Page 13 of Unbroken (Rath & Rune #4)

The next day, Sebastian felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he stepped into the cool confines of the museum. Nothing made him appreciate Widdershins more than leaving it, however briefly.

He dropped his things at his desk, except for the notes he’d taken that morning at the historical society and the newspapers he’d…liberated…and hurried to the bindery to find Ves.

Ves sat at one of the worktables, holding a needle in one hand, gazing off into space. Warm afternoon light flooded through the glass dome of the ceiling, lending a touch of gold to Ves’s olive skin. When he saw Sebastian, a smile lit up his face.

“I’m back,” Sebastian said. “How did things go for you and Mortimer yesterday?”

“Mr. Tubbs had the same idea as we did, so he was there as well.” Ves stood up, and they kissed. His lips tasted of coffee, and he hugged Sebastian tight. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, angel.” Sebastian breathed in the scent of shadowy woods and ink, before reluctantly ending their embrace. “What happened?”

“You first—did you find anything?”

“I did, though I don’t know how helpful it will be. We should gather everyone in the sword room.”

Half an hour later, Sebastian found himself sitting with Ves, Noct, Irene, and Mortimer. Ves gestured at Sebastian’s notes and the stacked newspapers. “What did you find?”

“How Gregorio Hollowell died, and why he was accused of vampirism.” He carefully unfolded the newspapers and laid them out, in case anyone wanted to read the articles for themselves.

“I saved these from the Ipswich Monitor archives—which were in deplorable condition! They’re storing the newspapers folded up to fit into cubby holes, and the silverfish—”

Mortimer cleared his throat, and Sebastian subsided.

“None of which I suppose is important at the moment. Fortunately, the historical society takes much better care of its artifacts. I was able to look through a journal this morning which belonged to a Mr. John Knapp. One of the men who murdered Gregorio.”

No one said anything, though he felt their attention sharpen on him.

“To summarize, the Hollowell family doesn’t seem to have had a good reputation to begin with.

None of them were ever formally tried for witchcraft, but the locals seemed to be of the opinion they could curse anyone who crossed them.

Their reputation only grew worse when Gregorio departed for Europe for a few years, returning with a new wife, my great-grandmother Lydia.

The newspaper described her as a ‘Slav,’ and the journal used far worse language, though it’s not clear where or how Gregorio met her. ”

“Hmm.” Irene’s brow creased. “What if she was a fellow student at the Scholomance?”

“I…hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “I’ve wondered if she was the one who killed the Hollowell siblings and created the Books of the Bound from their bodies. If she went to the Scholomance alongside Gregorio, it would explain how she came by the knowledge to do something like that.”

“Lydia is probably the anglicized version of her name,” Mortimer said. “Assuming the papers had her origins right, of course.”

“That would make sense.” Sebastian added to his notes, then continued, “According to Knapp’s diary, a rash of disappearances marked Gregorio’s return to Ipswich.

No one could prove a connection, but Knapp and his cohorts believed Gregorio was responsible.

When a child disappeared, they decided they had to act.

They ambushed him in the early morning hours of May 1, 1830, returning on horseback from Plum Island. ”

“He was coming from a Walpurgisnacht ritual, then,” Ves said. Irene nodded her agreement.

“They shot him in the back,” Sebastian went on.

“According to Knapp, he immediately fell to the ground, but they continued firing just to make sure. Then they ran off and left his body to be discovered by a fisherman around dawn. Knapp and his compatriots did a poor job of covering their tracks and were immediately arrested for murder. However, suffice it to say Gregorio wasn’t well liked, and all three were acquitted at trial. ”

“I doubt Gregorio’s family were pleased,” Mortimer remarked.

“Neither was Gregorio—at least, according to Knapp. About six months after the trial, his journal entries start mentioning a strange wasting disease that infected him and his fellow killers. Not consumption, their lungs remained clear, but something that resisted all attempts to diagnose or treat. As their energy waned day by day, they decided Gregorio must be behind their condition. Eventually, they grew desperate enough to dig him up, burn his heart, and drink the ashes mixed with water.” Sebastian started to imagine choking down such a noxious mixture, then decided against it.

“It did seem to help at first, but the journal stops abruptly about three months later. I assume something fatal befell Mr. Knapp, though I didn’t have time to return to the newspaper archives and find out what that might have been. ”

Mortimer sighed. “So nothing that can help us with the Books?”

“Well…not at the moment, anyway. But it does tell us Gregorio’s ‘vampirism’ was nothing like the leech we encountered.

” He hesitated, not wanting to say the next part…

but they needed to know. “I, uh, went into a sort of trance while visiting Gregorio’s grave.

When I came back to myself, I found I’d been digging into it. ”

“What?” Ves demanded, and at the same time Mortimer observed, “That doesn’t bode well.”

“I know!” He ran his hands back through his hair, tugging at the locks. “I’m not exactly pleased by it myself. My scars hurt when I came to—but there was no warning beforehand, no pulling sensation like I experience with the Books.”

“Whatever happens, you cannot return to Ipswich,” Irene said. “Blast Knapp for not burning the entire body, though I suppose this is what one gets with amateurs.”

Noct’s tentacles shifted uneasily. “Should we go to Ipswich and burn it ourselves? Without Sebastian, obviously.”

“Yes, as soon as is practical,” Ves said. When Sebastian began to object, he cut him off. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. Some sort of magic is lingering in his corpse, though it doesn’t seem urgent compared to our current problems.”

Irene nodded firmly. “Your ancestor wasn’t a benevolent man. Best to remove any lingering influences from the world, before anyone can fall afoul of them. Especially you.”

“Very well.” Sebastian sat back. “Now it’s your turn. Did you talk to the rest of the WHS?”

“Just one,” Mortimer said, and launched into their tale, with Ves adding his impression as needed.

When they were done, Irene said, “I agree, they must be using sorcery on their plants. My cousin Ursula has quite the garden on our estate and is in the process of planning a greenhouse. She might have some ideas as to what it is they’re doing.”

“It still doesn’t tell us who would want to kill them,” Mortimer pointed out.

“No, unless they’ve called on something they shouldn’t have. But I suppose such a being wouldn’t need the Book of Blood to put an end to them. You said Rulkowski had a plaster on his neck?”

Ves nodded. “He claimed it was a bug bite.”

“Not impossible,” Irene allowed. “Though I must say, even if we’re calling it a leech, that proboscis looked a lot more like a mosquito’s.”

“Rulkowski definitely knows what’s happening.” Sebastian looked around the table. “If he won’t tell us of his own accord, I’m going to have to compel him.”

Ves didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right. We can try to call on him again. I’ll keep Berry from interfering, while you force him to tell us.”

“It’s to save his own life,” Sebastian pointed out. “I don’t want to do it, but he’s left us no choice.”

A clock chimed softly from another room, signaling the end of the Saturday half-day of work. Mortimer rose to his feet and stretched like a cat. “I’m going to leave that to the rest of you,” he said. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

* * *

They decided to go to Rulkowski’s house in the evening, when he’d be more likely to be in, so Irene drove them all to Bonnie’s house before making for the estate.

The new neighbor, Mrs. Adams, was visiting when they arrived home, so Noct once again entered the house through the attic to stay out of sight.

She and nine-year-old Helen sat close together on the couch, heads bent over a skein of yarn and pair of knitting needles.

Clara slept in her cradle, while Bonnie rocked beside her, repairing the torn sleeve of one of Tommy’s shirts.

“Mr. Rath, Mr. Rune, so good to see you again,” Mrs. Adams beamed.

“Mrs. Adams is teaching me to knit!” Helen exclaimed, her dark eyes bright with excitement.

“And a very good pupil you are.”

Jossie and Willie were on the floor, the newspaper spread in front of them. “Free ice-cream will be handed out to children,” Willie read aloud.

“Ice-cream!” Jossie shouted at her mother.

Helen paused her knitting to also yell, “Ice-cream! Mama, can we get some?”

“What’s this about ice-cream?” Sebastian asked.

“For the Fourth of July,” Willie explained, pointing at the paper. “There’s going to be ice-cream, and a parade, and fireworks.”

Fewer fireworks than there might have been, considering the School of Night had blown up a warehouse full of them. With Ves inside.

“There’s going to be a bonfire,” Willie went on. “It’s going to be so big, ships way out to sea will be able to spot it! And a bunch of brass bands, and Mama said we can go to the pier, and…”

Ves’s attention wandered. He’d never been to a Fourth of July parade or partaken of any sort of public celebration. He and Noct spent their years in Boston hiding in various apartments and boarding houses, their lives circumscribed by fear of discovery.

Everything was different now. They had a place to belong, friends, work…

He would never be comfortable in crowds, and Noct would never be able to walk the streets without causing a panic. But nothing in life was perfect, so far as he’d ever seen, and gods knew this was so much better than what had come before.

A loud pounding shook the front door, startling him out of his reverie.

“Sebastian! Ves! Get out here!” Irene shouted, her voice muffled by the thick wood.

Exchanging worried looks, they hurried to the front door, only to find Noct had beaten them there. “Darling? What’s the matter?”

“I was just heading out of town, going back to the estate, when I spotted Cousin Ambrose going into a bar. The Silver Key, in fact.” She seemed flustered, her driving hat askew.

“I know for certain he was meant to be helping Basil with—it doesn’t matter, there isn’t time.

The point is, we still haven’t found the traitor who’s talking to Lenore Rune, and now Ambrose is sneaking around. ”

Ves had briefly met Ambrose at the first dinner the Endicotts had invited them to; the impression hadn’t been favorable. “We need to find out what he’s up to.”

“That’s why I came back for you.” She squeezed one of Noct’s tentacles, then rushed back down the sidewalk. “Hurry! Before he slips away. I want to catch him in the act.”

* * *

It had been far too long since they’d gathered at The Silver Key, but Sebastian would have preferred to return under better circumstances.

Ambrose Endicott. The man had been soused when they met at the Endicott estate, pulling on Ves’s tentacles and bragging about killing a Dark Young back in England.

He should have been suspicious of Ambrose from the moment they learned someone amongst the Endicotts had betrayed them to Ves’s wretched mother.

Irene drove at a dangerously high speed through the streets of Widdershins, honking the horn and yelling at pedestrians, cabs, and other autos to get out of her way.

Sebastian clung to the seat, closed his eyes, and braced for an impact, until at last she swerved up to the curb and stomped on the brakes.

Cautiously cracking his eyes open, he found she’d gotten them to The Silver Key in record time.

The bar was near the Ladysmith, and thus a favorite watering hole of museum staff, the librarians included.

He spotted several familiar faces as they entered, and Amelia Cohen waved enthusiastically from one of the tables.

He smiled and weakly raised a hand in greeting, then saw her face fall when she realized they weren’t going to join her.

A copper-topped bar ran along one wall, the barman behind it unfamiliar to him.

The previous bartender had fled town after serving as a middleman between hired criminals and Arthur Fairchild.

Said hirelings would have murdered Sebastian, Bonnie, and the rest of the family if Ves hadn’t intervened; the man had no doubt realized his life wouldn’t be worth much if he stayed in Widdershins.

There was no sign of Ambrose. Irene scanned the room, as if double-checking, then marched to the bar and opened her purse. “I’m looking for my cousin, Ambrose Endicott,” she said to the bartender, and threw down a handful of cash.

He seemed taken aback, but scooped up the bills readily enough. “I don’t think it’s a secret, ma’am, but he’s joined the other gentleman in the private room.”

“What other—” Sebastian began, but Irene had already taken off in the direction the bartender pointed.

The private room was tiny, its existence seeming to owe itself to some quirk of the architecture produced when the old building was renovated into a bar.

There was a pot-bellied stove, cold now in the summer, a small round table, four chairs, and a narrow window open to catch the breeze.

Ambrose perched in one of the chairs, gesticulating wildly as he spoke to the gray-haired man sitting across from him.

Ora Rune.