Page 25 of Unbroken
He lurched to his feet, using the headstone at his back for support. Casting frequent glances over his shoulder, he fled the cemetery as the rain filled the shallow hole behind him.
CHAPTER 12
The next day, Sebastian felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he stepped into the cool confines of the museum. Nothing made him appreciate Widdershins more than leaving it, however briefly.
He dropped his things at his desk, except for the notes he’d taken that morning at the historical society and the newspapers he’d…liberated…and hurried to the bindery to find Ves.
Ves sat at one of the worktables, holding a needle in one hand, gazing off into space. Warm afternoon light flooded through the glass dome of the ceiling, lending a touch of gold to Ves’s olive skin. When he saw Sebastian, a smile lit up his face.
“I’m back,” Sebastian said. “How did things go for you and Mortimer yesterday?”
“Mr. Tubbs had the same idea as we did, so he was there as well.” Ves stood up, and they kissed. His lips tasted of coffee, and he hugged Sebastian tight. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, angel.” Sebastian breathed in the scent of shadowy woods and ink, before reluctantly ending their embrace. “What happened?”
“You first—did you find anything?”
“I did, though I don’t know how helpful it will be. We should gather everyone in the sword room.”
Half an hour later, Sebastian found himself sitting with Ves, Noct, Irene, and Mortimer. Ves gestured at Sebastian’s notes and the stacked newspapers. “What did you find?”
“How Gregorio Hollowell died, and why he was accused of vampirism.” He carefully unfolded the newspapers and laid them out, in case anyone wanted to read the articles for themselves. “I saved these from the Ipswich Monitor archives—which were in deplorable condition! They’re storing the newspapers folded up to fit into cubby holes, and the silverfish?—”
Mortimer cleared his throat, and Sebastian subsided. “None of which I suppose is important at the moment. Fortunately, the historical society takes much better care of its artifacts. I was able to look through a journal this morning which belonged to a Mr. John Knapp. One of the men who murdered Gregorio.”
No one said anything, though he felt their attention sharpen on him. “To summarize, the Hollowell family doesn’t seem to have had a good reputation to begin with. None of them were ever formally tried for witchcraft, but the locals seemed to be of the opinion they could curse anyone who crossed them. Their reputation only grew worse when Gregorio departed for Europe for a few years, returning with a new wife, my great-grandmother Lydia. The newspaper described her as a ‘Slav,’ and the journal used far worse language, though it’s not clear where or how Gregorio met her.”
“Hmm.” Irene’s brow creased. “What if she was a fellow student at the Scholomance?”
“I…hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “I’ve wondered if she was the one who killed the Hollowell siblings and created the Books of the Bound from their bodies. If she went to the Scholomance alongside Gregorio, it would explain how she came by the knowledge to do something like that.”
“Lydia is probably the anglicized version of her name,” Mortimer said. “Assuming the papers had her origins right, of course.”
“That would make sense.” Sebastian added to his notes, then continued, “According to Knapp’s diary, a rash of disappearances marked Gregorio’s return to Ipswich. No one could prove a connection, but Knapp and his cohorts believed Gregorio was responsible. When a child disappeared, they decided they had to act. They ambushed him in the early morning hours of May 1, 1830, returning on horseback from Plum Island.”
“He was coming from a Walpurgisnacht ritual, then,” Ves said. Irene nodded her agreement.
“They shot him in the back,” Sebastian went on. “According to Knapp, he immediately fell to the ground, but they continued firing just to make sure. Then they ran off and left his body to be discovered by a fisherman around dawn. Knapp and his compatriots did a poor job of covering their tracks and were immediately arrested for murder. However, suffice it to say Gregorio wasn’t well liked, and all three were acquitted at trial.”
“I doubt Gregorio’s family were pleased,” Mortimer remarked.
“Neither was Gregorio—at least, according to Knapp. About six months after the trial, his journal entries start mentioning a strange wasting disease that infected him and his fellow killers. Not consumption, their lungs remained clear, but something that resisted all attempts to diagnose or treat. As their energy waned day by day, they decided Gregorio must be behind their condition. Eventually, they grew desperate enough to dig him up, burn his heart, and drink the ashes mixed with water.” Sebastian started to imagine choking down such a noxious mixture, then decided against it. “It did seem to help at first, but the journal stops abruptly about three months later. I assume something fatal befell Mr. Knapp, though I didn’t have time to return to the newspaper archives and find out what that might have been.”
Mortimer sighed. “So nothing that can help us with the Books?”
“Well…not at the moment, anyway. But it does tell us Gregorio’s ‘vampirism’ was nothing like the leech we encountered.” He hesitated, not wanting to say the next part…but they needed to know. “I, uh, went into a sort of trance while visiting Gregorio’s grave. When I came back to myself, I found I’d been digging into it.”
“What?” Ves demanded, and at the same time Mortimer observed, “That doesn’t bode well.”
“I know!” He ran his hands back through his hair, tugging at the locks. “I’m not exactly pleased by it myself. My scars hurt when I came to—but there was no warning beforehand, no pulling sensation like I experience with the Books.”
“Whatever happens, you cannot return to Ipswich,” Irene said. “Blast Knapp for not burning the entire body, though I suppose this is what one gets with amateurs.”
Noct’s tentacles shifted uneasily. “Should we go to Ipswich and burn it ourselves? Without Sebastian, obviously.”
“Yes, as soon as is practical,” Ves said. When Sebastian began to object, he cut him off. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. Some sort of magic is lingering in his corpse, though it doesn’t seem urgent compared to our current problems.”
Irene nodded firmly. “Your ancestor wasn’t a benevolent man. Best to remove any lingering influences from the world, before anyone can fall afoul of them. Especially you.”
