We ascended the narrow, creaking stairs. Most of the rooms on this floor were empty. It wasn’t until we came to a locked door that Carrow grinned widely. “This is it. I’m sure of it.”
I knelt beside her at the door, inspecting the lock. It was an ancient thing, cast iron and heavy. Magic sparked around it, violent and sharp. “We’d be best off finding the key.”
Carrow tried to touch the lock, and a bright white spark popped. She yanked her hand back, shaking it. “Yep. Let’s find it.”
“We should try Rasla's bedroom.”
“Agreed. He seems like just the kind of control freak to keep it there.”
We headed back downstairs and began to hunt through the room, searching every nook and cranny that we could find. There was nothing even remotely interesting in it, from what I could see. Rasla was a miserably dull bastard in his home life. Or perhaps he was just good at hiding.
My money was on dull.
Carrow pushed a large chair aside and stood, walking across the area where the chair had been. She stopped dead in her tracks.
I frowned. “What is it?”
She shifted her weight, her head tilted to the side. Her skirts rustled. A creaking sounded from beneath her foot, and she smiled. “Just like at Seraphia’s library.”
“What do you mean?”
She knelt to inspect the board that had creaked underfoot, eventually prying it up with her fingers. She reached in and pulled out a key, then grinned at me. “Just like the box Seraphia kept under the table.”
“Clever.”
Carrow stood and we returned to the room at the top of the stairs. The key slipped easily into the lock, twisting right. It popped open, and Carrow pulled on the door.
15
Carrow
The room within was simple and quite sad. A narrow bed against one small window, a desk, and a crib. Drab brown walls and bedding.
“Oh, this is terrible.” My gaze went to the window, where I spotted iron bars in front of the mullioned glass. “Oh, hell. Rasla is a bastard.”
“What happened to her, though?” Grey walked slowly into the room. “This room has been empty for a while.”
I followed him in, my skin going cold.
Please be alive.
A noise sounded from down below. A shout from the street, like a greeting. I strode to the window and looked down through the bars. We were at the front of the house, and I could see right into the street. Rasla stood beneath us, talking to a man on the other side of the road.
The sun was setting and casting shadows on the street, so it was impossible to see who he was talking to, but it didn't matter. We had only minutes left.
“He’s here,” I said. “He’ll be coming in soon.”
“He may sense something is wrong when he sees the maid sitting.” Grey turned and went to the bed, beginning to search under the mattress.
My heart raced as I hurried to the desk. There was a small stack of parchment and a pen. I touched each, letting my magic flow through me. The parchment gave me no clues, but the pen lit something up inside me.
“She used this to write the book that brought us here,” I said.
“Then we’re definitely on the right track.” Grey ducked to look under the bed, pressing on the floorboards. “There’s nothing around the bed that tells where she went.”
I hurried to the small cradle, searching under the little mattress. I found nothing, and sadness blasted through me as I searched. There was something so tragic and forlorn about this crib.
What had happened to them?