Free Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) by Jordan L. Hawk

the
stone.
    “Never seen it before,” Father said impatiently. “Some
woman’s trinket, I expect.”
    Christine’s mouth turned down in to a thoughtful frown. “I
can’t say as I’ve ever seen designs like those before. Clearly they belong to
some artistic tradition, but blast if I know what.”
    Griffin took them both back and put them away. Thankfully,
I’d sensed nothing further from the stone…but I had no desire to put it to the
test by exposing myself to its influence for a moment longer than necessary.
“Show your father the note,” he prompted me.
    “I found this in the pocket of her dressing gown.” I passed
the note to Father.
    As he read the terse lines, his face grew dark with anger.
“When I find out who wrote this, they’ll wish they’d never picked up a pen in
their life,” he growled.
    “You don’t recognize the handwriting?” Griffin asked.
    “No.”
    Curse it. There went our last hope for a quick solution.
Griffin clearly thought the same, because he said, “I believe we’ve done all we
can today. Give our regards to Heliabel.”
    “I’ll come by as soon as I can to see her. Once she’s up to
it,” I said.
    Father nodded. “Very well. Stay in touch, Griffin.”
    “I shall.”
    A few minutes later, we stepped into the frosty air of an
October morning. I tipped my head back and breathed deeply, letting the chill
sear my nostrils. I always felt like I couldn’t breathe inside Whyborne House,
as if the air grew heavier and heavier, so gradually I didn’t even notice until
I was gasping my life out, like a fish stranded by the tide.
    “Honestly, Whyborne, are you certain you’re related to that
man?” Christine asked. “I don’t mean to cast aspersions on your mother, of
course, but perhaps the fairies left you as a changeling.”
    “I wish they had sometimes.” We turned our steps away from
the house. “But no, I’m afraid there’s no question about it.”
    Christine patted me on the shoulder, then directed her gaze
at Griffin. “What next?”
    Griffin’s curls tumbled over the collar of his coat as he
hunched his shoulders for warmth. “Guinevere mentioned the derelict ship to
Whyborne, the night she asked him to meet her.”
    “What, the Norfolk Siren?”
    “Unless Widdershins has been visited by another ghost ship
in the last few days. Although, given this town, it very well might have.”
    Christine snorted. “If such were the case, the newspapers
would be up to twelve special editions a day.”
    “And all of them filled with speculation and outright lies,”
Griffin agreed. “I mean to find whatever actual facts I can about the ship.”
    He took the jewelry from his pocket and passed it to me.
“Whyborne, I’d like you to take this to the museum. Discover what you can about
it.”
    “Of course.”
    “And what about me?” Christine asked.
    Griffin smiled, but there was no humor to it. “Make certain
your rifle and pistol are loaded and ready. I have the feeling we’ll need both
before this is over.”

Chapter 6
     
    In the early hours just past midnight, Father, Griffin, and
I slipped through the iron gates of Kings Hill Cemetery. Behind us, Fenton
waited in the motor car, alert for anyone who might disturb our grim work.
Mother said her goodbyes earlier, alone in the wine cellar of Whyborne House.
    Griffin picked the lock by the light of our lantern. Father
led the way through the low, stone wall, past the lines of weathered
tombstones. Griffin and I followed, bearing between us a solid wooden plank.
Guinevere’s body, shrouded in spare linens, lay atop it.
    The autumn wind rattled in the branches of the great oak
trees, which in the summer months provided shade for mourners. Leaves swirled
down around us with dry whispers, brief flashes of red or orange or fiery
yellow in the lantern’s beam. The air smelled of smoke and the earthiness of
decaying leaves.
    There was no moon, but the stars spangled the sky in their
multitudes. The black bulk of the