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Falmouth.”
    Nell agreed, so off they went. “I wonder if the station has ghosts.” Trusting the sturdy mare’s footing, Nell stared out at the passing countryside as the horses clip-clopped along the road. Cornwall was so lovely and rugged. She enjoyed England in all its permutations, but this corner of the realm had been her refuge for the past three years, so it was special, and now she might never have reason to come back here again. It wasn’t home, but she would miss it.
    “Why would a railway station have a ghost?” Tom’s question broke into her nostalgic haze.
    “Why not?” She turned her gaze back to the road ahead. “Perhaps he died on a train, or was murdered in the station. Or he simply liked it. Ghosts don’t always stay where they died. The rules seem to vary for each individual spirit. Some are attached to a place, some to a person, some go where they like… You just never know. Pubs are full of them. Regular patrons who continue to haunt—pardon the pun—their favorite taproom even after they’ve passed on. It’s worth a try.”
    “We don’t have much else to go on.” She caught his shrug from the corner of her eye. She’d never seen him look so defeated. “Might as well give it a go. It’s on you, though, if we get nicked for trespassing. Stationmaster was locking up when I left.”
    “Like a lock is a problem for you,” she teased, hoping to buoy his spirits. “Or seeing in the dark, for that matter. We won’t even need an etheric torch.” The gas-based handheld lamps were a brand-new invention, but Tom had spells. Like most of the other Knights, he also had senses that were more acute than those of normal humans, a gift passed down genetically from their ancestors, the original Knights of the Round Table.
    “I can pick a lock,” Tom agreed. He didn’t speak often about his magick. Not finding out about his heritage until he was sixteen made him different from other Knights who’d been raised in the Order.
    After another awkward silence, Nell said, “We missed you at the christening. Especially since you were supposed to be one of Teddy’s godfathers.” Wink’s adorable baby boy had been born just before Christmas, with the ceremony during school holidays for both Nell and Jamie’s sake.
    “I am.” Tom’s tone was taut. He obviously didn’t want to talk to her. When had he come to hate her so? “They arranged to have a second mini-service when I visited in January.”
    “That’s good.” She bit her lip. Why hadn’t Wink mentioned that? They spoke by telephone at least once a week and wrote just as often. Of course none of her family ever mentioned Tom when they wrote or spoke to her, at least not to speak of. “Tom’s in Scotland,” someone might say if she asked, or, “He’s on a mission in Birmingham.” Ever since he’d revealed his marriage, there had been a studied effort on the part of the family to keep the two of them apart. Nell appreciated their thoughtfulness, but sometimes it frustrated her, too, as if they were afraid any upset would break her. She wished they had more faith in her courage.
    By the time they reached the village, full darkness had descended. A spring breeze cast a chill in the air, but there were no clouds above to obscure the light from the golden sliver of the waning moon, hanging low in the sky. Fortunately the station was set a ways out from the village proper, so there were no neighbors passing as they tied their horse to the railing behind the squat stone departure depot, set across the tracks from the nearly identical shelter for incoming passengers. Farther down the line was the goods shed, where cargo could be stored for pickup or delivery, and the stationmaster’s house sat perhaps fifty yards back from the arrivals side of the platform, close to the road from the neighboring village.
    Tom quietly popped the latch and opened the door. “We should start with the ticket counter,” he whispered as they slipped inside.