Page 41 of Ever After

“So you saw nothing at the hall?” Branok’s eyes narrow behind a puff of pipe smoke.

“No,” Blue says. “Well, only two dead maids and a drunk butler.”

“Ah, Matthias. He always did like a tipple.”

“More than one, I’d say. I could smell the ghost alcohol fumes.”

“Once, he drank so much he fell down the cellar stairs and lay there singing a song about a goblin and a stagecoach.”

“You knew him?” I ask.

Branok nods. A melancholy air surrounds him, like a sudden wash of chilly mist, but then he straightens his shoulders and the mood seems to disappear. When he focuses on Blue again, he’s snapping with an energy I can feel from across the room.

“What about a small man with a face like a sharp weasel and a scar running from his eye to his chin?” Branok asks. “Cunning and clever.”

Blue shakes his head.

“And you saw no other spirit?” Branok asks insistently.

“No. I’ve told you three times. But you obviously have someone in mind, so why don’t you tell us who it is?”

Branok slowly sits back in his chair, suddenly appearing weary and several decades older. Perhaps that’s common with spirits? Or maybe it’s a trick particular to Branok. “It’s nobody,” he says, the words coated in disappointment. “If you had seen him, you would remember him.”

“Who?” Blue asks again.

“I’ll put the kettle on.” I ignore Blue’s soft snort and take off my jacket. Something is digging into my hip. There’s a bulge in one of the jacket’s pockets. I reach in, withdraw the object, and gasp. “What the fuck? How did that get there?”

“What is it?” Blue asks, his eyes bright with nosiness.

I shake my head in disbelief. “It’s the book. The diary from the library at Dowran Hall.”

The dog gives a sudden shrill bark, there’s a flurry of movement, and I flinch as Branok is suddenly at my side.

He waves a finger over the diary. “How did you get that?” he says sharply, his eyes wide and gleaming, the lines around his mouth sharpening. I can sense his feelings—excitement and something like deep yearning.

“Levi?” Blue prompts. “What is it?”

I brandish the book. “It’s the diary of one of Lord St Claire’s ancestors. It was on a shelf in the library.” I take a panicked breath. “Oh my god. I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

Blue touches the cracked leather. “So how did you get it?”

“I don’t know. I left it on a table. How can it have got into my pocket?” I pause. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Branok breathes.

“Maybe Xander put it in there.”

Branok staggers, taking a stumbling step back. His face is white as a sheet, his eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“X-Xander?” he stutters. “You saw him?” I nod, and he demands, “Tell me what he looked like.”

“Erm, pretty. Long, wavy, blond hair and the bluest eyes. Quite charming.”

Branok sets his pipe down with a clatter and puts a hand over his heart.

“Who the fuck is Xander?” Blue asks plaintively. “And why is my husband paying so much attention to the way he looks?”