vast ocean before us.
I smiled, pleased it impressed him. Waves pounded the base of Maude’s cliff, and the air was alive with crashes and a salty tang. Whitecaps dotted the water as far as we could see, and out at sea, a thick wall of clouds was building. Lightning danced through them—this promised to be a monster of a storm. We’d have more snow on Salten before the night was out.
Cassius spun in a slow circle, taking in the layout of the island and looking up at the enormous structure before us. “What’s that?”
I followed his gaze to the top of the lighthouse. “It’s a lightning rod. It draws bolts to it to protect the rest of the structure.”
“I’m sure it’ll get plenty of use tonight. It’s strange to see so much lightning with a snowstorm, isn’t it?” He squinted against the howling winds.
Down the hill from us stood Silas’s house. All the windows, narrow and thickly paned to withstand the winds off the Kaleic, were dark.
“The key should be inside,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away from the windows. It felt as if something stared back at us. I burrowed deeper into my scarf. “Silas keeps it on a hook in the kitchen.”
We entered the cottage through the side door and stood in the mudroom. Tall waders hung upside down off long pegs above a drip mat, and a heavy ulster, once black but now stained with salt, rested on the top hook of a coatrack.
“He wouldn’t have left the house without this,” I murmured, fingering the heavy overcoat’s worn wool. “Silas?” I called out, raising my voice. “It’s Annaleigh Thaumas. Are you here?”
We paused but heard only the wind building outside. It raced past the house, growing into a low howl.
“You said the key is in the kitchen?” Cassius asked, prompting me to step deeper into the house.
On the table in the center of the small parlor was a hurricane lamp, and I fumbled to find a box of matches. I tried picturing Fisher and Silas in the threadbare armchairs, huddled around the fireplace as they took turns checking on the beacon’s light. Did they play cards to pass the time? Sing songs or tell outlandish tales? The wick flickered to life, its warm glow casting off some of the night’s eeriness.
Armed with the light, we quickly found the ring of iron keys hanging by the back door. As I picked it off the hook, there was a creak above us, as if someone had stepped on an uneven floorboard.
“Silas?” I called out. “Is that you?” I turned to Cassius. “We should go up and check. What if he’s sick?”
“I’ll go,” he volunteered, his eyes finding the rickety stairs leading to the second floor. “You stay here.”
I shook my head as another squeak sounded. “Silas knows me. I should go too.”
Cassius handed me the lantern and picked up a poker from near the fireplace. He swung it low to the ground, testing its weight. “Stay behind me, at least. Just in case.”
“In case of what?” I asked as we crept up the stairs.
“In case it’s not Silas,” he hissed under his breath.
I swallowed a surge of fear as we climbed the last steps.
There were three rooms on the top level. All the doors were closed. Cassius nudged open the one nearest to us. It was Fisher’s empty bedroom.
The next was Silas’s office, crammed full of books and ledgers. An old globe rested beneath a partially open window. As a gust of wind rushed by, the sphere spun around, creaking as it turned on its rusty axis. I prayed that was the noise we’d heard downstairs.
The final room was Silas’s bedchamber. It was almost spartanly bare, except for the stacks of books lining the floor. The plain cotton curtains were pushed back, giving a spectacular view of Old Maude. Directly across from the window was a wide brass bed.
“Oh, Silas,” I whispered, seeing the still form beneath the navy-and-white quilt.
He lay propped up on a pillow, a book open across his chest. His lined and weathered face looked so peaceful, he could have been dozing. But he didn’t move, and there was a sour scent in the air, wrinkling our noses. He probably crawled into bed a day or so ago, after a long night tending the flame, and never woke up.
I looked out the window at Old Maude. She seemed to be anxiously peering in, unable to help her old friend. I hoped his