Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) (8 page)

“Out of the ordinary?” Christine asked skeptically. “On a
boat found adrift, its crew missing to the last man? All lifeboats still in
place, and the captain’s pipe laying beside his logbook, as if he meant to
return any moment? Blood everywhere, but no bodies and no signs of piracy? What
could possibly be out of the ordinary here?”

“Point taken. Anything that might explain why Guinevere saw
fit to mention it to Whyborne, then.” Griffin made for the door leading to the
crew quarters.

“What happened to the logbook?” I watched my step, but the
deck was mainly clear of any unexpected obstructions. If there had been any
cargo stored outside the holds, it had been removed already.

“Seized as part of the investigation into what happened.
Probably in the hands of the insurers at the moment.” Griffin made a face.
“Everything in the refrigerated holds spoiled by the time the ship was spotted.
If the insurance company can prove the loss due to some sort of mutiny, they’ll
escape a rather large payout. Needless to say, the owners are equally desperate
to prove it an act of piracy or foul weather, so as not to take a total loss.”

Griffin opened the door to the crew’s quarters. Inside, the
room was utterly black. Cold air flowed out over us, bringing with it the reek
of old blood.

A small shape darted from inside.

I leapt back, a startled cry escaping my lips. It ran over
my foot, and I shouted again, springing out of the way.

“Honestly, Whyborne, it’s just a rat.” Christine shoved me
from behind—I’d almost trodden on her. “No need to leap about shrieking
like a maid.”

“I didn’t shriek.” My heart seemed reluctant to leave its
new abode in my throat. “It was an exclamation of surprise.”

“Very manful,” Griffin agreed, but I thought his lips
twitched in an effort to suppress a smile.

I glared at him. “Are we going to look inside, or stand
about all night?”

 Griffin obliged by shining the light within. The crew
quarters were small, and looked to have been left exactly as they’d been found.
Any trunks with personal effects had been removed, but the sheets still lay
rumpled on the bunks. Blood stained most of them, and dried blood formed a
crust on much of the floor. The place must have been awash with it.

“Ghastly,” Christine murmured.

“Some of the men were sleeping,” I said. “Whatever happened
must have occurred during the night.”

“Agreed.” Griffin carefully inspected the walls and floor,
but found nothing of interest.

We explored the officer’s quarters, chart house, and galley
with no more luck. Clearly something terrible had befallen the crew. But as to
what, or what Guinevere’s interest might have been, there was no clue.

“Do you think we’ll have to go into the holds?” I asked as
we crossed the expanse of the deck, making for the rear of the ship. The idea
of poking around dank holds made me shudder, but if Griffin thought it
necessary, then we had no choice.

“I certainly hope not, but it might come to that,” Griffin
replied.

Blast.

The ship’s saloon lay at the rear of the ship. Cards still
scattered across a table and the floor, as if a game had been in progress when
disaster had befallen. An empty tumbler and bottle lay fetched up against a
couch built against the wall. A faint, fishy odor clung to the room, which was
to be expected.

The door to the head stood open. Griffin aimed the lantern
beam within. “Look. On the wall.”

A fine spray of dark spots clung to the wall, just inside
the door. “Blood,” Griffin judged. “See the way it splashed? Not from a
gunshot, at least I don’t think so. A slash with a knife would do it.”

Had some terrified crewman hidden in here? Waiting in the
dark for…what? Pirates? Monsters from the sea? Deadly spirits inhabiting a bank
of fog? A lunatic among his fellow crew who’d somehow managed to murder
everyone else?

Griffin went to his hand and knees. I hoped the sailors had
been scrupulous about cleaning the floor.

“Here!” He scrambled back up and held his hand out. On his
palm lay a small golden plaque, attached to a scrap of what appeared to be fine
gold mesh. A geometric design stood in high relief on the outer surface of the
plaque. It matched the designs on the bracelet from Guinevere’s trunk.

I started to ask what the devil was going on. But the words
died in my throat when the sound of voices drifted from outside, a beam of
lantern light reflecting from the windows of the chart house.

The three of us froze, listening intently.

“Damn it,” Christine murmured.

“Quick.” Griffin shuttered the lantern, plunging us into
darkness. “Find a place to hide. If it’s the police, surrender—safer to
concoct a story about being curiosity seekers and let Niles bribe our way out
of jail.”

“And if it isn’t?” I asked.

“Stay hidden. If they go past us, or down into the holds, we
might be able to sneak off behind them with no one the wiser. Now go!”

How he expected us to navigate in the gloom, I hadn’t the
slightest idea. The low clouds reflected just enough light to show the outline
of the ship, nothing more. The lockers for stowing equipment were near each
rail, weren’t they? I made blindly for the port side, tripping over a line,
before my groping hands found the square shapes of steel welded to the deck.

I flattened myself against the side of the locker. As plans
went, this certainly wasn’t one of Griffin’s best.

Lantern beams cut across the ship’s deck. “Come out,” called
a deep male voice. “We won’t hurt you.”

One of his companions guffawed. No doubt the remark passed
as wit among them.

Not the police, then. They would have identified themselves
as such. Just as clearly, these men had come searching for intruders, rather
than seeking loot or souvenirs. Had the guard summoned them? Or had someone
else put a watch on the ship? Did they—whoever they might be—know
Guinevere had mentioned the
Norfolk Siren
to me, and now took action to
keep us from discovering any clue as to what she had known?

If so, they probably meant to kill us as well.

I tried to make myself as small as possible against the
locker. Given my absurd height, it wasn’t very small at all. Was there any
sorcery I could use against them? Fire only worked if they had something easily
flammable on them already. Lightning would only kill us all, considering we sat
on a metal-plated deck. Water…

I could summon a wave. Sweep it over the deck.

Capsize the boat and kill us all. As high as the cargo-free
ship rode, it would take an immense wave indeed, and we’d drown alongside the
men stalking us.

There had to be something, though. There—

A hand closed around my arm.

~ * ~

“Got one!” a man shouted, hauling me out from behind the
locker. I hadn’t even heard him come up—he must possess the eyes of a cat
to have found me in the dark.

I struggled, but his grip only tightened. The lantern beams
cut over us, and the dull gleam of his knife caught the light.

The other men drew near, laughing. “Cut ‘im!” one shouted.
“Cut—”

Griffin rose up from alongside the rail. There came a soft
whistle, and the man holding me jerked, gurgling. He let go of both me and the
knife, took a step forward, then collapsed dead at my feet, blood spreading
across his back where Griffin had stabbed him with his sword cane.

Christine’s pistol let out a sharp crack, and another man
went down. Then everything was chaos—men running, Griffin shoving me
aside so he could engage another. Fire flashed from a revolver’s muzzle as one
of our attackers shot at Christine.

No! Anger roared through me. They would not hurt her. They
would not hurt Griffin.

They would not.

I shouted the secret name of fire, setting flame to the
powder within the weapon. The gun exploded in the ruffian’s hand, the stink of
scorched flesh and hot blood mingling with burning powder. His lantern hit the
deck and guttered madly as he screamed.

The water of the bay heaved beneath us in response to my
anger, and the wind came up, hurling foam scraped from the white caps over the
deck. One of the remaining two men stumbled at the sudden surge of the ship
under our feet. Another shot rang out from Christine, tearing a hole through
the sleeve of his shirt. Bright blood followed, but not enough for a serious
hit. The movement of the ship must have fouled her shot, for Christine seldom
missed.

The dropped lantern rolled toward me, trailing fire. I
snatched it up and threw it at the man as hard as I could.

He shrieked, batting at the oil coating his clothes even as
it ignited. With a wild howl, he ran for the side and flung himself over,
plunging like a flaming star into the ocean.

The final man had cornered Griffin against the rail. Griffin
must have wounded him—blood dripped freely from a shallow cut on his
face. Now wary of the sword cane, he’d snatched up a long cargo hook. Christine
couldn’t fire without risk of hitting Griffin, so I started forward, shouting
to distract the attacker.

A swipe of the cargo hook caught Griffin’s slim blade,
wrenching it from his hand. I ran, arm out flung, as if to put a stop to the
inevitable. The man grinned horribly, raising the hook and preparing to impale
Griffin on it.

A man’s voice called out, chanting in Aklo. The air around
us grew suddenly cold, and frost coalesced on the ruffian’s skin. He let out a
startled cry of shock and pain.

In the moment of inattention, Griffin dove for his sword
cane. A quick slash across the throat, and our attacker slumped to the deck,
his blood steaming where it met the layer of frost that had formed around him.

The chanting ended. Light from a lantern bloomed, blinding
after the dimness, and two figures made their way toward us.

“There you chaps are,” exclaimed Theodore Endicott. “We’ve
been looking for you, cousin.”

I gaped at him and his companion. “Th-theodore? Fiona? What
are you doing here?”

“Saving your friend’s life,” Fiona said. “Now let’s get away
from here, in case anyone heard the noise or saw the lights on board. We have a
great deal to talk about.”

~ * ~

“We’ve been hoping to speak to you,” Theodore said an hour
later as he handed me a glass of brandy.

We’d left the
Norfolk Siren
as quickly as possible,
retreating as a group to the house Theo and Fiona rented on Wyrm Lane, near
River Street. It was an old pile dating from the colonial era, two stories tall
with what must be a cramped attic beneath a steeply pitched roof.

“Of course your father offered to let us stay at Whyborne
House with the rest of the family,” Theo had reassured me during our walk over.
“But we wished privacy, for…well, you’ve seen some of it.”

The sorcery, he meant. I’d nodded, but Griffin had only
glared. “And the rest?” he asked.

“Not on the streets, Theo,” Fiona ordered.

Theo rolled his eyes behind her back and gave me a wink.
“Sisters. Always so bossy.”

Theo didn’t know Guinevere was dead. He couldn’t have
realized his remark would be in any way painful. So I summoned up a faint
smile. “Er, yes. Quite.”

Now I sat on a couch upholstered in red velvet, across from
a blazing fire. Griffin sat beside me, still glowering from under his brows.
Christine occupied one of the chairs, and Fiona another. The room was nicely appointed,
if a bit dusty: a pleasant landscape above the hearth, thick drapes to keep out
the cold drafts seeping through the windows, a rather nice grandfather clock
ticking away in the corner.

“I thought you English preferred a cup of tea after a
fright,” Christine said, downing her brandy with gusto. “Not to suggest I’m complaining,
mind you.”

“Tea? How bloody
boring,”
Fiona said with a roll of
the eyes. Like her brother, she’d dressed in dark clothing for the expedition
to the ship. It leached the color from her face and pale hair. “Besides,
tonight barely qualified as a bit of light exercise, let alone a fright.”

What did she mean? She sounded as if they were used to fighting
for their lives. And given their use of sorcery…

It seemed there was a great deal more to my cousins than I’d
guessed.

“Fiona and I wished to offer our congratulations on your
destruction of the Eyes of Nodens last year.” Theo’s blue eyes crinkled in a
rueful smile. “Of course, the subject isn’t one we could have brought up over
champagne and cake at the party the other night.”

I sat up straighter. “You know about the Eyes of Nodens?”

“Not all of the cultists died. Those who escaped, talked,”
Fiona replied.

“I ran out of bullets,” Christine said. “Otherwise, I assure
you, they wouldn’t have.”

“Well done anyway,” Theo said. Then he turned his smile on me.
“The arcane world has been abuzz ever since over the Yankee sorcerer. Where did
he come from? Who is he? Who trained him?”

The knowledge others had been speaking about me brought a
flush to my cheeks. “Er, no one. There’s a book—”

Griffin shot me a hard glare. “Perhaps this should wait
until we’re better acquainted.”

What on earth was wrong with the man? They’d saved his life
on the
Norfolk Siren.

Using sorcery, of which Griffin didn’t approve.

Theo didn’t seem at all offended by Griffin’s rudeness, however.
“Quite so, Mr. Flaherty,” he agreed. Taking a sip of his brandy, he leaned
against the hearth. I couldn’t help but note his clothing had clearly been
tailored to flatter his long legs and lean torso. “But are you saying no one
trained you, Percival? How extraordinary! You must be a prodigy.”

“Oh, er, no,” I mumbled, putting my brandy down. “I can only
do some very simple spells. Call fire, summon wind, manipulate water, shatter
stone. Oh, and lightning,” I added, displaying the scars on my hand ruefully.

“Extraordinary,” Fiona said. “Even those with mentors seldom
proceed so quickly. You have a great gift, cousin.”

Warmth flooded my chest. I’d grown so used to arguing with
Griffin, it had never occurred to me others might regard my sorcery as
something worthy of praise. But before I could gather the words to thank them,
Griffin cut in.

“Who are you?” he asked coldly. “Really? And why were you on
the
Norfolk Siren?
”

Fiona frowned at his tone. Even Christine seemed taken
aback. “They saved your life, man,” she reminded him.

“I haven’t forgotten.” His gaze remained trained on the
Endicotts. “Forgive me, but our prior experience with sorcerers has been
unpleasant.”

“Ah.” Theodore and Fiona exchanged a knowing look. “Of that
I’m quite certain. Bloody sods are always summoning abominations, or sea gods,
or things from the Outside.”

Griffin blinked, obviously taken aback. “Well…yes.”

“It’s our duty to stop such nonsense.” Fiona lounged back in
her chair with a grin. “Our family has dedicated itself to keeping other
sorcerers in line, and destroying any monsters we come across.”

“Which hasn’t made us very popular with the rest of the
arcane community,” Theodore added. “You should hear the names they call us.”

Christine sat forward in her chair, her eyes sparkling with
interest. “You hunt monsters? One of our, ah, friends,” her cheeks pinked
slightly, “is half Egyptian. His mother’s family fight gh
ū
ls. Although they aren’t
sorcerers themselves.”

“At the family estate, we’ve records going back to the
twelfth century,” Theo said. “From what little I know, there used to be many
such bloodlines. Most of them are gone now, either stamped out by the forces of
darkness, or else lost their purpose to the mists of history. But the Endicotts
persevere.”

My heart beat quickly. To think, I had family who had
accomplished heroic deeds, things of which I could justly be proud. “We’ve been
doing our part,” I said, gesturing to Christine and Griffin. “The Eyes of
Nodens, as you said—we kept them from enslaving the dweller in the deeps
and decimating the land.”

“A shame you couldn’t have done in the dweller as well,”
Fiona said. “But we do what we can.”

“And we prevented an undead necromancer from opening a
gateway to the Outside, and other creatures from destroying a town in West Virginia.”
I wanted to mention our adventures in Egypt, but given Christine’s sister had
been the one trying to annihilate the world, I didn’t feel I could without
causing her undue pain at the reminder.

Theo beamed at me. “You
have
been busy,” he said.
“The Endicott blood runs true in you, it’s clear.”

“We were rather worried when we first learned a heretofore
unknown sorcerer had defeated the Eyes.” Fiona finished her brandy and set the glass
aside. “When we heard the name Percival
Endicott
Whyborne, we had to
find out if it was a coincidence or not.”

“Imagine our delight when we learned not only you were our
cousin, but your sister Guinevere had returned home to England.” Theo made it
sound as if we’d all been languishing in exile for generations, longing for
repatriation.

The warm glow in my chest died away. I had to tell them.
“Guinevere…”

I trailed off, staring at my brandy. I sensed Fiona leaning
forward. “Is she all right? We’d heard she was taken ill, when we went to visit
earlier today.”

I swallowed hard. “No. She’s dead. Murdered.”

Fiona let out a small gasp. “Oh no. Poor Guinevere.”

Theo crossed the room. A moment later, I felt his hand
settle on my shoulder. On my other side, Griffin stiffened sharply.

“I’m so sorry.” Theo’s fingers tightened. “If there’s
anything we can do, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“There isn’t,” Griffin said. “But we’ll inform you if the
situation changes.”

What on earth was wrong with the man? I looked up from my
drink, intending to thank Theo, but he’d gracefully retreated.

“Then you must be desperate to know why we were on the
Norfolk
Siren,”
Fiona said. If she’d noticed the interplay between Griffin and her
brother, she gave no sign. “As we’ve said, we do our best to hold back the
things that mean no good to mankind. We watch for portents and anomalies,
anything unexplained which might be the first sign of evil. In this modern age
of swift communication, our task has become much easier. Late in the summer, we
noticed a series of ship disappearances stretching back through the spring. All
of them American, most out of New England, involved in the Transatlantic
trade.”