Free Shimmer: The Rephaim Book 3 by Paula Weston Page B

Jude asks.
    She nods at the building on the other side of the lawn. ‘Past the infirmary, near the chapterhouse.’
    ‘Is she alone?’
    ‘Doubtful. But at least Nathaniel’s with the Five in the library’—she stabs her thumb in the opposite direction—‘so you shouldn’t run into him.’
    My pulse picks up. ‘Can you shift us in there?’ I ask.
    Daisy shakes her head. ‘Bad idea. Someone would feel it.’ It would be quicker to cross the grass but Daisy stays under the cover of the cloisters, walking the length of two sides of the piazza. When we reach the other corner, she stops in front of tall doors. They’re bronze and tinged green with age, and both have ornate carvings. On one, a giant lion stands on its hind legs, teeth bared and mane flowing. A flock of sheep cowers on the other. Either the lion is protecting the sheep from an unseen enemy or it’s about to eat them, it’s hard to tell.
    ‘Nathaniel’s garden is on the other side, in the middle of the compound. The guest quarters are all on ground level so you can use the bushes for cover while you find her room. It should be on the western wall. Then you need to get inside without being seen.’
    I give a short laugh. ‘Just like that.’
    ‘Hey, this is your plan, not mine.’ Daisy walks over to a bench by the wall, sits down and crosses her ankles. ‘Don’t be seen.’
    Jude raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Ready?’
    My pulse is more insistent now. I see Rafa in agony, collapsing to his knees in the forest. I nod. Jude lifts the ring under the sheep and turns it. A bolt slides on the other side, too loud in the hushed piazza. My mouth is dry. Bad idea or not, I wish we could shift.
    The door swings open slowly, ancient bronze scraping on ancient stones. I step into the short, dank passage and Jude closes the latch behind us. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust: the garden is at the other end. We press ourselves against the damp wall, creep to the opening. Jude is breathing quicker now too.
    I take a nervous look outside and duck back into the shadows. The garden is about the same size as my front yard in Pan Beach. Wrought-iron tables and chairs are clustered together in the middle, surrounded by a sea of white, pink and purple roses. Patches of wild mint and basil; tomatoes climbing a trellis; thick blueberry bushes along all four walls. There’s nobody in sight.
    ‘Which is the western wall?’ I whisper.
    Jude points to his left. I have no idea how he can tell when the sun is hidden behind an endless bank of rain clouds. He drops into a crouch and I do the same. We wait a heartbeat and then make a run for a clump of blueberry bushes screening the first window, press ourselves against the wall. I take a second to steel myself and then peer inside. It’s a guest room. Empty. I shake my head at Jude and we move on to the next one in a half-crouch. Empty. So are the next two. I feel ill. And exposed. We’re a long way from the bronze doors.
    I check the fifth room and my pulse jackhammers.
    It’s her.
    Virginia is sitting in a high-backed chair facing the window, head bowed, lips moving. Slender fingers clutch the armrest. Her tailored suit is immaculate, her grey bob neat. Face unmarked. However Nathaniel’s been trying to coerce her, it hasn’t involved violence. Yet. The room is full of antiques: a four-poster bed, a dresser with a washbowl and water pitcher, a tall bookcase packed with books bound in matching dark leather.
    She’s right there .
    Jude and I reach for the window at the same time. It’s shut, but maybe it’s not locked. We try to find a place to grip. The pane rattles.
    Virginia lifts her head. We freeze.
    She gasps—soundless through the thick glass—and twists in her chair to see if she’s still alone in the room. Her head whips back around, chest rising and falling. Now I realise her pale blue eyes are underscored with shadows and the lines around her mouth seem deeper than a day ago.
    Adrenalin builds.