Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3

by Jordan L. Hawk

  I hugged her back, although not too tightly, lest I hurt her. “I won’t.”

  “Good.” She sat back and brushed a stray strand of hair off my forehead. “I love Guinevere and Stanford, of course, but they have so much of their father in them. I’ve always felt as if you were more my child.”

  Perhaps she would have viewed us differently if she hadn’t lost her health. I couldn’t know. I’d never known her as the young socialite from Boston, just as a woman whose intense love of books gave her the only freedom she could have.

  Given she’d learned to speak Latin, Greek, and several other languages as a girl, I wondered which life she truly preferred: that of the laughing, vivacious society woman Father had once recalled to me, or of the scholar? Had she ever felt she had a true choice, just as Ruth had clearly been denied a choice?

  “But surely you didn’t come here just to see me,” Mother went on. “I always welcome your company, of course, but I suspect you had some other motive for returning here.”

  “Unfortunately. Do you know why Stanford is here?” I asked. If the Brotherhood had become active once again, Father certainly wouldn’t have mentioned it to her, but she might have gleaned something from either his manner or my brother’s.

  “Your father refuses to say, and Stanford doesn’t wish to speak of it.” Her mouth flexed into a disapproving frown. “I suspect money lies at the heart of it, though. Certainly, they have been quarreling ever since Stanford arrived.”

  They had? That was new. I tried to remember them ever arguing about anything in my entire life, and failed. They had always been a united front against the world: Father and his adored eldest son, the perfect replica of himself.

  “Oh.” I rose to my feet. “Fenton says they aren’t to be disturbed, but if they’re speaking of money, they might go on all night.”

  “Undoubtedly.” She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Go on, then. Send me a letter and let me know how Griffin fares, won’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  I made my way back downstairs. Fenton stood at the door to the study, as if guarding Father against the rest of the household, including me. Raised voices came from inside, although too muffled by the door to make out what they said.

  I strode to the door. Fenton scowled. “Master Percival, I’ve already told you, Mr. Whyborne and Master Stanford are not to be disturbed! Now—”

  The door behind him swung abruptly open, and Stanford collided with Fenton.

  “Watch out, you stupid oaf!” Stanford snarled, giving the butler a hard shove which would have sent him sprawling, had I not managed to catch him. As soon as he regained his balance, Fenton snatched his arm from me, as if I’d done him some terrible insult by touching him.

  “Stanford!” Father bellowed from inside the study. “Walk away if you must, but don’t think to change my mind. Not another penny, do you hear?”

  Stanford stormed off down the hall, headed for the entrance. “Send my things to the rail station, immediately!” he barked at a poor maid who had the bad luck to step out of a side room at that moment. A few seconds later, the front door slammed, the sound echoing dramatically through the house.

  Fenton shot me a glare, as if I’d angered Stanford, then went to the study door. “Master Percival here to see you, sir. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  I thought Father might have growled. “Send him in.”

  Feeling rather like a Roman slave being shoved into the lion pit, I stepped past Fenton and into the study.

  Chapter 9

  Father sat behind his desk like a king holding court. The air reeked of cigars. I rather thought the blasted things smelled like burning socks.

  Although I’d come here with every intention of demanding answers about the Brotherhood, I found myself asking, “What did you and Stanford argue about? Did I actually hear you threaten to cut him off?” Unlike me, my brother received a generous monthly allowance, in addition to his salary as Father’s man of business in New York.

  Father ground his teeth together, staring not at me but at the door through which Stanford had exited. “Your brother has fallen in with a bad crowd.”

  Hardly shocking news to me, but Father believed Stanford could do nothing wrong. “Mother said you were arguing over money. I assume the New York reporters want higher bribes than the ones in Widdershins to keep his indiscretions out of the papers?”

  Father’s glower confirmed it. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Stanford always had such strength of character, such inner fortitude! How can he be so easily swayed now?”

  A bitter laugh burst out before I could even think to control it. “Stanford? A man of character? Surely you jest.”

  Father’s glare was for me, now. “You were always jealous—”

  “Me? Jealous of Stanford?” Heat flared in my chest, as if the coals of some banked fire had suddenly been raked over and exposed to the air. “I hated him for being the spoiled princeling of the house, allowed to run wild and do what he wished, without consequence. You never lifted a hand when he dangled me over the upstairs bannister, or threw rocks at me—”

  “I did it for your own good!” Father’s voice rose into a roar, and his face flushed. “To toughen you up! Cure you of your womanish ways!”

  “Clearly, it failed,” I snapped back. As his expression and manner grew more heated, mine went cold, the first flush of anger giving way to long-held rage. “And as for Stanford, you speak of his inner fortitude, as if agreeing with your every opinion was proof of his strength of character. Mindlessly parroting back what someone wants to hear, for no other reason than they wish to hear it, isn’t strength, Father. Quite the opposite.”

  “If this is some attempt to get back into my good graces after the disaster you caused at Threshold—”

  “My only regret about Threshold is not being able to save more people, especially Mrs. Hicks.”

  “Who?”

  “No one you would ever notice. Or Stanford, I suppose.” I shook my head. “Stanford was your mirror when he lived here with you. Now that he’s among others, he merely reflects them instead.”

  His eyes narrowed at my defiance. “How dare you come here, malign your brother’s character, and question my judgment? I should have you thrown out this instant.”

  “Is the Brotherhood up to its old tricks?”

  The sudden change in topic brought forth a scowl. “No. You saw to that. If you had come to me, as you should have, we would have taken care of Blackbyrne, brought Leander back, and still had a powerful order. You’re fortunate I forgave your blunder.”

  He almost destroyed the world, but I was the one who blundered? Of course I was; admitting anything else would suggest he was capable of error. “Are you certain they’re gone?”

  “Of course,” he snapped. “Why? What’s going on?”

  So if not the Brotherhood, someone else must be responsible. “Are there other organizations like the Brotherhood? Other cults you’re aware of?”

  He stared at me, and a calculating look came into his eyes. Would he throw me out? Perhaps…but he hadn’t amassed a fortune by ignoring anything which could pose a potential threat. Surely, he knew I wouldn’t have come here without reason and asked himself whether that reason could signal some danger to him as well.

  “Perhaps.” Father sat back in his chair and lit another cigar. “Tell me what you know.”

  ~ * ~

  I’d brought the symbol of the eye with me, and as I explained the basic facts of the case, I placed it on the desk in front of him. Recognition flickered in his gaze, but he didn’t interrupt. Was he actually listening to what I said, for once?

  When I finished, he nodded slowly to himself. “Zeiler, hmm? There’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. He was a useful tool.”

  I straightened, shocked to hear it. “Zeiler is—was—in the Brotherhood?”

  “Of course not,” Father snapped, waving his cigar so the foul smoke drifted ab
out his head. “The man was the son of a whaling captain. We had certain standards of breeding to uphold.” As if the Whybornes hadn’t fled to the colonies to escape the hangman’s noose. But as that had occurred two centuries ago, no one recalled it but us, allowing our money to veil our unsavory past. “No doubt he aspired to be one of us. Upstarts like him delude themselves into thinking their degrees or quick-earned cash make them our equals.” He snorted contemptuously. “At any rate, we’d use him for certain tasks his position at the asylum qualified him to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “An incident in Chicago, for example. Some fool Pinkerton made a bunch of noise, and it was always possible someone might begin to credit it as truth. Dr. Zeiler went to Chicago, certified him insane, and that was the end of it.”

  I sat perfectly still. If I moved, I might throw up. Or attack Father with my bare hands.

  Father noticed, of course. He scowled, opened his mouth as if to ask me what was wrong…then apparently connected the facts at his disposal. “Don’t tell me Mr. Flaherty was the Pinkerton in question.”

  My throat went tight with fury, but I forced the words out. “Yes. He was confined to the madhouse for months, without any justice, and now I discover you were behind it?”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Father said irritably. “I only heard about what happened later. Really, Percival, I can’t believe you’ve been running about with a convicted lunatic! If you must carry on as you do, couldn’t you find all the low men you wished on the docks? Your brother might have been indiscreet, but at least he knows enough not form an attachment with any of his women.”

  My hand curled into a fist. Spell words sizzled on my tongue. The Arcanorum’s weight tugged my coat pocket down, gravity itself reminding me of the revenge I could take, for both Griffin and myself.

  No. I’d come here for a different purpose. I took a deep breath and swallowed the words, which turned to acid and chewed holes in my stomach. “I have no intention of discussing my life with you. Tell me what I need to know, or refuse and allow me to leave.”

  “Don’t be so damned touchy,” he groused. “I can’t speak to Zeiler’s involvement in the attack on you, or on Bixby. It’s possible when he realized the Brotherhood wouldn’t be the avenue to power and riches he’d envisioned, he found new allies. Or old ones.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This symbol you found.” He tapped the ash from his cigar into a green-glazed ashtray. “It belongs to a group calling itself the Eyes of Nodens.”

  “What can you tell me about them?”

  “Little enough. A few important men became involved with them from time to time, but the mainstay of their membership consists of sailors, sea captains, and others who rely on the ocean for survival. Such as Zeiler’s father.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I also know they are very, very dangerous. Stay away from them.”

  “Considering the Brotherhood almost destroyed the world, I find calling someone else dangerous rather hypocritical.”

  His brows snapped down over his eyes. “The Brotherhood had clear, logical objectives.”

  “Those being whatever would get you the most power and wealth.”

  “Of course.” As if it were something the world owed him. “Don’t complain, Percival—you grew up in comfort thanks to our doings, don’t forget. Had we known what Blackbyrne truly intended, we would have put him down ourselves. We have no desire to overthrow the established order of things—we are the established order of things. Or were.” He scowled again. “The Eyes, though…they’re fanatics. Convinced they act as the eyes and ears of their gods on land, so they can know the doings of man.”

  “Their gods?” My heart sped slightly. “Is one of them called the dweller in the deep?”

  “Perhaps. I didn’t pay close attention to their raving. Fortunately for the rest of us, these creatures they worship are trapped in the sea.”

  “So what could they want? Why kill Bixby and steal the ceremonial bowl? What are they up to that they don’t want us investigating?”

  “How should I know?” He sat back and regarded me. “Stay away from them, Percival. Go home and have your Mr. Flaherty tell his employer whatever lies will convince the man of his brother’s guilt.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Stubborn as always.” He gestured toward the door. “Enough. If you won’t take my advice, then leave now.”

  “With pleasure,” I said. But I felt his gaze on me all the way to the door, like the stare of a viper fixed on my back.

  ~ * ~

  I went straight home, walking in a daze. The conversation with Father weighed on me: Stanford’s troubles, our old disagreement about the proper course of my life.

  Zeiler.

  The door opened as I came up the walk; Griffin must have kept an eye out for me. “Whyborne?” he called. “Are you all right?”

  My face must have betrayed me. I continued up the walk and into the house, keeping my eyes turned toward the ground. What right did I have to look at him, when my own family had done him such a terrible injustice? Oh, Father might claim he had nothing to do with it, and perhaps he even believed it true. But our money had funded the Brotherhood’s activities. Our family line had helped keep it alive through the centuries since Widdershins’s founding. And if Father had known, he wouldn’t have stopped it. Quite the opposite.

  “My dear?” Griffin shut the door behind us, and put a hand to my shoulder. “I take it things didn’t go well? Is the Brotherhood…?”

  “No.” At least I could give him that much. “Father swears they haven’t regrouped and aren’t behind this, and I believe him.”

  “Then what’s troubling you?”

  He knew me too well. He’d always been able to see past every façade I strove to place between the world and myself. I’d resented his ability at first, then come to treasure it, but now…

  “I have something to tell you,” I said quietly. “And I’m afraid you’ll hate me for it.”

  “No.” His response came immediately: so sure, so certain. So unlike my constant second-guesses.

  “You can’t know until you’ve heard it.”

  His hand closed on my shoulder. “There’s nothing you could say to make me hate you, my dear. You spoke to your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he said something which upset you?”

  I let out a bitter laugh. “This is my father we’re talking about.”

  “Yes, well, that was something of a given, I suppose.” His grip tightened on my shoulder, strong fingers pressing my gently against the arch of muscle and bone. “You didn’t set him on fire, did you?”

  “No,” I said, “but I wish to God I had. He deserves it, and worse—they all do.”

  His sigh gusted against my cheek. “Talk to me.”

  “Zeiler.” I hated the man. The urge rose in me to go to Stormhaven tonight, to force visions into his mind until he raved and screamed. Until everyone thought him mad, and he was sentenced to the same torment to which he’d condemned Griffin. “The Brotherhood employed him. That’s why he went to Illinois. They sent him to silence you.”

  Griffin froze, his fingers still on my shoulder. But for how long, until he pulled away in disgust? “Father claims he wasn’t involved,” I said, bitterness burning my tongue. “But I know him—if he had been, he would have sent Zeiler to attest to your madness without a second thought. So it might as well be his fault, and I wish he’d died in the war and I’d never been born if it would have saved you this, and—”

  “Hush.” He turned me to face him. The color had drained from his face, but at least he wasn’t shaking. “I…I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given the Brotherhood was more than happy to sacrifice me last winter.”

  “This is different.” I felt utterly helpless. “I’ll cut off contact with all of them, immediately. Father, Stanford, everyone in my wretched family. I swear.”

  “No.” He touched my face lightly. “Your
mother is a kind woman, and doesn’t deserve such treatment. She welcomed me with open arms, which is something I never expected. As for Niles, did he give you any useful information?”

  I nodded miserably.

  “Then it behooves us to make use of him, as he would have done with me.” Griffin’s voice went flat and cold. Rage showed in his eyes.

  “I wish I had done everything differently.” For the first time, I understood just how selfish all my choices had been. “If I had gone to Widdershins University, if I had followed Father and Stanford into business and the Brotherhood, I could have done something. Kept it from happening. It’s all my fault…”

  “Ival, no!” He pulled me roughly against him but I couldn’t bear to return his embrace. “You’re speaking nonsense. If you’d been the sort of man to give in to whatever Niles wished, how could you have also been the sort to stand up to him and the Brotherhood?”

  “If I’d only thought—”

  “As far as I know, thinking about something doesn’t grant one omniscience.” He gripped me tightly. “This changes nothing between us. I love you. I adore your mother. Your father can burn in hell for all I care, but the sentiment is hardly new to either of us.”

  It pulled a ragged laugh from me. “No, it isn’t.”

  “Don’t take too much on yourself. Just breathe.” He stroked my back gently.

  I hesitantly slipped my arms around him. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to get away from all of this, only to find it waiting for me at every turn.”

  “I know.” He tilted his head back and kissed me gently. “I know, my dear. It’s all right.”

  I kissed him back, even though it still felt selfish, as if I had no right, knowing what I did. When the kiss was done, he studied me carefully.

  “So,” he said, “what did Niles say?”

  I told him everything. When I was done, he stared into nothing for a long time, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “We don’t know for certain Dr. Zeiler is actually involved,” I pointed out, when he failed to say anything. “In this case, at least. Just because he was a tool of the Brotherhood doesn’t mean he has anything to do with the Eyes of Nodens. The symbol was found in Bixby’s study, after all—perhaps he had some connection to them, not his killer.”