“Very good, sir.” Winston walked away.
Simon sat back, tapping his fingers on the table. The fire crackled behind him, the light wavering in the unsipped wine. Kate ate quietly, but Simon showed no interest in his food. She allowed him to sit silently, lost in thought. And so he remained until after Winston had removed the last course and laid a plate of cheese along with two glasses of port.
“Simon,” Kate said softly, “tell me about your mother.”
He looked up at her with almost grateful eyes. He stood, reaching out his hand.
Simon led Kate down a long hallway that grew darker and colder. Plaster and wood gave way to ancient stone. They entered a turret door and started up a narrow spiral staircase. It was virtually pitch-black but for the starlight coming through occasional embrasures. Kate let her fingertips trace the wall to guide her upward as she placed her feet on the well-worn steps.
Simon suddenly halted before a door. He ran his hands over the rough wood and whispered. A light flared under his fingertips, then faded. He grunted and turned a heavy iron handle.
He pushed the door in and pressed into the room beyond. It was a round chamber atop the turret. Three embrasures were closed by wooden panels. There were many bookcases and tables covered in tomes and scrolls. Several heavy trunks rested about the floor. Simon spoke and light appeared from ghostly spiderwebs draped in the rafters of the peaked roof. He began to inspect the room, glancing over the books on shelves and the papers on desks. Finally, he leaned against a table with a breath of relief. “No one has been here. My wards are still active.”
Kate stood in the middle of the cold room. “This was your boyhood room? I won’t come across old love letters, will I?”
His smile was pleasant but she saw the strain there. His thoughts were not on romantic banter—neither were hers—but she felt a burden to offer him some distraction.
Even so, Kate could hardly contain her excitement at the many journals and few published books in the room. “Are these books yours, or were they your father’s?”
“Most of them were his. All I have of his is here, or at Gaunt Lane. A large number of his papers were destroyed or taken the night he was murdered.”
“In Scotland?”
“Yes.” Simon walked around the room, glancing at everything but not touching. He seemed fearful of disturbing the books and papers, as if they had gone from useful objects to artifacts. Kate understood all too well. The mere arrangement of the chamber represented something he didn’t wish to alter. “It’s sad when I think of the treasures he had that are lost to me now, including materials from Byron Pendragon himself. My father was Pendragon’s last student.”
Simon shook his head and went to a window, pulling back the oaken shutter. He leaned against the stone and stared out the narrow gap in the thick wall. “My mother didn’t deserve this.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think she has been disturbed.”
“Perhaps body snatchers?”
“No. Her spirit has been disturbed. I think someone came here, found her body, and forced her dead spirit to speak to them. A necromancer. Rowan Barnes.”
Kate watched the side of his face as he continued to gaze out into the night. A deadly rage was building in his eyes despite his emotionless visage. Her own outrage flared. “If that is so, what could he have learned from her?”
Simon’s breath misted in the frozen air. “I don’t know. Very little. Barnes already knows I’m a scribe, but my mother had little concept of my magical skills. I kept the details from her. I was afraid it would remind her of my father.”
“She might have liked that.”
Simon smiled sadly with fresh realization. “You’re right. There’s another small joy I might have provided her but didn’t. I locked it away from her.” He gave a sharp laugh that had nothing to do with humor. “I don’t see anything useful Barnes could acquire from her. It was purely an exercise in cruelty. Her life was a struggle, and now she has no peace in death either. Because of me.”
“You don’t know that,” Kate said quietly. “You don’t know that her spirit was attacked.”
“Of course I do. She was involved in the world of magic, first through my father, then through me. But she was not part of it. All she did was love one man, then love their son.” He turned to her, his eyes haunted. “I’m going to her grave now. Please come with me.”