Maelstrom (26 page)

But that certainly wasn’t going to
accomplish anything. An attempt to stop Bradley might not
accomplish anything either, but at least I’d die knowing I’d
tried.

The cultist had implied Bradley had only a
few hours until it was time to send the signal. I’d go to the Front
Street Bridge and hope I didn’t get arrested or killed before
Bradley appeared to finish his ritual. How I would stop him
then...well, perhaps something would present itself.

I’d probably die, and Bradley succeed. As he
meant to take over my identity, I should at least post letters
first, warning Christine and Griffin of what had happened. With any
luck, they’d realize the truth before he hurt them.

I stood up and returned to the desk, hoping
to find some fresh paper and a pen. But before I reached it, there
came the unmistakable sound of a door opening.

I froze, my heart pounding. Which was
absurd—whoever it was must have seen the light of the lantern,
telling them exactly what room I was in. God, I was an idiot.

I snatched up the witch hunter’s knife.
Treading as quietly as I was able, I made my way to the wall and
positioned myself beside the door. The moment it opened, I’d stab
my attacker and run. Hopefully I’d find myself against a lone
cultist; if there were more, I’d be in deep trouble.

The floorboards creaked just outside. I held
my breath as the door began to ease open. I raised the knife and
let out a wild yell—then froze.

Griffin stood before me, his revolver
trained on my face.

Griffin

“Drop the dagger!” I shouted.

Bradley Osborne stared at me, his eyes wide,
his lips slightly parted. His fingers uncurled from the dagger, and
it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

And, instantly, he lit up
in my shadowsight like a flare
.

He
burned,
just as Whyborne hadn’t. All
of the fire that had been inexplicably drained from my Ival was
poured into Bradley. Had he stolen it somehow?

“I ought to put a bullet through you this
minute,” I snarled. “Tell me what you did to Whyborne, or I swear
I’ll shoot you and hope your death will reverse the spell.”

Bradley let out a small, choked sound.
Holding his hands up, he cringed back from me. “Griffin, please,”
he said desperately. “Give me a chance to explain.”

“You’ve murdered innocent men. Used the
foulest sorcery.” I stepped closer, pressing the barrel of the gun
to his forehead. “There’s no explanation you could give that I’m
interested in.”

“I’m not Bradley!”

Not Bradley.

It wasn’t possible. And yet, I couldn’t deny
what was before my own eyes.

I’d been with many men society would
consider more handsome than my Ival. And yet something had drawn me
to him from the first moment. I loved how much taller than me he
was; I loved his unmanageable hair; I loved the way he smelled, of
salt and ocean air.

But I loved those things
because they belonged to him. Because I’d lost my heart, utterly
and irrevocably, to
him.

I lowered my revolver. “Ival?” I whispered.
It was madness, and yet the moment the words left my lips, I knew
them to be true.

He blinked eyes that were the wrong shape,
the wrong color. Then they widened. “Yes! Bradley switched us
somehow, but it’s me, I swear! Whyborne. Your husband.”

“Oh God,” I gasped, and reached for him.

He jerked back, shaking his head. “No. No,
this is wrong, all wrong.” He held out his hands, staring at them.
“I can’t...I can’t touch you like this, I...”

I hauled him into my arms.
And he was right, it
was
wrong. He didn’t smell like my Ival, didn’t feel
like him. Too short, too wide, his hair too tame and his cologne
too expensive. But I held him tight anyway, while he let out a soft
sob into my shoulder.

“I was so afraid for you,”
he said, words muffled by my rain-damp coat. “He’d have to kill
you, to keep up the deception, and it would have to be soon, but I
didn’t think you’d believe me, and—and...why
do
you believe me?”

He drew back, but I caught his chin in my
hand, looking at him straight on. Focusing on my shadowsight, on
what lay beneath his skin. “Because I see you,” I said. “And when I
glimpsed him earlier...I didn’t see you.”

His brows drew together. “I don’t
understand.”

“The flame. The fire in your blood. I always
felt it, but the shadowsight shows it.”

Whyborne shook his head uncertainly.
“This...this body...doesn’t have ketoi blood or any of the rest of
it. There’s nothing to see.”

“Of course there is.” I ran
my thumb tenderly along his jaw, and if the shape of it was wrong
beneath my touch, I couldn’t let myself care. “The fire in your
blood isn’t your heritage. It’s
you
.”

“That makes no sense,” he said, his tones so
like Whyborne’s and so unlike Bradley’s I almost laughed. “But it
doesn’t matter why you believe me, so long as you do. We have to
stop Bradley. I know what he wants, what he’s been trying to do all
along.”

I released him. “Then tell me.”

He did so. I stared at the map, the letters,
in growing horror. “Curse it,” I said when he finished. “If I
hadn’t gone to Boston—”

“They would have killed you,” Whyborne said,
putting his hand to my arm. “Bradley intended to murder you, ambush
me, then murder me in his old body. Your trip to Boston spoiled his
plan.”

“And if he hadn’t taken the time to gloat,
he probably would have killed you before Christine got there.”
Thank God I’d thought to use the telephone. “We have to go to her
immediately. I left her and Persephone at Whyborne House. I told
her there was something wrong with you—who I thought was you.” I
shook my head angrily at my own blindness. “Damn it, I can’t
believe I didn’t realize. How could I have possibly imagined he was
you, even for a moment?”

“You couldn’t have known. But if they’re in
Whyborne House, they’re in terrible danger.” The color drained from
his face. “If Father thinks they realize Bradley isn’t me...he’s
ruthless, Griffin. Utterly ruthless.”

I hated the alien feel of the shoulder
beneath my hand, so I focused again on my shadowsight. This was
Whyborne, my love, my Ival, no matter the skin he’d been consigned
to. “We don’t know for certain your father is involved,” I
said.

Whyborne pulled away. “Don’t be absurd. Of
course he is. This is what he always wanted.” He picked up the
dagger from the floor; the light in him vanished at its touch. “We
need to go. To put a stop to this now, before it’s too late.”

I wasn’t so certain of Niles’s guilt. He’d
seemed so genuine. As though he were desperately reaching out to
his son, even if thirty years later than he should have.

But whichever of us was right about Niles,
Whyborne was certainly correct about the rest. Now that we knew
what Bradley was up to, dawdling would get us nowhere. We needed to
find him and restore Whyborne to his proper body, as soon as
possible.

“Agreed,” I said, following him to the door.
“And you’ll be glad to know I drove here in the motor car.”

Griffin

I drove as quickly as I dared through the
rainy streets. The rain apron kept off some of the wet, but was
less effective than I’d hoped when I purchased it. Since “Bradley
Osborne” was now a wanted man, Whyborne huddled low in the seat,
driving goggles obscuring his face and his hat pulled low. At least
the rain and the late hour meant the streets were largely
deserted.

By the time we reached High Street, the rain
had largely slacked off. The wheels lost traction coming around a
corner, and we slid a few feet. I’d gotten the trick of navigating
such skids, though, and managed to avoid the lamppost, only driving
on the sidewalk a short distance.

“Are we still alive?” Whyborne asked as I
stopped just down the road from Whyborne House.

“Of course.”

He wiped at the rain obscuring the lenses of
his goggles. “Why did you stop here?”

“Because strolling through the front door
and confronting Bradley seems rather risky. From what you said,
he’s taught himself a few spells, and I don’t want to find myself
on fire,” I said. “Huddle beneath the rain apron where no one can
see you. I don’t think anyone will be along, but I don’t wish to
chance it. I’ll find Christine and anyone else who’s still here and
tell them what’s happening. Somehow we’ll think of a way to subdue
Bradley.”

“Be careful.” Whyborne grabbed my wrist as I
started to slide out of the motor car. “Watch out for Father. I
know you aren’t convinced he’s part of this, but you can’t take the
chance you’re wrong. If he realizes you’re making a move against
Bradley, he’ll kill you without a second thought.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promised. I longed to
kiss him, but it felt wrong to do so while he was in this borrowed
body. Thank heavens I’d realized something was wrong before I’d
been tempted to touch Bradley.

Then again, perhaps if I’d tried to touch
him, he would have lashed out at me and betrayed himself
immediately. I imagined he was trying very hard not to picture all
the things I’d done with Whyborne’s body over the years.

God, I’d do them again, as soon as Whyborne
was restored. But first things first.

The lights of Whyborne House blazed bright,
despite the late hour. Fenton answered the door, his normally
impassive face betraying a slightly sour expression. No doubt he
was wishing the guests would leave so he could retire to his
bed.

“Come in, Mr. Flaherty,” he said. “Master
Percival isn’t here, but I imagine Mr. Barnett will wish to speak
with you.”

Dread flooded through me. “Percival isn’t
here? Where is he?”

“I believe Mr. Barnett would prefer to tell
you.” Fenton turned his back and started away, leaving me no choice
but to scurry after in bewilderment. I glanced in the ballroom as I
passed—and stopped in astonishment.

Persephone and Miss Parkhurst had worked
wonders. The pale tints of shell and pearl perfectly offset the
bright colors of the flowers, pulling everything into a single,
harmonious whole. “Extraordinary,” I said.

“Yes. A shame,” Fenton said. I cast him a
curious look, but he said nothing, merely continued on to the
drawing room.

Iskander sat in a chair, his head bowed. His
dark hair was wildly disarranged, as if he’d run his hands through
it in distress, and his shoulders slumped. A half-empty tumbler of
brandy sat on the delicate table at his elbow. Miss Parkhurst
patted him on the shoulder consolingly. “I’m certain Dr. Whyborne
will talk some sense into Dr. Putnam,” she was saying as I
entered.

“Iskander?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

“She left,” Iskander said to the floor. Miss
Parkhurst winced.

“I don’t understand,” I said, glancing at
her for an explanation.

“Dr. Putnam suffered some pre-wedding
jitters,” she said carefully. “But I’m certain it’s nothing to
worry about, Mr. Barnett.”

“Haven’t you met Christine before?” he
asked, finally raising his head. “She doesn’t get jitters, she
makes decisions. She changed her mind about the wedding, and she
left.”

Obviously things had gone horribly wrong in
my absence. “Tell me what happened.”

“She seemed...troubled...after you
departed,” Miss Parkhurst explained. “She and Persephone spoke for
a bit, out of my hearing. Then she went to talk to Dr.
Whyborne.”

Damn it. But of course she’d had no reason
to suspect the man she’d gone to speak with wasn’t Whyborne at all.
“And when she returned, she suddenly wanted to call off the
wedding,” I guessed. Damn it, Bradley must have used mind control
on her for some reason. But why? Had he given himself away?

Miss Parkhurst wrung her hands unhappily.
“She gave me a note to give Mr. Barnett and left. A few minutes
later, Dr. Whyborne came looking for her. He asked for the
letter—it was just folded—so he read it. He said to wait here, that
he was going to talk sense into her, and rushed out. Persephone
seemed alarmed, told me to wait here, and went after him.”

I felt as though a shadow fell over the
room, despite the electric lights. This was worse and worse.

“Then Mr. Barnett arrived, and...” Miss
Parkhurst trailed off, looking miserable.

“She never wanted a society
wedding,” Iskander said. “I knew she didn’t, but I thought...and
what I said to her last night about
sabotaging
my efforts...I should have
listened to her. I was so determined to have the right kind of
wedding that I didn’t stop to consider my own bride’s wishes. I
knew her parents had tried to push her when she was younger, and
then I ended up doing the same thing.”

“This has nothing to do with you,” I said.
“Bradley cast his accursed spell of mind domination, the same he
used against Lambert and Durfree. Christine’s will would have be
harder to overcome...but of course he can draw on the power of the
maelstrom now.”

“The maelstrom?” Miss Parkhurst asked, at
the same moment as Iskander said, “Bradley’s behind this? But
why?”

Before I could answer, a crash and the sound
of shouting voices echoed through the house.

Whyborne

I tried to do as Griffin asked and lay
quietly in the motor car, pretending to be a piece of luggage.
Unfortunately, I’d never been terribly good at waiting, and ended
up fidgeting far too much to be convincing.

Where was he? What was going on inside? Did
I dare draw close enough to find out?

What if Bradley had ambushed him? Between
Bradley and Father, all of my friends might be in terrible danger,
while I sat here like a useless lump.