Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5)

(Whyborne &
Griffin No. 5)

Jordan L. Hawk

Bloodline
© 2014 Jordan L. Hawk

ISBN: 978-1-941230-07-7

All rights reserved.

Cover art © 2014 Jordan L. Hawk

© Depositphotos/flotsam

© Shutterstock Inc./Ryan Jorgensen

Model: Charles McGregor

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Annetta Ribken

Sharks swirled around me, waiting only for the scent of
blood to attack. One show of weakness and they would close in, dragging their
hapless victim down into the depths. Or his reputation, anyway. These sharks
glittered not with teeth, but diamonds, gold cufflinks, and gowns from Maison
Worth. A bit out of season for a gathering of elite society, as grand balls
generally didn’t begin until after Thanksgiving, and it was now less than two
weeks before Hallowe’en. But no one could pass up the chance to view the
triumphant return of my sister Guinevere—or rather, Lady
Gravenwold—from England.

Like any minnow, I tried to remain small and still in hopes
of going unnoticed. Unfortunately, the enormous ballroom provided little in the
way of cover. The best I could do was stand as near as possible to the most
hideous portrait of the dozens covering the walls, in the hope its sheer
ugliness would frighten anyone else away.

“You must be very pleased with yourself,” Stanford growled.

My brother wasn’t the biggest shark in these treacherous
waters, but he warranted a careful eye nonetheless. “I don’t know what you
mean,” I said truthfully.

Stanford snorted. He’d inherited Father’s build, and as a
youth, he’d grown brawny from the exercise of chasing and tormenting things
smaller than himself. Namely me, but wounded birds and stray dogs would do as
well. Over the last few years, he’d run to fat, mainly through excess of drink,
but tonight his piggish eyes seemed clear. “Of course you do. How did you convince
Father to throw this party for you?”

“It isn’t for me.” And it wasn’t, not really. Although I’d
been rather horrified to see my name prominently displayed on the invitations.
“It’s for Guinevere. I suppose Mother and Father thought they might as well include
my birthday, since it’s in two weeks.”

On Hallowe’en, in fact. The holiday generally marked the
beginning of the social season in Widdershins, much as Thanksgiving did in New
York. No doubt because the old families wished to gather together to conduct
whatever unholy rites they preferred, and an early start to the season gave
them perfect cover.

God, these parties had been hideous enough before I’d
realized madmen and cultists founded the town, their work continued until this
very day. At least I knew now why Father had been absent for all of my
childhood birthdays, although the rituals he might have performed with the
Brotherhood on those nights didn’t bear considering.

“I thought you might have decided to marry,” Stanford went
on, narrowing his eyes even further as he regarded me. “Make Father happy, and
this was your reward. But you haven’t danced with anyone. And you brought
your—” He caught himself from whatever he meant to say, recalling the
crowd around us.
“Companion,”
he finished, the word soaked in scorn and
vinegar.

My fingers tightened around my champagne flute. I wouldn’t
let Stanford make me angry. Not tonight.

Blast it, why had I come here? But I already knew the
answer: it presented an excellent opportunity for Griffin to make connections
normally out of his reach. True, he’d already handled a case for one of the old
families, the Lesters, but this was his chance to establish himself as someone
of taste and discretion in the eyes of the Widdershins elite. Even now he
chatted with one of the Waite brothers, whose name I could never
recall—Fred? Ted?

“I don’t know why Father decided to append my birthday to
Guinevere’s return,” I grated out. “I was invited. I agreed to attend. What is
it to you?”

His familiar sneer had changed little since we were children.
“I know what you’re up to.”

Was he drunk after all? Before I could even think how to
respond, he turned away, tossing back the rest of his champagne as if he’d lost
interest in the conversation. A ring set with an enormous diamond flashed on
his finger. Mother had mentioned he’d been hard at work changing his fortunes
ever since the scandalous divorce from Darla. Father wouldn’t have paid for
such an ostentatious ring; had he actually earned it himself?

“Percival,” a commanding tone barked in my ear.

I started, slopping champagne on my cuff. My ears grew hot,
but I struggled to keep any signs of embarrassment off my face as I turned to
my father.

More lines showed on the visage glowering at me from beneath
a mane of silver hair, but despite his age, the tuxedo he wore showed off a
figure that remained firm.

“What are you doing skulking about?” he said, without even
giving me the chance to greet him. Sapphires flashed blue fire from his
cufflinks. “This is your opportunity to remind those of importance you still
exist.”

“Mr. Mathison is far more adept than I at soliciting
donations for the museum,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding Father’s
intent. “It’s why the board made him president of the Ladysmith, after all.”

Father’s scowl deepened, a reaction to which I was long
accustomed. “You’re wasting your talents there, Percival. The skills you’ve
picked up recently would be invaluable to our business.”

Skills? True, I felt my sojourn in Egypt had sharpened my
reading of the hieroglyphs, but…oh. He meant sorcery.

At least now I knew why he’d suddenly deemed my birthday
worth mentioning, even if nearly two weeks before the fact. For almost
twenty-nine years, he’d scorned my knowledge of languages, my high marks at
university, my very existence. But now I’d gained a small amount of arcane
power and suddenly warranted his attention.

My right arm ached, the lacework of scars pulling at the
skin. At least the formality of the evening gave me an excuse to wear gloves,
so no one would ask about the startling pattern of reddened flesh, which
decorated the back of my hand since my return from Egypt.

“I’m sure they would,” I managed to say, half shocked my
voice remained neutrally calm. “But you cut me off from the business when I
left for Miskatonic.”

He made an impatient gesture. Dismissing the pain of our
arguments, sweeping away everything my defiance had cost me, as if it were
nothing. “Water over the dam. There’s a place for you at Whyborne Railroad and
Industries.”

So I could be used and then discarded once again? My gloves
kept the nails of my left hand from biting into my palm, but my right hand
shook around the champagne flute. “I’m quite happy at the museum.”

He shook his head, clearly despairing over my obstinacy. How
dare I live my own life instead of the one he’d planned for me? “I don’t
suppose you’ve even danced with anyone. As I said, this is your chance to
remind those of importance you exist, including a number of heiresses.”

Was the man completely insane? “Griffin is here on
your
invitation,” I said in a low voice, even though it was impossible to hear us
over the string quartet playing nearby, not to mention the general chatter.

Father shrugged. “He seems a practical sort. Clever enough
to know securing your friendship would give him access to a better sort of
client, but not so foolhardy as to make inadvisable demands from me. I’m sure
he would be perfectly happy to step back and agree to a different arrangement.”

Because, of course, there could be no possible reason for
Griffin to be with me other than advancing his own business. “You’ve never been
in love in your entire life, have you?” Except perhaps with power.

“Love won’t get you anywhere in this world.” His brows drew
down in a deeper scowl. “You must be willing to do whatever is necessary.
General Sherman understood that.”

“This is business, Father, not a battlefield.”

“It’s survival. One way or another.”

Thankfully, one of the other guests caught Father’s
attention. “Think on what I’ve said,” he ordered. “And for God’s sake, at least
find some young lady to dance with. Try Helmina Fisk—her father has
inquired about you several times. If he thinks there’s a possibility of a
union, he’ll sell his steel shares to me at a lower price.”

Father departed before I could formulate any objection. Damn
the man, he hadn’t changed a whit in twenty years.

“Percival!” my sister called.

Oh dear lord, how many family members did I have at this
wretched affair? And why must they all want to speak to me at once?

“Guinevere,” I said, giving her a nod.

As befit the wife of an English nobleman, Guinevere blazed with
gold and gems. Her dark hair piled high on her head, captured with a delicate
net of gold and pearls, and diamonds dripped from her fingers and encircled her
neck. Her gown was of pale yellow silk, cut to make the most of her figure, the
sleeves and bodice swathed with lace. Tiny mirrors set on the lace reflected
back the light of the chandelier. She had our mother’s slender build and eyes,
traits I also shared.

“A pleasure to see you again, Guinevere,” I said, not
because it was true, but because propriety demanded it. She’d behaved like
imperious nobility even as a small girl, and marriage to Earl Gravenwold had
only exacerbated the condition. “I trust your journey proved uneventful?”

Before she could reply, two other individuals appeared on
her heels. They were perhaps thirty years of age, a man and woman who closely
resembled one another, with hair the color of straw and blue eyes. The man’s
tuxedo was finely cut, and the woman wore a gown of crimson silk, the skirt
embroidered with silver stars. Although not as bejeweled as Guinevere, they
certainly looked as if they belonged amidst this crowd. Who were they, that I
hadn’t met them before?

“Guinevere, will you not introduce us?” the man asked in an
English accent, his gaze fixed on me.

Guinevere’s mouth thinned slightly in annoyance at the
interruption, but she could hardly refuse. “Of course. Percival, I’m sure
Mother mentioned our Endicott cousins to you?”

“Ah! Yes!” Guinevere and I didn’t exchange letters, but she
dutifully wrote Mother long missives each month, detailing her life in England.
Mother passed along anything of interest, including Guinevere’s unexpected
discovery of distant relations in Cornwall.

“Dr. Percival Whyborne, may I present our cousins, Mr.
Theodore Endicott and his sister, Miss Fiona Endicott,” Guinevere said.

I bowed over Miss Endicott’s hand, mouthing some polite
words. God, just what I needed the least—more family.

When I extended my hand to her brother, he startled me by grasping
it warmly with both of his. “Dr. Whyborne! It is truly an honor to meet you,
sir.” He wore a pair of small, round-lensed spectacles, which did nothing to
diminish the gleam of real pleasure in his eyes. “When we met Guinevere, I
couldn’t believe you were our cousin, however distant. I’m something of a
student of languages myself, and I read the treatise on Aklo you published last
year. At the time, I’d assumed your middle name to be a coincidence, rather
than an indication of relation. Your paper was very impressive, sir, very
impressive.”

“Oh! Er, thank you.” I’d certainly not expected to meet
someone who knew of my work at this gathering. Comparative philology remained
an obscure science at best, and a paper concerning the roots of an esoteric
medieval language used only by certain cults even more so. “Are you a
philologist yourself?”

“I fear I’m but a dilettante.” He gave my hand one last
squeeze, then let go. “Forgive my enthusiasm, but I greatly admire your work.”

I hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond. Thank God my
gloves had at least concealed any sweat from my palms. “Er, thank you, Mr.
Endicott.” I probably sounded like a fool. “You’re very kind.”

“Please, call me Theo.” He glanced down, then back up at me.
My height had always been something of a curse, forcing me to stand out when I
would rather have hidden. “I don’t wish to seem forward, but I would greatly
appreciate the chance to converse later, at a time of your convenience.”

People didn’t seek out my company. Well, other than Griffin
and Christine, of course, but one was my lover and the other my best friend.
They were rather obligated to do so. It felt strange to have someone I’d just
met wish to speak to me again.

And it might be a good excuse to stop pretending to
socialize with everyone else. I had to show good hospitality to our guest from
abroad, didn’t I? I glanced about—perhaps there was some secluded nook
where Mr. Endicott and I might continue our conversation now, away from the
noise and dancing.

As if my hopes had summoned an evil spirit to dash them,
Father appeared at Mr. Endicott’s elbow. “Theodore, Fiona—what do you
think of American entertainments?” he asked. No doubt making certain they were
suitably impressed by the ostentatious display of power and wealth.

Or, for all I knew, he’d somehow sensed someone paying me a
compliment and felt the need to put a stop to it immediately. At any rate, I
wouldn’t be speaking privately with Mr. Endicott tonight, so I bowed to the
group and took my leave.

~ * ~

I made my way along the outskirts of the room, staying well
clear of the dancing and nodding distractedly to the ladies who sought to catch
my attention. Where had Griffin slipped off to? The dazzling glitter of
gemstones and fine silk confused my eyes, making it difficult to pick one
person out of the crowd. I did spot Stanford, but fortunately, he was deep in
conversation with Thomas Abbott, whose father had been part of the evil society
known as the Brotherhood. The elder Abbott’s death cleared the way for Thomas
to take over the family fortunes and promptly fritter a good deal of them away,
if rumor was to be believed.

At the moment, he wore a faint smile on his face.
Stanford’s, in contrast, flushed red with anger. Whatever they spoke of, I
wished Abbott luck.

I finally glimpsed Griffin, not far from the doors, and my
heartbeat immediately calmed. He conversed with Miss Lester, whom he’d
previously worked for on a case involving a somewhat sinister family heirloom
gone missing.