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“His visions began to come true. The things he’d see. His nightmares … dreams that would come to pass. That’s the real reason why Sister Marie-Thérèse worries.” Narcisse lowered his voice. “She’s afraid of him. Of what he sees.”

A slow creeping sensation wended its way to my chest at Narcisse’s revelation. Félix had dreams like me. My own dreams frightened my mother—the walking ones where I could not recall where I’d been, and the prescient ones that foretold the future. Death usually. Not precisely the happiest sort of ability. Surely it was only a coincidence Félix and I possessed the same uncanny ability. “What sorts of things does Félix dream of?”

“Death. But do not pay him any mind,” Narcisse said softly. “We all must die someday.”

It wasn’t my own death I was concerned with—rather it was the fact I suspected there was a killer here in Saint Oda. Had Félix foretold the other patients’ deaths as well? I took a step closer, lowering my voice. “Dr. von Keller said there were others too. Ones who disappeared. Ones who died.”

He nodded grimly. “I am surprised he spoke of it as he’s forbidden us to mention it. But yes. There have been others. I fear…”

“What do you fear?” I asked, but I could see the moment had fled. His expression shuttered entirely.

“I need to return to the priory.” He ducked his head in farewell before turning and heading back to the hospital, leaving me more perplexed than ever before.

CHAPTER TWELVEOnce a Witch …

I remained frozen at the edge of the priory grounds, watching after the orderly’s retreating figure long after he disappeared into the hospital. My fingers curled around the little doll that Félix had returned to me, struggling to make sense of an increasingly peculiar morning, when something stabbed me. I swore beneath my breath, withdrawing my hand from my pocket to reveal a single white feather embedded into my thumb. I pulled it out as the blood welled up. Ruan snatched it into his own, grumbling in Cornish, and thrust my stinging digit into his mouth. The air grew sharp around him—flooded with the energy of a summer storm, the scent of electricity thick in the air. It pricked at my nose. The scent was one of the obvious signs Ruan was calling upon his power. I still did not understand why I could sense it, nor what it meant.

But even by his generous standards of witchery, a pricked finger shouldn’t be cause for alarm. I’d certainly had far worse paper cuts working in the bookshop. Not to mention the number of times we’d been shot, poisoned, or nearly killed in the last few months. The familiar coolness of his … whatever it was … rushed through my body. I pulled my hand away from him with an irritated grunt. “What the devil has gotten into you?”

He stared at me as if I were supposed to know why he was behaving like a mother hen. Ruan huffed out a breath and took me by the arm, leading me down the path away from the priory at a breakneck pace. Likely to keep himself from saying something he ought not.

Finally, about halfway down the rutted road into the village, he stopped and turned to me in exasperation. “Indeed. What the devil…”

I’d half a mind to remind him he was being a domineering ass, when I noticed we had an audience. Sister Marie-Thérèse, the nun who had whisked the child away and dropped the poppet at my feet moments before, stood at the top of the path watching us. The sun behind her cast an ominously long shadow of her across the ground. The wind caught on her veil, rippling the fabric in the wind, and I could not help but shudder.

Eager to escape the priory and the increasingly complex web of secrets it held, I turned and continued on to the village. By the time we reached the fork leading to the river path, I knew we were out of sight of the priory grounds. I glanced down to my injured thumb, half expecting to see the blood to have smeared from where I’d cut myself on the feather—except my flesh was entirely unmarred. Not a scratch. Not a scab. Nothing.

I looked from my thumb to Ruan’s unamused expression. “Good God, you’re getting rather good at that.”

He flushed slightly, his ears taking on the same endearing shade of pink as when I’d whisper something scandalous to him. He thrust his fists deeper into his worn field jacket. “Yes well. I’m glad you approve.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. I didn’t like it. Bitterness didn’t suit him. Ruan paused alongside the quick moving water, his expression bleak. The humor fled from his voice. “You should not be flippant about the otherworld. You have been carrying around a charm for days. One that drew your very blood. Are you not the least concerned about what it means—what it could mean?”

“Flippant? It’s a doll, Ruan. A darling little doll and you weren’t at all concerned last night when I laid it on the dresser.”

His brows raised. “Because last night you’d just come home covered in mud looking as if you’d seen a ghost. I was more concerned with you than that bloody thing.”

I folded my arms and shook my head. “You heard the orderly. Félix makes them for the children. I doubt he’s dabbling in dark magic in his spare time.”

“Sister Marie-Thérèse seems to think he is.”

“And you’re siding with a nun?” I pulled the little poppet from my pocket, alarmed at how my blood stained the lovingly stitched gown. “Damn and blast. Now the poor thing is ruined.”

Ruan let out a strangled sound, turning away and tugging at his dark curls. “Gods, woman … I tell you you’re handed a charm by a man who sees angels and dreams of death, and you’re concerned about staining its frock. You ought to be concerned that you’re the one he’s dreaming of. Give me the bloody thing.”

I set my jaw, glaring up at him. “Ruan Kivell you are as superstitious as Mrs. Penrose. And besides, I dream of death too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I have forgotten nothing about you,” he gritted out, bristling at the mention of my superstitious Cornish housekeeper. It seemed the only person in my life who wasn’t preoccupied with the supernatural was me.

Ruan must have heard that, as his expression shifted again. “I wish you would just once have a care for yourself. I cannot always be at your side.”

I sighed, taking a step closer to him and laying my palm on his chest. “You know as well as I Félix meant me no harm. If he did, you’d have sensed it and not stood there watching as he wept all over me.”

Ruan cocked his head to one side in concession. “I will also point out it’s not superstition to be concerned about the otherworld, as it actually does exist.”

He had me there, but I wasn’t about to tell him as much. It would go to his head. I shoved the poppet back into my pocket and continued down the hill, my shoes slipping in the mud. After a few more steps, I gave up and whipped around to look Ruan in the eye. He was much taller than me on this incline. It was terribly unfair of him to be so reasonable and good-looking. Made it hard for me to stay cross with him.

I sighed, crossing my arms and getting to the real reason for my foul mood. Those final words Félix had flung at me. “He asked me to find her.”

“Find who?”