Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

to keep. Probably the address
belongs to a brothel. Or a bathhouse.”
    “No,” Griffin said absently.
    “You would know,” I muttered.
    “It’s something of my job to know these things,” he said
with a small smile. “Especially the locations of houses of prostitution,
saloons, and other places people routinely get themselves into trouble. And if
the bathhouse addresses once held a special interest, I didn’t have the chance to
visit before someone seduced me too thoroughly for them to hold any
allure.”
    I snorted. “How terrible of me.”
    “Quite.” He leaned against me, hip touching my thigh. We
both knew it was something of a lie—the cruel abuse of the attendants at
the lunatic asylum, where he’d been unjustly confined, had naturally made him
reluctant to submit to the touch of another. Until, apparently, me. “But no. I
don’t think it a trick. I may not know Guinevere, but I detected honest worry
in her voice. I think she’s afraid.”
    “Of what?”
    “That, only she can tell us.” Griffin turned to me. “You
should probably return to the guests. I can slip out on my own easily enough.”
    “No.” I slid an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.
“I’d rather make my escape with you. Let them wonder where I went. Besides, I
believe I owe you something in return for all you gave me earlier.”
    His pupils dilated, and his mouth curved in a hungry smile.
“Hmm. Then by all means, let’s hurry home.”

Chapter 3
     
    The next morning, I sat in the largest of the meeting rooms
of the Nathaniel R. Ladysmith Museum, trying to pay attention to the droning of
the museum director and having little success.
    Dr. Hart frequently called all-staff meetings, which,
despite the name, excluded the secretaries, janitorial staff, and librarians.
Unfortunately, the rest of us were condemned to attend, even when the matter
had little to do with our particular jobs. Usually the subject was some sort of
scheme meant to elicit more money from the donors.
    Today’s was no different. Dr. Hart paced back and forth at
the front of the room, his enthusiasm combining with his mustache to make him
look like an overly excited walrus. “Private tours,” he said. “Just the thing
for Hallowe’en. We will sell tickets at a price that will ensure exclusivity
and, of course, offer first choice to our most generous donors.”
    I sat beside my colleague—and, other than Griffin,
best friend—Dr. Christine Putnam. We each had a notepad in front of us
and a pen in hand, in order to appear to be taking notes.
    How is Iskander? I wrote on my paper.
    She glanced at my notepad, then wrote: Still languishing
in Kent, attempting to get the estate in order before coming here.
    I suppose he anticipates a prolonged stay in America,
then.
    She smiled rather smugly at her paper. No doubt. How
was the party last night?
    Abominable .
    “There will be special displays,” Dr. Hart went on in the
background.
    That goes without saying, she wrote back. And your
magical research?
    Griffin disapproved of my dabbling in sorcery. So I hadn’t
yet told him I’d decided to make it a serious study. Christine had fewer
concerns, and I felt a bit freer to discuss the details with her. Do you
recall the line of arcane power in the earth, which led us to the Fane of
Nyarlathotep in Egypt?
    Of course I do—don’t be absurd.
    “The Ladysmith has the largest collection of cursed items of
any museum in America,” Dr. Hart declared with pride.
    Griffin asked if Widdershins was a place of power, like
the fane. So I decided to find out if I could sense any lines of power here.
    Can you without the wand?
    “Tour groups of four or five persons, led through the museum
by a personal guide, with only a few judiciously placed candles to highlight
the cursed objects. Of course, since these tickets will be expensive, all tours
will be given by our expert staff members.”
    Yes, I wrote . It took me some time, and I have to
concentrate, but I learned