THORN GROVE WAS WELL ASLEEP BY THE TIME SIGNA REALIZED SHE
hadn’t the faintest idea where the library was.
She paced the floor of her sitting room, nightgown trailing behind her and curling at her ankles as she strode back and forth through the room. Consulting the library was the simplest way she could think of to find an antidote for Blythe, and while Signa preferred to conduct her search away from prying eyes, it wouldn’t do to be found roaming the halls after being caught by Elijah once already. She’d investigated the entirety of the second floor and most of the first by this point, which left only the third story.
Signa was formulating her plan—and an excuse, in the event she was caught—when she heard the glass doors leading to her balcony rattle. Though her chest went cold, she realized soon enough that a spirit would have no need to knock, and that Death lacked enough manners to even consider doing so. So when the sound came again several moments later and sounded like someone tapping against the glass, she figured it could be but one person.
She pulled her robe around herself as she opened one of the doors for Sylas. He appeared to have climbed up the branches of a willow to get there, leaves still in his dark hair. “Evening.” His grin gleamed bright in the moonlight. “You couldn’t sleep, either, huh?”
She had half a mind to shut the door and let him climb
back down. “What on earth are you thinking? You can’t be here!”
Despite his size, he was graceful as a feline, not making so much as a noise as he slipped past her and into the room. “I saw from below that you had a candle lit, and your shadow kept pacing across the glass. I wanted to check that you were all right.”
This boy would be her ruin if they weren’t careful, though Signa had to admit that her blood rushed a little quicker with the thrill of a late-night visit. She didn’t even necessarily mind that she wore only a robe over her nightgown, more curious about what he might think of it and what reaction she might get than embarrassed. Sure enough, Sylas’s eyes lingered upon her body for a beat too long when he thought she wasn’t looking, and he quickly cleared his throat and turned his attention to the ceiling when she turned back. Signa tried not to grin, warm with satisfaction.
“I’m as well as one can be, knowing my cousin is still as
ill as the day I met her.” She folded her arms across her chest and resumed her pacing. “If you’re going to be in here, keep your voice down and tell me whether you’ve found anything useful.”
“Hardly.” He took a seat on her floor, leaning back against the wall. “I looked through the kitchen and the servants’ quarters but couldn’t find anything incriminating.”
She feared as much, but hearing it aloud made it all the more aggravating. She ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the ends. “We must find something to help her. I hear there’s a library in Thorn Grove, and I’d like to check it to see if I might find an antidote. Something herbal, to ward off poison.”
“Poison?” he echoed, brows lifting. “That’s a new development. I suppose if there’s a chance to find anything about that, your best bet truly would be the library. It’s
massive.”
“You know where it is, then?” Signa grabbed Sylas by the arm and hauled him to his feet. “Could you take me there?”
“Right now? In the middle of the night? Dressed like that?” When Signa didn’t let go, he grinned and said, “How scandalous you are, Miss Farrow. If you insist, then follow me at once.”
He led the way out into the hall. The walk up to the third story was achingly slow. Signa took each step with the utmost caution, bunching her nightgown in her fist so that she wouldn’t trip over the long hem. She trailed behind him, finding it odd that a stable boy knew the house so well. Then again, Sylas hadn’t always been a stable boy. Perhaps whatever job he’d had while Lillian was still alive allowed him occasional time in the massive estate. She made a note to ask him about it—later, though. Once they’d found something to help Blythe.
For now she asked, “Do you come here often?” her curiosity besting her.
“I’ve only had the opportunity to tour the house a few times.” He walked with a confident ease, appearing far less worried about them being discovered than she was. “The staff have spoken of it enough, though. They don’t journey up here much if they can avoid it, and even then they come only in the day.”
Elaine had said the library was thought to be haunted, and if the staff went to such lengths to avoid it, Signa hated to imagine the spirit that awaited them inside. For years she’d avoided spirits, though if it was possible this one knew anything about Thorn Grove or Lillian’s murder, it was too much of a lead to pass up. But with Sylas here, she’d no idea how that was feasible.
“You should leave once I’m there,” she told him. “Nothing good will come of us being seen together.”
He cast her an irritated look over his shoulder. “Two sets
of eyes are better than one, and besides, even if I’m fired, you said yourself that I’d be taken care of.”
She tried not to roll her eyes, for while he might be safe, she certainly wasn’t. And the last thing she wanted was to have to hire Sylas if he ended up being responsible for any wild rumors or allegations about her. Still, he had a point. Death’s warning was nothing to scoff at, and if she wanted to save Blythe, having Sylas’s help was worth the risk.
The library was easier to find than she’d expected. Two oak doors with heavy brass handles led to a tremendous room with towering mahogany shelves stuffed full of books. There were rows upon rows of them, and in the center of the space were writing desks and plush leather reading chairs that looked comfortable enough to spend a day in. The room was lit by windows that bathed the room in pale starlight. Bright enough to see shapes and the vastness of the library but too dark to read the titles of the books.
Signa breathed in the musty scent of old parchment and ink. “We’ll need to find a light.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth before a candle upon one of the desks lit itself.
She made no move to grab it immediately and instead looked at Sylas, nervous he would run. He opened his mouth only to clamp it shut again. There wasn’t a single excuse to explain a flame igniting of its own accord, and neither of them tried to offer one.
“Well.” Signa cleared her throat. “At least we know all that talk of a spirit wasn’t just a rumor.”
Sylas’s brows were to his hairline, yet all things considered, he was handling this remarkably well. Probably, she imagined, for her sake. “At least whatever’s in here doesn’t appear to be malicious?”
At least not yet, Signa thought as she squinted through
the shadows, wondering where the spirit might be hiding. It was unnerving that she hadn’t seen the spirit so far. She’d spent years ignoring them, hiding and pretending not
to see, and she certainly didn’t favor having the tables turned.
Sylas picked up the candle. “So we’re looking for books on… botany?”
“Yes. Preferably something that discusses the medicinal uses of plants.”
Across the library, a shadow whipped through the darkness, and Signa realized it was a book only after she’d stumbled into Sylas, biting back a yelp. It came from many rows ahead of them, and when the two of them simply stood there, another book flew from the same shelf.
Setting one hand on her waist to steady her, Sylas held the candle ahead of them.
Signa squinted through the glow of the flame. “Do you think…”
“I do,” Sylas said, voice flat. He started toward the shelf the books had flown from, stopping to hover the candlelight over one that had been thrown. It was a thick leather- bound book on botany.
They turned the corner to another row of bookcases, and Signa seized Sylas by the arm, fear catching her breath as she saw who was helping them. The spirit was an older man with translucent blue skin, a full white beard, and spectacles that sat low upon his wide nose. Seeing that Signa had noticed him, he stood a little straighter.
“Are you all right?” Sylas asked her, steadying the candle. The spirit watched it with deep concern, and when it looked as though it might tip from its holder, he hurried to press a glowing finger against its side to steady it.
“Careful,” warned the spirit. “Books are fragile things.”
“Quite well.” Signa leaned against the edge of a shelf, hoping her words were enough to satisfy both Sylas and the spirit. Only when it was clear that this spirit was not volatile like Lillian did her shoulders loosen. It wasn’t malevolent, nor was its death so gruesome as to alter its appearance. “Do you know anything about the spirit that’s
rumored to haunt the library?” she asked Sylas.
“Not much. I heard he was a scholar who married into the family and died in one of those chairs. He fell asleep reading and passed away peacefully. Some say he was trying to read every book in the library.”
“The chairs have since been changed, actually,” the
spirit noted. “And my name is Thaddeus. Thaddeus Kipling. I’d have read every book in here by now, except they keep bringing more in.”
A spirit tethered to life by its desire to read! So novel was it that Signa almost laughed.
“He seems helpful enough. Not nearly so malicious as I feared,” she noted.
Thaddeus sighed and thanked her, muttering about how everyone was too afraid to visit anymore, though all he ever did was try to help. “Though I suppose fewer interruptions do make for more reading time.”
Again, she had to hold back her laughter. For nineteen years she had avoided spirits, blaming them for her being different and blaming that difference for keeping others away. But she rather liked Thaddeus, and for the first time she didn’t feel remotely afraid in the presence of a spirit. If she’d given more of them a chance, would she have liked others just as well?
“Do you really think any of these books will tell us about poison?” Sylas held the candle up to a book to inspect the spine, effectively steering the conversation away from the spirit she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to discuss. Every time Sylas leaned the candle too close to the book, Thaddeus would suck in a nervous breath and hold it until Sylas eased the flame away again.
“It’s not the poison we need to read more about.” Signa’s eyes skimmed to the spirit, ensuring he was listening. “It’s the antidote. I’m certain something in here must have some mention of it.”
“Arsenic?” Thaddeus guessed, his eyes sparking with
interest.
Signa checked that Sylas was occupied reading, then quickly shook her head.
Thaddeus hummed under his breath. “Cyanide? Thallium? Strychnine? Atropine?” He stopped when she very swiftly nodded. “Ah, atropine! Someone’s being poisoned by belladonna, are they? Well, that’s easy, the antidote—ah. It wouldn’t do you any good if I just told you, would it? I suppose you’d like to see the information for yourself. Here.” Thaddeus floated to the next bookcase, then stooped to point at a book from the bottom shelf. It was an unassuming thing; some sort of scholarly journal that Signa likely would never have selected.
“It’s been a while,” Thaddeus said as Signa stooped to pick it up, “but I believe you’ll find what you’re looking for around the hundredth page. Interesting read, that one. Dry but informative. Do take care of it, won’t you?”
Signa thumbed to the hundredth page, then through a few more until she saw the word she was looking for— Atropa. Atropa belladonna. She clutched the book to her chest so fiercely, she thought she might cry. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said so loudly that Sylas nearly dropped the book he’d been skimming through.
“You found something already?” He scratched the back of his neck, perplexed. “What luck. I expected we’d be here all night.”
Signa beamed at Thaddeus, whose chest puffed out a little. “I believe I did, though we had some help. Come.” She dragged Sylas to one of the tables and spread the book before them. Even with the candlelight, they had to squint to see the small print. They read several pages of jargon Signa didn’t understand before she found mention of treatments used on patients.
“Here it is!” She pressed a finger to the page and bent forward. Sylas followed suit, trying to peer over her shoulder.
“‘While the plant itself is toxic,’” she read aloud, the words like silk in her mouth, “‘the alkaloid content of the Calabar bean has proven an effective remedy for Atropa belladonna.’”
She grew giddier with each word. She tugged on Sylas’s arm, shaking it as her excitement bloomed. They had a solution. Though Signa hadn’t the faintest idea where she might find the non-native plant, there was at least a possibility now, which was far more than they’d had before. “Too much of it, and Blythe could die,” Sylas warned her as he read further. “You’re to grind up a small dose of it
and administer it in a liquid.”
The only problem was how to get it. They certainly wouldn’t find such a plant in Lillian’s garden, though Signa did remember another possibility.
“There is an apothecary in town! I saw it the night you took me to Grey’s.… Do you think they might have it?”
A grin spread wide across Sylas’s face. “How brilliant you are. An apothecary is likely our best chance.”
It was all Signa needed to hear to shut the book and hug it to her chest again. She felt light enough to dance upon a cloud. She was going to save her. Really, truly this time, Signa was going to save Blythe.
“Thank you,” she whispered, grabbing hold of Sylas’s shoulder and squeezing tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. And thank you, Thaddeus!”
She didn’t look back at the spirit, nor at Sylas as he blew out the candle and whispered, “Thaddeus?” Instead, she clutched the book tight and hurried out the door.
“I’ll go first thing in the morning,” she said to no one in particular as Sylas nodded and shushed her gently. She listened for his sake, but Signa no longer cared who heard her now because everything was going to be fine. No—it would be better than fine. It was to be wonderful because first thing in the morning she would gather the antidote, and Blythe would finally have her life back.
Soon, all would be well again
