Serafina and the Twisted Staff (The Serafina Series) by Robert Beatty Page B

dead?’ the man said, leaning forward and peering at her.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How do you know this?’
    ‘Because he has not returned.’
    ‘But do you know
how
he died? Did you see a body? Was there some sort of unnatural force involved?’
    In those last few words, the rat betrayed himself. What was he truly looking for? When he said
unnatural force
, did he mean black magic? The man in the forest had instructed his dogs to
hunt down what he had called the Black One. This man wasn’t just looking for Mr Thorne’s murderer. He was looking for the Black Cloak!
    ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he pressed her.
    ‘I believe a powerful force must have surprised him and killed him,’ she said. ‘Everyone in the mountains knows that the forest is filled with many dangers.’ And then she
remembered the expression that Essie had said always spooked her. ‘Maybe the old man of the forest is up to his old tricks again.’
    The detective’s expression widened when she said these words. ‘What kind of powerful force are you talking about?’
    ‘I think there are forces both good and evil in the forest.’
    ‘And you believe it was these forces that killed Mr Thorne?’ the detective asked.
    ‘It could be,’ she said. What she wasn’t saying was that it had been the
good
forces rather than the evil ones that had killed Mr Thorne.
    Mr Vanderbilt leaned forward. ‘I don’t know where your questions are going, Mr Grathan. I suggest we proceed with the other people on your list.’
    ‘I have more questions for these two,’ the detective said sharply, not looking at Mr Vanderbilt. Serafina could feel the barely controlled intensity rising within the detective. It
was as if he had come in the
disguise
of a civilised person, a police investigator, but now his true character was beginning to show itself.
    He thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a silver clasp engraved with an intricate design: a tight bundle of twisting vines and thorns.
    Serafina’s heart began to pound in her chest. Now there was no doubt. The detective had found the remnants of the Black Cloak. That meant he had indeed been out to the area of her
mother’s den. A flash of new fears flooded her mind. She could feel the heat rising in her body.
    ‘Do you recognise this?’ the detective asked her.
    The pulse of her blood thumped in her temples. She could barely hear his words.
    ‘Do you recognise this?’ he asked again.
    ‘It appears to be a clasp from an article of clothing,’ she said, trying to keep her voice as flat and undisturbed as possible.
    ‘But you’re not answering the question!’ he pressed her.
    ‘Mr Grathan, calm yourself,’ Mr Vanderbilt warned him.
    ‘Do you recognise it?’ Mr Grathan asked her, ignoring him.
    ‘It looks as if whatever it once held is now set free,’ she said.
    ‘But have you seen it before?’ he asked again, gripping the handle of his cane like he was going to swing it around and wield it like a weapon at any moment.
    She felt a great weight pressing in on her. But as she pretended to examine the clasp, she noticed that something was different: the tiny faces that had been behind the thorns were gone now.
    ‘I have never seen a silver clasp with this design,’ she said, at last finding a way to hew to the truth.
    The detective stared at her for a long time as if he knew she was deceiving him but could not quite frame the words to trap her.
    ‘Detective, we need to move on,’ Mr Vanderbilt pushed him.
    ‘I have more questions!’ the detective insisted, his voice filled with aggravation, his eyes locked on Serafina. ‘Do you know which room Mr Thorne slept in during his stay at
Biltmore?’
    ‘It was on the third floor,’ she said.
    ‘Do you live here at Biltmore?’
    ‘Yes, I do.’
    ‘With the female servants on the fourth floor?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then where do you sleep at night?’
    ‘I do not.’
    The detective stopped and looked at her in surprise. ‘You do not