Chapter 25
Griffin
“I don’t have to tell you how bad this is,” Niles said. He poured a measure of brandy into three glasses, then brought two of them to Whyborne and me. We sat together on a large couch in the drawing room of Whyborne House. The previous picture above the fireplace had been replaced with a portrait of Guinevere; from the youthful cast of her face, it must have been painted shortly before she’d left for Europe to find a husband.
Whyborne had taken one look at it and blanched. But he hadn’t said anything, merely chosen a chair where he didn’t have to view it directly.
We’d come here immediately after leaving the detective. Niles dispatched Fenton to Miss Parkhurst’s address, in hopes of either finding Persephone there, or having Miss Parkhurst summon her. Niles settled us in the drawing room while we waited. Servants had brought a round of coffee while he dressed; Whyborne and I wasted no time finishing the pot.
God, this night felt endless.
There came the sound of footsteps from the hall: Fenton’s measured tread, followed by the slap of Persephone’s batrachian feet against marble. “Miss Whyborne,” he announced solemnly at the door. I had to admire the man’s composure.
Persephone tossed back the hood of the cloak she wore. No doubt she had borrowed it from Miss Parkhurst. “Father,” she said by way of greeting. “Griffin. Brother—you are in trouble again?”
“Not yet. Or, not precisely.” Whyborne’s cheeks colored slightly. “I’m sorry for, er, disturbing you. But there’s been another murder. Joseph Marsh. They haven’t accused me of it yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”
“At least with Marsh’s death, we know what the Fideles seem to be after,” I said.
Whyborne frowned, and Persephone cocked her head. But Niles nodded. “Yes. Abbott. Waite. Marsh. They’re targeting the old families.”
“Blast it.” Whyborne rubbed at his eyes. “We’ve had an eventful night. It began when we went to steal Sterling Waite’s corpse.”
He explained everything that had happened, though he left out the part about Guinevere. Niles’s expression grew more and more grim throughout.
“This is what comes from burying your dead,” Persephone said disapprovingly. “You must eat their hearts, livers, and brains so they can remain with you.”
Whyborne didn’t bother to hide his expression of disgust. Instead of addressing Persephone’s comment, he said, “I don’t know how they were able to raise the dead as they did.”
“Because of the blood the hematophage consumed?” I hazarded. “If it’s draining the old families at the command of the Fideles, and the only corpses who arose belonged to them...”
Whyborne shook his head. “No. They haven’t killed any of us, and...”
He caught himself, but it was too late. Nile’s skin went the color of cottage cheese, and he glanced almost reflexively up at the portrait.
“She’s at rest, Niles,” I said, as gently as I could. “I swear to you.”
He was silent for a long moment, struggling to master himself. Then he nodded. “Thank you, Griffin.”
“The Lesters were among the risen, and none of them have been killed, either,” Whyborne said, as if wishing to hurry the conversation along. “Father, do you know what this oath was, that Mr. Lester spoke of? One taken by Fear-God and repeated through the generations?”
Niles frowned. “I can’t think of anything. Unless...but no.”
“What?” Persephone prompted.
“We all took an oath on joining the Brotherhood, of course.” Niles waved a hand. “There was a special one for members of the old families, though. But surely that isn’t what Mr. Lester referred to.”
“I don’t see why not,” Whyborne said bitterly. “Do you remember the exact wording of the oath? Or have a copy of it?”
“I’ll find a copy. And I think we have a journal belonging to Fear-God somewhere in the library.”
Persephone’s tentacles lashed. “Whatever the Fideles hope to achieve, if their aim is to murder a member of each of the old families, that leaves the Lesters...and us.” She muttered what sounded like a ketoi curse. “It may not be safe for me to visit Maggie.”
Niles frowned. “The secretary? What on earth are you doing visiting her?”
I tried to think how to answer his question delicately—or at least less bluntly than Persephone seemed about to. Whyborne leapt in first, however.
“Your youngest children have more in common than you’d probably like, Father,” he said. “So I hope you don’t have your heart set on any tentacle-haired grandchildren.”
Niles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. After a pause, he said, “I see. Well. Persephone should be safe, so long as she remains with the ketoi. I doubt the hematophage will be able to attack her beneath the waves. The rest of us are easier targets.”
I finished my brandy and set it aside. “I wonder why they didn’t bring the hematophage to the jail? Why set the Hounds against Percival instead?”
“Perhaps they need purely human blood?” Whyborne suggested dubiously. “Although if so, Miss Lester has nothing to fear.”
“We can’t assume,” Niles said firmly. “Without more information, we must be on our guards. This horror might be sent against us at any time.”
“At least it only seems to be able to strike at night,” I pointed out. “Still, you must take precautions never to be alone, Niles. And make certain all of your servants able to handle a gun are armed.”
“Yes, yes.” No doubt I was only telling him what he already knew. “As soon as the hour is more reasonable, I’ll put in a call to the asylum and ask to speak to Stanford. He must be warned as well.”
“Stanford!” Whyborne sat up straight. “Father, is he still at the asylum?”
Niles looked at his son as if he thought him mad. “Of course.”
“How certain are you?”
I put a hand to my husband’s arm. “Whyborne? What is this about?”
“The laughter at the cemetery. I knew it seemed familiar.” Whyborne met my gaze, his dark eyes grim. “I’d bet Father’s entire fortune that it belonged to Stanford.”