Page 92 of Haunting the Deep

Elijah blinks in with a mug in his hand. I stop pacing.

“Passionflower tea with honey,” he says, and offers me the mug. “You need to rest.”

I stare at it. “What are you doing?”

“This was used even in my time to quell nervous energy. You have been walking around this room for the better part of an hour.” His tone is gentle.

I don’t feel like anything could stop me from being nervous right now. And Elijah being nice to me only puts me more on edge. “Just because you’re helping to solve this, and we’re spending time together, doesn’t mean everything’s suddenly okay between us.”

“Quite the contrary,” Elijah says. “The only reason I am here is that everything is far from stable. But it does not change the fact that you must get at least some amount of sleep, however broken it may be.”

“You know what I mean, Elijah.”

He looks like he wants to respond, but changes his mind. “Take the tea.”

I grab the mug from his outstretched hand and blow on the steaming liquid. “Did you find anything?”

“I have started searching Blair’s house. Nothing we do not know. Either they are all extremely diligent about not leaving any evidence or we have overlooked something important.”

I sip my tea. “Also, I can’t come up with one logical reason Niki or Blair would want to help collect the spirits ofTitanicpassengers. It’s possible Wardwell does for the historical appeal of it, but that’s a weak motive.”

“Unless it is not logical,” Elijah says.

“What do you mean? That it’s emotional or personal or something?”

“Potentially.”

I look up from my tea. “Actually, what if it is personal? What if we’re not looking at this the right way?”

“How do you mean?” Elijah asks.

“Maybe the Collector has a grudge of some sort—a grudge that directly relates to theTitanic.”

Elijah considers my words. “TheTitaniccertainly left a wake of financial and personal ruin. It is not unlikely that the motive could be linked. The only issue is that approximately fifteen hundred people died, many of whom we know little about, not to mention the exponential number of extended family members the passengers had in countries all over the world.”

“I know. But consider this…Redd said the Collector died when she was young and that he recently showed back up in her tea leaves. What if we start there, look at the town records for when she was a child and see if anyone stands out as being connected to theTitanic?”

“Clever. I will go to the town hall tomorrow.”

“I think we should go now,” I say.

“We?”

“I’m coming.”

Elijah raises an eyebrow. “You think that is wise?”

“No. But what if Mary’s right that there’s something significant about the thirteenth? Or worse, what if Redd’s warning is right? I don’t think we can afford to wait.” I slide my feet into my black boots and grab my hoodie.

Elijah and I walk the back way to the city clerk’s office. The hood to my sweatshirt is pulled as far over my face as possible.

Elijah turns down a shadowed alley next to a brick building and I follow. The town is uncomfortably silent, so much so that any tiny sound causes my heart to race. He stops in front of a door and reaches his hand through the wood. It clicks open. I step into the dark building. It smells like old paper and wood polish.

“Wait here,” he says.

“Elijah…,” I say, but he’s gone.

I look both directions, even though it’s so dark that there’s no point. A shiver runs down my back.