Page 24 of Unbroken
“Er…” Perhaps most people doing genealogical searches didn’t open with “My ancestor was a vampire.” “At any rate, I’m trying to find out more about his life, if possible. He was murdered by a group of men: John Knapp, Steven Black, and Joshua Walters.”
“How terrible,” Cox said, seeming even more put off. “Have you found his grave?”
“I haven’t looked for it. Any information you can find for me would be most appreciated.”
“Write down his name, and any connected ones you’d like information on, as well as birth and death dates if known.” Cox took out a pad of paper and pencil and passed it to him. “I can look through our records for any information that might be in the society’s possession. Can you come back tomorrow morning?”
He’d been hoping to return on the evening train…but finding information in an archive wasn’t always the easiest task, even for him. He’d simply have to send a telegram to Ves, letting him know he wouldn’t be home tonight. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Cox.”
That returned the smile to Cox’s face. “It’s what I’m here for. Oh, and I may be able to help you find his grave if you want to have a peek at it. The name ‘Hollowell’ sounds somewhat familiar to me—I think I’ve seen it on stones in the Old North Burying Ground.”
“Thank you.” Sebastian shook his hand. “I’ll leave you to your work and see you tomorrow.”
Released from the need to hurry to make the train, Sebastian went first to the nearest telegraph office to send word of his overnight stay to both the museum and Bonnie. After, he headed out in search of an early dinner, as he hadn’t eaten lunch, then checked into an inexpensive hotel. Leaving his bag behind in his room, he made for the burying ground.
As the sun slipped toward the west, thunderheads built on the horizon. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella; hopefully the storm would hold off and not leave him soaked to the bone.
A low iron fence surrounded the cemetery, which unfurled up the hill before him. No one else was around, and under other circumstances it would have been a pleasant place for an evening stroll. Rows of headstones were interspersed here and there with vaults and shaded by scattered trees.
In an echo of the night before, Sebastian began to walk along the rows, scanning the names. Hopefully he wouldn’t get chased off by a ghul this time.
The dates and styles spanned from the late 1600s to the present day. Their condition varied wildly, from worn to the point of smooth illegibility, to so crisp they might have been carved yesterday rather than two centuries prior.
Between the setting sun and the approaching storm, the sky grew darker by the minute. If he didn’t find the grave soon, he might have to come back in the morning. Just as he was about to give up, he spotted a stone bearing the name Ebenezer Hollowell.
The wind gusted again, bringing with it the scent of rain. Thunder grumbled, and the leaves shivered on the trees. Sebastian went from stone to stone, peering at the names that ended with Hollowell: Mary, Elizabeth, another Ebenezer, another Elizabeth, two Johns, and…
Gregorio.
The stone itself was of the headboard style, its surface weathered but the carving still easily legible.
In memory of
GREGORIO HOLLOWELL
Brother, Husband, Father
Who died
May 1, 1830
Aged 34 years.
Even the dead may dream.
The cool wind dried Sebastian’s sweat, and he shivered as he stood before the final resting place of the man who had set all of this in motion. What had he expected to find here? There was nothing about the Scholomance, no indication that the man beneath the tombstone had been disinterred, his chest split open so his heart could be removed and burned.
The ashes from the heart wouldn’t be here. They would have been fed to the victims, in hopes of stopping whatever illness had convinced them Gregorio was a vampire. The rest of the body had likely been put back in the ground, ribs gaping, the coffin stained with gore.
What had it been like when they dug him up? A group of desperate people, clustered around this very spot, afraid of what they’d find below. Even so: shovels bit the earth, severed fine roots, exposed wriggling worms to the air. Down and down and down, the smell of moist dirt in their noses, the thick soil under their fingernails…
A titanic crack of lightning split the air, shocking Sebastian back to himself. A tree limb fell not fifty feet away, the scent of scorched wood filling the breeze. Rain pounded down, turning the exposed earth beneath his hands to mud…
Wait. Why was he on his knees? And why were his hands covered in dirt?
With a gasp, Sebastian fell backward and scooted away from the grave, until his spine fetched up against another headstone. Clumps of grass lay scattered around Gregorio’s resting place, the exposed ground clawed at frantically. He lifted a shaking hand, stared at the dark earth staining his fingers, caked beneath his nails. His scars burned as if the wounds had opened anew, pain pulsing with every beat of his heart.
What the hell was happening to him?
