Page 27 of Unbroken
Ves had briefly met Ambrose at the first dinner the Endicotts had invited them to; the impression hadn’t been favorable. “We need to find out what he’s up to.”
“That’s why I came back for you.” She squeezed one of Noct’s tentacles, then rushed back down the sidewalk. “Hurry! Before he slips away. I want to catch him in the act.”
It had been far too long since they’d gathered at The Silver Key, but Sebastian would have preferred to return under better circumstances.
Ambrose Endicott. The man had been soused when they met at the Endicott estate, pulling on Ves’s tentacles and bragging about killing a Dark Young back in England. He should have been suspicious of Ambrose from the moment they learned someone amongst the Endicotts had betrayed them to Ves’s wretched mother.
Irene drove at a dangerously high speed through the streets of Widdershins, honking the horn and yelling at pedestrians, cabs, and other autos to get out of her way. Sebastian clung to the seat, closed his eyes, and braced for an impact, until at last she swerved up to the curb and stomped on the brakes. Cautiously cracking his eyes open, he found she’d gotten them to The Silver Key in record time.
The bar was near the Ladysmith, and thus a favorite watering hole of museum staff, the librarians included. He spotted several familiar faces as they entered, and Amelia Cohen waved enthusiastically from one of the tables. He smiled and weakly raised a hand in greeting, then saw her face fall when she realized they weren’t going to join her.
A copper-topped bar ran along one wall, the barman behind it unfamiliar to him. The previous bartender had fled town after serving as a middleman between hired criminals and Arthur Fairchild. Said hirelings would have murdered Sebastian, Bonnie, and the rest of the family if Ves hadn’t intervened; the man had no doubt realized his life wouldn’t be worth much if he stayed in Widdershins.
There was no sign of Ambrose. Irene scanned the room, as if double-checking, then marched to the bar and opened her purse. “I’m looking for my cousin, Ambrose Endicott,” she said to the bartender, and threw down a handful of cash.
He seemed taken aback, but scooped up the bills readily enough. “I don’t think it’s a secret, ma’am, but he’s joined the other gentleman in the private room.”
“What other—” Sebastian began, but Irene had already taken off in the direction the bartender pointed.
The private room was tiny, its existence seeming to owe itself to some quirk of the architecture produced when the old building was renovated into a bar. There was a pot-bellied stove, cold now in the summer, a small round table, four chairs, and a narrow window open to catch the breeze. Ambrose perched in one of the chairs, gesticulating wildly as he spoke to the gray-haired man sitting across from him.
Ora Rune.
CHAPTER 13
Ves ground his teeth together. Of course it was Grandfather—what else had he possibly expected?
Irene started toward them, focused on Ambrose, her hands balled into fists. Ves caught her shoulder, then slipped past when she turned to ask what he was doing. Putting himself between her and Grandfather, just in case.
Grandfather smiled genially as Sebastian shut the door behind them. Apparently realizing he’d lost his audience, Ambrose looked around, brows furrowed. He peered blearily at them, then brightened. “Oh—Irene! What are you doing here?” A flap of the hand. “Never mind—come meet my friend, Ira.”
“Ora,” Grandfather corrected, but with a chuckle calibrated to suggest it was all some sort of joke between friends.
Irene’s brown face darkened further with anger. “Cousin Ambrose,” she began, but Ves cut in.
“This is Ora Rune, my grandfather,” he told her, since she’d never laid eyes on him before. “And Noct’s, of course.”
Ambrose frowned, clearly befuddled. “But you’re the Dark Young. So that’s not possible.” He turned to Grandfather, appealing for help from the more sober.
“You must be Irene,” Grandfather said, ignoring Ambrose in favor of beaming at her. “It’s so very good to meet you, my dear. Please, call me Ora. Or Grandfather, if you’d prefer—but perhaps that’s too soon?”
“I…” Irene seemed put on the back foot by his warmth.
“You should have met Irene’s grandfather,” Ambrose said, drunkenly attempting to seize onto a topic he could follow. “A Gurkha. The things that man could do with a witch-hunter’s kukri! Why, one time?—”
“Enough.” Sebastian’s voice cut through Ambrose’s blather like the crack of a whip. “This charade is at an end. Mr. Endicott, you’re coming with us. Mr. Rune, you may go hang for all I care.”
“What?” Ambrose scowled at Sebastian. “Listen here?—”
“How rude this younger generation is,” Ora said, leaning across the small table to put a friendly hand to Ambrose’s shoulder. “No respect for old soldiers such as ourselves, eh?”
Ves trembled, though from rage or some other emotion, even he wasn’t sure. “How many of your kin did you lose to the Fideles cult, Ambrose? How many died at your old estate, or in the battles thereafter? Yet here you sit, drinking all unawares with one of the enemy.”
“Your mother and I weren’t even in Widdershins at the time of the battle,” Grandfather pointed out.
“Only because Noct and I ran away!”
“This man isn’t what he seems, cousin,” Irene said to Ambrose, who still seemed confused. “Don’t you remember what Rupert asked, at the dinner when you met Nocturn and Vesper? Ora Rune helped raise them to first destroy humankind, then rule over those who remained, slaves in a broken world.”
