Free The Lost Heir (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1) by E.G. Foley Page B

then opted instead for a sparkly red pair of high heels.
    She hummed a little tune to herself as she bent down to put them on, flirting with the men as she did so. This done, she popped up again and smoothed her skirts. “Now I’m ready! La, it’s going to be a good night!”
    “Now, no tricks, my pretty, no singing before you get there,” the earl warned.
    She giggled prettily and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Who, me? Do I put a spell on you, my lord?” She glided back to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, fluttering her long, velvety lashes. “My Lancelot! My rescuer!”
    “You enchantress,” he flattered with a tense smile. “Now behave yourself, my dear, and remember, for your own safety, make sure you’re back by dawn.”
    “How kind you are, Waldrick, to look after me. So strong, so handsome. Oh, I cannot resist you mortal men! Back in the old days, there used to be whole ships full of Royal Navy sailors—”
    “I say!”
    “Oh, don’t be jealous, darling. I only used to lure them to their deaths!” She giggled.
    “Right. Off you go, then.” He pushed her away, barely hiding a grimace, and handed her off to Oxley.
    Fionnula slipped her other hand through the crook of Flare’s elbow. “Oh, what big muscles you have, Mr. Oxley!”
    He gulped nervously and looked, thought Gladwin, like he wanted to bolt away from her, but apparently he did not dare risk offending the sorceress’s vanity.
    “Get my men into Newgate and then you may go off and have your fun.”
    “Yes, yes, I know.” Fionnula Coralbroom blew the earl a kiss as she skipped out with his henchmen, but the wicked glimmer in her eyes remained the same as when she was a hag.
    Gladwin suddenly felt rather sorry for the prison guards of Newgate. She had no idea what the treacherous siren might do to them.
    As for Derek Stone, she hoped he would find a way to fend off this sneak attack. For if Oxley and Flare succeeded in killing the Guardian, young Jacob didn’t stand a chance.
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The Ghosts of Newgate
     
    As night descended over Newgate Prison, clammy-cold and inky-black, Jake made up his mind that he was going arrow-straight in life. From now on, he would not so much as use a curse word—if only he could somehow get out of this.
    Being in a cage was intolerable to a boy so used to doing what he liked, when he liked, and answering to no one. Although he was pretending to be as nonchalant as the rest of the hard-edged boys who shared his cell, in truth, he was terrified, for even a streetwise pickpocket had much to fear in the dark, dank bowels of Newgate.
    The rough guards. The rats that scurried along the filthy walls. The awful smells that carried fevers.
    And of course, the dozen criminal lads, his cellmates. Unlike him—in Jake’s view—they looked like they belonged here. By the time they fell asleep, he was weary down to his bones from hours of trying to look tough so they would stay away from him. At last, he was the only one left awake and could focus on planning his escape.
    Or so he thought.
    But his cellmates had no sooner dozed off than a whole new round of prisoners started arriving: the dead.
    Countless ghosts of the past prisoners of Newgate began floating through the mighty dungeon that had been their final home.
    Gooseflesh prickled down Jake’s arms; the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he spotted the first translucent figure floating up the hallway, a mysterious orb surrounded by an eerie bluish glow.
    “Oooooo…”
    “Woooooooo!”
    “OOOOOO!”
    Ahh! Jake bit back a shriek, his heart pounding. He backed against the wall by his cot. They were everywhere!
    The dead of Newgate began materializing from out of the walls, as motley a population as had ever been incarcerated. Criminals in life, they made very nasty spirits, moaning and cackling and chasing around after their enemy ghosts.
    A pair of gentlemen duelists from the previous century carried out a swordfight sideways on