Page 42 of Unbroken
He fled through a discreet door. Sebastian felt a momentary twinge of pity for the man, but it was driven from his mind when he saw the speculative look Napoleon Waite was giving Irene.
“A shame our families couldn’t have united,” he said coolly.
For the first time, Sebastian wondered how the old families truly felt about a group of foreign sorcerers planting themselves in Widdershins. The Whybornes had technically been the ones to bring them here in the first place—there was some sort of blood tie between them, or at least Sebastian thought so, though he couldn’t have said what it was. But surely the Waites and Marshes wouldn’t be happy about it. As for the Lesters, they’d always kept more to themselves than the rest, so it was hard to say.
Perhaps the Waites had hoped to absorb the Endicotts, or co-opt their power, or find some way to undercut them.
Just thinking about it all was giving him a headache. Thank God his family had been murderous necromancers of humble origins.
“I assume Mr. Fuller is still in residence?” Mortimer asked, ignoring his cousin’s remark.
“He is. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
Mortimer winced. “I’m sorry, truly, but it’s library business.”
“This is why you were disinherited.”
“I’m quite aware.” Mortimer straightened his shoulders. “Now, will you please take us to Mr. Fuller?”
Ves kept a careful eye on their surroundings as Napoleon led them through halls paneled in rich wood. Few others were in the corridors at the moment, but the murmur of conversation came from some of the rooms, and the sound of a piano drifted from elsewhere in the building.
Napoleon led them to an open door marked by a plaque that said Reading Room. The chamber within appeared to be comfortably appointed as well as provided with magazines, an abundance of newspapers, and a selection of books. Deeply cushioned chairs sat in clusters here and there, no doubt to encourage sociability among members. A waiter flitted from group to group, offering pours of scotch or brandy and whisking away emptied tumblers. Cigar smoke permeated the room, and Irene made a displeased face before schooling her features back to neutrality. Ves privately agreed with her—cigars smelled like burning socks to him, and he could never understand why anyone would voluntarily smoke them.
Napoleon pointed to a lone man sitting by one of the open windows, gazing out as though keeping watch. “That’s him. You can make your own introductions, Morty.”
Mortimer looked less than pleased by the nickname, but only said, “Thank you, Leon. I will speak to Mr. Quinn on your behalf concerning the book you mentioned from the Limited Access Collection.”
His cousin nodded curtly and left. Irene cocked a brow at Mortimer, but he only shrugged. “I’ll pass along the request, but I sincerely doubt Mr. Quinn will give him permission to look through De Vermis Mysteriis.”
“I should hope not,” Ves said with a shudder. He didn’t know what the Waite family might want with the writings of a mad Belgian wizard, but it couldn’t be anything benign.
Sebastian started for the man Napoleon had pointed out, and the rest of them followed. Fuller looked away from the window as they approached, his brows coming down into a scowl.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded, dark eyes flashing. “You aren’t club members.”
Sebastian folded his arms over his chest. “We’re the people here to save your life.”
Fuller’s nostrils flared. “You’re the ones Daniel mentioned, the ones poking your nose in our business.” So Rulkowski had indeed contacted the other WHS members after they kept him from jumping out a window.
Mortimer glanced around casually. “Surely we should discuss this somewhere with more privacy, don’t you agree, Mr. Fuller?”
Fuller’s lips pressed into a thin line, no doubt struggling between listening and having them thrown out. “Who sent you?”
“We sent ourselves,” Sebastian shot back impatiently. “Again, do you wish to have this conversation where anyone else might overhear?”
He raised his voice slightly, and a few members looked over. Fuller gave them an obviously false smile and stood up. “Fine,” he said in a low voice. “Come with me.”
Ves expected to be led to a private room, but instead he took them through a series of hallways and out a door letting onto an interior courtyard. The edifice of the Breakwater Club enclosed it on all sides, with only a narrow gate and alleyway offering access to the street. The black iron gate was chained shut. Only a little light crept into the place at this time of night, though of course Ves could still see perfectly well.
Most of the courtyard was paved in brick, though there were a few shrubs planted about to give a touch of nature. These were of ordinary size; apparently the Breakwater didn’t rate whatever magic the WHS had used on their flowers. Or maybe the members had just decided to keep it all for themselves.
Fuller took out a cigarette and lit it as he stalked over to a marble bench. He paused in front of it, then seemed to decide against sitting down. “Listen,” he began.
Sebastian hissed and clasped a hand over his forearm.
Ves instantly went on alert. “Mr. Fuller, get back inside,” he ordered.
Fuller stared at him in outrage. “What the hell is your game?—”
