The hands on the clock read a quarter to midnight when the doctor finally emerged from her father’s room. Rowan roused herself from the chair she’d been slumped in and hurried over to him. “How is he, Dr. Thatcher? Will he be all right?”
He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression somewhat bleary-eyed. She supposed a man of his age wouldn’t like being called out so late at night, but there was nothing for it. “I’m afraid I can’t say, Miss Ravencroft. There doesn’t appear to be anything the matter with him physically, but he won’t wake. We can only hope it is a simple case of overwork. I will return in the morning to see if there has been any change.”
Rowan could do nothing but blink at his retreating back as he tottered down the narrow staircase. A moment later, she felt a hand on her shoulder. “There is nothing more to be done today, Miss Rowan. Get yourself to bed. It is late.”
She nodded, exhaustion making her numb. “Thank you, Blair,” she said, turning to the door of her own bedroom. “You will inform me if my father awakens?”
“Of course. And I will contact the college to tell them that you will not be attending classes tomorrow, if you wish.”
She hadn’t even thought that far ahead but found herself nodding in relieved acquiescence. “Yes, thank you. Good night.”
“Good night, miss. I’m sure things will look better in the morning. I know your father will be proud when he hears how you conducted yourself.” It wasn’t until she was already in bed that she bothered to wonder whether that was true.
********************
She accompanied the doctor the next morning as he entered her father’s chamber, but she didn’t need his expertise to know that nothing had changed. Geoffrey Ravencroft laid lifeless against the pillows, and only the minute movement of his chest showed that he was, in fact, breathing. “There’s nothing to be done, Dr. Thatcher?” she asked, almost pleading despite her intention to remain strong in the face of this unexpected crisis.
“I have done all that I know to do, Miss Ravencroft,” he said, his expression grim. “Normally, I would be advising you to get his affairs in order, though it is a heavy burden to place on a young lady. However, considering his…profession, perhaps you would do better consulting an expert on such matters before you give up all hope.”
His words hit her like a blow, but it was one that made her straighten up and take a breath. “Of course, you’re right. I shall have to consider who to contact.” The doctor excused himself, and Rowan slumped in the chair by her father’s bedside.
There was no doubt Dr. Thatcher was correct. Considering that the incident had occurred in the workroom, if there was nothing wrong with him physically, whatever was ailing her father must be magical in nature. But she hadn’t the faintest idea who to call upon for aid.
For one thing, she was quite sure that her father would not want just anybody coming in to look at him. He had rivals who would be all too delighted to capitalize on his moment of weakness. Furthermore, she had no clue as to what might be wrong with him. Magic was a diverse field of study. Without knowing what the problem was, it was difficult to know who would be able to help.
“I suppose the only thing to do is to start going through your notes,” she said to her father, though, of course, he could not answer. She wondered if she should take his hand, like the ladies always did in novels.
But then, she hadn’t held her father’s hand since she was a little girl. He was not a particularly affectionate man. Even in this situation, it would feel strange. “I wish you could just tell me where to start.”
As if in answer to her question, her father jolted upright, his eyes wild. Rowan was too startled to even scream as he grabbed the front of her dress with a white-knuckled grip. “Lord Kennet,” he said, his voice a rasping hiss quite unlike his usual booming tones.
“Father? What are you-?” she started to ask, but he shook her so violently she felt her bones creak and she nearly bit her tongue.
“The contract. No! Lord Kennet. Don’t!” he shouted, his eyes rolling around in his skull. She tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.
“Good gods!” Blair’s voice rang out from the doorway, and he ran to the bedside and pried her father’s fingers away. She backed away, not a little shaken.
“Go into the kitchen and have the cook make you a pot of tea, Miss Rowan. I will settle things here,” Blair said, his tone calm despite the tension of the situation. She, for once, did not feel like arguing.
A half an hour later, she sat on a stool beside the kitchen hearth with a cup of chamomile tea, feeling almost normal as she turned the recent events over in her mind. Who was this Lord Kennet? It was no one she’d ever heard of; she would have remembered such an unusual name.
“He’s settled down somewhat, finally,” came Blair’s voice from the doorway. “Are you all right, Miss Rowan?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I was only a bit startled, but I’m quite calm now. Please have some tea, and then I wish to discuss what we shall do next.”
The steward nodded with some relief and busied himself with the teapot. “The doctor seems to have no idea what might be the matter.”
“Well, it’s some comfort knowing there’s nothing physically wrong. However, the doctor did make a good point; this problem is most likely magical in nature, which means it will require a magical solution. More importantly, I don’t suppose you know who Lord Kennet is?”
Blair frowned. “Your father did mention that name several times, but I could make neither heads nor tails of it. Kennet is the English reading of an old Scottish name, but I can think of no one bearing it that could be styled a Lord of any fashion.”
“Yet it must be important for him to have mentioned it so many times,” Rowan said thoughtfully. An idea crossed her mind, but it was so ridiculous and horrifying that she wanted to dismiss it immediately. Unfortunately, the longer she thought about it, the more it made a terrible sort of sense.
She pursed her lips. “I’m going to check Father’s journals. Perhaps he made mention of this Lord Kennet, or left a clue about what he was working on yesterday.”
“Normally, I would tell you to respect your father’s privacy, but in this case, I can only wish you luck. We will not be able to keep news of his collapse quiet forever.”
didn’t take her long to find the first reference to ‘Lord Kennet’. She’d found a journal lying open on the worktable almost as soon as she’d entered the room, and as she began to skim the notes, she saw several references to this lord and some sort of contract. The more she read, the more certain she was. Her father, despite his constant warnings to her, and anyone else who would listen, and his long abiding hatred of the Aos Si, had made some sort of pact with a Lord of the Fair Folk.
Whatever he had gained from the bargain was moot, for now it seemed Lord Kennet had come to collect. The most likely conclusion was that her father was currently serving in the court of this lord somewhere in the Otherworld.
As to what could actually be done about it, Rowan hadn’t the foggiest idea. Perhaps she could ask someone from the College, but she felt that ought to be a last resort. She could only imagine the chaos it would create if people heard what had happened. However, she also knew that trying to oppose a powerful Aos Si on her own would be suicidal.
What she needed was more information. A simple scrying spell would be neither too difficult nor dangerous. She took a new piece of chalk from a drawer, and knelt down on the floor with books spread around her in a rough semicircle.
The circle required for this was not terribly intricate, but considering the subject of the scrying, Rowan wanted it to be perfect. It was perhaps an hour before she was satisfied, and then she sat in the center of the circle with a silver bowl of water set in front of her. She took a deep breath, focusing her energy into the tips of her fingers as she pressed her palms flat against the ground and spoke in a clear voice. “Aspectu revelare!”
The lines on the floor glowed blue-white with power, and an image began to form on the surface of the water. Rowan leaned forward, making sure to keep her hands on the floor to power the spell. The vision in the bowl was hazy, more a smear of light and color than anything decipherable. Maybe the barrier between this world and the other was interfering, or possibly Lord Kennet had warded against scrying, but either way, sound was coming through perfectly.
“Aidan, stop baiting your brother. The last thing I need is another complaint from the Sylph Council,” said a male voice so deep she swore the water rippled in response.
“Maybe you should make him clean up his own messes then,” said another voice, smoother and not quite so deep, but cold as ice.
“Jealous, brother?” said a third, booming voice. Was this really Lord Kennet? The conversation sounded much too normal for the home of a terrifying lord of the Fair Folk.
“You wish,” said the cold voice again. There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke the words that made her heartbeat come to a standstill. “It seems we have a little mouse listening in.”
“Oh, how interesting,” said the abyssal voice of the father. Rowan couldn’t make herself move, and she didn’t know whether that was magic or her own fear working against her. A huge eye, blue-purple and white like captured lightning, peered up at her from the scrying bowl. “The wizard’s daughter. Trying to save your father, little mortal?”
She wanted to speak. She wanted to scream, to throw the bowl aside, banish the spell, and hide under the bedcovers; such was the terror that was inspired by the attention of Lord Kennet. It was like being a mouse at the mercy of an eagle. But she couldn’t move. His power held her as if she were frozen solid.
He chuckled as if he found her fear wonderfully amusing. “Let it not be said that I am not an accommodating Lord. I do enjoy a bit of irony. Come then, little mortal. Make your case before the Lord of the Sky.”
There was a tug, like an invisible force pulling her by the heart. Blackness rushed over her, wind roared in her ears, and then she landed hard, driving the sense from her head.