Page 42 of House of Furies
“I’m sorry?” Where was the fervent devotion to Mr. Morningside’s word?
He shrugged and went back to filling holes. “Stranger things’ve happened. If you’re right, I’m sure Mr. Morningside will find out in the end. What’s the boy supposed to have done?”
“Killed his guardian,” I said, waiting for Mary to interject with support for her master. But she, too, looked thoughtful, even receptive. “The whole thing was an accident. Some violent reaction to a nut or some such. The important part is that Rawleigh didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to his guardian. I think he truly loved and respected the man.”
“Then maybe he belongs in the Unworld!”
I nearly leapt out of my skin, spinning to find Poppy and her hound right behind me. She did a tiny wave and then pointed at Chijioke. “You’re ruining all of Bartholomew’s hard work!”
“The holes are unsightly, Poppy,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes. “And dangerous. I’ve nearly broken a leg twice this week!”
“He’s practicing!” she pouted.
“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning down a little to address the pigtailed girl.
Poppy stuck her lip out and crossed her arms over her light blue frock. “He’s just a little one, but he needs to practice now orhe’ll never get better and never get back to the hot place! I don’t want him to go away, but it’s what all his kind must do. And so heneedsto practice,Chijioke.”
And then she stuck her tongue out and blew.
“Not the dog,” I said with a sigh. “About the Unworld. What did you mean precisely?”
“Oh!” She gurgled with laughter and patted her pup’s head. “Lee could be one of us. Never had it turn out that way before, but Mary and Chijioke are very, very smart, and if they believe you, then it could just be a twisty-twisty sort of thing.”
“He seems perfectly normal,” I said, then winced. “Meaning... just...”
“Don’t worry,” Mary murmured charitably, but her cheeks were red. “We know what you meant.”
“Normal is a funny word. I like the way it sounds.” Poppy giggled again and swatted at Mary’s shovel, then kicked at Chijioke’s. “He could be... a dark Fae or a wraith or a dead caller or a Ferryman or the thing Mary is that I’m still convinced isn’t real words at all or a shadow drinker or, or...”
“We get the idea, Poppy,” Chijioke said, moving his shovel out of her reach.
“He’s just a boy.” This was another absurdity in an ever growing list. “A boring, human boy just like I’m a boring, human girl.” They stared in oddly tense silence at me, silence that was broken only when I noticed the front door of the manse opening behind them. Lee himself emerged, hurrying over to his uncleand the wagon. Then he stopped, finding us clustered not far away on the lawn.
Nobody spoke as he loped up to us, dressed in a patched traveling coat with a light gray piping and leather gloves. He beamed at me, clapping his hands together as he all but hopped into the spot next to me. “What a delight. The housekeeper said you had departed but didn’t specify a length of absence. I hadn’t thought to see you again so soon.”
“Hello, boring human boy,” Poppy said, waving.
“Oh, um, hello,” he replied, chuckling nervously. “We’re headed into town briefly. Somewhere called Derridon. I don’t know it, but apparently there’s a rather good undertaker there. I thought you might want to come along, Louisa. I’ve been desirous of your company.”
Softly, Mary cleared her throat, tugging the others away to give us privacy. I blushed, knowing exactly how foolish this all looked.Desirous of your company. If I admitted to myself what that sounded like, then I would have to accept that Lee was not just trying to befriend me butcourtme.
“I can’t do that,” I whispered. “How would it look? I’m just a servant here.”
He leaned in and winked, and the proximity made that wink more potent and deadly. “For me? Can’t you make something up? I know! You’re helping with the delivery, or, I don’t know, you’re the clever one.”
The others were watching us, and I couldn’t tell if he or theaudience made me more uncomfortable. Regardless, I knew what had to be done. Had I not come back to help him? He must be warned. And maybe I could go. Maybe we could get on that wagon and leave and never look back.
I took his sleeve and pulled him toward me, lowering my voice to a tense whisper. “I’ll find a way to go with you, but if I cannot or they stop me, promise me that you won’t come back here. Go to Derridon if you must, but then hire a coach and leave. Leave, Lee, and get as far away from Coldthistle House as you can.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Enduring Mystery of the Lost Order
In the vastness of my travels, in Syria, in Jerusalem, in Venice, Rome, and the catacombs of Paris, I have come across an unnamed sect that perturbs me more than murderous banshees or hounds from hell. I say unnamed, but I know that to be untrue—they have a name, and indeed it must be of great import, because at each site of their worship, the name of theirorder has been scrubbed. If it is not burned or painted over it is laboriously chipped out of the stone, leaving behind just the stray glimpse of a letter here and there. This strikes one as a senseless waste of time and effort, to chisel the name and spells of your order into a wall or floor, only to deface it immediately upon completion.
So wrote the bard, “What’s in a name?”
Beyond erasing the name itself, they take no pains to erase the evidence of their being there—misshapen skulls used for ritual purposes, withered corpses of red-and-white-striped serpents knotted up and mutilated. Even fragments of their incantations are left behind, almost brazenly, as if to taunt. They praise Mixcoatl, Gurzil, Maahes, Laran... Gods of destruction and war, but to what end?
