for a moment. “You’re being awfully cavalier about all this.”

“I don’t mean to be cavalier. But nothing happened with Micah Durant.” I summed up my interaction with the beekeeper in as succinct a manner as I could muster, but my brevity only deepened Devlin’s concern.

“This guy sounds like trouble. Did you contact the local authorities?”

“No, because he didn’t do anything. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he had ample opportunity when we were alone in Kroll Cemetery. But he never made a move toward me. He didn’t even threaten me. I think he just means to scare me off.”

Devlin’s grip tightened. “And what happens when you don’t scare off? You think he’ll just give up? I can tell you almost certainly that he won’t.”

I tried to shrug off his worry. “It may not matter anyway. I haven’t agreed to the restoration. Louvenia and I haven’t even discussed the details. Once she hears my price, she may decide she doesn’t need my services after all.”

“When are you meeting with her?” Devlin asked.

“Tomorrow morning at eight.”

He nodded. “That seems a good time for a conversation with Durant. It won’t hurt to let him know that you have a police detective watching your back. Maybe he’ll think twice before escalating his behavior.”

My hand flitted to his chest. “Are you sure you have time for all that? You don’t need to get back to your grandfather?”

“He’s in good hands, don’t worry. Tonight, I’m exactly where I need to be.” I saw the briefest of scowls before he curled an arm around my waist and drew me to him. When he bent to kiss me, I felt the cool brush of silver against my fingertips as the medallion slipped from his shirt.

So much power in this totem. So much history in this emblem.

I’d sworn not to dip back into Devlin’s past, not to use my newfound abilities to intrude upon his privacy. But before I could stop the process, my mind emptied and a flood of images stormed in.

I almost expected to find myself in the same disturbing tableau as before, but instead of hovering at the edge of the woods, observing Devlin and Mariama from afar, I found myself in a strange room that smelled of leather and old books. For a moment, I thought I was in Dr. Shaw’s office, that I must have slipped into a memory of Devlin’s time at the Institute. But the room was more opulent and orderly and it reeked of very old money.

Devlin stood at a long window with his back to the room while an older man with gray hair sat scribbling at an ornate desk. He was tall and slender like Dr. Shaw but without the stooped shoulders. This man’s posture was at once rigid and regal, and I knew he was Devlin’s grandfather even though I’d never met him. I could see a resemblance in the set of his jaw and in the way he carried himself.

How I had come to be in that room was unexplainable. How I had become an invisible voyeur to events in Devlin’s recent and distant past, I had no idea. All I knew was that the transformation of my gift had somehow connected us in a way that I’d never experienced until a few days ago.

Like Mariama, Jonathan Devlin seemed to sense my presence. He glanced up, peering into the space where my shadow self lurked before bowing his head once more to his work.

“Come away from the window, Jack. You don’t know who could be watching.”

Devlin turned with a scowl. “I’m not Jack, Grandfather. I’m John.”

“I know who you are,” the elderly man grumbled. “Why must you always interpret everything as a personal affront? Your father never minded the nickname. It goes back for generations in our family. But then, you’ve never cared much for tradition, have you?”

“Maybe I just don’t like the name,” Devlin said.

“Still as stubborn as the day you came to live with me, I see. And twice as infuriating.” His grandfather tossed the pen aside and swiveled his chair toward the window. “Have you given any more thought to the matter we discussed a few days ago?”

“No. And if you intend to start in on me again, save your breath. Nothing you say will convince me.”

“Even after what happened to the other one?”

Devlin turned, leaning a shoulder against the window frame as he folded his arms. “By accident or intent, Mariama drove off that bridge by her own hand. No one else was responsible.”

“How do you know that?” his grandfather demanded.

“Because I know. End of story. Now take your medicine so we can both get some rest,” Devlin said wearily.

“I won’t take another pill until you hear me out. I’m eighty-five years old. I don’t know how much time I have left. After I’m gone, certain obligations and expectations will fall on your shoulders.”