“Yeah, people sure will do anything for money. You’re proof of that.” Emma tried to rein in her temper, but her heart was pounding. “Tell me anything else about this guy. You must have noticed his voice—they way he walked—anything weird about him—”
“Everything’s weird about a guy who shows up completely wrapped in fabric. I couldn’t even see his shoes, okay? He didn’t sound like he was all there. He’s the one who told me to tell you about the Selpulchre. He babbled a lot of nonsense, once he said he came to L.A. to bring back love—”
Emma hung up. She looked at the others with her heart slamming against her chest. “It’s Malcolm,” she said, her voice sounding distant and tinny in her ears. “Malcolm’s the Guardian.”
They looked at her with silent, stunned expressions.
“Malcolm’s our friend,” said Ty. “That doesn’t— He wouldn’t do that.”
“Ty’s right,” said Livvy. “Just because Annabel Blackthorn was in love with a warlock—”
“She was in love with a warlock,” Emma repeated. “In Cornwall. Magnus said Malcolm used to live in Cornwall. A plant from Cornwall is growing around the convergence. Malcolm’s been helping us with the investigation, but he hasn’t, really. He never translated a word of what we gave him. He told us this was a summoning spell—it’s not, it’s a necromantic spell.” She started to pace up and down. “He has that ring with the red stone, and the earrings I found at the convergence site were rubies—okay, it’s not exactly conclusive, but he’d have to have clothes for her, right? For Annabel? She couldn’t go around in grave clothes when he brought her back. It makes more sense for the necromancer to keep clothes there for the person they were raising from the dead than it does for them to keep clothes for themselves.” She whirled to find the others staring at her. “Malcolm only moved to L.A. about five months before the attack on the Institute. He says he was away when it happened, but what if he wasn’t? He was High Warlock. He could have easily found out where my parents were that day. He could have killed them.” She looked over at the others. Their expressions ran the gamut between shock and disbelief.
“I just don’t think Malcolm would do that,” Livvy said in a small voice.
“Rook told me that the Guardian he met with concealed his identity,” Emma said. “But he also said the Guardian told him that he’d come to L.A. to bring back love. Remember what Malcolm said while we were watching movies? ‘I came here to bring true love back from the dead.’” She gripped the phone so tightly it hurt. “What if he really meant it? Literally? He came here to bring his true love back from the dead. Annabel.”
There was a long silence. It was Cristina, to Emma’s surprise, who finally broke it. “I do not know Malcolm well, or love him as you do,” she said in her soft voice. “So forgive me if what I say hurts. But I think Emma is right. One of these things could be a coincidence. But not all of them. Annabel Blackthorn fell in love with a warlock in Cornwall. Malcolm was a warlock in Cornwall. That itself is enough to raise suspicion high enough that it should be investigated.” She looked around with earnest dark eyes. “I’m sorry. It is just that the next step for the Guardian is Blackthorn blood. And therefore we cannot wait.”
“Don’t be sorry, Cristina. You’re right,” Julian said. He looked at Emma, and she could see the unspoken words behind his eyes: This is how Belinda knew about Arthur.
“We need to find him,” Diego said, his clear, practical voice cutting through the quiet. “We must move immediately—”
The library door burst open and Dru came rushing in. Her face was pink and her wavy brown hair had come out of its braids. She nearly collided directly with Diego, but jumped back with a squeak.
“Dru?” It was Mark who spoke. “Is everything all right?”
She nodded, bounding across the room toward Julian. “What did you need me for?”
Julian looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I was down on the beach with Tavvy,” she said, leaning against the edge of the table to catch her breath. “Then he came and said you had to talk to me. So I came running back—”
“What?” Julian echoed. “I didn’t send anyone down to the beach for you, Dru.”
“But he said . . .” Dru looked suddenly alarmed. “He said you needed to see me right away.”
Julian rose to his feet. “Where’s Tavvy?”
Her lip began to wobble. “But he said . . . He said if I ran back, he’d walk Tavvy home. He gave him a toy. He’s watched Tavvy before, I don’t understand, what’s wrong—?”
“Dru,” Julian said in a carefully controlled voice. “Who is ‘he’? Who has Tavvy?”
Dru swallowed, her round face stricken with fright. “Malcolm,” she said. “Malcolm has him.”
“I don’t understand,” Dru said again. “What’s happening?”