“I saw a shade out there,” Gillian murmured.
“A shadow,” Sally was quick to correct her sister, denying magic as always. “Likely a tree.”
Gillian shook her head. “It was a girl. I think it’s good luck. There was a crow with her.”
In their family, crows signified good fortune. Sally squeezed her sister’s hand, wanting to believe. They really weren’t so different anymore. When Gillian shifted back in her seat, Sally noticed Ian’s gaze. “Did you want something?”
“I always want something. Right now, I want to go to sleep.” He was a good liar, but Sally didn’t believe him for a minute. She felt his gaze on her still.
They were quiet for a while, then Sally said, “Are there ghosts out there?”
“Time is out there. Everything that ever happened is still happening. For instance, if I took your hand in mine.” Which he did as he was speaking. “It would be happening for hundreds of years.”
“Would it?” Sally said.
“That’s what people say.”
She slipped her hand from his. His touch had burned. This was not going to happen. It most certainly was not what she was looking for.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said when she withdrew from him. “It’s still happening.” When she frowned, Ian shrugged. “I’m only repeating local lore.”
“Magic,” Sally said disdainfully.
“It’s not the thing that ruins you,” Ian assured her.
“Isn’t it?” She looked at him deeply. Despite her cool demeanor, she found him curious and intriguing.
“I know from experience. People ruin themselves.”
* * *
At last they came to the town where Ian had grown up, called Thornfield, the place he had found so intolerable that he’d spent his entire youth plotting his escape. The village had arisen around a grand manor house, which was now derelict, having been abandoned when the family who owned it fled in shame.
When they arrived, Ian whistled for the taxi, driven by a fellow named Matthew Poole, with whom Ian had gone to school. Matt Poole helped fit their luggage into his large blue van, clearly in need of repair, but the only taxi based in Thornfield.
“Looks like you’ve brought a crowd to see your mum,” Matt said as he dealt with the suitcases, tossing them into the rear of the van. “How will they all fit into her house?”
It was well known that Margaret Wright did not care for comforts, let alone luxuries. She believed in a simple way of life, one that didn’t differ very much from the lives of her grandmother and great grandmother, and she still used a pump for her water and an outbuilding for her toilet. These were among the reasons Ian had despised his home when he was young. Back then, he thought what he wanted most in the world was a fast car and a flat in London.
“They’ll be at the Hedges,” Ian told Matt. “I called ahead.” He turned to Sally then. “I’ll come by for you in the morning and we’ll find her.”
“You’re not staying there with us?”
Ian looked at her. His pulse was too fast. This cannot be it. A man such as himself should have as little to do with a witch as possible.
“Is there something you need him for?” Franny asked, amused when she overheard Sally’s question. The historian was such a good-looking man, after all, and they’d seen every bit of him.
“We all need him to look for Kylie,” Sally replied. She turned to Ian then, though she did her best not to look at him directly. “I thought we would start the search as early in the morning as possible. That was the only reason I thought you would be staying at the inn.”