Page 37 of Unbroken
Mortimer scanned the letter. “She apologizes for not getting back sooner. She’s been quite ill but is now recovered. She’d like me to come to her house at nine o’clock.”
“You’re not going alone,” Sebastian said flatly.
“Of course I’m not.” Mortimer gave him a caustic look. “Really, what sort of a fool do you think I am? It might not be polite to show up at her door with uninvited persons, but manners be damned when there are leeches and lunatics on the loose.”
CHAPTER 17
Mrs. Norris lived in an enormous home, as if the same magic used on her flowers had caused an ordinary house to swell to monstrous proportions. It crowded closer to the street than its neighbors, as it took up more of the lot, offering only a short carriageway to park in. What green space remained was overrun, a wilderness of colossal flowers that threatened to devour the low walls and carriageway. Many of them should have stopped blooming weeks ago, or else not yet started, another sign something out of the ordinary was happening.
The door opened as Irene parked, and a slender young maid hovered at the top of the steps. Mortimer climbed out, followed by Sebastian, Irene, and Ves.
“Mr. Waite,” she said, giving a little curtsey when she saw him get out of the auto. Ves realized she was the same maid who answered the door when they’d come calling last week. “Mrs. Norris is expecting you. Please, follow me.”
They entered the house behind her. Though the staff had clearly been keeping up with the dusting, there was an odd, moldy scent in the air. Most of the lights were turned off, leaving great pools of shadow between rooms.
Sebastian gasped and clasped a hand to his left forearm. Either the Book of Blood was here, or its magic was. Ves’s pulse quickened, and his tentacles ached to burst free, ready to fight.
“Mrs. Norris’s room is up the stairs and to the right,” the maid said, her voice trembling slightly. “She and Mr. Norris are ill—I was surprised to find the note she’d left, asking me to send the letter.”
“She’s still sick?” Mortimer asked, while at the same time Irene said, “Note?”
“I suppose she must be better.” The maid’s hands clenched her white apron nervously.
Mortimer’s face took on a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid your mistress may need…assistance,” he said in a kindly voice. “Of course you don’t want to spread tales, but we are here to help her, and anything you tell us will be kept in strictest confidence.”
She wavered a moment, then said, “I haven’t actually seen or spoken to her or Mr. Norris since they fell ill. Mrs. Norris communicates strictly through notes left at the top of the stairs—she’s forbidden us to go up there, except to leave food at the top of the steps.” Her hands twisted her apron into knots. “I…the handwriting on the letter doesn’t look like her normal handwriting.”
Ves’s senses seemed to sharpen. Either Mrs. Norris was using the Book of Blood upstairs and didn’t want the servants to see, or something terrible had befallen her.
“Was it her handwriting on the notes?” Irene asked.
“I…thought so?” The maid seemed unsure. “It was shaky and uncertain, and I assumed it was because of her sickness. But she wouldn’t allow a doctor to be summoned, she was clear on that in the first note.”
This was some sort of a trap. It had to be.
“Thank you,” Mortimer said to the maid. “We can show ourselves out when our business is done, so feel free to retire for the night.”
“Thank you, Mr. Waite,” she said, and practically fled. The poor girl—the trees only knew what sounds and smells she’d been exposed to, drifting down from the forbidden floors. No wonder she was frightened.
As soon as she was gone, Sebastian said, “Good work, Mortimer. I don’t like the bit about the different handwriting. Whose do you think it was?”
“Only one way to find out,” Ves said. He slipped off his coat and hung it on the banister, though he didn’t put his tentacles out yet. “I’ll go first.”
Sebastian fell in behind Ves, followed by Irene and Mortimer. At the top of the stairs stood a small table with two bowls and two plates, both scraped clean—the remains of tonight’s dinner, no doubt. “To the right,” Sebastian murmured. “I can feel the presence of the Book’s magic there.”
As they went down the corridor, the clinging smell of rotting meat greeted them. Irene clasped a hand over her mouth and nose. “Good God, what is that?”
“Someone is dead,” Ves said, tentacles slithering free and hands curling into fists. The stench seemed slightly less overwhelming once they reached the lone door at the end of the hall. Beneath it, Ves caught an incongruous smell: green leaves and rich earth. Maybe Mrs. Norris kept one of her altered plants in a pot in her room?
He stopped at the closed door. “Get ready,” he whispered, and opened the door with a swift kick that sent it flying half-off its hinges.
There was no moon, so the only light came from the corridor, revealing the wreckage of what had once been a feminine sitting room. Torn curtains, broken chairs, destroyed paintings. The only thing that remained whole was a portrait of a man and woman—presumably Mr. and Mrs. Norris—hanging on the wall.
Nothing moved, but again the scent of forests cut through the funk of rot. He started across the room toward the door that presumably led to the bedroom. From inside came the sound of a window opening.
He charged toward the door, just as Sebastian cried out in pain from behind him.
Sebastian stared around at the wreckage of the sitting room. What the hell had happened here? His scars tugged, seeming to pull him in two directions at once, which made no sense?—
