Page 25 of Mortdale

“Gerda, please. If there’s anything, please.” I took her ghostly hands in mine. “It could be me next. I could be running out of time.”

Her mellow eyes remained on our hands for a while. “You could check the library; they archive the newspapers.”

“How about you come with me? No one will know.”

“I’m afraid I’m bound to this city. I cannot leave its borders and I cannot even remember what it is that is still keeping me here.”

“I could help you.”

She patted my cheek and shook her head. “Next time you come to the city, I will find you.”

Liam knocked on the glass case, watching me with narrowed eyes. He was joined by Logan’s two other men, Henry and Arthur.

“One more and we can get a brass band going,” I said, and turned to Arthur—the perpetually sulking, beardy one with the dark long hair thrown up in a tight chignon. “You look like you’d be good on the triangle.”

Liam shook his head. “Good luck to you two. I need a break.”

Henry quietly chuckled, still smiling as he cautiously watched me wave my fingers at poor Liam. “There’s orders to bring you home.”

“I want to stop by the library.”

Arthur stepped forward, all tall and menacing. “Didn’t ye hear, witch-woman? Home.”

“Library,” I said, opening my parasol in his face and throwing it over my shoulder, nearly taking his eye out before I spun on my heel, heading north where Gerda had told me it was.

“I’m not beyond dragging you to the carriage,” Arthur grumbled under his breath, cautious for his fuss not to be heard by the staring and glaring passersby.

“By all means, try.” Lifting the parasol, I said, “I love screaming.”

Both of them followed me quietly down the street. It was of course Arthur who asked, “How’d you know where it is?”

I tapped a finger on my nose. “I can sniff the knowledge in the air. Except when I turn your way. Something…less.”

Henry stepped in front of him. “That’s enough playing around.”

My nose wiggled in his direction. “Is that bread you’re holding?”

Arthur shoved a paper bag in my direction. It was bread.

I looked between the three of them. “Is it for me?”

“Who else eats here?” the grouchy one said.

My eyes narrowed on him. “Is there poison in it?”

“A bucketful.”

“Arsenic?” My eyes remained on him as I took a generous bite. “My favourite.”

“What’s your problem now?” he snapped at me when I just kept staring at him.

“Thought you hated us, that’s all.”

“Why would I hate you? Ye’ve done nothing to me.” He sent a scathing look around us. “You creep me out, but that’s ‘bout it.”

“Some of our mothers are witches. Including mine,” Henry added, handing me his lavender-scented handkerchief. “You’re not all that special, Lady Duncan.”

Except, those mothers were dying and you’re not telling anyone about it.