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“I’m afraid Montgomery Leslie has been dead for thirty-two years now. He likely died on that trip and the man who returned home to you was not your husband.”
“Maker save us,” Maureen whispered. She was weeping. “All this time?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Maureen’s gaze fixed on the far bookshelf, her expression unguarded and full of grief.
“Ms. Maureen, where is Delilah hiding the warlocks?” Eucilla asked.
Startled, I glanced back at Eucilla. My mind had been so full of Montgomery that I had quite forgotten he could not have run this operation alone. But to use Delilah seemed the epitome of cruelty.
“Please, you have to understand, it isn’t her fault. This was all her father’s doing. Somehow, he turned her. She was always desperate for his approval, you see.”
I did see. Not that it made things any better. Daughters often craved their father’s approval, as though it were built into us.
“Ms. Maureen,” Eucilla said, a hard note to her voice, “At this point I do not care about motivations, I care about locating any other warlocks who may be currently held against their will. So I ask again; where are they hiding the warlocks?”
Maureen’s eyes strayed to the floor. She looked small and frail and I nearly reached out to her, but then she whispered, her voice so soft I nearly missed it, “There’s a decommissioned factory at the far edge of the property. We glamored it ages ago so it would not disrupt the landscape.” Her mouth twisted into a sour frown. “Montgomery’s idea. It seemed innocent at the time. I’ll show you.”
Eucilla made a humming noise in the back of her throat. She looked about to say something when there was a knock on the door. A moment later, a black-haired woman poked her head inside. She had a round, serious face and sleepy brown eyes that surveyed the room briefly before her attention came to rest on Eucilla.
“Lieutenant,” said the woman, “Constable Cade has sent me to inform you that he is ready to extract the runestone from Miss Grayson.”
“Thank you, Gretchen,” Eucilla said, her gaze moving to me. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want that wretched thing inside me any longer than I had to tolerate.” Then, to Gretchen, “Return with Constable King and Sam. It appears we are going for a hike.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The woman named Gretchen led me through Leslie manor with poised silence. She wore strange garments that looked like a mix between armor and formal wear. Her pants were black, sewn at the sides with course yellow thread, and a strange padding was roped around her shins at the ankles and below the knees, allowing only a scant view of her split-toed boots. Her tunic was heavily padded yellow and red, snug enough that her slight curves were clearly visible, and what I would have thought to be a stomacher was lashed around her midsection, but it was heavy brocade, stiff, and embroidered with colorful flowers.
It was perhaps the most bizarre outfit I had ever seen in person, but she made it look elegant. Even the pauldrons at her shoulders were embroidered to match the stomacher, and I could see the flower pattern etched into the scabbard that hung by her left hand. She had a little elf in her, I could see by the half-pointed ears peaking from under her shiny black hair, but otherwise I could not guess what other Bright might be mixed in her. Her sleepy brown eyes did not seem the least impressed by the grandeur of the Leslie home and I couldn’t help my curiosity.
“Are you a Constable too?” I asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was velvet, a dulcet warmth that filled the space between us.
We began up the horseshoe staircase, heading for the second floor. “How long have you been a Constable?”
“Many years.”
“And do you enjoy the job?”
“It is fulfilling,” Gretchen said, leading the way past what I knew to be Delilah’s rooms and to another staircase.
I couldn’t tell if her brief replies were a lack of interest in me or a habit of her person, but I tried not to take it personal. I was being nosy, after all, and she was a stranger to me.
I hesitated on the bottom stair. “We’re going to the third floor?”
Gretchen kept moving, her answer floating back to me. “Yes.”
My mind stuck on angry vines lashing through the saferoom, the splinter of wood as the things cracked through the wall. Gripping the banister, I was unable to get my feet to move and stared after her.
“Is that wise?” I asked, hating the terror in my voice.
At this Gretchen paused to glance down at me. “It is where Constable Cade requires you.”
“But the vines…”
“The closer you are to the sluaghna’s magic, the easier it will be for the Constable to mimic his runes, thus drawing out the runestone.”
