Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) (19 page)

“Percival,” Fiona objected.

“Hush, Fi,” Theo said. I could feel his gaze on me. “So long
as Mr. Abbott leaves his books with us and agrees to stay far away from sorcery
in the future, the solution is workable.”

“Y-Yes!” Abbott moaned. “Yes, I swear! Please, just don’t
kill me. I’ll do anything you want.”

Fiona sighed. “Sod it. Starting running, worm.”

Abbott didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted out of his
chair and past us. The thud of his feet on the floor vanished toward the other
end of the house and the stairs leading outside.

I locked gazes with Griffin again. “Happy?” I asked coldly.

“Not at all.” He turned his back on me, shoulders stiff, and
started in the direction Abbott had gone.

Curse the man—I’d done what he asked. What more did he
want? Hurrying after him, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around before he
reached the stairs. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I could ask the same thing!” Green fire snapped in his
eyes. “You nearly killed a man tonight for a crime he didn’t commit! You lied
to me about your whereabouts—”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t have to lie to you if you’d ever, for
one
moment
, supported me.” Both hands clenched his shoulders now; I had
to resist the temptation to shake some sense into him. “Time and time again
I’ve saved us with magic, and you’ve never done
anything
but hold me
back.”

The color drained from his face. “I’ve begged you to exercise
caution—”

“You’ve tried to keep me trammeled, keep me bound by fear!”
My voice rose louder and louder, but I no longer cared who might overhear our
argument. “Now, for the first time in my life, I’m truly free.”

Griffin wrenched from my grasp. “Is that what you call this?
Freedom?
Because I call it being utterly out of control.”

“You don’t understand the arcane, so you’ve let fear rule
you—fear of my cousins, of me—”

“I’ve always been afraid
for
you, damn it!” Griffin gripped
his sword cane in his hand, as if throttling it. “But given the way you’ve
acted tonight, perhaps I should be afraid
of
you instead.”

“Devil take you.” My heart beat so loud I could barely hear
my own voice. “Tonight was for you. It’s all been for you. You and Christine
almost died in Egypt, and I vowed I’d do whatever it took, learn whatever it
took, to protect
you
.”

Griffin stepped back toward the stairs. “Then perhaps we
shouldn’t be together.”

I hadn’t heard him aright. “What?”

“If
this”
—
he
gestured in the direction of the library
—
“was
to protect me, then I don’t want your protection.”

“But…” He couldn’t mean it. He’d misunderstood, somehow, or
I had. “But I love you.”

His eyes shone bright in the gaslight of the hall. “And I
love you. But apparently it isn’t enough.”

He turned and descended the stairs rapidly. I started after
him, but Christine caught me by the elbow. Good heavens, had she heard our
entire argument?

“Let him go,” she said. “He needs time away from you to
think.” Her lips pressed into a narrow line. “We both do.”

“Christine,” I began.

“Don’t. Not now.” Turning her back on me, she started down
the stairs, leaving me alone in the hall.

I sat on the edge of a bed in one of the guest rooms in the
Endicotts’ rented house. The light of a single candle struggled to banish the
gloom, and a slightly dusty scent hung in the air. The smell reminded me
forcibly of my old room in Whyborne House, of Griffin making love to me there
in hopes of replacing bad memories with good.

Griffin.

I replayed his words again and again. Had he truly walked
away from me, from our relationship? Left me alone once again?

I’d only been trying to do what was right. Protect him.
Protect my family, and my town, and everyone else.

But Abbott hadn’t been guilty, at least not of murder.
Griffin’s instincts had been right and mine wrong.

On the other hand, Abbott had been trying to learn sorcery.
He’d done a terrible job of it, but what if he’d made some breakthrough? He’d
already proved himself willing to blackmail my siblings for their scandalous
acts. What might he have done with real power?

I tried to recapture the feeling of certainty, of invincibility
I’d possessed earlier, but grief and worry crowded it out. What if Griffin’s
decision was permanent? What if he left me?

I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands. My belly
clenched; at least I hadn’t eaten dinner. Had he? Was he in bed even now? Or
sitting alone in the study? Did he miss me, or was he too angry?

I should have insisted on following him home. Perhaps it was
for the best, though. A few hours would give him the chance to think
rationally. To calm down. Tomorrow I’d find him, and we’d talk. Griffin loved
me, of that there was no question. I’d convince him, somehow. I’d say whatever
I needed to make him take me back.

A soft knock sounded on the door. I composed myself hastily.
“Come in.”

Theo entered, carrying one of his spare nightshirts and a shaving
kit. “I fear the nightshirt will be short on you,” he said, “but it should do.”

I summoned a grateful smile from somewhere, even though I’d
seldom felt less like smiling in my life. “Thank you. Truly.”

Theo laid the nightshirt over the back of a chair and came
to sit beside me on the bed. “Mr. Flaherty doesn’t deserve you.”

“He worries for me.”

“If he worried so, he wouldn’t have kept us from doing what
needed to be done.” Theo shook his head in disgust. “Listen to me, Percival. Whatever
qualities Mr. Flaherty may have, he’s not one of us. He doesn’t truly
appreciate the dangers these other sorcerers pose, and so can’t understand that
sometimes one must act in haste, or else it’s too late. England would have been
overrun generations ago by ketoi hybrids and God knows what else, if our
ancestors held back in our dealings with them. We are the ones with power,
which makes it our responsibility to stand fast against the darkness. Whatever
the cost.”

I didn’t know what to think anymore. I remembered again the
feeling of euphoria, when I called and the world answered. The sensation of
rightness, as though I was finally doing what I’d always been meant to do.

Theo put his hand over mine, tracing the scars with his
thumb. “Flaherty wants you tamed. Safe. Common. Bound by society’s niceties. He
fears you’ll grow beyond him, and so tries to keep you down on his level.” Theo
leaned closer. The heat of his body warmed mine, even though an inch of air
still separated everything but our hands. “I don’t. I want for us to reach new
heights. Together.”

He kissed me, mouth soft and tasting of wine. And I longed
to kiss him back, because I desperately wanted everything he represented.
Craved the life he and Fiona led, filled with energy and excitement, devoid of
fear. Outside all the rules of society, because their constant defense of
humanity had earned them that sort of freedom.

I threaded my fingers through his hair…and pushed him gently
but firmly away.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t.”

For a moment, I thought he might kiss me again anyway. Then
he sat back with a crooked smile. “Well, I won’t pretend not to be
disappointed.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “But I love Griffin, and I can’t do
this.”

“I’m not asking you to give up on him,” Theo said. “He walked
away from you, though. Why spend the night in a cold bed if you don’t have to?”

It was a sentiment Griffin would probably have agreed with,
back in his wilder days in Chicago. “Because it isn’t my way,” I said with a
rueful smile. “It isn’t that you’re unattractive.” I remembered the feel of his
fingers on my arm, tracing my scars. “If things were different…”

“But they aren’t.” Theo rose from the bed. “I’ll leave you
to your rest.” He went to the door, then paused and glanced back at me. “If you
change your mind, my room is the second door on the right.”

The door closed softly behind him, and I was once again left
alone.

~ * ~

I didn’t sleep well. The absence of Griffin’s arms was a
constant ache, and his final words seemed to echo in my skull. I finally fell
asleep sometime shortly before dawn, only to wake later than I’d intended. I
had just enough time to use the borrowed shaving kit, before rushing to the
museum.

A note from Griffin arrived with the morning mail. Feeling a
bit of trepidation, I opened it. The sight of his familiar handwriting drew a
twinge from my heart.

Ival,

We need to talk. You’re frightening me with your
behavior. Come home tonight and just listen.

Yours always,

Griffin

I sighed and rubbed at my aching eyes. I’d done nothing
but
listen to him. He was the one refusing to listen to me. I loved the man, but at
the same time, I wanted to throttle him.

But at least he hadn’t shut me out completely. There was
still some hope for us.

A knock sounded on my door. “Come in—oh.”

I’d almost forgotten Griffin wasn’t the only one angry with
me. Christine glowered from the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her
chest. “Care to explain your behavior of yesterday?”

“I don’t have anything to explain.”

She crossed to stand in front of my desk, but didn’t sit
down. “You could have told me you were going to confront Abbott. I would have
come with you. Instead you lied, to Griffin and me.”

“I had Theo and Fiona with me,” I snapped. “We didn’t need
your help.”

“Clearly you did, since you almost killed the wrong man!”

“Damn it!” I rose to my feet, towering over her. She only
glared up at me, completely uncowed. “You and Griffin both refuse to understand
what’s at stake here. At the moment, yes, it seems Abbott is only a
blackmailer, which is bad enough. But what if he decides to find other members
of the Brotherhood, or joins forces with some cult? What if a year from now, or
five, or ten, he comes back with a lot worse than blackmail on his mind?”

“You can’t go about killing people based on what ifs.” Her
nostrils flared in anger. “And you’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t
understand what’s become of you lately.”

“I’m finally being true to myself.” My hands clenched, scars
tugging. “I’ve spent my life conforming to society’s expectations, and I’ve had
enough. I’m done cowering, done hiding my magic, done sitting around waiting
for something horrible to crawl out of the woodwork and threaten everyone I
care about.”

“I’m all for giving the boot to society’s expectations, but
not like this.”

“Of course not like this.” Anger and frustration coiled into
something malignant inside me. “You want me properly cowed, don’t you? To be
someone you can just order about without any fear of contradiction. Just as
Griffin wants some meek scholar overawed by his accomplishments with the
Pinkertons.”

“How dare you!” Christine’s face went white, save for two
spots of color high on her cheeks. “Are you mad, or merely stupid? I will not
stand here and listen to this absurd nonsense! If you wish to apologize, you
know where my office is.”

She swept out of the room, nearly colliding with Dr.
Gerritson as she did so. “I wouldn’t advise speaking to Dr. Whyborne,” she said
loudly. “He’s utterly irrational at the moment.”

Dr. Gerritson watched her leave. He wore a brown sack suit
today, although chances were excellent what lay beneath it would be
unconventional. I hoped so—here was a man who didn’t allow society to
press him into a preconceived mold.

“Pay Christine no mind,” I told him.

“Oh, I shan’t.” Gerritson gave me a sympathetic smile.
“People often call me irrational. I’ve learned not to apply the label to
others.”

“Please, have a seat.” I took my own, willing my pulse to
calm.

Gerritson settled across from me. “I came to tell you I
received a reply from my friend in Boston.”

I’d entirely forgotten about his enquiry. Once I knew the
jewelry’s true provenance, I should have told him not to bother. “Ah. Thank
you.”

“Sadly, I doubt it contains more than you already knew.”

His words caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

“The necklace in Boston is another of yours,” he said
cryptically. “Here’s the copy my friend made of the provenance.”

Now completely baffled, I took the folded paper from him.
The record was neatly typed on letterhead, and read:

Purchased at auction in Widdershins, MA, 1892. Previous
owner: Mrs. Niles Whyborne, sold by her in 1887 as part of a collection.
Inherited from her father, Mr. Isaiah Endicott. Isaiah Endicott received from
his father, Michael Endicott, who inherited from his father, Gabriel Endicott.
Received from his mother, Mrs. Zachariah Endicott, who brought it to the
marriage as a dowry in 1780.

Prior origins unknown.

~ * ~

Less than an hour later, I stood on the doorstep of Whyborne
House.

Clearly, Gerritson’s colleague had made a mistake. Mother
had indeed sold her jewelry to fund my studies at Miskatonic University, but
the auction house must have gotten its records jumbled.

Just a mistake. A strange coincidence, but strange
coincidences happened every day, didn’t they?

Still, I would confirm the error, just to keep it from preying
on my mind. Mother would laugh at the very idea. We’d have a cup of tea, and
I’d return to the museum, shaking my head at my own foolishness.

A footman opened the door. I hadn’t any idea of his name,
but made out the bulge of a pistol beneath his coat. “Dr. Whyborne!” The
footman hastily drew back, bowing to me. “Your father and brother are both
out.”

“I’m here to see Mother,” I said. “Is she still in her old
rooms, or did Father convince her to change them?”

“The former, sir.” He bowed a second time, more deeply.

I went directly up to Mother’s room. The windows stood open
to the cold October air. Mother stood before one, her hair unbound and blowing
in the breeze. Half-finished letters lay scattered everywhere in a drift of
paper, and a stream of smoke rising from the wick of a candle showed it had
just been blown out.

“Mother!” Concern cut through every other emotion, and I
hurried to shut the windows. “You’ll catch your death.”

“I’ve been practicing summoning the wind. In case the
creature, or more like it, should return.”

I took her hands; they were icy cold. “The chill isn’t good
for you.”

“My daughter is dead. My friend is dead. What does a chill
matter?” She looked up at me solemnly. “Are you not proud of me?”

“Of course I am.” Griffin had never been proud of my arcane accomplishments.
I wouldn’t make the same mistake. “You’re amazing.” I kissed her forehead.
“Shall I call for tea?”

“No.” She pulled her dressing gown closer. I ushered her to
the divan and wrapped a thick blanket around her carefully. “I’m glad to see
you, but shouldn’t you be at your work now?”

“I needed to ask you something.” I settled into a chair
beside her and took the bracelet from my pocket. “We found this among
Guinevere’s belongings. I know it might sound strange, but have you ever seen
jewelry of this sort before?”

She would say no, of course. It was the only possible
answer.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” she asked, making a face. “I can’t imagine
why Guinevere would have brought it with her from England. I can barely believe
she took it with her in the first place.”

“I…” Was that a yes? “It’s familiar to you?”

“Of course.” Mother plucked the bracelet from my palm,
turning it over in her hands. “It belonged to my great-great-grandmother. I had
more pieces like it, an entire set, but the style…well, there was no question
of ever actually wearing it. But since it had come down to me, I felt it only
right to pass at least one piece on to Guinevere.” Her eyes grew misty for a
moment, then she shook herself. “The rest I sold for your university fund. And
an excellent trade it was—can you imagine anyone wearing this to a
party?”

I stared at the bracelet. The pearls glowed richly in the
light, as if mocking me. There was some explanation, some ordinary explanation.
There had to be. “Where…where did she get it? Pirate loot, perhaps?”

She laughed. “Pirate loot? Percival, really. Have you been
sneaking looks at the adventure fiction Griffin reads?”

“But it must have come from somewhere.”

“I’m sure it did.” Mother shrugged. “I assume she inherited
it herself, or else her husband gave it to her. In all honesty, I don’t know
much about her—not her name, or even where she came from.”

“Can you tell me anything?” God, she had to. “Any details at
all?”

A concerned frown creased her face. “Very little. She
brought her own servants to the marriage. Emily was descended from them
actually. Her mother was responsible for saving my mother, when Father…”

“Went mad.” I’d heard the tales before. Isaiah Endicott, my
grandfather, had gone mad shortly before his wife gave birth to their first
child. Mother. He’d attacked my grandmother, screaming he’d cut “it” out of
her, then committed suicide shortly thereafter.