Deosil, page 20
Cheers broke out, and within moments it was pandemonium. People hugged, clapped one another on the back, laughed and shouted in relief and victory. Human and ketoi embraced, and the soldier umbrae retracted their acid feelers so they might be safely petted.
As the dust cleared, I saw all of my friends before me. Christine and Iskander, Mother, Miss Parkhurst, Jack, Father, Mr. Quinn, Miss Lester, and so many more. And of course, Griffin, his face bloody but his eyes jubilant, his mouth smiling as he ran to me.
“We did it,” he said when he reached me.
“We did,” I replied. Then I took him in my arms and kissed him before the cheering crowd.
Chapter 46
Whyborne
One Year Later
“I know the last twelve months have been difficult,” Dr. Gerritson said. He stood at the head of the room used for all-staff meetings, wearing a sensible green dress and matching hat.
I surreptitiously checked my pocket watch. Only ten more minutes before Saturday’s half-day at the restored Nathaniel R. Ladysmith Museum ended.
My work over the last six months since the museum reopened had helped re-establish my flagging reputation in the field of philology. It was amazing how much I could get done without having to fight cultists every few weeks. But today, I needed to get home as quickly as possible, and a staff meeting that threatened to over-run did nothing for my nerves.
“I want to impress upon you all, how proud I am of each and every one of you,” Dr. Gerritson went on earnestly. Some people clapped. In her chair beside me, Christine rolled her eyes.
I’d never enjoy all-staff meetings, though admittedly they were much less dry now than they had been under poor Dr. Hart. Mr. Mathison, the museum president, and most of the board of trustees had survived the coming of the masters. Once their own affairs were in order, they’d turned their attention not only to helping to refurbish and repair the museum, but to choosing a new director.
My opinion carried weight, so when they asked it, I gave it honestly. As a result, our new director, Dr. Gerritson, had been installed in time for the grand reopening. The last six months had demonstrated the wisdom of my choice, as Dr. Gerritson pursued his new role with all the zeal, but considerably less of the stuffiness, as Dr. Hart once had.
“The memorial for Dr. Hart will take place tomorrow afternoon, in front of the statue,” he went on. “Those who wish to share some memory of him, please meet me there at two o’clock. After the public service ends, we’ll come inside the museum for a private memorial and drink to his memory.” He looked around. “If there’s no further business, then the meeting is ended.”
Thank heavens. I hurried to my office, stopping in only long enough to snatch up my coat and hat. A few minutes later, Christine met me in the grand foyer.
Returning to the museum had been difficult, to say the least. Most of the staff had been spared the sight of the horrors unleashed by Nephren-ka, but for those of us who had stood here amidst death and destruction, the memories were hard to set aside. The first few months, I’d shuddered to set foot here, bile creeping into my throat as I recalled Dr. Hart’s body. I’d considered sneaking in through the staff door in the back, but since I didn’t intend to give up my job, I decided time and repetition were my only recourse. The memories had softened a bit, and been overlaid by new ones, but I was still uncomfortable within the foyer.
“There you are, Whyborne,” she said. “Do hurry; we don’t have all day.”
I didn’t bother to reply, as she’d stated the obvious. We hastened through the doors and down the marble steps. On a plinth outside, the new statue of Dr. Hart gleamed in the sun. The sculptor had done excellent work capturing every detail of his walrus mustache.
We took the omnibus to Water Street, then walked the last few blocks to home. Saul sprawled on our walk, the sun on his belly. He cracked an eye, but didn’t move out of the way, forcing us both to step over him.
“Kander!” Christine bellowed as soon as she crossed the doorway. “We’re here! Time to pack up and go home, so we can get ready.”
I rubbed my ear and glared at her. She ignored me, in favor of following Iskander’s call of “in here” from the parlor.
Griffin and I had come home to find the house thoroughly ransacked by the Fideles. No doubt they’d imagined I had all sorts of sorcerous secrets hidden here. If so, they’d been sorely disappointed. At least they’d left things mostly intact, so a few weary days of straightening up had set our home to rights again.
Iskander had taken over Griffin’s desk to tinker with photography equipment. Griffin had developed a keen interest in some of the newer, smaller cameras for use in his detective work, and Iskander eagerly agreed to assist. I suspected it gave him a sorely needed excuse to leave the house, and offered Griffin an excuse to watch little Nathaniel and Alexandria while Iskander worked.
We’d all been surprised when Christine gave birth to twins—or at least I had. I suspected Griffin’s shadowsight told him more than he ought to know at times, though in this case he staunchly denied it.
“How was the museum?” Iskander asked.
“The day ended on a staff meeting, so it can only improve.” Christine bent and swiftly kissed him. “Were you able to work?”
“Quite well, thanks to Griffin. He’s upstairs with the twins.”
“I’ll fetch them,” I offered.
Griffin sprawled on the couch, eyes shut and breath rising and falling in the evenness of sleep. Tucked securely against his chest slept two brown-skinned babies. At nine months, Nathaniel Griffin Putnam-Barnett and Alexandria Hatshepsut Putnam-Barnett were seldom still, preferring to crawl, play with toys, and babble nonstop. Neither had yet spoken anything I recognized as an actual word in any of the languages I was familiar with, but Christine assured me the day wasn’t too far off.
I paused, looking down on my godchildren and my husband: the babies’ chubby little faces and thick black hair, and Griffin’s handsome features peaceful in repose. I reached down and tenderly stroked the line of Griffin’s nose, and his lips curled even as his eyes fluttered open. “Noon already?”
“Almost one, now.”
“Can you take Alexandria, so I can sit up?”
I still felt horribly awkward around the children. At least they could hold up their heads on their own now. After they were first born, I’d been terrified to touch them less something go wrong.
She woke as I picked her up. Brown eyes, fringed thickly in lashes, blinked at me.
“Ba!” she shouted and waved an imperious arm. I assumed she took after her mother, and was practicing directing an excavation.
“Yes, right away,” I replied.
Nathaniel was more soft-spoken. “Ga?” he asked as Griffin sat up, cradling him.
“Hello,” I replied. I held out a finger, and he grabbed it in one small hand.
“He likes you,” Griffin teased.
I snorted. “He’s a baby. He likes anyone who smiles at him.”
“That isn’t true, and you know it.”
I hesitated. It was probably foolish to ask, but… “Do they still glow?”
The prenatal transformation the children underwent had left them marked. They’d presumably been turned into something like a nereid along with Christine, then exposed to the arcane fire of the maelstrom when they transformed back. Christine had nothing of the nereid left in her, according to Griffin’s shadowsight. But, as Persephone and I knew all too well, small babies were far more malleable.
We’d first seen them a short time after their birth. While Christine slept, exhausted by her ordeal, Iskander presented the cleaned and swaddled newborns. Griffin’s eyes widened at the sight.
“They’re glowing,” he whispered, almost in awe.
Iskander, naturally, was alarmed. “What do you mean?”
Griffin touched one tiny, scrunched face in reverence. “The transformation they underwent…I can see traces, as if they’re hybrids now. It stayed with them…and so did some of the arcane fire that passed through us that day.”
My lips had gone numb. “A spark of the maelstrom?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not my fault!” I said frantically. “I didn’t mean to do it!”
Iskander had been rather taken aback to receive this news. When informed, Christine only shrugged and said, “You have to wait until they’re at least ten before you start teaching them spells, Whyborne. I won’t have toddlers burning down the house, or summoning windstorms every time they throw a tantrum.”
Now Griffin gave me a bemused look. “I don’t think it’s the sort of thing they’re going to grow out of, my dear.”
I sometimes wondered if Nathaniel and Alexandria had been the maelstrom’s final hedging of its bets. If Persephone and I failed, it might have been able to try again in a few decades. But then I recalled my conversation with it. Perhaps instead it had seen a chance to continue to be a part of the fabric of life in Widdershins, to have a family, and taken it.
Maybe it was a bit of both.
“I suppose not,” I agreed.
“Whyborne!” Christine yelled from downstairs. “What’s taking so long? You aren’t up there teaching Alexandria how to summon rat-things, are you?”
“Ba!” Alexandria shrieked joyfully. She’d inherited Christine’s lungs.
Griffin carried Nathaniel down the stairs, and I followed with Alexandria. “I promise there will be no unsupervised magical lessons,” he said, passing Nathaniel to Christine. The child gurgled happily to see his mother, and immediately launched into a long, babbling speech. I gratefully gave Alexandria over to her father’s care.
“Yes, yes, tell me all about your day,” Christine said, bouncing Nathaniel absently. “We’ll see you in a few hours, gentlemen. What time is the carriage to arrive?”
“Six,” Griffin said. “Plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time when one isn’t wrangling a pair of nine-month olds,” she muttered. “Come along, Kander.”
* * *
Griffin and I dressed in white tie and tails, and I wasted a good half-hour trying to tame my hair with oil. “You look very fine,” he said, bending over so his face was in the mirror alongside my own.
I scowled at my hair and set aside the oil. “I suppose I’m as presentable as I’m likely to get.”
Griffin, of course, looked as handsome as always. The formal wear showed off his trim shape to excellent effect, and a sapphire stickpin brought out some of the threads of blue in his eyes. I stood up and turned to kiss him. His hand slipped around to grip my backside.
“We don’t have time. Father will be here soon,” I reminded him.
He gave me a squeeze, looking up through his lashes. “Consider it a preview for later.”
“Devil.” I kissed him again.
As predicted, the hired carriage pulled up to our gate shortly thereafter. The driver was unfamiliar to me, and I thought of Fenton with a pang. “Percival,” Father said when we climbed inside. “Griffin.”
“Father,” I said. “How goes the rebuilding effort?”
The loss of Whyborne House, and of Fenton, had changed my father. To my surprise, rather than immediately begin rebuilding the mansion, Father had cracked open the coffers and instead spent a small fortune repairing the damage done to Widdershins during the Dark Days, as they’d come to be referred to.
Of course, he’d also rented a palatial house on High Street to stay in for the duration. Some things would never change.
“Coming to an end at last,” he said. He seemed frailer these days, as though age was at last beginning to creep up on him, but his eyes were still sharp and steady. “A good thing, too, as I go to New York next month. I’ve neglected Whyborne Railroad and Industry too long.” He paused. “You know, son, if you ever tire of reading dead languages—”
“No,” I said.
He shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”
I could, but was interrupted by the carriage coming to a halt. Christine and Iskander joined us, each one holding a child in a clean muslin dress.
“You’re bringing them?” I asked in surprise.
“Of course,” Christine said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“We were told this is less than a solemn occasion, though still formal,” Iskander said. “Is that wrong?”
“No.” Griffin pulled a face for Alexandria, who goggled at him as though she’d never seen such a thing before.
“Besides, Persephone wanted to see them.” Christine glanced briefly at Father, then at me.
Father didn’t know the twins carried their own fragments of the maelstrom. Christine and Iskander had decided it best to keep the secret among the four of us, plus Persephone.
Considering how sorcerers and cultists had disrupted my simple life, I agreed whole-heartedly. The children deserved the chance to grow up in peace, and to find their own paths once they were old enough.
The carriage took us along Cemetery Road, then over a bridge across the Cranch. Fins broke the water as ketoi swam upstream. The Draakenwood loomed on the horizon, and I asked Griffin, “Will the Queen of Shadows send anyone to join us? Or is that you?”
“I believe a worker will arrive once the sun is down, so as not to tax my human brain,” Griffin replied. “Oh look—there’s the house. I haven’t seen it since the Endicotts came—they’ve done an excellent job of restoring it.”
I’d offered the Endicotts Somerby Estate after the destruction of Balefire. Though I didn’t know how long Rupert meant to stay now that the masters were gone, the very fact they’d undertaken the effort of restoring the mansion and grounds suggested at least some of them would remain on a permanent basis.
The carriage pulled up, and footmen hastened to open the doors. As we climbed out, Rupert himself appeared, dressed in a striking blue suit. “Welcome,” he said to us all.
Father shook his hand. “Thank you for allowing use of the island. And for supplying the music and food.”
“It’s our pleasure.” Rupert cocked his head. “The island is where you used to conduct your rituals, isn’t it? We found…evidence…when we explored it.”
“I’m sure you did,” Father said. “But those days are gone.”
I thought I detected a hint of wistfulness in his tone. No doubt he missed the days when he and the Brotherhood had been the great power in Widdershins, using dark magic to build their business empires and disposing of anyone who got in their way.
“Thank God,” I said. “Are we to gather on the island?”
“Right this way.” Rupert led us to the edge of the lake, where a small flotilla of boats waited. Each was decorated with garlands of ivy and roses, and bore a torch in the prow, to be lit at twilight. Basil waited with the boats; apparently he was to be one of the ferrymen, because he hopped into the stern as soon as we were seated. He murmured some words, and a moment later we glided smoothly forward, even without oars.
I tried not to look at the water until we reached the island. Griffin helped me out onto the dock and gave my hand a squeeze; no doubt he understood I’d never be entirely comfortable on this lake.
As for the island itself, the changes to it were immediately apparent. Its narrow beaches now glittered with sparkling sand from the remnants of the spire the Master of the Land had raised. The Endicotts had cleared the overgrown path, and we followed it easily as it wended through the small wood.
At the center of the island, where the standing stones had once loomed, and where the spire had risen and fallen, was a large clearing. The earth was covered in a layer of sparkling dust, shot through with wildflowers that had taken on some very odd hues indeed. Some of them had patterns that looked weirdly like faces, and I decided it was likely best not to examine them too closely.
The clearing was largely filled with white lawn chairs, an aisle covered in white cloth between them. At the end of the aisle stood the wedding arch, which sported an impressive number of skulls.
“How delightful!” Christine exclaimed at the sight. “We really should have taken Persephone up on her offer for our wedding, Kander.”
Her husband looked rather pained. “Er, yes. What a shame.”
Father stared at it for a long time, then sighed. “Come, Percival. We should greet the guests as they arrive at the dock.”
I felt something of a fool, smiling and shaking hands, accepting congratulations on my sister’s wedding as if I’d had anything to do with it. Most of the land-based guests were from the old families, and I let Father speak with them. Orion Marsh was there; he’d been Perfected early in the vanguard’s assault, and spent the rest of the Dark Days under their control until Widdershins freed him. Police Chief Tilton had been badly injured, and survived only by hiding in the depths of the cannery, alongside Fred Waite. Though Tilton had made it through, Fred was less lucky, succumbing to a nereid bite.
Miss Lester arrived with Orion Marsh. For once, she’d dressed in something other than white, though given she’d chosen funereal black instead, I wasn’t entirely sure how appropriate it was.
I took it upon myself to greet the guests from the museum staff on Miss Parkhurst’s behalf. What remained of her family was in New Bedford, and she had sadly expressed her doubts that her mother would accept her marriage to a woman, let alone one with frog-feet and tentacle hair.
Dr. Gerritson and his wife arrived, wearing matching gowns that flattered them both. Mr. Durfree and Mr. Parr argued the entire time they disembarked, pausing only long enough to shake my hand before returning to their quarrel. Two secretaries, who I was given to understand were special friends, had also come. They giggled and one accidentally knocked off the other’s hat when I greeted them.
Night fell. Candles floated across the lake on paper boats, making it seem that a thousand stars had come down to light on the water. As Basil brought over the last boat, Griffin joined us. “You’d better take your seats,” he said to Father and me.
