Page 22 of Unbroken (Rath & Rune #4)

My dearest Nathaniel,

Happiest of New Year’s, darling! I’m writing this just after midnight, so you will know I came into this year thinking only of you. Particularly of what we did on Christmas Eve, and my desire to do it again as soon as we’re reunited.

I have spent a quiet evening with a few friends in a private room at the Leviathan Inn along the sea road.

No, not ‘our’ room, that is reserved in my mind only for you.

We’ve had drinks, toasts, and good conversation—we’re all artists of some sort, whether architects, painters, or sculptors.

The nature of art has been a popular topic.

Everyone has also remarked on my newly shorn hair, though of course I can hardly tell them the truth—the locks have been braided into cord to Bind a series of necromantic Books!

I’m sorry you aren’t here, not just for my sake, but for yours.

A New Year’s Gala with Widdershins’s finest—by which I mean, richest—citizens sounds deadly dull.

I know, I know—it’s for the good of the town, you need these connections in order to realize your dreams of a museum.

I hope you were at least able to raise funds and strike deals, or whatever it is that well-to-do men like yourself do. (I tease! I tease!)

I napped this afternoon, then awoke with the feeling I’d had a strange dream.

I can’t recall the details, however, so it probably has nothing to do with the Book of Blood.

Otherwise, all has remained as it was before the Binding.

So far, our plan has been a complete success, which makes for a wonderful start to this new year.

With luck, the remaining Books will give us just as little trouble.

Once all of this is done, we’ll travel for a bit. Perhaps we’ll ring in a future New Year drinking wine in Paris, or in the Piazza San Pietro, or some other place with plenty of history for you and architectural marvels for me.

Yours always,

Alex

* * *

After what happened at the Breakwater Club, Ves didn’t want to leave Noct behind when they visited Mrs. Rice.

Time might be of the essence, but if the other Dark Young put in an appearance, having someone else immune to her toxins might make all the difference.

Which meant waiting until after dark to visit the Rice home.

Irene and Sebastian both protested, but Mortimer agreed with Ves and Noct, and they eventually gave in. Sebastian used the museum phone to call the Rice house, but reported Mrs. Rice hung up on him. He sent her several telegrams over the course of the afternoon, none of which were answered.

Mr. Tubbs turned up around three o’clock, escorted to the library by one of the security staff who apparently had heard something about the attempt to break in the previous weekend, at least enough to know Tubbs was tangentially involved.

Since Sebastian was off sending yet another telegram, Ves agreed to meet with him.

Tubbs seemed meeker than he had before, or at least more subdued, as he followed Ves back to the bindery. Seeing Penelope’s corpse, transformed into a leech, had clearly struck him hard.

“I went to look at Penny’s grave,” he said, once they were seated. “Someone had painted on it, as with Mr. Siewert. It showed…it showed a figure I assume was meant to be her, bursting out of the ground.”

It made a certain amount of sense, if the paintings were part of the magic being used to control the WHS members. “I’m sorry.”

“I scrubbed it off, but I’ll never forget it. Every time I go to visit her grave from now on, I’ll know she isn’t there, that the horrible drawing was there…but at least Perry will never find out.” He wiped at his eyes. “Tell me—has anything else happened?”

He listened carefully while Ves explained what he could of the events of the last two nights. “So Mr. Fuller is dead,” Tubbs said at last, face set in grim lines. “And this woman—you think she’s behind it all?”

“We’re fairly certain of it,” Ves said. “But I must warn you she isn’t….”

He trailed off, trying to decide what to say. He’d glossed over all the details on how Fuller died, or his killer’s appearance.

“Does she have an inhuman heritage?” Tubbs asked, surprising him. At Ves’s expression, he sighed. “I was here in 1902, you know. Does she have the blood of the sea?”

“No. Something else.”

Tubbs straightened his shoulders. “I’m not afraid of her.”

“You should be,” Ves said bluntly. “I—”

The door swung open. “Damn the woman—we’re going to have to go to her house and break down the door,” Sebastian said as he came in. Catching sight of Tubbs, he came to an abrupt halt. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.”

Tubbs bristled. “And a good thing for me, since you’re clearly hiding something. Whose house? Are you talking about Mrs. Rice?”

“Er…” Sebastian’s eyes cut toward Ves, as if to ask what had been said before he arrived.

Tubbs didn’t miss the look. “I’m not an idiot, you know! All the other WHS members are dead.” He rose to his feet. “Very well—let’s go to her house now.”

“And get arrested by police for breaking and entering in broad daylight?” Sebastian exclaimed. “Absolutely not.”

“After dark, then.” Tubbs’s hands curled into fists, as though expecting a fight. “I won’t be brushed aside. You didn’t have the decency to tell me you were interrogating Fuller or visiting Mrs. Norris, but you are not doing this in secrecy. I have the right to be there.”

This wouldn’t end well, but Ves couldn’t imagine how they’d stop Tubbs from showing up wherever he pleased, short of physically restraining him. “There may be danger, even in talking to an old woman in her home,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” Tubbs picked up his hat and made for the door to the bindery, brushing past Sebastian as he did so. “I will see you gentlemen tonight.”

* * *

As dusk fell, Irene drove them all to the Rice mansion. A few houses down, she slowed long enough for Noct and Ves to both slip out of the auto. They would station themselves on the roof and in the garden, forming a first line of defense if the other Dark Young returned.

“Remember,” Ves said as he climbed out, “if you sense her nearby, do whatever it takes to alert us. Shout, throw something out a window, bang pans together, anything.”

“I’ll stick my head out the nearest window and yell at the top of my lungs,” Sebastian assured him. After seeing what had happened to Fuller, he had no wish to suffer the same fate. “Be careful, angel.”

“You, too.” Then the brothers were gone, vanishing into the growing darkness without so much as a whisper.

When Irene pulled over to the curb in front of the house, Tubbs was already there. Possibly he’d been waiting for hours, determined not to be left out yet again. God, the man was persistent.

“There you are,” he said irritably, as soon as Sebastian opened his door. “Where’s Mr. Rune?”

“Somewhere else,” Sebastian replied shortly. “Let’s try knocking on the door—maybe she’ll let us in voluntarily.”

“I’ll knock.” Irene took the lead. She’d changed into a fashionable dinner dress and a hat sporting an enormous taffeta bow on one side. “Mrs. Rice might be more amenable to speaking to another woman.”

A stern housekeeper in a black dress and crisp white apron answered Irene’s knock. “May I help you?” she asked coldly.

Irene smiled and held out her card. “Miss Irene Endicott, calling on Mrs. Rice. Is she available, by any chance?”

The housekeeper hesitated, gaze skipping past Irene to the rest of them. “And who are they?”

Drat. Sebastian opened his mouth, intending to spin the first lie that came to mind, but Tubbs spoke first.

“Paul Tubbs. I’m—I was—Penelope’s brother-in-law,” he said curtly. “Please tell Mrs. Rice that I know Penny was killed by sorcery, and I won’t leave this property until I get some answers. If she calls the police, I’ll—I’ll chain myself to the fence!”

Mortimer sighed loudly. The housekeeper looked shocked, but only said “Wait here,” before shutting the door in their faces.

“Mr. Tubbs,” Sebastian began.

“Don’t you ‘Mr. Tubbs’ me!” he exclaimed.

“I’m done with this—this insanity! Rulkowski died rather than tell us what the hell—excuse my language, Miss Endicott—is happening, and I’m tired of it.

I will find out why Penny died, who killed her, and why they disturbed her eternal rest one way or another! ”

The door swung open, revealing the housekeeper again. “Follow me. Mrs. Rice will see you in the parlor.”

She must have realized the only way to get rid of them once and for all was to grant them an audience. Even so, Sebastian was a bit surprised she’d given in so easily.

The parlor was just off the front door, a large, airy room stuffed with vases of cut flowers: hydrangeas the size of bowling balls, great spears of delphinium, and white roses like banks of drifting snow.

A portrait on the wall showed what must have been the Rice family in happier times: a plain-looking woman and man in late middle age, sitting together on a couch.

A younger man who resembled them posed behind the couch, one hand on each of their shoulders.

Judging by the style of their clothes, it was at least twenty years old, painted before the murder that took the son, the heart trouble that blotted out the husband.

An older version of the woman in the portrait sat in a chair beneath it, her back straight as a steel rod.

She matched the bouquets in the vases, with light blue eyes, white hair, and a pale purple dress.

Her gaze passed over each of them and clearly found them wanting. “Introduce yourselves,” she ordered.

They did so. Her gaze lingered on Sebastian, and she said, “You’re a very impertinent man. I should report you to the police for harassing me with your telegrams.”

Sebastian didn’t bother to keep his frustration hidden. “We’re trying to save your life!”

She lifted a tea cup to her lips. “My life isn’t in danger,” she said with such simple conviction he found he believed her. “I wouldn’t ordinarily reward such rudeness, but I suppose Mr. Tubbs deserves some answers.”

Tubbs shot him a triumphant look. “Thank you, Mrs. Rice.”

“Don’t thank me.” She pointed to the chairs and sofa. “Sit.”

They obeyed, Irene and Mortimer on the sofa, Sebastian in the chair closest to Mrs. Rice, and Tubbs directly facing her.

She took another sip of her tea, eyeing them over the cup’s rim.

“Are you certain you wish to know, Mr. Tubbs? I speak from experience when I say that knowledge isn’t always a comfort, and you may not enjoy hearing what I have to say. ”

He nodded firmly. “I want to know.”

She put her cup down. “Then I will tell you.”