Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) (24 page)

“God, that alone proves he’s already been corrupted!” Theo
said. “Quickly, Fiona!”

Fiona snatched up the wand and pointed it directly at me. I
didn’t even have time to protest before a wall of wind punched into my chest.

I fell backward, through the open door and onto the steps.
For a moment, all was confusion as I tumbled down them, risers striking my head
and body, a wrenching pain in my left arm, the taste of blood in my mouth. I
fetched up against the landing and lay still for a moment, stunned.

The uppermost stairs creaked.

Theo stalked toward me, his expression one of mingled rage
and disgust. “You tricked us,” he snarled. “Tricked me. Thank God I never
fucked you—I’d have to kill myself from the shame.”

I scrambled to my feet, hands shaking. “Theo—no—we’re
friends—cousins—”

“You’re no cousin of ours, abomination,” Fiona spat. She
held the wand in her hand, her eyes wild with fury. “Traitor!”

“No!” I shouted, and summoned the wind.

It howled up the stairs, shoving them both back, interrupting
whatever spells they might have been casting.

Then I ran.

My feet pounded down the steps, and I almost fell again.
Footsteps sounded behind me, drawing nearer. As soon as I reached the first
floor, I stretched my legs to their full length, gaining the front door even as
they emerged into the room behind me.

Frost slicked the wood beneath my feet, and I fell heavily
against the door. The knob burned my flesh when I touched it, but I ignored the
pain, ripping open the door and scrambling out to the street.

Griffin looked up in alarm. “Run!” I shouted.

He reached for me, grabbing my elbow as I passed. Then we
both fled down the street, away from the house. I didn’t think even the twins
would murder us in broad daylight, but I had no desire to make certain of it.

We slowed our pace a few blocks away. “They didn’t follow,”
Griffin said, looking back over his shoulder. “Are you all right? Your chin is
bleeding.”

My scalded palm ached, and bruises made themselves known
from various parts of my anatomy. I slumped back against the side of a
building, feeling the roughness of the brick through my hair as I tipped back
my head. Now that we’d escaped, reaction began to set in. My knees trembled,
and my stomach rolled. The memory of Theo’s anger and betrayal burned worse
than my palm. He’d been so disgusted, as if his attraction to me had been some
sort of filthy snare into which I’d lured him.

“What happened?” Griffin asked.

I closed my eyes, but only saw Theo’s face again. “They
didn’t take it well,” I said. “My lineage. I suppose I should have guessed how
they’d react, given the things they said earlier, but I thought because it was
me…”

“They would see things differently.” Griffin put a hand to
my shoulder. Although I couldn’t feel his warmth through my coat, the firm grip
comforted me, reminded me I wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

“After you and Christine, I thought my fears had been
nonsense.” I sighed and shook my head. “I’m a fool.”

“I should have insisted on joining you. But I believed my
presence would be a distraction.” Griffin squeezed my shoulder, then let go.
“Very well, it looks like we can’t count on the Endicotts to aid us tonight. We’d
best redouble our efforts to locate Stanford well ahead of time. Any ideas?”

I straightened from the wall. My hurt and disappointment
meant nothing beside the dangers Stanford posed. “Perhaps he’s fallen back into
bad habits, and spent the night at a saloon or brothel?”

“Perhaps.” Griffin didn’t look convinced. But then, neither
was I. “It’s somewhere to start, at least. Let’s go.”

~ * ~

“Damn your brother,” Christine said, shortly after sundown.
“He’s going to cost us both our jobs.”

Griffin and I spent the day hunting for Stanford, with no
luck whatsoever. We could hardly search every rented house or room in the town,
but we did our best, canvassing his old haunts. No one admitted to seeing him,
and eventually we were forced to admit defeat. An afternoon check at Whyborne
House revealed neither he nor Father had returned or even sent word.

God, I hoped I hadn’t gotten everything wrong, and Father
really was in cahoots with Stanford. With any luck, he was safely out of the
way at the museum by now. Where Christine and I should have been.

Instead, we waited in the cold with Griffin, so we could
confront my idiot of a brother and prevent him from taking over the town. We
stood on the bank of the river, not far from the cemetery, where I’d first seen
Persephone. Storm wrack filled the eastern sky, and no moon lit the sky. The
wind held a breath of frost as it rustled the vast bulk of the Draakenwood
behind us.

God, I hoped Stanford wasn’t stupid enough to go in there at
night. Any night, really, but tonight seemed even more ill-omened, given the
rites Blackbyrne had once practiced within the confines of the forest.

Sunset ushered in the official start of Hallowe’en according
to the ancient Celts. All across Widdershins, people celebrated: either with
cards and silly games, or darker rites handed down from their ancestors. The
private museum tours would begin any moment, wealthy donors crowding inside to
exclaim over the cursed items, before retiring to the buffet and champagne.

“Perhaps Dr. Hart will believe your story about the fever?”
I suggested hopefully.

“Perhaps, if we hadn’t spent the entire time complaining
about the blasted tours.” Christine sighed. “Ah well. We’ll simply have to
become highwaymen to feed ourselves.”

“Gold miners in the Yukon.”

“You could find a job waiting tables at Le Calmar. Or would
you worry the fish stew might consist of near relatives?”

“Christine!”

“Hush, the both of you,” Griffin ordered. “I heard
something.”

We fell instantly silent. I strained my ears, but the only
sounds stirring nearby were the sigh of the breeze, the hiss of our breathing,
and the rustle of leaves. More distantly, dogs barked, and a faint strain of
odd music blew in on the wind, before vanishing again just as quickly.

There. A splash. Ripples spread across the surface of the
river, and a fin breached the surface. I started forward, but Griffin grabbed
my arm and yanked me back. “We don’t know it’s her.”

Dear lord—the cemetery behind us lay silent, so far as
I could tell. Had the ketoi not come on land yet? Were we about to be greeted
by a…school? pod?…of them?

It was almost impossible to make anything out in the
starlight, but the faintest outline of a form rose from the water. Alone.

“It’s her,” I said, with more certainty than the situation
probably warranted. But there was no question in my mind, as if some part of me
recognized some other part of her.

Griffin unshuttered his lantern. Persephone’s jewelry
flashed back at us in the light, and she squinted. Her tentacle-hair thrashed
around her shoulders violently, and I caught a quick flare of gills to either
side of her neck, before the slits closed tight. In her hand, she held
something resembling a crude sword: a length of bone, set with razor-sharp bits
of obsidian.

“What is that?” I asked, approaching her.

She hefted it. “This is for Dives Deep. I will use it to cut
off her head.”

“Oh, I like her,” Christine said.

I’d let my manners lapse. “Dr. Christine Putnam, this is my,
er, sister, Persephone. Persephone, Christine is my dear friend.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Christine said staunchly, and
thrust out her hand. Persephone eyed the rifle slung over Christine’s shoulder
warily, but shook hands.

“Where is our brother?” Persephone asked. “Where is Dives
Deep?”

“We haven’t seen them yet,” Griffin said. “Perhaps we can
find a place of concealment among the crypts and lie in wait?”

Persephone frowned, an expression I found far less
disturbing than her smile. “The warriors left before me. I watched from a
distance, waited until they were well past, then came after. They are not
here?”

The cemetery behind us lay dark and silent. “Perhaps they
sneaked in, before we arrived,” I suggested. “Or…there was a reason Stanford
chose this place. Maybe a crypt opens into some underground cavern via a secret
entrance in a tomb.”

“Good gad, man, what utter nonsense!” Christine gave me a
disgusted look.

“It’s as likely as anything else,” I shot back.

“And more so in Widdershins than anywhere else, I’d say.”
Griffin touched my arm lightly. “Come. I’m going to lower the beam, and we’ll
enter the cemetery. Surely we’ll spot them, or at least evidence of their
activity, soon enough.”

We crept cautiously to the low wall and scrambled over. A
fat rabbit broke cover and fled before us, and handfuls of golden and scarlet
leaves from the Draakenwood drifted on the breeze, but otherwise nothing moved.
There was no trace of water dripping from ketoi fresh from the river, no sound
of low chanting, no light of torches or lanterns. No flicker of magic at all,
except for the slow tug of the arcane maelstrom beneath us.

When we reached the edge of the forest, it became clear we
were the only living creatures in the cemetery tonight. “I don’t understand,” I
said, turning around and around, in the vain hope of spotting some glimmer of
light or motion. “Persephone, you’re certain of what your friend said? They
were going to the ‘place of bones?’”

“Yes.” Frustration roughened her voice, and she struck the
ground with her weapon. “Stone Biter is no fool. And he would
not
have
lied to me.”

“Then he must have been wrong,” Christine said. She perched
on a convenient headstone and glared at the nearest crypt, as if its
inhabitants might be persuaded to emerge and give us answers. “What a devil of a
night. No Stanford, no ketoi army, no Theodore and Fiona, and no jobs because
we skipped the damned tours in favor of in this accursed cemetery. The only
thing which could possibly salvage it is if the blasted hadrosaur collapses on
top of Bradley.”

“What is a hadrosaur?” Persephone asked.

“A giant creature, which lived a long time ago, so long even
its bones have turned to stone,” I explained.

“Its bones.” Griffin met my gaze, and my heart began to beat
faster. “The hadrosaur in the grand foyer. And the other exhibits behind it, of
ancient beasts.”

“The place of bones.” Horrified realization swept over me.
“Not the cemetery at all. Whatever Stanford has planned, it’s taking place at
the museum.”

~ * ~

We ran down the road leading to the Ladysmith. On the streets
around us, revelers in masks and costumes traveled to parties. Bonfire smoke
perfumed the air, and candles gleamed within jack-o-lanterns set out on porches
and in windows.

A young woman let out a mock-scream at seeing a man dressed
as a bear. Then she spotted us and let out a genuine shriek at the sight of
Persephone, dressed like a barbarian queen in nothing but jewels and a golden
loincloth, clearly inhuman even in the dimmest of light. The fellow in the bear
costume howled in fright as well, before lumbering off. Other screams
followed—curse it, how many people could there be on this street? I could
only imagine the headlines tomorrow:
Whyborne
Son Terrorizes Town in Company of Fish Woman
.

On the other hand, if that was the worst thing the papers
had to say about one of us in the morning, perhaps I should count us lucky.

By the time we reached the museum, my side felt on fire, my
lungs gasped for air, and my legs ached. With a final burst of strength, I
plunged up the stairs to the great doors of the Ladysmith. I grabbed the handle
and swore when it proved to be locked.

“Stanford’s already here,” I said. God, what could he
possibly intend? Had he gone utterly mad?

“We can slip around the side, check the staff entrance,”
Griffin suggested.

“No. We don’t have enough time.” I met his gaze. “I’ll
summon the wind and break down the doors.”

I expected him to hesitate, as he always had, whenever I
spoke of using sorcery. But he only nodded. “Do it.”

“Step aside, then.” He did so, drawing Christine with him.
Persephone withdrew as well, but watched me curiously. The same magic that
moved in my blood filled hers also, even if she’d never been trained to its
use.

I turned all of my concentration on the doors.  The
wind began to rise, ruffling my hair. I could feel all the forces of nature,
gathering to respond to my command.

“Now,” I said.

The wind roared down the street, hurling Hallowe’en
decorations into the air and knocking over the sign announcing the private
tours. It tore at my clothes, whipped through my hair, pressed against my back
like a hand urging me forward.

The doors exploded inwards with a tremendous crash.

Griffin was through them instantly, revolver drawn.
Christine charged in behind him, and Persephone and I followed.

The elite of Widdershins filled the grand foyer: some in
ordinary eveningwear, others dressed in elaborate costumes glittering with
diamonds, pearls, and rubies. Most of the women clung to the sides of their
escorts, husbands, or fathers. Orange and black streamers covered the floor
where they had fallen, and a smear of blood showed on one of the special
exhibits of cursed objects. A long buffet lay to our left, and the abandoned
instruments of a string quartet sat scattered on the floor of a discreet alcove
on the right. Three guards lay dead, either stabbed with crude spears or mauled
and stung. The hadrosaur loomed above all, empty sockets staring mockingly out.

Ketoi lined the perimeter of the room, far greater in number
than I’d hoped to face. Stanford stood before the crowd of staff and donors, at
his side a ketoi woman holding a spear. Father crouched on hands and knees at
his feet.

Father?

Griffin and Christine had both halted, bodies tense and
weapons pointed toward the floor. Did we dare attack with so many vulnerable to
reprisal by the ketoi?

“Dr. Whyborne, Dr. Putnam!” exclaimed the director. He
huddled with Mr. Mathison, the museum president, and a number of the staff,
including Bradley and Dr. Gerritson. Poor Miss Parkhurst clung to Dr.
Gerritson’s arm, her eyes bright with tears.