Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) by Joseph Delaney Page A

thought—maybe while they waited for a passage to Ireland to be organized? Surely they would soon transport the head toward the sea?
    I was just about to lie down and try to get some sleep when the moon came out from behind a cloud and bathed the tower in its silver light. Almost simultaneously I heard the sound of a door opening. It wasn’t the harsh, grating sound of the main door; more of a click . . . from the door that led onto the wide balcony. Someone emerged and approached the balustrade, resting their hands upon it and staring out over the forest.
    For a moment I was too astonished to take in what I was seeing. But there was no doubt.
    It was Alice.
    I stared at her in amazement. Despite the lack of evidence in the tracks, I’d expected her to be held prisoner in the tower—brought here either by the witches, or by Lukrasta (using a different route). But her appearance was a surprise to me.
    In the moonlight, she looked radiant, transfigured— almost happy. Her face and slim body had always been beautiful; I remembered the first time I’d seen her at the edge of a wood close to the village. She’d been wearing a tattered black dress tied at the waist with a piece of string.
    Now she wore a long dress that seemed to flow down her body like water. It was hard to determine the color in the pale glow of the moon, but I thought it was black or dark-purple silk. Her hair was different too; while before it had hung down past her shoulders, now it was lifted away from her forehead and ears and fastened into a bun with a jeweled clasp that glittered in the soft light. And around her neck was a necklace with a locket that hung down over her heart.
    She seemed to be looking toward me. I was tempted to wave, but a sense of unease held me back. She was a prisoner and couldn’t escape from that high balcony. Maybe there were others behind her—guards who were permitting her to take a little air.
    Then, as I gazed at her, full of wonder and foreboding, another figure emerged from the open doorway and went to stand beside her on the balcony. It was a tall man with a long mustache that fell below his chin and hooked upward like two horns. He wore a dark cloak, and his long hair hung down his chest in two pigtails.
    As he came alongside Alice, he put his left arm across her shoulder. There was something protective and fatherly about the gesture. But then she turned her face up toward his, and seconds later my whole world fell apart, shattered like an icicle falling onto a slab of granite.
    They kissed.

CHAPTER XII
    T HE C OFFIN

    I T was not a fatherly kiss. It went on for a long time, their bodies locked together.
    Then the man lifted Alice, holding her under her arms and knees, and carried her back through the door. Moments later, it closed, and there was the distant click of a lock or bolt.
    I felt as though I had been punched in the heart. All the breath left my body in a rush, and I felt powerless to replace it. At the end of our last meeting, Alice had kissed me . I had thought that meant something. And now, so soon afterward, I thought bitterly, she was kissing someone else.
    I had no doubt in my mind that I loved Alice. I’d believed that she felt the same way about me. But I had never really thought about a future together. Spooks do not have wives. They are like priests, who dedicate their lives to God, putting their parishioners first. In the same way, a spook serves the people of the County; his duty is to protect them from the dark. That was what my master had taught me.
    However, in some vague way I had felt that I would find a way round that. Perhaps when I became the Chipenden Spook, we would marry. . . . I had never thought about the future in those terms until now.
    Until now, when she was clearly with somebody else . . .
    Slowly my shock and bewilderment gave way to rage and jealousy. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being in the arms of another. It