Page 20 of Unbroken (Rath & Rune #4)
“The Breakwater Club is for businessmen,” Mortimer explained as Irene drove them through the streets of Widdershins.
They’d decided to visit in the late evening, when most of the members who weren’t staying the night would have departed to their homes.
“According to my fifth cousin, he’s been living there since the first of July. ”
Sebastian did some quick calculations. “The day you visited Rulkowski.”
Beside him, Ves nodded. “Rulkowski must have warned everyone else in the WHS as soon as we left.”
Damn the man for not telling them everything he knew that very day. “Does your cousin know anything about him?”
“Only in passing. Ian Fuller’s father made a great deal of money via a series of silk factories, enough that Fuller himself has been able to indulge a passion for botany for many years.
Apparently Fuller moved to Widdershins shortly after his parents died—I don’t know if he thought to explore the Draakenwood, but he’s still alive, so I assume he changed his mind.
” Mortimer straightened his cuffs. “He was something of an explorer for many years, bringing home all sorts of exotic specimens. But for the last decade or so, he’s contented himself with his private garden, and spends most of his time either at home or at the Breakwater Club, with the obvious exception of the WHS. ”
“I wonder if he learned magic in his travels,” Ves mused.
“He could have learned all he needs right here in Widdershins,” Sebastian protested. “People like my ancestor Gregorio and your grandfather get swept away by the romance of ancient European ruins and hidden valleys, but that’s all set dressing when you get down to it.”
“Quite right,” Mortimer agreed. Irene muttered something that sounded like “Americans.”
A few minutes later, she pulled up to the curb in front of the club, which lay just off River Street, not far from Le Calmar, the most expensive restaurant in Widdershins.
The club itself was housed in an imposing granite building, with a discreet plaque beside the entrance reading Breakwater Club.
A uniformed doorman stood guard and offered them an ingratiating smile when they approached.
“Good evening, gentlemen, ma’am, how can I help you? ”
After leaving the library, they’d all gone home to change into their best clothing short of formal wear.
For Sebastian and Ves that meant dark suits.
Mortimer had a nicely tailored pinstriped suit, and Irene wore a beaded dinner dress along with a hat the size of a wedding cake, covered in silk flowers.
Mortimer smiled. “I’m Mortimer Waite—my cousin Napoleon Waite is expecting us.”
“Of course, sir. Step inside—you’ll find the concierge immediately to the right—please speak with him, and he’ll see your cousin is notified.”
Inside, the air reeked of cigars, underlain with brandy and wood polish.
Though ostentatious, the entryway was done in a masculine style, all oak paneling and sturdy furniture.
“I’m going to guess this is the sort of place that doesn’t allow female members,” Irene said, not bothering to keep her voice down.
The concierge, a slim man who no doubt spent much of his time greeting and catering to members, winced but didn’t deny it. “How may I help you tonight?”
Mortimer gave the name of his cousin, and they waited until he was summoned. Napoleon turned out to be slightly younger than Mortimer, neat but plain in both his attire and appearance. The cousins exchanged greetings.
The concierge gave a polite cough before they could leave. “A reminder of the rule concerning female guests,” he said apologetically.
Irene drew herself up haughtily. “Are you suggesting I’m here for some illicit purpose, Mr.—” Her eyes flicked down to the nameplate on his desk. “—Jeffries?”
Jeffries turned scarlet. “No, not at all—”
“Because I am an Endicott. You do know who the Endicotts are, don’t you, Mr. Jeffries?” she asked, the repetition of his name a clear threat she’d remember it later.
The poor man went stark white. “Yes, of course, I never meant to imply…that is…please stay as long as you like. I, ah, I must attend to something, please excuse me.”
He fled through a discreet door. Sebastian felt a momentary twinge of pity for the man, but it was driven from his mind when he saw the speculative look Napoleon Waite was giving Irene.
“A shame our families couldn’t have united,” he said coolly.
For the first time, Sebastian wondered how the old families truly felt about a group of foreign sorcerers planting themselves in Widdershins.
The Whybornes had technically been the ones to bring them here in the first place—there was some sort of blood tie between them, or at least Sebastian thought so, though he couldn’t have said what it was.
But surely the Waites and Marshes wouldn’t be happy about it.
As for the Lesters, they’d always kept more to themselves than the rest, so it was hard to say.
Perhaps the Waites had hoped to absorb the Endicotts, or co-opt their power, or find some way to undercut them.
Just thinking about it all was giving him a headache. Thank God his family had been murderous necromancers of humble origins.
“I assume Mr. Fuller is still in residence?” Mortimer asked, ignoring his cousin’s remark.
“He is. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
Mortimer winced. “I’m sorry, truly, but it’s library business.”
“This is why you were disinherited.”
“I’m quite aware.” Mortimer straightened his shoulders. “Now, will you please take us to Mr. Fuller?”
* * *
Ves kept a careful eye on their surroundings as Napoleon led them through halls paneled in rich wood. Few others were in the corridors at the moment, but the murmur of conversation came from some of the rooms, and the sound of a piano drifted from elsewhere in the building.
Napoleon led them to an open door marked by a plaque that said Reading Room.
The chamber within appeared to be comfortably appointed as well as provided with magazines, an abundance of newspapers, and a selection of books.
Deeply cushioned chairs sat in clusters here and there, no doubt to encourage sociability among members.
A waiter flitted from group to group, offering pours of scotch or brandy and whisking away emptied tumblers.
Cigar smoke permeated the room, and Irene made a displeased face before schooling her features back to neutrality.
Ves privately agreed with her—cigars smelled like burning socks to him, and he could never understand why anyone would voluntarily smoke them.
Napoleon pointed to a lone man sitting by one of the open windows, gazing out as though keeping watch. “That’s him. You can make your own introductions, Morty.”
Mortimer looked less than pleased by the nickname, but only said, “Thank you, Leon. I will speak to Mr. Quinn on your behalf concerning the book you mentioned from the Limited Access Collection.”
His cousin nodded curtly and left. Irene cocked a brow at Mortimer, but he only shrugged. “I’ll pass along the request, but I sincerely doubt Mr. Quinn will give him permission to look through De Vermis Mysteriis.”
“I should hope not,” Ves said with a shudder. He didn’t know what the Waite family might want with the writings of a mad Belgian wizard, but it couldn’t be anything benign.
Sebastian started for the man Napoleon had pointed out, and the rest of them followed. Fuller looked away from the window as they approached, his brows coming down into a scowl.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded, dark eyes flashing. “You aren’t club members.”
Sebastian folded his arms over his chest. “We’re the people here to save your life.”
Fuller’s nostrils flared. “You’re the ones Daniel mentioned, the ones poking your nose in our business.” So Rulkowski had indeed contacted the other WHS members after they kept him from jumping out a window.
Mortimer glanced around casually. “Surely we should discuss this somewhere with more privacy, don’t you agree, Mr. Fuller?”
Fuller’s lips pressed into a thin line, no doubt struggling between listening and having them thrown out. “Who sent you?”
“We sent ourselves,” Sebastian shot back impatiently. “Again, do you wish to have this conversation where anyone else might overhear?”
He raised his voice slightly, and a few members looked over. Fuller gave them an obviously false smile and stood up. “Fine,” he said in a low voice. “Come with me.”
Ves expected to be led to a private room, but instead he took them through a series of hallways and out a door letting onto an interior courtyard.
The edifice of the Breakwater Club enclosed it on all sides, with only a narrow gate and alleyway offering access to the street.
The black iron gate was chained shut. Only a little light crept into the place at this time of night, though of course Ves could still see perfectly well.
Most of the courtyard was paved in brick, though there were a few shrubs planted about to give a touch of nature. These were of ordinary size; apparently the Breakwater didn’t rate whatever magic the WHS had used on their flowers. Or maybe the members had just decided to keep it all for themselves.
Fuller took out a cigarette and lit it as he stalked over to a marble bench. He paused in front of it, then seemed to decide against sitting down. “Listen,” he began.
Sebastian hissed and clasped a hand over his forearm.
Ves instantly went on alert. “Mr. Fuller, get back inside,” he ordered.
Fuller stared at him in outrage. “What the hell is your game—”
“Your life is in danger, man—get inside!” Sebastian shouted, scanning their surroundings frantically.
Fuller still hesitated, so Ves shrugged off his suit jacket and let his tentacles free.
Fuller’s face went white with terror and he stumbled back—away from Ves, and unfortunately, away from the safety of the building as well. “Oh God—she sent you! Get away!”
He broke into a run, fleeing blindly in his panic. Ves swore and dashed after him.
A dark shape dropped from the roof of the Breakwater Club and bore Fuller to the ground.
* * *
The scars on Sebastian’s arm pulled hard, as though they wanted to physically drag him across the courtyard to the dark shape that had fallen on Fuller.
He broke into a run after Ves, arm outstretched, magically fumbling for bones to break, flesh to unmake. But his power seemed to slip off what he now saw was a heavily cloaked human figure. Was the Book of Blood preventing him from doing anything? Or—
The figure’s head snapped up, fixing on Sebastian, and shock brought both him and Ves skidding to a halt.
The light leaking from the Breakwater’s windows revealed the features beneath the hood, her mouth twisted into a snarl of fury and hate.
On the right, her face was a smooth oval of pale skin and delicate features.
A lock of strawberry blonde hair tumbled free of the hood, and her eye was a crystalline blue.
The other side was utterly inhuman, the eye a green iris with no visible white, bearing a goat-shaped pupil like Ves’s.
Bark-like skin formed the whorls and small branches of a tree, twisted up into a single curled horn.
She held Fuller pinned to the ground by his neck with her left hand, a gnarled thing like a bird’s foot made out of wood.
He kicked and struggled against her strangling grasp, but she ignored him, her gaze locking onto Sebastian with an intensity he could feel.
Just as he could feel the magic of the Books calling out between his scars and her.
Ves raised an uncertain hand. “Sister?”
Impossible. The magic of the Books was anathema to the Dark Young; Ves had said so himself. So what the hell was going on?
Her eyes left Sebastian and fixed on Ves. “I’m no sister of yours, foul thing,” she snarled. “And if you mean to save your master, you’re too late.”
She hoisted Fuller into the air, his legs kicking. The bark-like skin of her hand shifted, stinging hairs bursting forth like those of a nettle.
Then she dropped him contemptuously to the ground, and he began to scream.
As Sebastian watched in horror, weeping blisters spread over Fuller’s skin, radiating out from the red mark her hand had left. He started to convulse, tongue protruding and heels drumming on the bricks.
Sebastian made to go to him, even though he didn’t know what he meant to do, but Ves flung out an arm and two tentacles. “Stay away from her! She’s poisonous.”
Her eyes locked on him again, and a chill ran down his spine. Then Irene spat out a spell.
The woman jerked back with a hiss—then fled, dashing across the bricks and leaping over the gate with ease. Within seconds, the pain in his scars eased, then vanished.
She was gone.