"No." Wincing, he shut his eyes tightly and shook his head once, as though trying to clear it. "Must keep my promise ... must protect..."

"Now." Brian looked from his son's face to mine. "It stops now."

"Robbie," I said, "it's all right, love. I'm perfectly safe. Just give me the—"

The boy's head jerked backwards as if a string had pulled it, and his eyes rolled. "Periculosa," he said, in a hollow voice that sounded nothing like his own. “Via est periculosa. ''

"No, you don't!" Brian surged forward, brimming with anger. "You let the lad be!"

Stunned, I was opening my mouth to argue my innocence when Brian turned and roared again into the empty air around us. "D'you hear me, you great bloody bastard? You let my son be!"

The emptiness blinked. A sharp gust of wind shook the glass in the windows, and Robbie, the tearstains drying now, forgotten, on his cheeks, turned to look up at his father. "Who are you yelling at, Dad?"

Brian drew in a steadying breath. "No one, Robbie. Just yelling."

"Oh."

"Give that back to Miss Grey now, there's a good lad."

Robbie handed the pendant back placidly, and I took it with trembling fingers. "Thank you." My hand closed for a moment around the small raised image of Fortuna, around the charm of good luck that a ghost had meant for me to find. For protection. And now he'd handed me a warning, too, through Robbie. In Latin, periculosa meant dangerous.

Nearby a match flared as Brian lit another cigarette, and his eyes found mine in silence over Robbie's head.

"Via est periculosa?" Peter rolled his tongue around the words, considering. "He actually said that, did he?"

"Yes." I leaned back into the sofa and stroked the gray cat's ears, grateful to be back in the sitting room at Rosehill with its cheerful clutter everywhere and Adrian and Fabia slumped in armchairs on either side of me, drinks in hand. My own dry sherry had been sorely needed. I was halfway down it already, and I hadn't been back a quarter of an hour.

"How curious," Peter said. He was sitting in his own chair with Murphy draped across his knees, as usual. “I wonder what he meant."

"Gosh," said Adrian, stretching his legs out and tipping his head back. "Let's think this one through. He arranges for you to find a medallion of Fortuna, or Fortune, then tells you, "That way's dangerous.' Now who could he be warning you about, I wonder?"

I rolled my eyes sideways to look at him. "Must you always be annoying?"

Fabia frowned. "Davy's not dangerous."

Adrian, swirling his drink with great dignity, remarked that it depended entirely upon one's point of view.

Fabia made a great show of studying Adrian as she lifted her own glass. "Your eyes are awfully green, aren't they?"

"Frequently." Across the room their eyes met, and she looked away abruptly.

"Via est periculosa," Peter repeated, thoughtfully. "Of course, via has several meanings, doesn't it? The road, the way, the method."

“

“The road is dangerous'?" Fabia tried the translation. "That sounds more a warning against your driving, Adrian."

"Very funny."

She curled herself into her armchair, like one of the cats. "Where is Davy, anyway?"

Adrian shrugged. "Still playing scoutmaster, out in the field. He'll be in when he feels like it."

Out in the field ...

I closed my eyes a moment, fighting the image that formed in my brain—the image of a solitary Roman soldier walking back and forth across the waving grass for all eternity, unheard and unseen, with no companions but the silent dead. How lonely that would be, I thought... how horribly lonely. I tried to clear my mind, but the soldier would not leave. He walked a little further, looked across the field and thought he saw his sister standing, waiting for him, only it wasn't her... not Claudia ... a young woman with long hair, but not Claudia. Close enough, perhaps, to stir the coals of memory. Did ghosts have memories, I wondered? Did they love?

I opened my eyes, and knew from the dreamy expression on Peter's face that he was wondering the same thing. "Extraordinary," was his final pronouncement. "Quite extraordinary."

"Yes." Adrian looked at me, lazily. "So I suppose Brian's banned you from the premises now, has he?"

"Not at all. He handled the whole thing rather well, I thought. No recriminations."

Peter arched an eyebrow. "My dear girl, you do work miracles, don't you? First Connelly, and now Brian. You have a great facility for dealing with difficult men."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "I've had a lot of practice."

Adrian cast a sharp eye in my direction. "Watch it."

Fabia leaned forward. "Have you still got the pendant, Verity? I haven't had a chance to really look at it yet."

I shook my head. "I gave it to one of my students, to put in the finds room."

"Trusting soul," Adrian said.

"There's a lock on the finds room door," I defended my action.

"I meant giving it to a student. I'm surprised you gave it to anyone, actually, after what Robbie said." His tone was dry. "If it's supposed to be keeping you safe..."

"I feel safer," I said, "with it locked in the finds room, thanks all the same."