Free Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) by Freda Warrington

doesn’t want to. I simply need to know . He’s my son. That’s only thing that matters. Do you see that?”
    “Yes, of course,” Stevie said firmly. “And I’ll try to find out for you. For his sake and mine, as well as yours. I’m no detective, but I’ll do my best.”
    A gleam of hope lit the tired eyes. “Would you?”
    “Yes, anything it takes. About his artwork—do you want me to display it, or send it to you?”
    “Oh lord. I really don’t care. He sent the damned thing to you, so there’s your answer.”
    Again, her vehement rejection of Daniel’s work was automatic, almost an expression of revulsion. Perhaps Frances didn’t see it as rejection of Daniel himself, but he must have read it that way. How else to take it? If she hated his work, the most important part of him …
    Yet Frances wasn’t a hateful person. Only stubborn, too rigid in her views.
    Stevie excused herself to visit the loo. Frances sent her to the upstairs bathroom, explaining that it was warmer than the one downstairs. From a window on the landing, Stevie looked out and saw the professor in the garden, scattering scraps for the birds. Several blackbirds, semi-tame, fluttered hungrily towards her.
    Is there is something she’s not telling me? The suspicion lodged uneasily in Stevie’s mind. The house had a desolate, haunted feeling. Dark shapes flickered in the edges of her vision, like the start of one of her hallucinatory episodes. A cold draft moved across the back of her neck as if some creature was snuffling at her …
    She whipped around to find herself looking at Daniel’s bedroom door. She pictured the bed where they’d often sat talking—occasionally making love—and his bookshelves and glass display case … but the thought of peeping inside filled her with irrational terror, as if she might find his corpse in there. Ghosts of the past sighed all around her.
    “I ought to be going,” she said, reaching the bottom of the stairs as the professor came into the hall. Humphrey trotted after her, chewing on a ball. “Will you be all right on your own?”
    Frances gave a dry laugh. “I’m not on my own. I’ve a lively dog and scores of garden birds to keep me occupied. But it’s good of you to ask, Stephanie. I didn’t expect such thoughtfulness.”
    “Why not? Did I seem rude in the past?” Stevie asked warily. “I was scared of you, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
    “No, don’t apologize. You were never rude. Only … Never mind.”
    She let the remark pass. “If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
    She moved towards the coat pegs in the hall, but Frances said, “Stephanie … there’s something else. During one of our arguments, Daniel told me he’d found a buyer for most of his work. I didn’t believe him.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he was implying that his work was too important and dangerous for the world at large to see. He sounded utterly delusional. That’s why I wanted him to consult a doctor.” Deep lines creased her forehead and she colored slightly. “I suppose he told you that I took him to a psychologist years ago?”
    “Yes.” Stevie swallowed a surge of complex emotions. “He thought you were making a fuss over nothing.”
    “Well, he would say that. But he was always … sensitive. His father’s death hit him hard. And then his obsessive sketching—his insistence on going to art college was bound to make things worse. I’m not blaming you. I’ve simply spent years trying to shield him from anything that fed his delusions. And I’ve failed.”
    “Perhaps you tried too hard.” Stevie’s head ached. These raw glimpses into his state of mind were too painful to bear. “You couldn’t stop him being himself.”
    Frances sighed. “Clearly.”
    “As I said, I’ll do all I can to find him. Maybe I can dig deeper than the police.”
    Frances gave a tired grin. “What if he doesn’t want his rotten old mother to know you’ve seen him, and swears you to