Page 40 of Unbroken
“I have to make sure Nocturn is safe.” Grandfather took a hearty bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “Eat up, Vesper.”
He picked up his own sandwich automatically, then cursed himself. Apparently all the long years of obedience had left their mark deep inside.
“The ferocity of the Endicotts toward those they deem monsters is legendary.” Grandfather washed down the bite of sandwich with his coffee, then picked it up again. “Ketoi, hags, Dark Young, umbrae, ghuls—there’s nothing they wouldn’t kill, and do it with relish. Hybrids like yourselves were never safe, they were always bigoted when it came to the purity of human blood.” He snorted in disdain. “When I heard they were working with…well, it doesn’t matter. My point is, rumor has it they’d turned over a new leaf, but I was hardly going to leave the matter of Nocturn’s safety to gossip.”
Ves locked eyes with him. “You could have trusted me to take care of him.”
“And I did. I didn’t intervene directly, but I needed to know for myself that they weren’t plotting against the two of you. Eat your sandwich, don’t just hold it.”
Because it seemed easier, Ves did as instructed. The sandwich was probably good, but at the moment it tasted like dust.
Grandfather had been right to distrust the Endicotts, hadn’t he? Rupert had taken the family in a direction some of them didn’t like. Ambrose might be in the minority, but Ves doubted he was the only one who looked on himself and Noct as abominations.
Satisfied by Ves’s quiet obedience, Grandfather went on, “I’d say you’ll understand when you have children and grandchildren of your own someday, but I suppose that’s not likely. How is your young man, anyway?”
The hairs on the back of Ves’s neck prickled in alarm, and he had to take a swig of coffee to keep from choking on his sandwich. “Stay away from him.”
Grandfather held up both hands placatingly. “Haven’t I so far?”
Time to change the subject. “We haven’t heard a peep out of the School of Night lately. Has Mother driven them all into hiding?”
“I wouldn’t give her all the credit. They haven’t fared well against you, either.” He took another swig of coffee. “The Chancellor would be a fool to choose direct confrontation, given how poorly it worked out for her underlings.”
Ves didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you know?”
“Me? Nothing. Your mother? You’d have to ask her yourself.”
Damn the man. Ves forced himself to take another bite so he had something to grind his teeth on. Of course Grandfather was evasive; when had he not been?
But he knew a great deal more than most sorcerers. If he was in a talkative mood, perhaps Ves should take advantage of that.
“The Book of Blood is being used to create blood-sucking undead,” he said, and went on to tell his grandfather of the basics, including the mysterious woman who had escaped them last night.
When he was done, Grandfather sat back and stared into nothing for a long moment. “There is a word I heard a few times, when I traveled through Romania and Transylvania. Stregoica—a sort of vampiric witch.”
Unease crawled along Ves’s spine. “Another connection to the Scholomance?”
“Perhaps.” Grandfather shrugged. “If the magic of the Books comes from something Gregorio Hollowell learned there, it could presumably make someone into a stregoica.”
Should he say anything about Lydia? What difference could it possibly make? “Gregorio’s wife, Lydia, was from the area, could even have been a student herself. We don’t know what her name was then, before it was anglicized and she took her husband’s surname. Though I doubt it would tell us anything even if we did.”
The lines on Grandfather’s brow deepened with thought. “Fascinating,” he said at last. “So we have these undead creatures?—”
“We’re calling them leeches. Though to be honest, they’re more reminiscent of mosquitoes.”
“These leeches,” Grandfather said. “Members of the Widdershins Horticultural Society, who used some sort of magic to grow absurdly large flowers. Then this mysterious woman, who has the Book and has transformed herself into a similar state as the leeches, though alive rather than undead.” He tapped absently on the table as he thought, an old habit Ves recalled from his childhood. “Is she a member of the WHS as well?”
“I don’t think so? The only remaining members are Ian Fuller and Emily Rice. Fuller is a man, and Mrs. Rice is too old.”
“It all comes back to this society, though. Do you know what kind of magic they used on their plants? Could they have made a bargain with something from the Outside?”
“Over plants?” Ves asked. “I know people do stupid things for absurd reasons, but…”
“Very few in this world, even those with knowledge of the arcane, have the scope of vision we do.” Grandfather’s eyes went misty with recollection. “Petty men and women, trapped by the smallness of their imagination, their vision. We would have remade the world, but they cannot even conceive of such greatness.”
Was it greatness, to live in a shack in the forest, hiding from the outside world? Ves kept the retort to himself; there was no point in starting such an argument.
“There are other possibilities, of course,” Grandfather went on. “When I was in Padua, I came across a fascinating case. In the sixteenth century, a Dr. Rappaccini was such a great grower of poisonous plants that his daughter supposedly became poisonous herself.”
