Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) (20 page)

God. Zachariah Endicott had murdered his brother and fled
England. And done astonishingly well for himself, for someone who arrived on
foreign shores with nothing but the clothes on his back.

He’d probably known about the ketoi, about their deals with
humans, whispered through the legends of selkies who sought to spread their
seed to the land. Their copious golden jewelry, which they wore like barbarian
kings. Had he traded his bloodline for the wealth to start over in the sort of
comfort he’d known all his life in England?

No. The Endicotts hunted monsters. They didn’t marry them.
Didn’t lie down with some shark-toothed creature. It was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

An unknown wife. Mysterious servants, bound to the family
for generations. If Isaiah hadn’t known what his great-grandfather had done, if
he’d only learned the truth shortly before his own child was to be born, had he
tried to put an end to it?

An end to a line of monsters?

Griffin and Christine had been right. Daphne, or Nitocris,
or whoever she’d been at the time, had been right.

There were indeed hybrid monsters amidst the elite of
Widdershins. And I was one of them.

“I have to go.” The words spilled from numb lips, and I only
distantly recognized them as my own.

“Percival?” Mother reached for me. “Are you all right?
What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” It was a lie, perhaps the biggest I’d ever told.
“I’ll see you later.”

The house swayed and reeled around me as I descended the
steps. It all made sense now. Somehow, Guinevere had discovered our true
heritage, before she’d ever returned to these shores. Otherwise, she wouldn’t
have brought the jewelry with her.

Once back in America, she’d recruited Miss Emily, who had
must have known the truth all along. She—they—knew the ketoi were
behind the ship disappearances, and meant to warn someone who might believe
them.

Me.

I wasn’t human. Whatever I had believed about myself, it was
all a lie, wasn’t it?

What would Christine think, if I told her? Or Theo and
Fiona? How proud I’d been when the twins praised my arcane ability. No wonder I
seemed to have an uncanny knack for the spells. A line of sorcerers, crossed
with a line of abominations…of course Abbott had to study for a year what had
taken me a night. He had at least been human.

Theo and Fiona had encouraged me…but they thought they
prompted a human man. Not some blasphemous horror crawled out of the deeps. I
was the very thing our family was supposed to hunt and kill, an abomination that
talked and walked like a man, but wasn’t. The twins would turn away in utter
disgust at the very sight of me, and with every reason.

And Griffin…

I clutched at the bannister to keep from falling. If he
found out…if he learned the
thing
he’d had in his bed wasn’t even human,
realized he’d let a monster perform such intimate acts with him…

He’d hate me. Hate himself.

Nausea roiled in my belly, but I choked it down. I had to
get out of this house. I had to think.

Once on the street, I paused and took a deep breath. The
fishy scent of Widdershins flowed over me, reminding me forcefully of what
Griffin had always said. I smelled of the ocean. Of good things, he’d claimed.
But he’d been so very wrong.

My very blood tainted me. No wonder my life had turned into
a dime novel—surely a monster must attract other monsters.

I was dangerous to everyone around me, wasn’t I?
Christine…I’d have to give up my position at the museum. And Griffin…

If only I could make everything all right. Fling myself at
his feet and beg forgiveness. But no amount of groveling would change what I
was. All the words the Endicotts had spoken about my true nature echoed inside
my skull, mocking me.

My true nature was the sea and blackness, stinging coils and
shark teeth. No wonder the dweller in the deeps had chosen me to call upon.
Dear heavens, when it had communicated with me, it had spoken of “humans” as if
they were something apart from us both. At the time, I’d never realized how
literally its words were meant.

I stumbled through the streets, as if movement could
distance me from my own thoughts. I bumped into a man’s shoulder—he
turned to shout at me, but his face went ashen. I must look truly deranged, and
yet I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I found myself standing at the gate to the house I’d shared
with Griffin. The only place I’d ever truly felt at home. The one place I could
never go again.

Thank providence, he wasn’t there when I entered. Saul ran
to me, rubbing against my legs and mewing loudly, as if he wished to comfort
me. I picked him up and cradled him, smelling the woodsy scent of his marmalade
fur for the last time.

“I’ll miss you, old tom,” I whispered.

I grabbed my valise and flung random items into it; when it
was full, I couldn’t even remember what I’d packed. Not that it mattered.
Father would see to it I had whatever I needed.

In the parlor, I scribbled a note, explaining after our
argument, I’d decided to return home to Whyborne House. As an afterthought, I
added Griffin’s services were no longer needed by any of us. We still didn’t
know who had murdered Guinevere, but it would be utterly wrong to involve
Griffin in our tainted doings a moment longer.

I picked up the note and pressed my lips to it. “I love
you,” I said helplessly. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I wanted to stay. Wanted to curl up on the couch and cry
until Griffin returned. Wanted him to hold me and tell me everything would be
all right.

But it wouldn’t. I’d have to confess the truth. See the
horror and revulsion on his face, as he realized I’d contaminated him.

So I laid the note carefully on the desk and walked out,
locking the door gently behind me.

~ * ~

I stood on the sidewalk outside of Whyborne House. Rain had
moved in, and thunder rumbled, far off but drawing closer. I’d left my umbrella
at home—no, it wasn’t home anymore. I couldn’t think of it as such. At
Griffin’s house. Cold water dripped down the back of my neck and beneath my
collar, and my coat smelled of wet wool.

My grip tightened on my valise. I’d sworn I’d never return
here. Never spend another night in the somber prison of my third-floor room.

I could turn away. Find an apartment for rent. But ordinary
people would be exposed to me then. Far better to keep all the monsters locked
up in one place, where the only people they could savage were each other.

I’d thought I was finally free. God, what an idiot I had
been.

The footman seemed surprised when I came in through the
door. “Sir—you’re soaked. Let me get your coat.”

I shed it and handed the valise to him. “Take these things
to my old room and have it aired out. Has Father returned?”

“Yes, sir. Just a little while ago. He’s in the study.”

Of course. Best to get this over with. To hold on for a
little while longer, before I could lock the door to my room behind me and
unravel completely.

The walk to the study had a dreamlike quality. Or perhaps a
nightmarish one. How often had I traversed the hall leading to this room,
knowing Father would shout and berate me? How often had I silently told myself
to be strong, to not give in?

I should have given in. It would have saved us all time, and
maybe been less painful in the end. At least then I wouldn’t have had a glimpse
of some other life.

Father sat behind the desk, frowning at some papers in front
of him. “Percival?” He set the papers aside and frowned at me. “Have you news?”

“I’ve come back.” Perhaps if I said the words quickly
enough, they wouldn’t hurt so bad. “I belong here. I see that now.”

His brows climbed toward his hairline, and his mouth opened
slightly. Then his features relaxed into a smile, and he nodded. “I always knew
you’d return. It’s why I kept your room for you.”

“Yes.” I just wanted to get this over with.

“I’m pleased you’ve given up on your nonsense,” he went on.
“Will Mr. Flaherty be a problem?”

What? “No!” I said, perhaps a bit too hastily.

Father’s brows lowered. “I won’t ask what caused you to come
to your senses. But if it resulted from a quarrel, there’s always the risk Mr.
Flaherty might wish some compensation in exchange for his silence. He should
know I won’t tolerate a threat to this family. It’s my duty to protect us, even
if it means doing unpleasant things from time to time.”

Oh God. God, he sounded like me, like I had last night,
threatening Abbott.

Bile stung the back of my throat as I stared at my father.
I’d always told myself I was nothing like him. Taken a perverse sort of pride
in our differences. Believed if I held his position, with money and power, with
people who relied on me, I’d do better.

Instead, the moment I got a little bit of power…I turned
into him.

“I’m a monster on both sides,” I said aloud. A hysterical
laugh tried to escape, and I barely bit it back.

Father’s scowl deepened. “Have you been drinking?”

“If only I had. It’s not enough to have gotten the blood of
abominations through Mother, but now I find I’m turning into you. At least it
takes a spell to become a full ketoi, but apparently the Whyborne side doesn’t
even need that!”

“What the devil are you going on about?” he demanded. “Did
Mr. Flaherty repeat his nonsense to you? Bad enough he had the gall to suggest
I might know something about these creatures. I won’t hear such things from you
as well.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you know?” The papers on his desk rustled, the wind
rising around me. I didn’t care enough to stop it. “Did you know we’re not
human? Not Mother, not Stanford, not Guinevere. And not me.”

“I won’t put up with this nonsense. Go to your room and
don’t return until you’re sober.”

He didn’t know. “Christine asked if I was a changeling.” The
wind grew more violent, scattering papers. “But no, we’re a bunch of cuckoo’s
eggs, slipped into your nest where you thought to find human children.”

“Enough!” Father surged to his feet, face darkening with
anger. “Cease this at once, Percival! How dare you say such things about our
family?”

“Because it’s true! Zachariah Endicott married a ketoi
woman, and we’re tainted with her blood. Even your precious Stanford.”

“Get out,” he ordered, pointing a shaking hand at the door.
“I won’t—I won’t hear such things.”

“You’ll listen to me! For once in your damned life, you’ll
hear what I have to say!” Papers flew about us in a whirlwind, and a picture
wrenched free of the wall with a crash. “I might be a monster, but you’re
worse! I
hate
you, and I hate this house. How could you imagine, even
for a second, I’d return here of my own will? I finally thought I was free. And
instead, here I am, back in the same place I started, the same cage!”

The crystal decanters of whiskey and brandy along the
sideboard exploded in a shower of glass and alcohol. The wind howled along with
me, and the lights flickered madly. Father shouted something, but I could no
longer hear him, hear anything beyond the roar of blood in my head.

Hands grappled me from behind. “Ival!” Griffin yelled in my
ear.

No.

Everything stopped, the only movement that of papers slowly
fluttering to earth like dying birds. Griffin’s hold on me relaxed.

I wrenched free and stumbled away. He wasn’t supposed to be
here. He wasn’t supposed to see me, to find out, to know…

“Ival,” he said again, more gently this time. His hair was
in disarray from the whirlwind, and he reached out to me, a pleading expression
on his face. “What’s happening to you? Talk to me, please.”

I ran.

~ * ~

The cold rain had turned into a storm. Lightning crashed,
and stinging hail pelted me, but I didn’t care. The deserted streets
transformed into rivers, utterly soaking my feet the moment I stepped into
them.

It didn’t matter. I staggered blindly, lost. So lost.

I felt hollow inside, all my rage gone. Nothing remained but
grief. I’d never thought I could return to Whyborne House without going mad,
but the process had taken a great deal less time than I’d ever imagined.

I didn’t belong anywhere. Not with Griffin, not in my
childhood home. Certainly not among decent people.

My wet feet carried me without a conscious destination.
Eventually, I looked up, and found myself near the docks.

Had the sea been calling me home? My ancestress had
slithered out of the ocean and birthed our line of hybrids. Maybe I belonged in
the deep. Maybe I should just crawl back beneath the waves.

By the time I stepped onto one of the long piers, the rain
had soaked me to my skin. I shivered violently, the cold air leeching the last
bit of heat from me. I raised my head to look at the heaving ocean and
discovered I wasn’t alone.

A ketoi stood on the pier. Although its body was nearly
sexless, something about the bones of its face suggested a female to me. The pattern
of light and dark skin matched the creature I’d chased in the cemetery, the
night we’d laid Guinevere to rest. Golden jewelry formed her only clothing, and
the tentacles on her head lay very still, swaying just a little in the rain.
She watched me solemnly with eyes I recognized from the mirror every day.

“Percival,” she said. Her voice was rough but not
unpleasant.

I swayed a bit. Was this some hallucination? Had I lost my
senses at last? Was this thing actually talking to me? How did it know my name?

“Who are you?”

“My land name is Persephone.”

So Griffin had been right, and Guinevere’s last words had
nothing to do with the Lesters after all. “Guinevere knew you.”

“Our sister,” Persephone said sadly. “Yes.”

The rain clung to my lashes, and I blinked rapidly. “I don’t
understand.
Our
sister?”

She nodded and stepped forward. “Yes. Once we were together,
in the sea of the womb, you and I. I am your twin.”

“No.” I ached to run, to fling myself into the water. Or
wake up in bed with Griffin and discover the last week had been nothing but a
hideous dream. “My twin sister died when we were born. When Mother lost her
health.”

Facts slid into place in my mind. When had the Endicotts
done their ritual to kill the ketoi? About thirty years ago on Hallowe’en, Theo
had said. Had it more precisely been twenty-nine?

It killed the young and the old, and pregnant females. As
far away as Widdershins was from Cornwall, had some thread of blood connected us
to the ketoi sacrificed in their ritual? Had it been our own hellish kin?

No wonder the doctors had failed to help Mother. The origins
of her malaise lay not in disease, but ancient sorcery, wielded by those who
would keep humanity safe from…us.

“I did not die.” The ketoi—Persephone—cocked her
head to one side, peering up at me. “But I might have, had I stayed. We were
dying. The servant, Emily, feared both would be lost. So she chose to give one
to the sea.”