The Lost Heir (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1)

by E. G. Foley

  Jake looked on anxiously, wishing he could be as expert at everything as Derek was, but he couldn’t even think of anything useful to say.

  He just held Dani’s dog for her. Poor Teddy was shaking, as upset about all this as he was.

  These doctors Derek spoke of had better fix her. She had to be all right. Because all of a sudden Jake realized how monstrously ungrateful he was.

  Nearly every day, she did something nice for him, asking nothing in return, and most of the time, he barely bothered to thank her. Monstrous! He was mean as an old snake. Hating himself, Jake silently begged for another chance to act like a proper friend, the kind her loyalty deserved. He wanted her bothering him, following him around. Seeing her like this—bloodied, silent, motionless—was too terrible.

  Especially since it was pretty much his fault.

  The hired carriage stopped at last in front of the huge, old, creaky, rambling mansion that faced the broad avenue, with its back to the river. It had a sort of turret on top that served as a huge lantern shining in the darkness.

  The giant lantern’s glass casing was decorated with the shape of a tree, a dark silhouette against the warm golden brightness. Jake didn’t know what the tree symbol meant, but he saw now why the place was called Beacon House.

  Then he frowned, for he could have sworn he saw a tiny trail of silvery sparkles fly out away from the tower, glittering briefly against the night sky.

  But in the next heartbeat it was gone, and he had more important things to worry about. The horses’ hooves had barely clopped to a halt in front of the old mansion when Jake flung open the carriage door and jumped out.

  Derek lifted Dani again and alighted from the coach, then sped her up the front steps of the mansion.

  “What about my fare?” called the driver.

  “Just a moment!” Derek yelled back. “Jake, get the door!”

  “It’s locked!”

  “Get the door!” the warrior repeated as he carried her up the steps.

  “Oh, right!” Jake flung his fingers toward the locked front door of the mansion, and it went crashing open.

  Derek carried Dani straight inside.

  “Sir!” exclaimed the tidy old butler who came hurrying into a stately entrance hall with dark wood paneling and a crystal chandelier.

  Derek was striding across the foyer toward the stairs. “Mayweather, we need Doctor Celestus. Now. Give the boy a shilling for the coachman.”

  A housekeeper came sailing into their midst. “What’s all this about?” she cried. “Good heavens, this child is hurt?”

  “Afraid so, Mrs. Appleton,” Derek said grimly. “She took a nasty blow to the head.”

  “Bring her upstairs at once, at once!” the stout old woman exclaimed. “Come, I’ll show you to a bedchamber where you can put her down…”

  Loath to miss out on anything regarding his injured friend, Jake took the coin the butler gave him and bolted out to the street, handing it to the driver. It never even occurred to him to steal it.

  “Shut the door, boy, and lock it!” Mrs. Appleton ordered when Jake came racing back inside.

  The housekeeper grabbed a candle-branch and whisked up the grand wooden staircase a few steps ahead of Derek Stone. Teddy scampered at his heels, while Dani still lay unconscious in his arms.

  “Celestus!” the old butler yelled into the air as they disappeared upstairs.

  “What, he’s already here?” Jake asked.

  Ding-dong! the doorbell interrupted.

  Mayweather rushed to open the door. “Oh, Doctor Celestus! Thank heaven. That was fast, even for you.”

  “Such cases are given top priority, Mr. Mayweather. No greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends, et cetera.”

  “Of course.”

  Into the foyer stepped a very tall, thin gentleman, respectably dressed in black. He wore a top hat and an opera cloak with a pristine white cravat. He held a doctor’s bag in his hand.

  Jake knitted his eyebrows, staring at him. How on earth—?

  “Not on earth,” the doctor answered, sending Jake a mysterious smile.

  Then Jake realized the doctor had not moved his lips, had not said the words aloud.

  “The child’s upstairs,” the butler said. “Shall I take your hat and cloak, sir?”

  “No, thank you.” Doctor Celestus removed his black top hat, revealing a fall of long, shiny hair that was so pale a shade of gold that it almost seemed to glow. “Fear not, all will be well.” His skin was very pale, as well, almost white and waxy-smooth. He turned to Jake. “Jacob,” he greeted him in a calm, melodious singsong.

  Jake had no idea how the doctor knew his name or how he had arrived in the blink of an eye before anyone could even send for him; he was instantly suspicious of the man.

  At least he hadn’t called him Everton.

  The doctor smiled strangely at Jake’s suspicious stare, then he turned to the butler. “Take me to the patient.”

  “Right away, sir!” Mayweather showed him up the stairs.

  Jake followed warily, eyeing the odd doctor. If this pale, bony fellow tried any weird magical medicine on Dani, he was going to have to get through him first.

  Ahead of them, Mayweather stepped into the cozy bedchamber where Mrs. Appleton was bustling about, making the still-unconscious Dani more comfortable in a frilly canopy bed.

  “Oh, Doctor Celestus, this poor child!” the old woman wailed, sailing over to him. She gripped his pale, delicate hands. They were sensitive and long-fingered like a musician’s.

  “I know. It’s all right, Mrs. Appleton,” he soothed in his strange, soft, melodious way.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Derek mumbled.

  “Do not be troubled, Guardian Stone. It’s not her time. This child has much more to do.” He set his doctor bag aside. “Now, then, my dear Daniela Catherine…”

  Jake was baffled, watching the doctor in eagle-eyed suspicion. How did this oddfellow already know her full name? Nobody had told him.

  Dr. Celestus glided over to her side, and as he brushed his cloak out of his way to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, Jake caught a brief glimpse—just for a moment—of something white peeking out under the bottom hem of his cloak.

  The tips of long, feathered wings.

  Jake’s eyes widened. His stare traveled back up the visiting physician. Well, dash my wig, he thought, staring in astonishment.

  All the carrot-head’s praying and efforts to be good must have paid off. If he was not mistaken, Somebody Upstairs had just sent her a real, live, bloomin’ angel.

  Jake now noticed the faint shiny glow that emanated from all around the physician. It was growing stronger. The others in the room—butler, housekeeper, warrior—all watched in a hush as he took Dani’s limp hand in his own, gazing tenderly at her face.

  Then he held his other hand up to her head, his long, tapered fingers not quite touching her, a few inches of empty air between his slightly cupped hand and her forehead.

  Jake heard him whispering, but he did not know in what language. Whatever he was saying, an almost imperceptible hum began to gather on the air, woven with music ever so faintly, like the distant echo of harp strings and soft, silvery chimes.

  It was as if they were allowed, just for a few minutes, to listen in on the music of the spheres.

  To be sure, it was the reverse of the dreadful screech they’d heard before. The air in the room seemed to vibrate with healing sound and soft, indescribable light.

  The glow around Doctor Celestus shone brighter, especially around his hand. The healing flowed out of his palm like a miniature sunbeam.

  When he leaned closer to whisper his unknown words in Dani’s ear, his cloak slipped off his shoulder, and his mighty white wings were revealed.

  They were folded at first, but he flexed them, only once, and yet the breeze from that simple stretch blew against all their faces like the dawn’s first breath.

  “Awake, little one.” />
  Dani flicked her eyes open and started upwards from the pillow with a gasp.

  Dr. Celestus steadied her. “It’s all right. You are well now, child. Lie back. You mustn’t strain yourself.”

  “W-where am I?”

  Jake realized he was trembling.

  “Where’s Jake?” she asked weakly.

  “I’m right here.” He stepped forward, a lump in his throat as it hit him that, even now, she was more concerned about him than she was about herself.

  “Your friend is safe, my brave girl,” Dr. Celestus soothed. “How do you feel, Daniela?”

  She considered, then smiled sweetly. “I’ve never felt better in my whole life.”

  The others exchanged amazed glances.

  “That is good. But you must rest a while, my child.”

  Alarm suddenly flashed across Dani’s face, where the color was returning to her cheeks. “Where’s Teddy?”

  Jake picked up her dog and put him on the bed. Teddy bounded over to her, wagging his tail so hard his whole body vibrated. “He’s been waiting his turn to see you.”

  “Oh, Teddy!” Dani hugged him. “Are you sure this isn’t a dream? I feel so strange. I can’t remember what happened.”

  “Jacob will tell you about it later. Right now, you need to rest.” Doctor Celestus passed his open palm in front of her face in a soothing motion, urging her to close her eyes.

  Even as quickly as his hand passed her chin, she was already fast asleep and resting comfortably.

  Then the angel stood up, turned, and stared straight at Jake with his deep, unnerving gaze. His white wings were spread wide, and he had the brightest blue eyes that Jake had ever seen.

  They seemed to peer into his very soul.

  “How—why—?” Jake stammered.

  “Because you prayed in the carriage. You were heard. I was sent.”

  Jake stared at him. “But I’m a thief.”

  “Were or are? The future is up to you.” He paused. “I have a message for you, Jacob. You think no one cares about you, but even in your darkest hour, you were never truly alone. You see that now, don’t you?”

  Jake nodded somberly, for once, all his sarcasm forgotten. “Thank you—for this.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank the One who sent me,” he murmured with a faint smile, nodding toward the ceiling.

  Then he disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Enchanted Library

  No one spoke for a long moment after the angel’s exit.

  Finally, Derek broke the silence. “Come with me, Jake.” He nodded toward the door. “We need to talk.”

  Still dazed by what had just happened, Jake followed Derek into the hallway and then down the grand staircase, extremely curious to hear whatever answers the warrior might give him.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they crossed the grand foyer, but Derek sent him into the library alone for a moment. “Go sit down in there and make yourself comfortable. On second thought—don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there. I need to have a word with someone first.”

  “All right.” Glancing into the parlor that Derek now stepped into, Jake raised an eyebrow, for he did not see anyone else in there. Talking to ourselves, are we?

  Before going into the library, as ordered, he lingered to eavesdrop a little on Derek’s conversation.

  “What do you mean, she’s missing? She should have been back by now,” the warrior said in a low tone, but the other person’s voice was too soft for Jake to hear.

  He could only make out a tiny, high-pitched, tinkling noise; it sounded like a blend of distant wind chimes and the buzz of an agitated honeybee.

  “I agree. Gladwin would never be derelict in her duty,” said Derek. “I hope nothing’s happened. Does anyone know where she might’ve gone?”

  Buzz-buzz, tinkle-tinkle.

  “No, I never saw her. She never gave me any message. I found the boy myself by my Guardian instinct. I guess it still works, after all. Hold on, Tansy. Jake?” Derek barked, as though he could somehow sense him through the wall.

  “Sorry.” Jake winced and withdrew from his eavesdropping post. It wouldn’t do to annoy the man who was finally about to reveal the answers he’d craved all his life. Stepping into the library, he closed the door behind him to give Derek and this invisible “Tansy” person privacy.

  Tucking his hands in his pockets, he sauntered farther into the library. The layout of the room was unusual. First you had to go through a short passageway lined with bookshelves before it opened up into the main part, a very large, very tall, square room.

  He stared at the place. Thousands of books from floor to ceiling. Carrot-head’s going to love this, he thought. If she didn’t have to work, Dani would have spent all day reading anything she could get her hands on. He was not so keen on it himself, but at least the orphanage school had made sure he was literate enough to get by.

  He strolled in, glancing around, taking it all in. He had never been inside a wealthy person’s grand home before, but the library was just how you’d imagine it: rich, dark wood everywhere. Shelves loaded with dusty tomes. A rolling library-ladder.

  Halfway up the walls’ height, a narrow walkway, or gallery, wrapped all the way around the room so you could reach the higher bookshelves. The only way up to the gallery was by climbing the spindly set of spiral steps in the corner. Jake was intrigued, but expecting Derek at any minute, he stayed on the ground.

  Then he noticed that the wooden base of the walkway formed a kind of frieze carved with golden letters. Some kind of Latin inscription: Perstamus Amicitiis Defendere.

  He had no idea what it meant.

  Looking around the rest of the room, Jake thought the furniture looked inviting: luxurious brown leather club chairs and couches. Off to the side stood a heavy desk with an assortment of quill pens and inkpots. Deep-red velvet curtains shrouded window seats.

  Over the big, elaborate fireplace hung a large portrait of Queen Elizabeth in her silver armor, staring down from the mantel in regal pride, while the famous storm wrecked the Spanish Armada in the background of the painting.

  Even Jake knew that much about English history. Still, the famous Queen’s haughty, royal gaze made him feel like he should be on his best behavior.

  The library was very quiet and kind of spooky in the dim glow of a few oil lamps burning here and there, especially with all the bronze heads looking down on him from atop the shelves. He could just make out their name plaques as he wandered alongside the shelves: Shakespeare, Marlowe, Spenser. John Dowland, the musician. Explorers, too. Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Drake.

  John Dee? he wondered, studying the bronze head of an old man with a rather sneaky smile. Never heard of that one. He stood on his toes and squinted to read the second line. Court astrologer to Queen Elizabeth. Astrologer? What, he told Good Queen Bess her horoscope?

  Jake snorted. He moved on, exploring; he stole a peek through a pair of French doors on the back wall and saw a back terrace overlooking the river.

  Next, he admired a beautiful scrolled harp set on a small table a few feet ahead of him. There must’ve been a draft in the room that invisibly stirred the air, for the harp released a soft chord of music before he touched it. When he ran his fingers over its strings, it let out a discordant jangle, as though it were insulted that he had dared. He pulled his hand away, stared at the instrument in curiosity, then walked on.

  Another oddment awaited him on the long narrow table that backed the main leather couch, a little bonsai tree.

  He had seen one before when all the orphanage kids had been treated to a charity tour of the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, with its indoor jungle inside the great, steamy glasshouse. This bonsai, if Jake was not mistaken, was a tiny, dwarf yew tree. You couldn’t mistake a yew tree because of their particular way of growing.

  The evergreens did not get terribly tall, but rather, they grew wide. As they spread out, any new shoot that touched the ground from the base of t
he trunk could take root, so the tree was always making itself new again. For that reason, yews could live to be two-thousand, even up to nine-thousand years old, practically immortal.

  One part might die, but there were always new parts taking root; and so, as a symbol of eternal life, they were often planted next to graveyards. The trunks of the really old ones grew so fat that sometimes they were hollowed out and little chapels built inside of them.

  Yew trees were also dear to all English hearts because, for centuries, the people of the British Isles had made their fine old longbows out of yew wood to defend their homes and ward off invaders.

  Jake studied the little bonsai for another moment, then straightened up and glanced around, still waiting for Derek. What’s that? He furrowed his brow as another strange item caught his eye.

  Across the room, a globe on a waist-high stand was dotted with tiny glowing lights, a web of straight lines made of pure light connecting them.

  A few of the pinpoint lights here and there were blinking red or green, but all the rest were whitish-yellow. Jake approached the illuminated globe, utterly mystified. For starters, he couldn’t figure out the light source. There was no candle burning inside of it to explain why it glowed. Second, the glowing dots could not have simply represented cities, because a few were placed in the middle of oceans.

  As he bent, staring at it, he suddenly got the sensation of someone, or something, watching him. Slowly looking over his shoulder, he saw…a tiger.

  Or rather, a tiger-skin rug spread out before the fireplace. Some rich adventurer’s hunting trophy, he thought. Rich blokes would go to the other side of the world to shoot an elephant, a lion, a giraffe—poor animals minding their own business. Maybe the owner of this house had gone on a safari. But Jake could have sworn the thing was staring at him.

  Its golden-green eyes looked much too life-like, to say nothing of its great white fangs. He could have sworn he’d heard the flattened tiger growl.

  He forgot about the globe and turned around, eyeing it nervously. Beginning to wonder what the deuce was keeping Derek, he glanced up at the golden Latin words again, carved along the bottom of the high, floating walkway.