The large office had her father’s stamp upon it. The pitted iron sword that King Alfred the Great had given to Athelward Griffin, in thanks for his defeat of the Danish wizard Hjorvart, hung on the wall behind his desk. Next to it was a photograph of her family, taken when her grandfather was still alive. Three or four photos of her mother, showing off Ellen Kim Griffin’s lovely charms and impish smile, also graced the walls. A rug that had once been in her grandfather’s study covered the center of the wooden floor. On a shelf, to his right, rested an antique, two-hundred-year-old tea service from Gryphon Park. Rachel recognized the lopsided green and pink tea cozy that covered the teapot as something her sister Sandra had knitted for him at the age of five.
The Duke of Devon came around his desk and sat on the edge of it, scrutinizing his daughter with keen interest. He was an extraordinarily handsome man, with dark hair, steady hazel eyes, and an air of implacable calmness. He was dressed in an expensive gray plaid suit; his Inverness cloak and tricorne hat hung from a coat rack in the corner.
“Hello, Rachel.”
“Hallo,” she replied with a curtsey.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to the couch. “Let’s talk.”
Rachel sat down. The leather couch was low, and, as her father was tall, she found herself staring up at him. She felt awkward and at a disadvantage. Still, she bounced happily on the cushions. Finally, she would be able to tell him all that she had been longing to say.
Before she could begin, her father leaned forward, his palms resting on his knees.
“So here is my dilemma,” said the duke. “I need to protect my thirteen-year-old daughter. She has somehow made friends with people who have abilities that make this extremely difficult. She thinks she is specifically required to save the world from danger, and that this needs to be done immediately. Please stop me when I say something incorrect, okay?”
Rachel sat ramrod straight, as her grandparents had taught her. “If you were the only person in position to solve a problem, wouldn’t you feel that it was your job to solve it?”
“Perhaps, were it true,” replied her father, in a tone that made it clear he believed otherwise. “Your memory, the power you received, thanks to your mother and, to a lesser degree, because of me, is a great power. There are those who treasure it tremendously.” A shadow passed across his face, like a cloud racing across the silvery visage of the moon. Then it was gone again. “It allows you to remember things that most people cannot even see. On top of this, you’ve spoken to a being of great power, and it has explained that there are certain dangers facing the world—which you have decided are your responsibility to correct, correct?”
Rachel struggled not to giggle at “correct, correct?”
“And do not tell me,” he continued, when she did not answer immediately, “that just because my father, your hero, was sent down from Roanoke freshman year, that you feel you must follow in his footsteps.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Grandfather was expelled from Roanoke?”
“His first year. Yes. Eventually, my grandfather talked the school into giving him a second chance. But let’s not change the subject, shall we? Explain to me why fighting these supposed threats requires the personal participation of my thirteen-year-old daughter?”
“Because I was the one who was there. On the front line,” Rachel said humbly. “I already stopped the first threat. And the second. That one took a bit of research, but I figured it out, with help from friends.”
“And that is it? Or is there more?”
“I wouldn’t say anything needs doing immediately. There are things to be done.”
He cocked his head attentively. “What things need to be done?”
Rachel spread her arms. “Whatever is needed. Such as stopping the next demon: the silver-haired one dressed in thorns that appeared at Stonehenge on Thanksgiving.”
Her father blinked. Striding around his desk, he picked up a notepad and jotted something down. To Rachel’s disappointment, he did not ask any follow up questions on that subject.
“And this ‘whatever is needed’ requires—what?” he asked, looking up from where he was writing. “Traveling in the land of dreams?”
“Sometimes,” Rachel said haltingly.
“And you need to be there—why?” He came around the desk again and crossed to stand beside her. Resting one foot on the couch, he gazed steadily into her eyes. “Help me here. I am trying to understand.”
It took some effort to put into words a truth that she had not previously acknowledged, especially as she found it unexpectedly difficult to praise herself.
“I-I h-have to go because my friends don’t remember what they see. They don’t remember what questions to ask. They don’t even remember what they should be looking for,” she explained. “Valerie is very good at putting clues together, but she grew up as an Unwary. So, she doesn’t always recognize what’s significant. I am the one who remembers the important points and who tries to make sense of the things we are seeing.”
That had been surprisingly hard to say.
Her father nodded. “You’re very smart, Rachel. You get that from your mother. She has always been extremely clever and observant. Now that you’re at Roanoke, she was hoping to take up some kind of work. She won’t be able to do that, if I pull you from school, and she has to tutor you at home. You don’t want me to pull you, right?”
“No,” whispered Rachel. “I-I don’t.”
The buoyant confidence that Von Dread’s support had lent her was fast fading. Maybe this interview was not going to be as easy as she had hoped.
“And you do understand my point of view, right?” Ambrose Griffin continued in his same calm, stern manner. “At least somewhat? You understand why I would pull you from school? Today? This very moment?”
She bit her lip again and smoothed out her robes. “I s-said good-bye to a few people, just in case.”
“That’s not an answer to my question,” her father pressed. “Knowing what I might do isn’t the same as acknowledging why I might do it. Do you understand why I would do this?”
“Of course.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “But being at home isn’t going to protect me. I am perfectly capable of getting into danger there, too. Look what happened at Sandra’s.”
His jaw twitched, but he remained calm. “Sandra’s apartment is not our home. I think you underestimate the wards at Gryphon Park, built by generations of our family.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Rachel fidgeted nervously, tracing her finger around the buttons set into the warm brown leather of the couch. She imagined life at home, studying by herself again, lonely and far away from everyone who had come to matter to her. How bleak such existence would be.
“But let’s not change the subject,” stated her father. “I need you to promise me you will not rush into danger.”
Rachel decided that the truth was the best response. “I…can’t do that.”
“Oh? And why not?”
“Because I couldn’t keep such a promise.”
“And why is this?
Rachel swallowed, tongue-tied. She did not want to say the wrong thing, as she had so many times of late. Finally, she choked out, “Terrible things would have happened this fall, if I had not rushed into danger. The Walls that maintain the world would have fallen down. Veltdammerung would have woken Moloch—who is much, much worse than Azrael ever was!” She gazed up at him. “Aren’t stopping these horrors more important than safety?”
“Rachel, you are thirteen. It is not your responsibility to save the world.”
“But it is!” insisted Rachel, jumping to her feet. “Who else is going to do it? You? You would be dead if I had not been at Beaumont Castle that night!”
“Rachel,” her father frowned, concerned. “You did not save me at Beaumont. Finn MacDannan did that.”
“No he didn’t! That’s what I have been trying to tell you! I’ve been trying and trying to tell you! At Sandra’s,
over Yule break! But you’ve been too busy to listen!”
“Is that why you are angry?” The duke’s steady hazel eyes searched her face. “Because I did not come speak to you after the raid on Veltdammerung? Rachel, honey, I was busy hunting down a demon that someone released at Beaumont the next day. The thing kept trying to sacrifice children, and it took everything the Wisecraft could do to stop it.”
Oops. He had been hunting Morax.
“Um…about that…”
“Rachel, please stop changing the subject.” Her father’s jaw twitched again, but that was the only sign that he might be annoyed. “Do you really think that young girls should be left to their own devices? That parents should not look out for their children?”
“No, but…”
“Okay, Rachel.” The Duke of Devon held up a hand. “Tell me what it is you think I have done wrong. I know you’re upset with me. Over the course of the last few months, you have decided I am not to be trusted. I think I understand some of the reasons for this, but, please, explain them to me.”
It all came flooding back—the moment when her soul had shattered into a thousand pieces. Her perfect memory presented it exactly as it had first occurred—her beloved father rejecting her attempts to report all the unusual occurrences to him, even though doing so had been her only way of coming to grips with the strange and horrifying events occurring around her. He had told her to ignore the Raven, to be an ordinary girl. Much as she had longed to please him, those instructions had proved impossible. Unable to do the impossible, she…
The memory proved too painful, her mind shied away from it. To her extreme embarrassment, tears began spilling over her lashes.
Sniffing helplessly, Rachel spoke in a very small voice. “I told you everything. I thought you would be proud of me. But you never once said: ‘Good job.’ All you did was tell me to pretend that nothing had happened.” Her voice rose plaintively. “I’m not capable of doing that.”
“I did say that.” He knelt before her, so that their eyes were of a height. “I needed time to investigate everything you told me. And I had to keep it quiet, because I was not sure if I was being watched. We knew there was a leak, but we could not pin down who was doing the leaking. Your information about the new geas helped us immensely. But if the post was being watched, and students had been taken over, how could I keep the enemy from knowing what we had figured out?”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Hot tears streamed down Rachel’s cheeks.
“I did not know who might hear,” said her father, gazing steadily at her. “You really thought I was just ignoring you? When have I ever been untrustworthy? When have I ever not listened?”
“Right now!” Rachel wept, beating his shoulder with her closed fists. “You’re not listening right now!”
“Very well.” Her father rocked back on his calves. “Talk.”
Finally!
Rachel took a deep breath. Words rushed out of her mouth at breakneck speeds. “Finn didn’t save you at Beaumont, I did. If I hadn’t been there, you’d be dead. Smashed against the wall. Sandra, too. Egg tried to compel me to kill you all—you and Sandra and Sigfried and Nastasia. Only I was immu—”
“Stop!” The Duke of Devon’s hazel eyes were filling with concern. “Rachel, didn’t I teach my children never to lie.”
Rachel flinched. “Wha…what?”
“You remember the trouble Laurel got into when she thought she could lie to us?” His words rang in her ears like cannon fire.
She nodded, her head bobbing up and down several times.
“Is there anything you wish to say to me?” His voice was deceptively calm. “Instead of what you just said?”
“No!” Rachel wiped her eyes angrily. “I’m telling the truth. I’ve been waiting and waiting to tell you!”
He cut her off. “Then choose your words carefully, because I already know all about what happened to you at Beaumont.”
“But…how?” cried Rachel, terrified and suddenly uncertain.
“I asked Scarlett.” He replied. “She gave me access to the transcript of what you said under the effects of the Spell of True Recitation.”
Hoisted on her own petard. Of course, her father had not come to hear her side of the story. He had not known that she was capable of lying under the influence of the Spell of True Recitation.
“I-I did lie,” Rachel chewed on her lip.
“Yes. But it is your motive that puzzles me. Why claim you saved me? Did you think that would make me more malleable? Affect my decision?”
“Not to you!” Rachel cried, scandalized. “I lied to Mrs. MacDannan!”
“To Scarlett?” Her father gave her a strange look. “That’s impossible, Rachel.”
“You would know it was not impossible if you would just stop and actually listen!” Rachel shouted, angrily wiping her eyes. “Besides, you lie, too!”
The duke became entirely calm. “When have I lied to the family, Rachel?”
“How about when you didn’t tell me that you had five siblings I had never heard of?”
“Ah. That was not a lie. We…just did not speak of them. Not even when I was young. The subject brought grief to Father and upset Mother.”
Oh. That made sense, but Rachel was too angry to stop now.
She cried, “Then how about every time you say that you have only four children?”
“I…beg your pardon?”
“Why do you never mention my sister who died as a baby? A sister named Amber?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. If she was wrong about the rattle, she was about to feel very foolish indeed.
Ambrose Griffin blinked rapidly. He did not blink once or twice like most people do, but six or nine times.
“I am sorry.” Her father rubbed his left temple, puzzled, “What were we talking about?”
Chapter Twenty-Six:
Farewell, Sweet Raven
Like thunder over Storm King, Rachel’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. She repeated her question. “Do I have a dead sister named Amber?”
Ambrose Griffin blinked again, repeatedly. He rubbed both temples, grimacing.
“I’m sorry.” He winced and ran his hand over his face, “I…seem to be developing a headache. What were we talking about? Ah, yes. Why my daughter will not obey me.”
Other than the hiss of the heating system behind the brass grate, the office seemed unnaturally silent.
What had just happened? Rachel did not bother repeating her question. Whatever had hid the rattle from her memory was hiding the knowledge of this matter from Ambrose Griffin.
“I don’t—”
“Why aren’t you answering me?” Her father’s voice grew more concerned. “Is something wrong, Rachel?”
“I—can’t.” She spread her hands helplessly.
Her body was trembling, but she forced herself to marshal her thoughts. Memory loss terrified her. She felt nauseous. The room swam before her eyes. She grabbed the arm of the couch. More terrifying was the realization that the matter of the rattle was not just a crazy pet theory. She must really have had another sister.
“Rachel,” the duke said sternly, “my patience is wearing thin. Answer my questions.”
Rachel was quiet for a long time. She had been trying to answer him. She did not know what else to say.
Finally, in a very small voice, she squeaked out, “I thought we were a team, but you never listen to me anymore.”
Kneeling before her, the duke took her small, cold hands in his large, warm ones. His hazel eyes were filled with concern. She could smell the spicy musk of his familiar cologne.
“We are a team.” He squeezed her fingers. “I am the field agent. You are support. You are not supposed to take risks in the field. That’s my job.”
“But…” Her voice rose, breaking. “I am in the field. I am on the front lines. Like with the Raven. You told me not to talk to the Raven. But it was right there! It was looking at me! H-how…how c
ould I ignore it?”
Her father looked up, suddenly alert. “What did the Guardian ask of you?”
“He doesn’t ask me to do anything,” Rachel sniffed sadly, wiping her eyes. “I wish he would.”
“If it did not ask you to do anything, then why didn’t you listen to me?” he frowned. “What does it have to do with anything?”
Rachel stared blankly at him. His question seemed strange, until she realized that her father had no notion of the enormous place the Raven now held in her life. And yet, what could she say about Jariel? That he had brought Enoch Smithwyck back from the dead? That he had saved her from the Headless Horseman? That he seldom spoke to human beings, and yet he had chosen to speak to her? That the brightest memory in her perfect collection—the best moment of her short life—was the look of pride and admiration upon Jariel’s face, as he gazed down at her, after she had chosen to sacrifice herself to protect the world?
She had been told not to speak about that incident. She could not tell her father this dangerous secret without endangering the Wall. Even if she could have, however, she hardly wanted to. It seemed too private to share.
“Are you afraid of the Guardian?” the duke demanded. “I’m your father. Your first loyalty belongs to me. You may tell me everything. Has he threatened you? I will deal with him.”
His words reverberated in her ear: Your first loyalty belongs to me. You may tell me everything. Joy leapt in her breast. Was not this what she had wanted? An invitation to return to the happy times when her father had been the center of her world? No more would she have to worry about her world revolving around a sixteen-year-old boy. Could she go back to the way things had been?
No.
The Awful Truth About Forgetting (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 4) Page 29