Beard, scuttled up the walk, decapitating flow-
ers with his unused cane.
“Afternoon,” Charles said, nodding.
The man looked up, startled. When he spoke, his mouth
twisted in a way that echoed the sense of crookedness woven
throughout his body. “Afternoon.”
“You’ll be here to see Alden?”
The man paused, leaning against the porch railing. Charles
could smell him this close, and he smelled of mothballs and garlic
so strongly the tea lost all its appeal.
“And how did you know that?”
Charles shrugged. “You have the same eyes. Too old and too
young at once.”
The bearded man’s smile grew and he tapped the side of his
nose with one heavily knuckled finger. “Clever boy.”
Charles leaned back against the pi
llows propped behind him
in the rocker. He had figured some of the story out, reading
Arthur’s father’s notes while Cora and Thom had plotted. Alden,
Constance, this man — they liked being part of something secret
and powerful. Everything they did, then, would naturally further
this power. His father was wealthy and influential. Whether they’d
helped him get there or merely taken advantage once he was, it
didn’t really matter. Every member of their group would do what-
ever they had to in order to keep their secrets and their power.
Well, except for Mary. She was the cog that his machine-
oriented mind could not solve. Why would they include a woman
so obviously out of her mind? Maybe she was someone important,
after all.
But leaving Mary aside, he still couldn’t figure out what their