Chapter 22
Griffin swore and rammed the door with his shoulder. The cheap lock gave in the space of two blows, and the door flew open. Griffin charged inside, revolver in hand, and I could do nothing but follow.
The stench rolled out to greet us in a wave: graveyard rot and sickeningly-sweet perfume twined together into a hellish blend. I reflexively touched the Arcanorum where it lay in my breast pocket, like a talisman.
The layout of the rooms was reversed from what might normally be expected. In a hotel or apartment, the sitting room would greet the visitor first, then the bedroom. But in this place, it was the sitting room which was the private space, tucked in the back where the clients wouldn’t see.
The bed dominated the room. The garish red pattern of the comforter seemed odd, even for a brothel.
No, wait. It wasn’t a pattern, or at least not a deliberate one.
Madam Rosa’s remains sprawled across a coverlet soaked in her blood. Her head dangled over the edge of the bed, her sightless eyes seeming to stare accusingly at me. A misshapen thing crouched over her; it looked up at Griffin’s horrified gasp, and its bestial face was smeared with blood and fluid. It had been feeding on her torn-open body.
Griffin fired his revolver. The monster lurched clumsily away, making for the open window. Like all of the abominable Guardians I had seen, it was partly human and partly something else, in this case a hellish admixture of bat. Its ears were huge, and its face so creased and wrinkled it barely seemed a face at all. Slimy flaps of skin hung in gigantic folds from its arms, rippling and stretching as it extended its hideously elongated fingers to drag itself across the floor.
Griffin shot again, and it let out a scream and collapsed to the ground, flopping horribly. I cast about for a weapon, but before I could do anything, Griffin fired a third time.
The bullet caught it through the skull, endings its torment. With a last, fading shriek, it began to crumble back into the constituent salts from which it had been formed.
Silence fell within the little room. From outside came the sounds of revelry and the clop of hooves. The laughter and catcalls seemed strangely far away, as if they echoed from some other universe entirely.
Griffin’s face was unreadable as a granite statue as he gazed down on the remains of Rosa’s corpse. My hands were clammy and bile stung the back of my throat, but I managed to say, “If you want me to search her room…”
“No.” He closed his eyes briefly, as if at some pain. “Wait outside. I’ll…I’ll take care of things.”
I walked out into the hall and waited silently. No one challenged me, for which I was grateful.
Before much time had passed, Griffin rejoined me. “Nothing,” he said, and, God, he looked distant. Cold.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What should we do with the, er, the body?” There wasn’t much point in summoning the police, I supposed.
Griffin rubbed at his eyes. “I…I don’t know.”
I touched his elbow lightly, steering him toward the stairs. He came with me without argument. On the way out, I caught Nelly’s eye.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We were too late. Your mistress has been murdered.”
She let out a small cry, pressing her hands to her lips. I wished there was more I could do, for her, for Griffin, even for poor dead Rosa.
We went out into the night and walked back toward the more reputable part of town. When we came to the intersection which would determine our path, to his home or my apartment, Griffin came to an abrupt halt. His fists were thrust deep into his coat pockets, his jaw set firmly. “Whyborne, I…I’m not sure I would be good company tonight.”
“What was she to you?” I asked, even though I wasn’t at all sure I wanted the answer.
He passed a hand over his face, then tucked it back into his pocket, as if afraid it might wander on its own. “She was a friend. My first friend in Widdershins. I thought she was, anyway.” He laughed bitterly. “Of course, she never even knew my real name. Oh, how we delude ourselves.”
How selfish was I, to be relieved even as I sympathized with his pain? “Do you not want my company, or do you think you won’t be good company? Because those are two very different things.”
“I’m not really in the mood to entertain.”
“That wasn’t my question.” When he looked uncertain, I let out a sigh. “Have we not already had this discussion? Or do you still believe my regard for you to be purely venial?”
He hesitated visibly, as if caught between two prongs I could only guess at. The glance he stole at my face seemed to decide him. “I would be grateful for your presence.”
I fell in beside him, and we walked silently back to his house. We undressed with a minimum of speech, and I took him into my arms, holding him against me.
Although my body was not insensate to his presence, the sweet wave of arousal was less urgent than usual, and I ignored it as I cradled him. More important was making sure he understood he was not alone. The death tonight had shaken him, whether because he’d known Rosa, or because she reminded him of the girl he’d failed to save, or some other reason, I didn’t know.
I held him close, hoping I could offer some comfort by my presence, by the press of my skin against his, simple and undemanding. Because I didn’t want him to hurt, or to be afraid, no matter how bad things looked.
Because I wanted him to be happy.
Because I loved him.
I closed my eyes and pressed my lips against his brow, and held him long after his breathing had lapsed into sleep.
~ * ~
I was in a dark mood when I arrived at the museum the next morning. Griffin’s sleep had been interrupted by a fit, which had left him shaking uncontrollably in my arms until almost dawn. Although he seemed largely restored by the time I left, the strain was wearing on him.
He wasn’t the only one. How were we to stop a group of powerful men, one of them raised from the grave itself, from doing exactly what they wanted, especially since we had no idea when or where they would act? Our best chance of finding a link to them had died with Rosa, and I had not the slightest idea what to do next.
Griffin had said something vague about tracking down some of the local resurrection men, but I doubted he would have much luck. Widdershins didn’t boast a large medical school like Arkham, and although there seemed to be enough inhabitants who wanted bodies dug up to keep a healthy sideline going, surely there couldn’t be very many employed full-time in the business, as it were.
A knock came at my office door shortly after noon. I called a brusque command to enter; Miss Parkhurst timidly opened the door halfway and stuck her head inside. “A message came for you, sir,” she said.
My heart sank into the basement at the sight of the wax seal on the envelope. “Thank you,” I forced myself to say. She was only the messenger, after all.
“Of course.” Still, she lingered in the doorway. “How is your arm, if-if I might ask, Dr. Whyborne?” Her face turned bright red, as if the question had been in some way personal.
“I, er, quite well, Miss Parkhurst,” I replied.
“Oh, the other girls will be glad to hear it! None of us were there, of course, but we heard, and well, you were very heroic.”
My face was surely as red as hers. “Oh. N-not really. I didn’t…didn’t get the papyrus back, you see, and, er.”
“Still, it was more than anyone else did, wasn’t it?” She twisted her hands together. “If you need anything, just let us know. We wouldn’t want you reopening your wound, after all.”
I tugged at the knot of my tie. “Th-thank you, Miss Parkhurst. And please, extend my thanks to the other ladies as well. Your concern is appreciated.”
She blushed again, but smiled as she left. I must not have sounded as idiotic as I feared.
Once she had gone, I laid the unopened letter on my desk, as reluctant to touch it as if it had been penned in poisoned ink. But poison was far too subtle for my father; with an effort I picked it up and broke the wax seal bearing our family crest.
The enclosed note was short and direct; I would have expected nothing else. My older brother Stanford was in town, and I was directed to dine with them tonight.
No “How are you, son?” no “I heard from Addison you were shot, and wanted to make sure you’re doing well.” No “We haven’t spoken since your mother’s birthday, ten months ago.” Not even a damned “Merry Christmas.” Just a command to present myself for dinner at 7 o’clock.
I didn’t have to go. I didn’t owe my father anything. Mother had sold her own jewelry to pay my tuition at Miskatonic, and I’d lived on my small museum salary ever since, without any assistance from him.
But what if this summons concerned Mother? The old dread stirred in the back of my mind, like lead seeping into my veins, turning my heart sluggish. She’d been ill for a very long time. If the end were near…well, Father wouldn’t say it in a message. He probably wouldn’t even say it face-to-face. I’d have to see for myself.
I put down the brief letter and pressed my fingertips against my closed eyes. I had too much to do…but at the moment, unless Griffin found some new clue, we were at an impasse.
If Mother had taken a turn for the worse, and I didn’t go…
Stifling a sigh, I hurriedly penned two notes. One was to Father, accepting his invitation, as if he’d left me some choice. The other was to Griffin.
That one I lingered over, unsure how to phrase things in a way he would understand. “My father has ordered me to come to dinner, and I intend to accept because I worry about Mother’s health. I shall most likely be out quite late, and miss our appointment this evening.”
I folded the note carefully, then, on impulse, pressed the paper lightly to my lips. God, I would miss him tonight. I craved him, like an opium addict craved the pipe: the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, his mere presence in the same room.
How had this happened? How had I lost my heart this badly, after having such control?
Had I ever really been in control? Or had merely fooled myself? Perhaps I’d never been truly tempted, until someone came along to engage all of me: a desire of character, intellect, and carnal dimensions.
I needed to pull myself together. Addressing the note to Griffin with a firm hand, I took both missives up to the Miss Parkhurst’s desk. She turned pink again for no reason I could discern, and took them to post.
The rest of the day dragged on. Griffin sent a message back, saying he’d made no progress which required my presence and wishing me a good evening with my family. His final line suggested we reschedule our “appointment” for tomorrow night. That alone gave me the strength to face the prospect of dinner tonight.
After work, I stopped by my apartment long enough to freshen my appearance a bit. Then, like a gladiator walking into an arena he expects to leave bleeding and wounded, I summoned a cab and returned home.
~ * ~
Unlike some other old families, who aspired to an actual estate, the Whybornes had occupied an enormous house on High Street almost since the founding of Widdershins. Let the Somerbys have their grounds and forest and lake, Father had always said, usually within hearing of Addison. The Whybornes remained where they could keep their fingers on the pulse of commerce.
Then Addison would laugh, and tell Father he was missing the point of having money in the first place, which was to pay other people to do that sort of thing for you.
At any rate, the house dated back to colonial times, although it had been extensively renovated both within and without. When I knocked at the door, the butler, Mr. Fenton, admitted me without comment. At one time, we’d been on speaking terms, but when I’d pursued a career in philology against Father’s wishes, I’d apparently committed high treason in Mr. Fenton’s eyes.
Fortunately, not everyone on the staff viewed me with such disfavor. “Well, if it isn’t Master Percival!”
I grinned, genuinely happy for the first time that day. “Miss Emily,” I said fondly, embracing my old nurse. It shocked me how aged she looked; in my mind, time had stopped the day I’d walked out of the house, Father’s admonishments ringing in my ears. Even though I’d seen her since, my visits had been infrequent enough to preserve my image of her younger self, like an insect in amber.
She drew back and inspected me carefully. She’d helped Mother with all three of us, of course, but when Mother had taken ill shortly after my birth, her role had shifted from maid to nurse, of me and Mother both. She had one child, a daughter, and no husband. Her daughter could be my half-sister or cousin, but I cared for Miss Emily too much to ask for the truth, if she didn’t offer first.
“How is Mother?” I asked.
Miss Emily waved a wizened hand. “Fine, fine. Same as she has been, thank the Lord.”
Tension left my shoulders, and my knees went weak. Mother was fine. This dinner was nothing but another bizarre ploy by Father to bring me into line. “Will she dine with us?”
Emily’s mouth pursed, revealing a forest of wrinkles. “Probably not. You might want to see her first.”
I nodded. I would have embraced her again, but Mr. Fenton was already scowling at us, no doubt to carry tales to Father. I didn’t want Miss Emily to get into trouble, so I excused myself and made my way up to Mother’s room.
As I trod the familiar, dark-paneled halls, it seemed in some ways as if I’d never left. Nausea squirmed in my belly; I half-expected to be called to face Father in his study, or to bear the brunt of my brother’s pranks, or catch sight of my sister and some giggling friend of hers, pointing and laughing at me.
“Percival!”
Hunching my shoulders instinctively, I turned to the source of the greeting. My brother had changed little in the three years since I’d last seen him. He was smartly dressed in the height of Fifth Avenue fashion, where he lived with his wife and three boys. His vest encompassed an expanding waistline, and the slight chubbiness of his face made his eyes look even smaller and meaner. He’d taken after our father: big, burly, and athletically inclined, at least in their younger days. My sister and I had both inherited Mother’s willowy frame, which was acceptable in Guinevere, but certainly not in me.
“Stanford,” I said by way of greeting. I wanted to run, like a mouse trapped in front of a cat, but there was nowhere I could go.
No. We were adults now; Stanford wouldn’t lock me in a closet, or hit me with a stick, or dangle me over the upstairs balcony until I begged for mercy. Those had been the product of boyish high spirits, at least according to Father. Stanford had been praised for his conduct, and I told I needed to learn to fight back. The world was “red in tooth and claw,” as Tennyson said, and Stanford and his friends were doing me a favor by teaching me a valuable lesson.
Now that we were grown, he could only sneer. “How are you, dear brother? Still fondling books all day?”
“Yes, quite,” I said with a pale half-smile. “I trust Darla is well? And the boys? I’m surprised you came to Widdershins without them this close to Christmas.”
“And pry Darla out of New York? Never happen.” He snorted in disgust. “Women have no ambition, Percival, but at least it keeps them out of trouble. She made some noise, but I gave her money for a new dress, and that was the last I heard of it. Be glad you don’t have to worry about such things. I don’t suppose many women are throwing themselves at poor librarians, are they?”
My blood boiled in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral with a lifetime’s worth of practice. “I’m not a librarian.”
“You work with books, don’t you?” he asked with a shrug. Stanford never cracked a book if he could help it, which was the one way he differed from Father, who at least believed in the power of knowledge.
I had to get away, or else I might be tempted to…what? Yell? Strike him? Show him just what a book could do?
God, no wonder Bradley had gotten under my skin with such ease. He was nothing but a stand-in for the real thing. How utterly pathetic, for Bradley and myself.
“I wish to call on Mother,” I said with a curt bow. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
He waved a languid hand, and I turned on my heel and left. How I would eat at all, I didn’t know; my stomach churned with acid, and my legs trembled with remembered powerlessness. If only Griffin were with me, perhaps I could bear this.
But then he would see how weak I truly was, and that I could bear even less.