by R. L. King
“Or even thought he might betray them,” Ian added. “It sounds like none of these guys really trusted each other very much.”
“But that still doesn’t explain how Brathwaite might be doing all this, though,” Stone said. “He’s dead. You lot saw his body sealed up in that pedestal—assuming it was him at all, of course, but even if it wasn’t, even mages aren’t immortal. We live longer than mundanes, but not three hundred years. If he’s not dead here, he’s dead somewhere.”
“Doc…” Verity ventured.
“Yes?”
“I’m just wondering…in Poppy’s dream, she said she felt that hatred, and also felt like she was in that round room. That’s what led us to Brathwaite in the first place. Is it possible…I know you said mages don’t make echoes, but is it possible this time one did?”
Stone narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t thought of that, and with good reason: as he’d told Verity, he’d never heard of a case where a mage, even a powerful one like William Desmond with definite reasons for wanting to stay behind, had left an echo.
But…it did fit.
“I…suppose it’s possible,” he said.
“If it is Brathwaite, could he have animated those skeletons and sent them after us, even as a ghost?” Jason asked.
Stone looked at Eddie and Ward.
Eddie shrugged. “Maybe so. Mage echoes are rare as ’ens’ teeth, but I’ve read a few accounts of them from a long time back. They’re said to retain a lot more of their mental capacities and free will than a standard mundane echo, which means it’s possible they can still do magic. Who knows if it’s true, though? If there are any around, they’re not talkin’.”
“Maybe we need to track this one down and talk to it,” Jason said.
Stone got up and began pacing, pausing to look out the window. “Easier said than done. The sacrifices’ echoes are probably bound to my house, but Brathwaite most likely isn’t. And even if he is, do you think he’d talk to us? I wouldn’t, if I were him. I’d be too busy trying to work out another scheme to get revenge on us. That’s the thing about echoes—even hypothetical mage echoes. They still aren’t fully-formed human…souls, as it were. I’ll wager even if he retains more volition and your standard echo, he’s still obsessed with whatever made him stay behind in the first place—revenge for what he perceives as a betrayal.”
“If they murdered him, it might well have been a betrayal,” Ward pointed out.
“Okay,” Eddie said, closing the journal. “So let’s look at what we’ve got ’ere, based on our current ’ypotheses. The echoes are still at the ’ouse and they’re still angry, so they didn’t pop into their skeletons and go on walkabout last night, and they weren’t destroyed or sent on to the other side when the skeletons crumbled. We’ve also potentially got a new echo, which might or might not be Brathwaite, which is definitely angry, and which might or might not ’ave animated the skeletons and sent them after us.”
“We’ve still got whatever was imprisoned inside that small room,” Stone said. “And we haven’t got a bloody idea about what it is, where it is, or if it even existed at all.”
“That’s true,” Verity said. “If Brathwaite is behind the skeletons, and the echoes are possessing the house because they’re pissed off at the Stones, that doesn’t give any indication at all where the thing from the sealed room is involved in this, or even if it is at all.”
“What, you think it just broke out of there and took off?” Jason asked.
Stone shrugged. “Possibly. I have to admit I hope it did, because we’ve got enough to be getting on with, without adding something possibly more powerful than the rest of this stuff combined that’s also trying to kill us.” He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. “So what’s our next course of action? We’ve got a lot of angles to pursue here.”
“I think we should try to find out more about Brathwaite,” Eddie said. “It’s possible whatever the ‘fiend’ was in that sealed room, it’s lying in wait so it can pounce on us when we’re not expectin’ it, but we still don’t have any evidence it either exists or specifically wants to kill any of us. But if Brathwaite’s echo is out there, it’s certain ’e won’t quit until ’e’s got ’is revenge. We need to stop ’im.”
“Do you think stopping him would stop the other echoes?” Jason asked.
“Honestly?” Ward shook his head. “No.”
“But they were afraid of him,” Ian said. “Maybe he’s controlling them.”
“Doubtful,” Stone said. “Whether he and my ancestors got on or not, he was still a member of Ordo Purpuratus, the organization that thought nothing of sacrificing mundanes whenever they needed a bit of extra punch. Mundane echoes buried alive won’t feel charitable toward him in any case, and I doubt he was powerful enough to control the lot of them against their will.” He sighed. “But that doesn’t leave us in a very good place. Where are we going to find Brathwaite? We can’t do another séance—I don’t want to put Poppy at risk again, even if she’d be willing.”
“Might be able to ’elp you with that, mate,” Eddie said thoughtfully. “At least for a start.”
“How? Do you have any ideas where to find him?”
“Not necessarily. But I might be able to find where his ’ouse was.”
“His house?” Verity asked, frowning. “What good will that do? If it’s been two hundred years since he died, it must have changed hands dozens of times—if it even still exists at all.”
But Stone smiled. “Oh, I’m sure it exists. Brathwaite was as wealthy as the rest of the Ordo, which means he likely had an estate somewhere. We Brits never tear down historical old buildings, unless they’re crumbling around our ears. Sometimes not even then.”
“So? You think it’s still in his family?” Ian asked. “After this long?”
“Doesn’t matter. Either way, it’s entirely possible it’s got some hidden areas the current residents know nothing about. Even if we can’t find him there, we might find some clues to what he’s been up to.”
“And you think the people who live there will just let you poke around looking for those clues?”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Stone turned to Eddie. “First things first, though. Do you think you can find the place?”
The librarian snorted. “Easy-peasy. Give me a few hours at the library with Arthur’s ’elp, and we should ’ave somethin’ for ya soon enough.”
27
By the time Eddie called back, it was already dark. Stone woke from his doze when his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Yes?” he demanded. “Have you got anything?”
The librarian chuckled. “Oh ye of little faith. I ’ope you got some kip today, because I doubt I’ll be able to stop you from runnin’ off after this as soon as I give you the details.”
Stone hadn’t intended to sleep, which was why he was on the sofa in the sitting room instead of up in his bedroom like Ian, Verity, and Jason, but apparently he’d been more tired than he’d thought. He sat up, trying to work the knots out of his muscles. “So give me the details, Eddie. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“It actually took a fair bit more diggin’ than I thought to get through all the records. I ’ad to call in a few favors from mates to get access to some o’ this stuff.”
“Eddie…”
“Yeah, yeah. It took Ward and me hours to get this—you can wait a couple minutes. Anyway, as it turns out, Brathwaite’s family did have an estate, in the Cotswolds. Big spread, apparently.”
“Did?” Stone rubbed his chin. He needed a shave, and a nice long shower. “So they don’t have it anymore? Or it doesn’t exist anymore?”
“Oh, it exists. But it’s not in the family. The Brathwaites didn’t build it, as it turns out. Rumor ’as it that they—possibly with the assistance of other wealthy mage associates—drove the original family out if it sometime in the early sixteen-’undreds. That’s just a rumor, mind you, but they did take it over for some reason. Possibly the original family couldn’t affo
rd to keep it any longer.”
“All right…but you said it’s not in Brathwaite’s family anymore.”
“No. I found references to a few family members—that’s part of what I ’ad to ask some mates about. There’s some bird in Basingstoke, an old lady in a care home in London, and some even older bloke in the U.S., but near’s I can figure none of them are mages, and whatever wealth the Brathwaites might’ve ’ad back in the day is mostly gone now. I think the magical bloodline died out a long time ago—either that or they lost track of their magical ’eritage and never learned they ’ad the potential for the Talent. But that’s neither ’ere nor there—you want details about the ’ouse.”
“Yes. And while I’m still young, please,” Stone said dryly.
“Oh, forgive me, Your Lordship.” Eddie’s grin came through in his mock-airy tone. “Ward and I slave all day over a load of dusty old books while you get your beauty sleep, and this is the thanks we get.”
“Like I could have prised you away from those books with a crowbar and a block of Semtex.”
“That’s beside the point. Do you want the info, or not?”
“Please, Eddie.”
“Surprised the ’ell out of me, it did, but as it turns out—the place is a school now.”
Stone sat up straighter. “A school?”
“Yep. Place called Crofton Academy. ’Ave you ’eard of it?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar. Tell me.”
“Posh place. Small, but expensive. Boys only. Been operatin’ since the mid eighteen-’undreds.”
“That’s…fascinating information. But why did you expect I’d be excited about it? If it’s been a school for that long, odds are good that even if Brathwaite had left anything there, it’s long gone by now.”
“Not necessarily. I ’aven’t told you the interestin’ part yet.”
Stone sighed, wondering if this was how Jason and Verity felt when he drew out a good story for best effect. “Eddie…”
“Fine, fine. So I took the liberty of trackin’ down a Crofton alum—bloke who left there about ten years ago. Pretended to be a reporter doin’ research on the place for an article I’m writin’.”
“What did he tell you?”
“I told ’im I was on a long deadline, puttin’ together a ’Alloween piece on alleged ’auntings in old properties. Asked if ’e’d ever ’eard any rumors of spooky stuff goin’ on at Crofton.”
Stone struggled not to roll his eyes. “Eddie, every old public school has rumors like that. Bloody hell, Barrow was rumored to have anywhere from three to eight individual ghosts, at least four suspicious deaths, and a hanging.”
“Yes, well…you’d be right, most likely, except for two things.”
“And those are…?” Though he was growing tired of Eddie drawing the story out, he leaned forward in anticipation. His friend might be guilty of stretching his tales for maximum impact, but they were never dull. Unless he was talking about football, anyway.
“First one is, the main building at Crofton—the one that used to be the main house when it was Brathwaite’s estate—has a ley line runnin’ right through the middle of it.”
“That’s not surprising, is it? A lot of old properties owned by mages have those.”
“Nope, not surprisin’. But when coupled with the fact that there aren’t any rumors of strange things bein’ found in the ’ouse, and one other interestin’ bit of information, it gives me an idea of somethin’ to check out.”
“And what’s this other interesting bit of information?”
“The previous owners of the ’ouse—the ones who ’ad it before Brathwaite, and who ’is family may or may not ’ave driven out—were Catholic.”
The triumphant flourish in Eddie’s tone suggested to Stone that he should have caught on to his friend’s line of reasoning. But given that he’d barely darkened the door of a church except for weddings and funerals since he was a child, and his secular study of religion and the history surrounding it had ended during his undergraduate days at University, the answer eluded him. “Eddie, I slept on the couch, I’ve got a stiff neck, and I need a shower. Could you get to the point, please?”
“Aw, c’mon, Stone. Surely you must’ve heard of priest ’oles? Didn’t they teach you nothin’ in that ’igh-class education of yours?”
“Er—” Once again it seemed a bit familiar, but not enough to recall. “Sounds like something scandalous involving altar boys.”
“You’re a riot, mate.”
Stone got up and began to pace. “All right, then—so what’s a ‘priest hole,’ and why do you think it’s relevant to whatever Brathwaite might have left behind?”
“That’s more like it. And as a reward, I won’t give you the full answer to that question, because it could take a good hour. It’s fascinatin’ stuff, it is, but I doubt you’ll share my enthusiasm.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Short version: surely you know that back during the reign of Elizabeth the First at the end o’ the fifteen-’undreds, it was illegal to be Catholic in England?”
“Well, yes, of course. Even I couldn’t have slept through that much of history class.”
“Right. So wealthy Catholic families brought in priests to live with ’em, pretendin’ they were distant cousins or teachers or whatever. But when even that got too dangerous, they built little concealed ’idey-’oles in their ’ouses. That way, when the Queen sent out priest-’unters to look for ’em, they could ’ide there until the ’eat blew over.”
Now that Eddie explained, Stone did remember hearing something about such things during his days at Barrow. “And…you think there’s one of these holes at Crofton Academy? Wouldn’t someone have found it by now?”
“It makes sense there is, since the previous owners were Catholic. That might even be why they got run out—somebody, maybe even Brathwaite’s family, found out and ratted ’em out. But in any case, the architects who built the priest ’oles knew their stuff.” He chuckled. “The most famous of ’em, a bloke called Nicholas Owen, got canonized as the patron saint of illusionists. Go figure. Anyway, they’re still occasionally findin’ the ’oles to this day—and if Brathwaite’s people found one when they took the ’ouse over, they might’ve used magic to make it even ’arder to locate. It would make a great place to ’ide secret stuff, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose it would,” Stone conceded. “But that’s still a bit of a reach. I can’t very well break into the place and start poking about looking for hidden passages, can I?”
“Maybe you can. The school’s closed for summer break, so there won’t be many folks around. And I didn’t tell you what Darvin Cooley told me.”
“Who the hell is Darvin Cooley?”
Eddie made a dramatic sigh. “Do follow along, Stone. He’s the bloke I talked to. The alum.”
“You didn’t tell me his name, you prat.”
“I thought a genius like you’d be bright enough to infer it from context.”
“Sod off, Eddie. So…” he continued more patiently, “what did Darvin Cooley tell you?”
“That a supply room in the west wing of the main buildin’s rumored to be ’aunted.”
“Haunted.”
“Yep. It’s locked most o’ the time and they don’t let any o’ the kids in ’cept the prefects when they need to fetch somethin’ from inside, but there’s stories about how sometimes when somebody goes in there, they feel this sense of dread and…evil. Not my words—that’s what Cooley said. He thinks it’s bollocks, ’imself.”
“And you don’t?”
“I would’ve,” Eddie admitted. “Except that we didn’t know until now that Brathwaite might’ve been up to some pretty nasty stuff. If he left anythin’ behind that was never found, that’d be a good place for it to be. It’s possible there’s psychic energy leakin’ off it, and that’s what the more sensitive o’ those kids are pickin’ up on.”
Stone sighed. “You make a good case, I suppose.
It’s worth a look, at any rate.”
“Not plannin’ to take the whole crew up there for a spot o’ B and E, though, are you?”
“Is that your diplomatic way of telling me you don’t want to come along?”
Eddie chuckled. “I’m a librarian, mate, not a burglar, and I’m sure Ward will feel the same. But if you really want me to—”
“No, no, that’s all right. I’ll talk to the others.”
“If you find anything, though, please bring it back and let us ’ave a butcher’s at it. I’m dyin’ o’ curiosity ’ere, I ’ope you know.”
“You can’t die of curiosity, Eddie. If you could, you’d have been dead before I met you.”
“Look who’s talkin’.”
“Yes, well…anyway, thank you for the information. I’m not sure whether I hope you’re right or you’re not, but I suppose we’ll know before too long.”
“Be careful, Stone.” Eddie sounded more serious now.
“What, you don’t think I can do this? Believe me, I’ve broken into far more dangerous places than some old school.”
“It’s not the school I’m worried about. It’s whatever you might find ’idden there.”
28
Stone gathered Verity, Jason, and Ian in the sitting room for what he was sure would be an unpopular announcement. He started by explaining what Eddie had told him about Crofton Academy.
“So,” Verity said when he finished, “you want us go up there, break in to some old school, and try to find this priest hole or whatever? You really think there’s something there?”
“It sounds like there could be. Possibly not a priest hole, but the fact that more than one person has picked up so-called ‘evil’ feelings in that closet suggests there might be something to it. But here’s the thing,” he added, bracing for protest. “We can’t all go.”
