Ghostlight (The Reflected City Book 1) by Rabia Gale (i can read with my eyes shut TXT) 📗

Blood rushed to Trey’s head, pounding in his temple. He managed a creditable degree of disinterest as he faced Winter again. “Indeed?”

“Are you acquainted with the Elliots?” What did Winter know? Saints, the man could be nigh on unreadable.

“Only a little.”

“Elliot is a sensible man, but his wife is prone to a great deal of sentimentality. Unfortunately, in the matter of her niece he has been swayed by Mrs. Elliot’s importunities. The niece is a Miss Trent.”

Trey frowned slightly, as if remembering. “I stood up with her once. She’s the girl who proses on about Lady Holmstead’s orphanage.”

“Precisely,” Winter said with a hint of a sigh. Trey suppressed a quiver of mirth. How many pounds had that chit wrung from his cold-hearted supervisor?

One day, he’d have to track down the hapless donors she had left in her wake.

“I’m sorry to hear of her accident, but it is acceptable for victims to be kept in stasis for a few days in the hopes that they will come to.”

“Three nights.” Winter held up three fingers. “I can give her three nights to return to her body. If she hasn’t woken up by tomorrow morning, you and Father Patrick will perform an exorcism.”

Trey didn’t even attempt to disguise his shock. “What? But that’s the morning of the Viewing!”

“Exactly. It must be done before the Rites are completed.”

“You won’t let me hunt a ghoul, but you’re worried about the spirit of some spoiled debutante disrupting the Rites?” He felt guilty maligning Arabella, but he had to make her sound as unthreatening as possible.

Winter leaned back in his chair, ice-blue eyes boring into his. “If her spirit still lingers, she is half of this world and half of the next. That makes her more dangerous than a ghoul right now. Remember always the Shadow Lands stand ready to exploit any opening.”

“Dozens of people die in Lumen every day,” Trey pointed out. “Are we going to exorcise every single one?”

“Most spirits move on without any help from us. By putting the unfortunate girl’s body in stasis, the Elliots have made it difficult for her to let go. We must remove her attachment to this world.”

Trey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to make an example out of her.”

Winter matched him stare for stare. “After last year, you of all people should know how dangerous it is for us to hold onto people long after we should’ve let them go.”

Trey’s fists clenched. “This is not about Damien.”

“No, it’s about the indulgence that leads to such situations.” Winter regarded him somberly. “Miss Trent was young, pleasant, and pretty. It’s natural to want to give her as much of a chance as we can. But that kind of thinking—and the latitude allowed to peers and genteel alike—led us to make several costly mistakes during the Incursion. It is my job to ensure there won’t be a repeat of that. I will take full responsibility and the vilification that comes with it.”

Trey saw the faint grey of weariness under Winter’s eyes, the tiredness his ramrod-straight posture held back through sheer force of will. It made him angry, because he did not want to feel sorry for the man.

He did not want to admit that there was truth in what Winter said.

“If that is all, then excuse me. I have work to attend to.”

Winter nodded. “Dismissed, Mr. Shield. But with two caveats: You are not to hunt the ghoul, and if you come across Miss Trent’s spirit—”

“I will return her to her body, of course,” interrupted Trey. He dared Winter to naysay him.

“That would be the happiest outcome. But if it doesn’t work—you know what my expectations are.”

“Of course, sir.” Trey gave a perfunctory bow and quit the room.

He felt Winter’s eyes on him the whole time.

Trey, frowning, closed Winter’s door with a rather decisive click.

The atmosphere in the office had changed. For one thing, it was rather more crowded. Sutton leaned back in his chair, a rare smile on his face. Morgan, stocky and dark-whiskered and middle-aged, stood guffawing at some joke. A cleaned-up Jem in faded but warm clothes fidgeted uncertainly nearby.

The fourth occupant was enthroned in Hilda’s chair, left leg propped up on a footstool. A simple walking stick leaned against the chair.

Trey scowled and strode up to the group. He glared at the man in the chair. “Old man, what are you doing here?”

“Blunt as ever, ain’t you boy?” Horatio Halford grinned up at him.

Trey glanced at Halford’s leg. “You shouldn’t be here.” Halford had been lucky not to lose the limb altogether. His wounds had remained half-healed for months, causing much anxiety about amputation. Even now, the signs of ill health showed in his shrunken frame and hollowed cheeks. Halford had been a solid man with a healthy appetite for good food. Now his clothes were too large for him.

“I’m retired, not dead,” Halford retorted. At least his voice had recovered, booming out the way it used to. For a month after the Incursion, he hadn’t been able to speak above a whisper.

Trey gave an exaggerated wince. “So I can hear.” But he was smiling now. Halford’s overloud cheer had that effect on one’s spirits.

“Besides, I know you can use the help around this time,” went on Halford gruffly. His gaze flicked around the room, at the places his people had once occupied.

“And it’s good to have you back, sir,” said Morgan fervently. Morgan was a darn good agent, with a nose for those pernicious sprites and wraiths Sutton’s scrying couldn’t pick up.

Halford waggled a finger at his former underling. “Don’t get too used to it, Morgan. I’ll be returning to my roses soon enough. They don’t talk back, unlike you lot.” His brown eyes were full of good humor.

Morgan chuckled. Halford beckoned Jem. “Who do you have here? An apprentice?”

“Aye, sir. Mr. Shield was so good as to find him for me.” Morgan put a hand on Jem’s back and pushed the child forward. “This’un’s a seer.”

“A seer, eh? We can always