Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) (11 page)

When he was gone, Griffin led me inside the morgue. No doubt
he’d been here before; not all of the missing persons cases he took ended
happily. The door opened onto a large room, its windows meant to let in
daylight for viewing, although now only the darkness of the long, autumn night
pressed against the panes. The stone walls and tiled floor seemed to hold a
chill. Part of the room had been divided off by a low wall topped with a glass
partition.

Bodies lay on the other side of the partition, propped at an
angle so as to be easily viewed. All were nude, their clothing hanging above
them to help identification. A woman leaned against the glass, sobbing
piteously, a small child clinging to her skirts.

An attendant came to greet us. “Mr. Flaherty,” he said. So
Griffin had been here often enough to be known to the staff. “You’re here to
see Emily Corbitt?”

“Yes.” Griffin introduced us, but such was my state, I
couldn’t remember the man’s name five seconds later. He led us back through a
discreet door. This room lay in shadows, and all the terrible scents of death
washed over me, rising from the three bodies lying on steel tables.

The attendant went to one and pulled back the shroud,
revealing the face beneath. At the sight of the familiar features, I sagged against
the wall.

Griffin caught my elbow. “Whyborne! Are you all right?”

“I’ll fetch a chair and some smelling salts,” the attendant
said and scurried off.

“She knitted me a scarf one Christmas.” It was a stupid
detail, but my mind seized upon it as if it had vast importance.

Griffin’s hand rubbed comfortingly on my back. “I remember.”

“It was oranges when I was growing up. Always an orange on
Christmas. And a little cake for my birthday.” Why was I talking about such
idiotic, insignificant things? But my mouth ran on as if it had a mind of its
own. “She’d let me eat dinner with her in the servants’ kitchen, whenever
Father was gone. I could actually stand to eat there, you know, not just push
the food around the plate.”

“She was a kind woman,” Griffin said. “I’m so sorry, my
dear.”

The attendant returned with a doctor, who I gathered must be
the medical examiner. When I sat in the chair the attendant brought, the doctor
took my pulse without asking permission, then administered the restorative
salts himself. I jerked away from the ammonia scent and glared at him.

“What happened to her, Dr. Greene?” Griffin asked the
medical examiner, indicating Miss Emily’s body.

“Stabbed,” the doctor said. “She must have been set on
suddenly from behind. The parietal bone of the skull was cracked from a heavy
blow. Still, she wasn’t knocked completely unconscious—there are
defensive wounds on her hands. There was no sign of sexual interference, and
given her employment, the police believe it a robbery gone wrong.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“What will happen to her?” I asked. She couldn’t feel the
steel table beneath her body, and yet it seemed so wrong to leave her there,
with only a thin shroud to keep away the chill. She’d made a scarf to keep me
warm. How could I abandon her here so cold?

“Her daughter will take her for burial, once we’re done,”
the attendant offered.

“Are we? Done?” I looked to Griffin.

“Yes.” He held out a hand to help me to my feet. “We are.
Thank you, gentlemen.”

He kept a steadying hand on my elbow all the way back
outside. I leaned against the wall, breathing deeply of the crisp October air,
struggling to clear the clinging scent of death from my nose.

“Tell me what I can do,” he said quietly.

I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to cry into his shoulder.
I wanted to scream it wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. Miss Emily had been a
good, decent woman who had never harmed anyone. The only person besides Mother
who’d ever shown me kindness within the walls of the house I’d been born in,
and now she was dead, and I didn’t even know why.

But society wouldn’t let us embrace so on the street. So I
forced myself to stand, hands folded tightly in front of me. “Should I call on
her daughter, do you think? Or…or go to the funeral?” At least she would have a
proper one, unlike Guinevere.

Guinevere. “She was found in the same part of town,” I went
on. “Do you think…it isn’t a coincidence, is it?”

“Doubtful.” Griffin looked pensive. “We wondered who had
given Guinevere the clothing she used as a disguise. Miss Emily seems the
likeliest candidate now.”

“No. She would have said something,” I protested. “She and
Mother were together from childhood—she wouldn’t have kept such a secret
from her.”

“Unless Guinevere swore her to secrecy.” Griffin’s mouth
curled into a frown. “If Miss Emily was drawn into this, whatever
this
is, by Guinevere, against her will, perhaps she couldn’t bring herself to tell
Heliabel. When Guinevere was said to suddenly fall ill, Miss Emily must have
guessed what had happened, even if Heliabel didn’t confide the truth to her.
Perhaps she felt she had betrayed Heliabel’s trust and was too ashamed to
speak.”

“Perhaps.” I slumped against the stones of the wall,
weariness aching in my bones. “I should go to Mother. She must be devastated.”

“Of course.” Griffin touched my arm. “Give her my
condolences.”

“I will.” I stepped away from the wall. “Don’t wait up for
me. I have no intention of spending the night there, but it may be late by the
time I return.” I lowered my voice cautiously, even though no one stood near.
“I’ll go to my bedroom, so as not to wake you.”

“Please don’t. I want you to wake me.” His eyes darkened to
the shade of moss in the dim light. “I want to be here for you.”

God, I wanted to kiss him. Not from passion, but from love
and companionship, and all the other things I could never find the words to
say. But of course I couldn’t, at least without being hauled off to jail for
indecency. So I only said, “I’ll see you later, then,” and forced myself to
walk away.

~ * ~

Less than a half hour later, I stood in front of the rented
house on Wyrm Lane.

The wind kicked up, scattering leaves from a nearby tree
across the stoop, then inside as Theo opened the door. His eyes widened at the
sight of me. “Percival! I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Especially
after…well. Mr. Flaherty.”

“Griffin thinks I’m at Whyborne House.” I ought to feel
guilty about lying to Griffin, shouldn’t I? But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because
this was for him as much as—more than—anyone else. “The maid who
was like a second mother to me is dead, murdered just like Guinevere. I’m tired
of the people I care for dying. I swore last spring I’d do anything it took to
keep those I love safe, but I failed to act on that promise. No more. I have to
do something, before I lose anyone else.”

The words had come out in a confused rush. Theo must have
thought me an utter lunatic. But he only looked at me as if he understood. “And
you’ve come to us because…?”

“Because I want to study sorcery with you.” I met his eyes
and, a bit to my own surprise, found I wasn’t at all afraid. “I want your help
finding whatever cult or sorcerers or monsters are responsible. And then I want
to make them pay.”

Theo smiled and stepped back. “Well, then. Come inside.”

~ * ~

“My condolences on your loss,” Theo said, as Fiona poured me
a glass of wine. We stood in their parlor once again, near the fire. “It must
be very difficult for you, so close on the heels of Guinevere’s death.”

“Yes.” I took a steadying swallow of wine. The vintage was
an excellent one, worth more attention than I was inclined to give it at the
moment.

“I’m glad you came to us.” Fiona poured glasses for herself
and Theo as well, then set the bottle aside. “Of course we’ll do everything we
can to help.”

“Griffin doesn’t know I’m here,” I admitted. “But I can’t
just stand by and let this continue.”

She watched me over the lip of the wine glass. “It must be
difficult having a friend who doesn’t appreciate you properly.”

“That isn’t it—he does—it’s just…” I trailed
off, heat involuntarily flushing my face. What could I safely say?

Theo chuckled at my discomfiture. “You may speak freely in
front of us, Percival. Is Mr. Flaherty your lover? I can’t imagine you’d care
so much for his opinion otherwise.”

My face grew even hotter, to have it stated so baldly. “I…”

“Our family has been sorcerers for eight hundred years,”
Fiona said with a smile showing teeth. “We don’t bend to society’s rules, dear
cousin. Society bends to us.”

“Except in the matter of refrigerated ships,” I said, but
the strength of my relief took me by surprise.

“Indeed.” Theo made a face. “We used to be the power behind
the throne—literally, in some cases. But with the nobility itself growing
more impoverished, we’re having to seek out new avenues of influence.”

“Ugh,
boring,”
Fiona said. “Percival, would you like
to see my laboratory?”

“I told you,” Theo said with a grin.

I gave Fiona a small bow. “I’d love to.”

She led the way out of the parlor and to the stairs. As we
went up, I said, “Speaking of our family, I’m not really clear on how we lost
contact. I know my great-great-great-grandfather came to America, but all
information was lost when my grandfather died.”

“What happened?” Theo asked. The house still relied on
gaslight, and its soft illumination reflected in his spectacles when he glanced
at me. “Guinevere said something about him dying young, but seemed reluctant to
elaborate.”

“I’m sure she was. Having a madman in the family probably
wasn’t conducive to her image as a noblewoman.”

“You’d be surprised,” Theo assured me.

“So will you tell us the secret, or shall we make up
something scandalous?” Fiona asked.

“It’s not really a secret,” I said. “Isaiah Endicott went
insane about a month before Mother was born. She was his first child, and
apparently the strain of fatherhood took its toll on a delicate mind. He
attacked his pregnant wife with a knife, shrieking he’d cut ‘it’ out of her.
The servants were able to restrain him, thank heavens. Off he went to a
madhouse, where he died shortly thereafter.”

“How awful!” Fiona exclaimed. We’d reached the attic stair,
and she led the way up, to a small door.

“It could have been worse. The servants went with my
grandmother to her new marriage in Boston, and took care of her and Mother.” I
bit my lip. “Miss Emily’s mother was among them. She and Mother have been
together since they were both girls.”

Theo put a steadying hand to my shoulder. “I can’t imagine
how Heliabel must feel at the moment. To lose a daughter and her oldest
companion only a few days apart must be devastating.”

I swallowed against the knot in my throat. “Yes.”

“But we were going to tell you about the split in our family
lines,” Fiona said. She laid her palm against the door and whispered a few low
words. A moment later, there sounded a distinct click, even though she’d put no
key to the lock. “In essence, there was a pair of twins—Zachariah and
Jeremiah.”

“Zachariah being my great-great-great-grandfather.” I at
least knew that much.

Theo nodded. “Twins run in our family. Family lore says
we’re especially attuned to the arcane arts.”

“I had a twin,” I offered. “She died only a few hours after
our birth, though.”

“Apparently, Zachariah murdered his.” Fiona pushed open the
door. “Supposedly, they were both in love with the same woman, but Jeremiah’s
courtship proved more successful. Zachariah killed his brother only a few months
after the wedding, when they were off chasing down cultists in some horrid fen.
He concealed Jeremiah’s body in the muck and fled England.”

“Of course when neither returned, other members of the
family went looking for them,” Theo said. “They found Jeremiah with his throat
cut, and learned Zachariah had left on a ship bound for the newly minted
country of America. Fortunately for us, Jeremiah’s young bride had already
conceived; we’re his latest descendants.”

“A bit more sordid a history than I’d hoped for,” I
confessed. The Whybornes were bad enough, having been thieves and whores who
fled to the colonies to escape the hangman. Now I found out my maternal line
descended from a man guilty of fratricide.

“Every family has its darker moments.” Theo offered me a
smile. “But I’d say your exploits have more than redeemed the honor of the
Yankee branch.”

The heat returned to my face. “I’m not—”

“Yes.” Theo put his hand to my shoulder. “You are. Stop
being so self-deprecating. You’re with people who appreciate you now.”

“And would appreciate you more if you’d come and look at my
lab,” Fiona called from inside the room.

I laughed and followed them inside.

~ * ~

Theo joined me again at the museum the next morning.

I’d crept into bed with Griffin in the small hours of the
night, tired but exhilarated. All of my study of sorcery until now had been
solitary; I’d never had the opportunity to speak freely with other
practitioners.

Fiona’s lab had been impressive, full of strange chemicals
and ingredients, accompanied by the expected foul smells. We’d had a lively
discussion about the role of alchemy in sorcery. After all, Blackbyrne wouldn’t
have been able to practice his necromancy had there not been some method of
rendering the bodies into their essential salts. And yet, was it truly part of
the sorcery, any more than, say, the manufacture of the chalk used to sketch a
sigil?

Our conversation had wandered to other points of theory. Did
the words we spoke matter, or did they only serve to shape the sorcerer’s will?
What were the implications of my being able to summon wind without a sigil now?

I’d never felt so easy in the company of anyone save
Christine and Griffin. Never felt so accepted and appreciated for all my
talents.

Of course, Griffin inquired after my mother over breakfast.
I made some evasive replies, and garnered only sympathy in response. It made me
feel a twinge of guilt.

But this was
for
Griffin. I’d faced the possibility
of losing him last spring in Egypt, which convinced me I needed to further my
arcane studies.

I wanted to protect him. I wanted to keep him safe.

I wanted to grow old at his side, and if he left this world
before me, it could only be through the natural consequences of age. Anything
else was unbearable to contemplate.

So if I lied, it was only for his good. And Christine’s, and
Mother’s, and that of everyone else I loved. There was no reason to feel
guilty. None at all.

I headed straight for the library as soon as I entered the
museum, eager to resume our research. When Theo appeared, I did no more than
cast him a distracted nod before delving back into the book in front of me. He
seemed to understand, and when I glanced up a while later, I found him
engrossed in his own reading.

Griffin’s suggestion Theo had any interest in me beyond our
distant relationship and our shared interests was absurd. I loved Griffin
beyond words to express, but the brutal truth was he’d not been exposed to the
vagaries of scholarship as I had. His school had been with the Pinkertons,
learning to mimic the ways of others. Mine had been in the rarified halls of
Miskatonic University. Where I identified an academic’s passion for knowledge,
he understandably mistook it as passion for me.

Well, not understandably, perhaps. No one had ever shown an
interest in me before Griffin. Whatever charms I might have, they seemed
apparent only to him.

“Oh! Hello!” Theo exclaimed, breaking our silence.

I looked up from the moldy volume I’d been examining. My
neck had developed a painful crick, so I stretched as I asked, “What?”

“I think I’ve found it. The source of your jewelry.”

I hurried around the table to peer over his shoulder. He
smelled of cedar, mingled with a faint hint of incense. “Here,” he said,
tapping a page of the
Unaussprechlichen Kulten
. “See this illustration?”

The entire volume contained fanciful depictions of
creatures, most of which I devoutly hoped were figments of the author’s
imagination. I’d not seen this one before, but I hadn’t studied the book with
any kind of depth.

The monster shown on one of the illustrated plates was
humanoid, its androgynous body long and lean. Dolphin-like fins jutted from its
arms and legs, and shark teeth filled its wide mouth. In place of hair, its
skull sprouted what appeared to be stinging tentacles, like those of an anemone
or a jellyfish. Gill slits showed to either side of its neck.

I let out a gasp of shocked recognition. “This is the same
sort of creature that accompanied the dweller in the deeps!” I’d seen their
image before, first on a ceremonial bowl, then later in visions, carved upon a
blasphemous temple far below the surface of the ocean. And last, as tiny
shadows, swimming alongside the vast dweller while it possessed me.

I shuddered at the memory. Although I’d aided the dweller
against the Eyes of Nodens, I had no illusions it cared a whit about humanity.
No doubt these shark-men who worshipped it had no greater love for our species
than the creature they revered.