Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3

by Jordan L. Hawk

  “Of course,” Griffin said.

  “And what about me?” I asked. “Do you want me to come to the docks with you?”

  Griffin winced. “It may not be safe for you,” he said carefully. “If you were to suddenly be overcome by the dweller’s influence…”

  I didn’t like it…but I couldn’t argue, either. “You’re right,” I said unhappily. “I’m a liability now.”

  “No.” He reached out and put his hand over mine, squeezing gently. “Stay here and look through the Arcanorum and folio your father sent.”

  Christine drained her coffee and rose to her feet. “Well, then. I shall see you gentlemen later. Good luck, Griffin. You too, Whyborne. And hold steady: your mind is too fine to waste on some aquatic monster.”

  The tips of my ears grew warm at her compliment. “Thank you.”

  Once she left, I said, “I assume you wish me to stay home so you can bind me to my chair, to prevent me from wandering off in the dweller’s grasp again?”

  Griffin gave me a flirtatious smile. “Well, there is something to be said for the idea of tying you up and having you at my mercy.”

  I shifted in my seat, my trousers suddenly uncomfortably tight. “Be serious.”

  “I don’t think we need to go quite so far as to bind you all day,” he said, sobering. “Do you have any warning before the dweller takes over?”

  “A bit.” I remembered the taste of saltwater in the library, the flickering images from the park.

  “I have a pair of handcuffs. I’ll leave them with you, and take the key with me. If you find yourself falling under its influence, cuff yourself immediately to something heavy.”

  “Oh.” It seemed as good a plan as any.

  He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, before rising to his feet. “And if you don’t have to use them, we’ll keep them out for later.”

  ~ * ~

  A few hours later, I sat in the study, pouring over both the notes from the Brotherhood and the Arcanorum in hopes of finding something, anything, which might thwart the dweller’s followers. The handcuffs lay on the desk beside my books, a constant reminder the creature might reach out to me at any moment. Was its influence stronger at times, perhaps correlating with the tides? Or had my ability to eventually lock it out of my mind convinced it to find other, easier prey?

  Despite what Griffin said, in truth, I was a liability. What if we should find some method of putting a halt to the Eyes’ plans, and, at the moment I was most needed, the dweller should take over? What if it succeeded in doing more than it had so far, of truly turning me into its puppet?

  What if Griffin was hurt because of me?

  No. I couldn’t allow it to happen. There had to be a way to stop the creature, and I would find it. I had to.

  And if I didn’t? If the visions grew worse, stronger? If it turned me into a slave, or broke my mind, leaving me a raving lunatic?

  I tried to return my concentration to my reading, but it proved difficult. Saul wandered in and curled up in my lap, but even his purr failed to soothe my nerves. How long would I have to sit here helplessly and wonder?

  A knock on the door startled me from my thoughts.

  Odd. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Perhaps Griffin had discovered something and sent me a message, asking me to come to him?

  Dislodging Saul from my lap, I went to the door. On the other side stood the sailor who’d attacked me in the park yesterday, a bruise shadowing his jaw where James Kerr had struck him.

  I tried to slam the door in his face, but he was too quick for me. “There’ll be none of that, Dr. Whyborne,” he said, leering at the sight of my fear. “We tried to do this the easy way, but ye wouldn’t cooperate. Yer choice, but I’m thinking yer friend wishes ye’d picked the other option.”

  My heart thudded. My friend? Griffin? Did they have Griffin?

  A carriage sat at the curb. At the sailor’s signal, someone threw open the door so I could see inside. Another man, this one dressed like an attendant from the asylum, sat inside. Beside him, pale and terrified, was James Kerr.

  “We saw him at the park with ye,” the sailor said. “So the boss hopes his life is important to ye. Myself, I’m hoping it ain’t, because then my friend gets to put a bullet in the geezer’s head.” He rubbed his jaw.

  I stood frozen, staring at the man who had broken Griffin’s heart only a few hours ago. Who had thrown away the only son he’d ever had, for no other reason than Griffin had fallen in love with me.

  I hated him for the tears I’d wiped from Griffin’s eyes. For not caring he’d raised a good, brave man.

  But I couldn’t let him die.

  “Very well,” I said. “Take me to your master.”

  Chapter 20

  The attendant drove back to Stormhaven, lashing the horse the entire way. I sat beside Kerr, our abductors across from us. A jolt knocked the older man into me, but when I reached to steady him, he pulled sharply away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Don’t worry. It will be fine.” I rather suspected it wouldn’t be fine at all, but felt I had to say something.

  I received a glare in return. “What have you involved my boy in?”

  “Keep it quiet.” The sailor waved a knife leisurely in my direction. “That goes double for ye. Ye done for George with his own gun. Try to cast a spell on me, I’ll cut yer bloody tongue out.”

  I obeyed, but my mind raced, searching for any way out. At least Nella and Ruth hadn’t been taken. Had the cult chosen James because the police would more quickly investigate the disappearance of a respectable woman? Or had he simply been convenient?

  Thank God they hadn’t taken Griffin. I could only pray nothing happened to reveal his disguise.

  What would he think, when he returned home to find me gone? That the dweller had taken me, mind and body? Surely, Mrs. Kerr would turn to him for help finding her husband, wouldn’t she? Would Griffin realize our disappearances were related, or would he put it down to coincidence?

  The carriage rounded a bend, jolting through potholes. The weather had turned breezy, and I caught glimpses of the sea far below, the waves lashed to whitecaps well out into the bay. The scent of salt water and dead things reached me even here…or was it yet another sending from the dweller?

  No. I clenched my hands, driving my nails into my palms to center myself. I would not let it into my mind; I would not let it plant visions in my head. I wouldn’t. Not now, not when any distraction could doom both Kerr and myself.

  The gates of Stormhaven loomed up before us, opening to welcome the carriage, then shutting with a clang behind us. As the driver came to a halt near the steps, the door swung open, disgorging several attendants.

  I tried to think of some way to fight back, but with Kerr hostage, no solutions came to mind. I had to trust an opportunity would present itself within the asylum, so I didn’t resist when they hauled me roughly from the carriage. They hustled us both inside. Kerr tried to protest, yelling they couldn’t do this, that his wife would have the police arrest them all. A blow silenced him.

  “How brave, to strike an old man,” I said with an outrage I hoped covered the fear pounding through my blood.

  “We’ll do a lot worse to you,” the attendant sneered. “Take the geezer to the ward and lock him up where he can’t cause trouble. It’s the fourth floor for this one.”

  I cursed, digging in my heels, but they dragged me relentlessly to the stairs. Where were the other doctors? Dead? Enslaved? If I called for help, did anyone remain to answer my pleas—assuming they didn’t put it down to the ravings of yet another lunatic?

  Or would anyone even hear me over the screams already filling the air? Shrieks echoed all around, from every floor. Did the patients feel the coming of the dweller?

  The cries grew louder as we reached the fourth floor. The attendants unlocked the door onto the ward and dragged me inside. The ward somehow seemed even worse in the daylight. The stench of waste and sweat filled the close, late-summer air
, and I struggled not to gag. Chains rattled and beds creaked, and sobs and moans mingled with the shrieks of terror.

  Zeiler awaited us, amidst the painted swirls and arcane symbols decorating the floor, ceiling, and walls. At the sight of me, his mouth twisted into a triumphant smile which turned my blood cold. “Dr. Whyborne,” he said. “So kind of you to join us at last.”

  “What do you want with me?” I demanded. My voice shook, despite my best efforts to hold steady.

  Zeiler stepped closer. “I want to show you something,” he said. Drawing forth his pocket watch, he held it up, letting it spin and catch the light.

  Had the touch of the dweller driven the man mad? What on earth did he mean by this? And yet…there was something oddly fascinating about the way it swung, how it glittered in the light.

  “That’s it. Relax,” Zeiler murmured. “Listen to my voice.”

  There was an odd symbol cast on the watchcase. An eye?

  Something pressed against me, but it wasn’t a true physical force. Something pushing, nudging, carried on the sound of Zeiler’s sonorous tone straight into my brain. “My voice is all that exists. Let go. I know you’re troubled. Who among us is not? But I can take the pain away. The regret.”

  My shoulders slumped beneath the weight of those regrets. I had cost Griffin his family. If Kerr died here, he would lose even more. And now Griffin was off somewhere and I didn’t know where, and if the cult had caught him…

  “I know you’ve carried burdens, which would break any man,” Zeiler went on. The watch twisted and turned, and found I no longer wished to look away. “Lay them down and let me take them for you. How wonderful it will be to allow someone else to make the hard choices.”

  A feeling of relief flooded me. I could stop fighting. Stop worrying. Rest. Let Zeiler make all the decisions…

  No.

  “Just let go and let me tell you what to do.”

  To the devil with that. I hadn’t let my father tell me what to do. Why should I let this man, this monster who had imprisoned Griffin in an asylum, who had tried to kill us, do so in his stead?

  “Let go.”

  “No!” I tore my gaze from the pocket watch, feeling it like a physical effort. Fear coursed through me, diluting anger, and I stumbled back into the attendant behind me.

  Zeiler took a step back, his eyes going wide in surprise, before narrowing in anger. “I see. It would have saved us all a great deal of trouble had you cooperated, Dr. Whyborne. But that’s been the case from the beginning.”

  I forced my shoulders straight, horribly aware of the attendant behind me and of the other two in front. Perhaps I could use the wind spell to knock them aside and make a run for it? But the doors were all locked, and the alarm would surely spread quickly. Not to mention they’d still have Kerr in their hands.

  Still, I had to do something. If I could just stun them, maybe I could find a weapon and turn the tables by taking Zeiler hostage.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked, buying time while I began to trace the sigil on my palm, I hoped discreetly. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a sorcerer when we first met,” Zeiler said. “But you made a mistake, when you encountered my men alone on the street. You left one alive to tell the tale of how you conjured fire from the air and made his comrade’s gun explode in his hand. I’m sure your father is very proud of you.”

  The devil? “My father?”

  Zeiler arched a brow. “Jones, please stop Dr. Whyborne from casting a spell.”

  The attendant behind me roughly seized my arms. I kicked back at him and tried to struggle, but his hands were like iron. One of the other men stepped up and slugged me in the jaw.

  My head snapped back, and stars spangled my vision. My head swam from the blow, and I couldn’t summon the concentration for even the simple fire spell.

  “Let go!” I choked out, struggling pointlessly in their grasp.

  “The Brotherhood looked down on me,” Zeiler said, as if there had been no interruption to our conversation. “They thought my lineage wasn’t good enough to join them. Oh, I didn’t know it at first. I was a naïve fool.

  “My father captained a whaling ship, but when he died, it destroyed our family. We almost starved—my youngest sister did starve! The Eyes of Nodens helped—they look after their own, but they are not by and large wealthy men themselves. But I persevered and clawed my way out of the gutter. I became a respected man, a doctor, and, at last, the superintendent of this very asylum.”

  His face darkened. “But none of my accomplishments mattered to the Brotherhood. They used me, and I let myself be used, waiting for my reward. But there was no reward save contempt. They—your father—looked down on me for my heritage, no different than the men who kicked my mother when she begged on the street, no different than the ones who let my sister starve.”

  “My father,” I started to say, but the attendant cuffed me on my aching head.

  “Will die screaming,” Zeiler said with a malevolent grin. “The Eyes value me. They know I can help them to greatness. Behold.” He gestured to the sigils and swirls. “The electro-therapeutic cabinet inspired me. All those individual cells, linked together to generate a powerful current. Could I not to the same with the minds of those already attuned to the touch of the dweller in the deep? Could I not link them together and turn Stormhaven itself into a giant psychic battery, capable of bringing the god onto land?”

  Damn it. I knew this electrical craze would be the death of me. “And then what?” I asked, surprised my voice didn’t shake with fear. “What possible good can come of this?”

  Zeiler laughed. “With a god at my command? Your imagination must be very limited indeed, Dr. Whyborne. My word will be law, and men will bow before me. I will raise up the Eyes, reward them for their service, and cast down everyone who spat on us. Starting with your father.” He took a step closer to me, his eyes burning with a mad light. “But my psychic battery isn’t finished. Unlike a chemical battery, it requires a special type of mind to complete the circuit. Someone whose will has been shaped by the use of sorcery. Imagine my joy when I discovered not only could I finish my great work, but I’d use Niles Whyborne’s own son to do it.”

  Oh God. I had to get away, before they used me to create horror. Had I thought myself a liability earlier? The truth was far worse. If I didn’t escape, I’d be responsible for the deaths of everyone I’d ever loved.

  I redoubled my struggles, striving to bite or kick. One of the attendants swore and struck me across the back of the head, adding a new burst of pain to my already aching skull.

  “You believe it a good thing you resisted mesmerization better than that fool Allan?” Zeiler asked; it was hard to hear him through the ringing in my ears. “I assure you, we have other ways of breaking your will. Gentlemen, take him to one of the seclusion cells and calm him down. I’ll prepare the injection.”

  Injection? Did he mean the oculares potion? Dear heavens, the dweller already entered my mind far too easily—what would an injection to do me?

  I fought them with all my strength, but they routinely handled far more violent men than myself, and easily dragged me down the reeking hall, past the other inmates. Screams and howls rose from every room, the madmen struggling against their bindings or slamming into the doors, as if in a panic to get out before the monster in their dreams erupted into reality.

  My jailers flung open a door to a windowless room with a sink. Tiles covered the walls, and a drain pierced the center of the floor. Chains hung from walls and ceiling and curled across the floor. The attendants finally released me with a shove, which sent me into the wall.

  “Strip,” one of them ordered.

  I spun and faced them, my breathing growing faster. “Wh-what?”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “No!” I gathered my feet under me and tried to run past them, but found myself seized again. One of them locked his arm around m
y neck; I clawed and fought, but the pressure was relentless, and my consciousness faded before it. Just before blackness entirely clouded my vision, he let up; while I gasped and wheezed for breath, I felt hands on me, stripping first my jacket, then fumbling at the buttons of my vest.

  “Be careful—he’s got some nice stuff,” said the man who had been strangling me. I struggled, and he tightened his arm again, as casually as if he did this every day. “Maybe we can get a good penny for it.”

  Perhaps they did do this every day; at any rate, in a frighteningly short time, they removed every stitch of clothing from my body. While I gasped for breath, they snapped manacles around my wrists and ankles. I swayed, but the chains attached to my arms kept me from falling. I found myself standing naked, arms out, my legs slightly spread.

  Before I had time to feel anything besides utter humiliation spiked with terror, one of the attendants took a rubber hose from the sink and attached it to the spigot. A moment later, a jet of ice-cold water hit me full on. Every muscle went tense on instinct, my chest seized, and I choked on the spray. I twisted my head desperately to one side, trying to keep the stream away from my nose and mouth so I could breathe, and ended up with an earful of cold water.

  I strove to concentrate on the water spell, to turn their weapon back on them. I felt the water’s weight on my skin, tasted it in my mouth. It began to curl around me, taking form…

  “There’ll be none of that, Dr. Whyborne,” Zeiler said. One of the attendants hit me again, breaking my concentration, and the water splashed harmlessly to the ground.

  The drenching seemed to go on forever, until I shook so hard I could barely keep my weight from depending fully on the chains. My teeth chattered, and my thoughts turned sluggish. I couldn’t get enough breath, and my toes burned in the cold runoff rushing to the drain.