“Why under the house?”
“My ancestor didn’t want to be buried in a public place where grave robbers could disturb his resting place. He didn’t believe it was final, you see.”
“Because he believed in reincarnation?”
“Quite. Convinced reincarnation was real and that his death was only a respite between lives, he made elaborate plans so that when he returned in his next life he’d be able to find and access his home, his treasures and his fortune without having to start over again from scratch.”
“Has anyone ever come back claiming to be him?”
“Not that I’ve heard of but…” He paused. Malachai had noticed the envelope in front of her. Looked from it to the letter she was still holding.
“What is that you’re reading?” he asked.
She pushed it toward him.
“How did you find this, if I may inquire?” he asked.
“It’s addressed to me and you opened it. I think I get to ask the first question,” Jac countered.
“Except to find it you would have had to go looking through my briefcase. I’m not sure which of us has the right to be more outraged.”
“I do. I knocked over your briefcase by accident, and when I was putting everything back inside, I found the letter.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile. “There are no accidents, just as there are no coincidences.”
“Which gives you one less excuse. So if you didn’t open it by accident, why did you open it?”
“In order to protect you.”
“Oh, Malachai. We’re not in a nineteenth-century gothic novel. That sounds ridiculous. You read what Theo wrote,” Jac said. “He thinks there’s proof in Jersey validating a specific Celtic myth. Why would I need to be protected from doing my job?”
“You can explore Celtic myths without visiting Jersey,” Malachai answered without addressing her question.
“Why does where I do my job matter to you? Jersey is renowned for having hundreds of important Neolithic and Celtic ruins. If he’s really on the trail of something proving Druid-”
“Isn’t what I showed you today important enough?” Malachai interrupted.
“Malachai, you’re obfuscating. What’s wrong with my going to Jersey? Is that why you brought me here? To offer me your ruins in exchange for the ones you were hiding from me?”
“Not at all. I just think-” He broke off, then began again. “Can’t you accept that I have reasons to believe the best course of action would be for you to ignore his offer?”
“No.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Malachai, you opened a letter that wasn’t addressed to you and then held on to it without telling me about it. That’s a fairly serious invasion of privacy. I’m not sure I should trust you.”
The cramps, which had been dormant for the last half hour, kicked up. Jac took a long sip of the now lukewarm brandy-laced tea.
Malachai stood, walked over to the fireplace and set to making a fire. Even though it was mid-August, it was a chilly night and she knew the fire would be welcome, but she also knew he was buying time. Thinking through his best possible course of action. As she watched him, this man who knew the inside of her soul, she thought about how little she really knew about him. It had always been a fairly one-sided relationship.
“Malachai, what’s going on?”
He lit a match. The scent of sulfur stung Jac’s nose. With a practiced flick of his wrist, Malachai threw the light into the nest of kindling. A first spark caught. Sputtered. Then the sticks burst into flames. Now Jac could smell the bright fresh edge of sandalwood and cedar… She smelled sweet smoke and then the odor of bitter tar.
“Why won’t you answer me?” she asked.
Slowly he turned away from the fire and back toward her. The firelight was behind him, his features cast in shade. His shadow loomed large on the ceiling. He was about to say something. Then he changed his mind and instead walked over to the bookshelves, where he plucked something nestled between two books.
“Malachai, what is going on? There has never been any actual proof that Druids existed,” Jac said. “If Theo has access to that proof, I want to see it. Why are you being so cryptic?”
He caressed the thing in his hand for a moment and then brought it over to the desk and placed it in front of Jac. The perfectly carved amber-bejeweled owl was no more than three inches tall. In the low light from the Tiffany lamp, the bird’s diamond eyes glinted almost magically.
Fabergé. Malachai’s voice massaged the single word, giving it weight and importance. “It’s very rare and extremely valuable.” He picked it up and handed it to her.
She was aware of his watching as she inspected it. He’d been one of the most important people in her life. But what was she to him? Another curio in his collection? Objets d’art and patients-by now he had amassed a great number of both.
When she was young, Malachai had been the first therapist out of half a dozen who’d actually helped her. She’d arrived at Blixer Rath suffering borderline personality symptoms exacerbated by the recent death of her mother. The suicide had devastated both Jac and her younger brother, but she’d been upended by it. Jac had been the one to find Audrey and read the note that made no mention of either of her children, only vitriol for her most recent lover.
It was Malachai who, over twelve months at Blixer Rath and more than a thousand hours of therapy, had given Jac the tools she needed to save herself. In the intervening years, he’d remained in her life, touching base every few months, making sure she was all right. Always offering encouragement. Checking to see if she was still on track or needed a tune-up.
Then this past May, when her brother had gotten into trouble and she’d flown to Paris to be with Robbie, Malachai had followed. He’d looked out for her and helped in a way she hadn’t expected and wasn’t used to.
“The owl,” he was saying, “is one of the most curious creatures. A bird that stays awake when the rest of the world sleeps. He can see in the dark. I find that so interesting, to be mired in reality when the rest of the world is dreaming. What does he see and what does he know that the rest of the world is missing?” He paused. “You know, I had an owl once.”
Malachai so rarely talked about himself, Jac was surprised by the admission.
“He let me pet him,” he said wistfully.
“Did he live in your house?”
“No. We were residing outside London on an estate that had a bird sanctuary on the grounds, and the owl befriended me. He must have felt sorry for the lonely little boy who was always by himself. I learned a lot about animals and birds from those who inhabited those woods. Creatures have an authenticity about them, a purity people don’t possess. Our complexity overwhelms us.”
Jac handed the amulet back to Malachai, and he reverently returned it to the shelf and picked up another object. It was an amber sphere with a complicated design carved into its surface.
“No less amazing,” he said as he handed it to her. “This is an Asian seal. A very rare one. No matter what part of it you press down, you get the exact same configuration.”
Jac expected him to pull out a stick of sealing wax and demonstrate. She had no doubt that he used it on his personal letters. Like the woods, this mansion, its antiques and collectibles, Malachai was oddly out of time. And she was an explorer of other times, of the ancient stories we’ve turned into holy grails. That was their tie, she thought. What had kept them bound to each other, long after her stint in therapy was past.
“Or so you think upon first glance.” He was expounding on what he’d already said about the seal. “But there are minute markings, only visible with a magnifying glass, making each configuration unique.” He took it back and rolled it between his palms. “Nothing is what it seems.”
“When are you going to answer my question?”
“Theo was a troubled boy.”