If he’d had the power he would have undone the exile, but he didn’t. The first thing he had to do was stop Shea before he could even start making plans for his own takeover. “I will deal with Shea, you stay with the changeling.”
Chalmer hesitated. “And the spread?”
Once broken that was usually the end of the relationship. “The changeling will receive a suitable setting. Report back if Shea returns.”
Chalmer nodded. “An honor serving you, my Prince.” He bowed again then disappeared into the now dark garden.
Felan pressed his lips together. Things were more dire than he’d thought. That Shea even knew about the Window was bad. Did this mean that the Queen had the Counter-Window? It didn’t matter who had it. As long as the other piece of the portal was in Annwyn, Shea could get through. He needed to find the Counter-Window, fast.
With Caspian there, it was easier to start sorting through Gran’s things. Lydia had made several attempts over the past few weeks, but each time she had been unable to do much more than cry and then go home. Today felt different. Maybe it was because she knew she wouldn’t cry in front of him, or maybe it was because she was able to talk about Gran. It was just nice to be in the house and feel like she could breathe again without being crushed by loss.
She wanted to know more about him but wasn’t sure how to start without seeming obvious. It was easy to talk about Gran and the house, but harder to ask questions that would reveal a little more about him, like where he grew up, did he always want to work around antiques, and what films did he like? Initial attraction didn’t always last once the real person was discovered.
Lydia looked at the pictures hanging on the wall. A mismatched collection of frames and images that had been tacked up to form a collage of Gran’s life. Some were black and white, others more recent. And while some were family pictures, including one that she assumed was her mother as a toddler, many were of people she didn’t know. Artists maybe? Friends? Should she pack them away? If she was going to sell the house, it would be better to have all personal items removed—she didn’t want strangers stopping and gawking.
“Do you need these?” She turned to Caspian.
Caspian glanced up at her from his laptop. “I’ll have a quick look at the frames, but probably not.”
He walked over, graceful as if he were at ease in a strange house. Her heart lifted as he drew close and she glanced away. There was something eye-catching about him, yet he didn’t act like a man who knew he was good-looking. He paused to examine each picture on the wall. Then he actually stopped; he was staring at one in particular.
“Found something?”
He tore his gaze away and looked at her. “Do you know who this is?”
She looked at the picture of a young man with a guitar. He was smiling, his pale eyes and sharp cheekbones making him look more like a model. He was almost too pretty in his flares and waistcoat. The clothing gave her an indication of the era, but other than that she had no idea. “Probably just one of the musicians who came here.”
Caspian nodded. He touched the edge of the fame, then shrugged and moved onto the next photo.
“There’s nothing antique or individually valuable here. You can pack them. I’ll just make a note of them in the record.” He took a few photos and she watched his lips move as he did a quick count. Again his gaze seemed to stick on the pretty man.
What was so special about that one?
She glanced at Caspian again. She didn’t really have a clue what was going on behind those pale green eyes. She was sure he’d broken hearts with just a look. He seemed so unobtainable. Or maybe it was because he wasn’t fawning over her like other men. A small part of her wished he’d show a little more interest in her, that he’d hold her gaze when she caught him looking so she’d have an excuse to start a more personal conversation with him. Gran would be having a fine old laugh; she was all for putting the cards on the table and seeing what was there.
He typed something on his laptop. “This was more of a living room?”
“Yeah, Gran used it for watching TV, said it was more comfortable than the parlor.” The more time Lydia spent in the house the more she began to realize just how badly Gran had let the house go. Most of the rooms needed repainting. The garden out back was overrun, and the outside of the house was in serious need of attention, and she suspected the roof had a leak since the half-story attic smelled of mold. She hadn’t been game to go in and examine the damage yet as there’d been something scuttling in the dark and she suspected it was something more substantial than the ghost.
Maybe a quick sale was all she could hope for, and then Callaway House would be gone forever. While she could feel the weight of her name lifting, she couldn’t let go of the rope. If the house became a bed and breakfast, all she’d have left of Gran would be a few pieces of furniture. It wasn’t enough. She wanted the house and all the memories it held. Callaways had lived here for over one hundred and fifty years. Gran had done everything to keep it in the family, and Lydia didn’t want to be the one to fail.
“Aside from the two paintings and the crystal vase there’s not much in here.” Caspian’s voice broke into her thoughts. She didn’t have to decide yet.
“The vase was a gift, she never told me who from.” But her eyes had always lit up when she spoke about it.
Caspian glanced at it again and smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. “Shall we move on? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your evenings.”
Lydia nodded, then shook her head. This was much better than working late at the office. “I’m still sorting through the personal items in her bedroom. I never thought it would be so hard to pack everything. How do you deal with it?”
“I don’t. I assess and move on. I don’t like doing deceased estates because the emotions are so raw. Not everyone appreciates what I have to do.” He shrugged but looked uncomfortable discussing it.
“I appreciate the way you’re doing it. I’d expected someone to come in and be all obsessed with its unusual history.” Maybe that would have been easier; then she would have been able to brush him off instead of wanting to know more about him.
“The sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”
It didn’t sound scandalous when Caspian said it, yet she still felt like she had to defend the house as best she could. “There was no rock and roll.”
Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t some rock star have their wedding here and then get divorced three months later in the eighties?”
“Not everything you read on the Internet is true… it was almost four months later.” And that had been the end of the wedding location according to Gran.
“Just sex and drugs then.” He was smiling.
She couldn’t stop her lips from curving in response. Was he flirting with her? She took a risk to see how far he’d go. “Mostly sex.”
He nodded, but he was watching her as if he was trying to work out what to say next. Had she just killed the conversation? A flutter of nerves caught in her chest as she waited for him to respond.
“I read the dinner parties were something special.”
Lydia let out the breath she’d been holding. “Well, I guess when you get a whole bunch of powerful men and their mistresses in one room things are going to happen. That’s old though. Later it was more hippie. No mistresses, just people boarding here and partying.”
“Is the ghost a myth too?”
“That depends on who you talk to. Gran believed something was here, but I’ve never seen anything, just lots of odd bumps.” There was definitely something here; however, she wasn’t about to confess her belief in the ghost to Caspian. Not yet. Besides, it would be more fun if he realized for himself that they weren’t alone in the house. And if he didn’t? Well, he wouldn’t be the first person to logic away the ghost. But that crawling sensation that someone was watching when she was alone, or the creak on the floorboard that sounded like steps in the middle of the night—she couldn’t explain them away.