The Importance of Being Emily Read Online Free PDF

tell Lord Willowbrook that Mr. St. Jerome was the killer. Michael would be safe and we could be together…but the idea of lying was abhorrent to me. I would tell the truth, no matter the consequences. The bleeding stopped and I stepped away.
    “Thank you,” he said politely.
    “So well mannered for a cold-blooded killer,” Mr. Gryphon disparaged.
    Michael cleared his throat. “I have never heard of a chronicler killing anyone, but I have heard of hundreds dying during sorcerer power struggles.”
    “You watch your tongue, whelp!” Mr. Gryphon threatened.
    “Control yourself,” Lord Willowbrook warned, but the younger man ignored him.
    “This man murdered my cousin. I don’t know why you are entertaining the fancies of this charlatan.”
    “Are you questioning my abilities?” I asked, deeply offended.
    “Yes. If you had any real power, you would not be wasting it playing at matchmaker.” Mr. Gryphon sneered at me, his words stinging like a slice through my skin, and I fought back the petty urge to shove my way into his thoughts to find something to embarrass him with. “Are we to trust her based on a few moments of a vision ?” He spoke the word with derision, and I stood a bit straighter, my head held high.
    “Miss Wright was correct about the second bite mark,” Dr. Bennett said.
    “Anyone could have guessed that. How can we be certain she is telling the truth? Everyone knows she is fond of Mr. Black,” Mr. Gryphon argued. “She is only concerned with helping him, not with finding justice for Amelia.”
    “How dare you!” My hands clenched into fists at the insult. “If you knew anything about seers, then you would know that we are dedicated to seeking the truth. I would not lie for my father, and I have a lifetime’s worth of fondness for him,” I informed him archly.
    “That’s enough,” Lord Willowbrook interrupted. “Mr. Gryphon, because you are grieving I will excuse the insults to my guests, but I warn you not to do it again. I have faith in Miss Wright’s desire to determine the truth. We will proceed with the questions.”
    “Yes, sir,” Mr. Gryphon replied reluctantly.
    I flexed my fingers and primly brushed at my skirt. “Thank you.”
    I glanced around the room for a second chair but did not see one. Instead I made my way to a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. “May I sit, please?” I asked Lord Willowbrook, and he nodded his permission.
    I perched atop the chest, smoothing my skirts and then primly folding my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. This was my first practical attempt at determining truth. I had honed the skill reading my sisters’ auras, without their knowledge, in attempts to discover important truths such as who had eaten the last biscuit or borrowed my shawl without consent. The theory of spotting a lie was the same, though the subject matter was far more serious. I stared past Mr. St. Jerome, allowing my vision to shift, but when his aura appeared it was faint and anemic. The hues were washed out, bleeding into each other like watercolor paint. Confused, I turned to glance at Dr. Bennett and found his aura as strong and vibrant as it had been in the parlor.
    “Is something wrong?” Lord Willowbrook asked.
    “His aura is unique. I have not encountered anything like it before. I may need a few test questions to acclimate to reading it,” I informed him. “Yes or no questions are simplest.”
    Lord Willowbrook nodded. “Very well.” He paused, probably wondering what to ask, and then he began. “Is the year 1857?”
    “Yes.” Mr. St. Jerome sounded as weary and drained as his aura, and I felt sorry for him.
    “Are you a member of the Order of St. Jerome?”
    “Yes.”
    The energy remained steady for both answers, and I nodded my approval. “Perhaps a falsehood next?”
    Lord Willowbrook nodded again. “Is your name Simon St. Jerome?”
    “Yes,” he confirmed.
    This time the energy flickered like a candle in a drafty room, and I frowned.