A Little Knowledge (46 page)

A standard network voicemail message played after a few rings. Damn! He ended the call, not having planned a message. He could always leave one later. He switched off the phone and put it back where he’d found it. There was nothing to do but go back into the Nether and wait.

• • •

The cemetery was not where Max had planned to spend the rest of his evening. He’d delivered the Viola to his Patroon with a full and damning report of his crimes, gone back to Bath, and filed his report. As he dropped it onto the tray on Kay’s desk he felt a sense of completion, the closest thing he could relate to satisfaction. He knew the Second Sons were gone and that no more innocents would be at risk from them. He had found the man responsible for his father’s death and that of many others and done all he could to see him punished. George Iris would age and die in Mundanus, and Max would make sure he never took another person ever again.

Max hunted for any messages from Kay that might have come via Rupert, but there were none. He planned to go to the Iris Patroon in the morning to ensure the judgement was correct and establish the arrangements for George Iris’s monitored residence in Mundanus. The innocents of Bath were safer that night than they had been in a long time.

Whilst he’d been dealing with the Viola, the gargoyle had gone back to Kay when it realised it had to let Cathy go and do whatever she chose to do. There was no Chapter to give her sanctuary from the Irises, after all. It had waited patiently in the office as Max wrote his report and then came over to him to tell him what Kay had found for them.

His father’s grave.

Kay had bought a potted fern for them before she’d gone home for the evening, and had left it in the sink of the kitchen area for Max to collect if he wanted it.

“I know you think this is a waste of time,” the gargoyle had said to him when it showed him the modest plant. “But it isn’t a waste for me. And given our job, I didn’t feel like putting flowers on his grave.”

Max looked at the plant, trying to understand why taking it from the sink to the other side of town, finding a plot of empty earth, and leaving it on top wasn’t a waste of time. “But there aren’t any remains in the grave. He died in Exilium. The Patroon confirmed it.”

The gargoyle rested its chin on the sink edge. “Can’t you do it for me? I want you to be there. I want to be…whole, when I put these there for him.”

“What about my mother’s grave? Do we have to do the same for hers?”

“She was buried up north. She moved away to be near Jane when she was old. One day I want to go there. She fought for that grave for Dad, when he was declared dead. Kay found a thing on the Google about it. No one’s been to it for years. It doesn’t feel right. We got the bastard that killed him. We did the job. Now I want…I want to tell Dad.”

“But—” Max began, and then stopped. The gargoyle knew as well as he did that there was no one there to tell. He shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do, I suppose.”

So he found himself standing in front of a neglected grave in a forgotten corner of the cemetery, overgrown and strewn with the last clumps of rotting leaves remaining from the autumn. The gargoyle held the potted plant, staring at the stone covered in holly.

It put the pot down and began ripping the holly away, its stone paws immune to the prickles. Max kept a watchful eye as the gargoyle cleared the detritus, ripped out weeds growing at the edges of the gravestone, and then began to gouge the dirt and moss from the engraving on the stone itself with its claws.

“That’s better,” it said, moving back. For the first time, Max could read the words.

JOHN SHAW

1879–1920

LOVING FATHER, HUSBAND, SON

LOVED AND REMEMBERED

The gargoyle put the plant at the base of the stone. “We got him, Dad,” it said, resting its head against the gravestone with a soft clunk. Max took off his hat and rested it over his heart as he waited. After a few minutes the gargoyle turned and saw what he’d done. It nodded at him.

Max remembered the day they’d found Axon, the way the grief had torn through him. He didn’t know if he should invite that back in. The gargoyle reached a paw towards his arm.

“It’s okay,” it said, and at its touch, Max was flooded with a profound sense of peace. Where there had been the most horrific grief at the thought of his mother, there was now a sense of duty done. The sadness was still there, omnipresent, but something had eased. A question that had always gnawed at a deep part of himself, one normally locked away, had been answered.

“Goodbye, Dad,” he whispered.

• • •

Sam heard the crunch of the gravel and a car pulling up to the house as he finished the call with the gatehouse. Looking out of the window, he saw the London black cab they’d allowed in at his request and dashed to the front door before the bell had even been rung.

When he opened it, the cab was parked, its passenger door just opening. Cathy was getting out, promising the driver she was going to find someone to pay, dressed in a black cape over a very fine Nether gown.

“Cathy!” he said, going down the steps in his socks, pausing before he reached the gravel. “I’ll pay the driver, it’s fine.”

She turned to look at him, her hair hanging in strands around her face, which was blotched from crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy but she smiled at the sight of him. She crossed the gravel between them, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please hold me, Sam. Please.”

He didn’t hesitate. Sam wrapped his arms around her and felt her jolt, as if there’d been a build-up of static that discharged between them. Then Cathy sagged into his embrace, and he held her tight as she wept. “It’s okay. You’re here. They can’t touch you now. No one can hurt you now.”

“I tried,” she said into his shoulder. “I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough. And Will—” She broke down.

“What did that fuck do?”

“He made me love him. It wasn’t real, none of it was.” The words dissolved and she sobbed and sobbed. He wrapped his arms tighter, imagining the Earth itself reaching up through him to hold her firm, to be her strength as hers faltered.

“Eleanor…” He paused, wondering if he should bring it up, considering the state she was in. But he had to know what they were going to be dealing with. “Eleanor said you were going to have a baby. Are you…”

“Eleanor said that? They were in it together, then. No, I’m not pregnant. I found out what he was doing to me before that could happen.” She crumpled in his arms. “I ran away, Sam. I said I wouldn’t, but I have and I hate myself.”

“Shush, shush. How could you fight them if they were fucking with you like that? You did the right thing.”

Over her shoulder, he saw the driver winding down his window, about to call. He held up a hand and then a finger, silently telling him he’d be just a minute.

“I’m not giving up,” she said after a few moments. She pulled away just enough to look at his face, still enclosed in the circle of his arms. “I’m going to take them down. I’m going to find a way. I don’t care how hard it is, those bastards can’t carry on treating people this way.”

Sam nodded. “Good. Listen, I need to pay that driver, and then I’m going to introduce you to a new friend of mine. I have the feeling you’re going to find her very interesting.”

“Can I stay, Sam? Just for a little while. Just until I’m on my feet again?”

Sam kissed her on the forehead. “You can stay as long as you like. It’s going to be okay now, Cathy. You’re safe.”

• • •

Will woke with a jolt, the glass slipping from his hand to smash on the hearth. He listened for another knock on the door, thinking that must have been what woke him, but there was nothing.

Something felt wrong. He felt a hollowness inside, an absence he couldn’t explain. His heart was racing. He got up and saw that it was after ten. Cathy still wasn’t back?

He felt the wedding ring with his thumb absentmindedly as he headed for the door. Perhaps she’d just returned and he was woken by the sound of the front door. He stopped, realising that the wedding ring didn’t feel right.

Raising his left hand, Will saw a loose band of wood where his wedding ring had been. The sense of loss sharpened within him and he knew, without doubt, that she was gone. Panicked, he imagined her lying on a Nether road, dead at the hands of the ones who’d attacked her carriage before.

No. Will quashed the fear. It made no sense. She was with the Arbiter, the one who’d warned her, who seemed to care about her well-being. He wouldn’t have just abandoned her to—Will froze, remembering the message from Lord Iron.
I can be with you in a couple of hours, just say the word. You don’t have to stay there…
Iron broke Fae magic—he recalled how she hadn’t let him touch her when he came to the house before, to preserve the magic held in their wedding bands. What if the Arbiter had been a cover, to smuggle her out of the Nether? Into Lord Iron’s arms.

He took a breath to shout for Carter, when his stomach lurched. Lord Iris. He was being summoned.

Will leaned against the arm of the sofa, steadying himself. Of course. He must know something had happened.

Despite the terrible nausea, Will forced himself to walk to the mirror. He pulled the silk from it and looked at himself, pale, distraught, before taking a breath.

“Lord Iris, Lord Iris, Lord Iris.”

The mirror rippled, but instead of revealing a path through Exilium, it showed Lord Iris already there on the other side of the glass. “Speak!” he commanded as Will bowed.

“An Arbiter took my wife from the house whilst I was with the Patroon, my Lord. I’ve been waiting for her to return home, but just now…”

“She disappeared from the reach of my senses,” Lord Iris said. “The link was severed by means other than death.”

Will nodded with relief. “The Arbiter who took Catherine has gone rogue, my Lord. He tried to destroy my father only yesterday on false authority. I suspect Lord Iron is behind both of these attacks on our family, and that’s why your protection was broken. He has my wife, I know it.”

Lord Iris stepped through the mirror, making Will move back in surprise. He took hold of Will’s shoulders, his eyes seizing him just as hard with their intense stare. “She was taken from you and you must get her back. You must tear Albion and England apart until she is in your arms again. For if you don’t, it will drive you mad with longing, consume what is left of your heart, and leave you ghost-like without her. I know this better than any other truth.”

Will heard the pain in his voice and suspected he was speaking of someone else, someone
he’d
lost. “I’ll find her, my Lord. I won’t rest until Catherine is safe by my side, with child, an Iris once more. I swear it.”

I cannot tell you how happy I am to be able to write this, because it means that this book is finally making it out into the world. This is no small thing. This series has suffered practically everything you could throw at it, including serious bereavement, changes in publisher, family illness and two rounds of surgery (on myself, rather than the books!). There was a time when I feared I would never be able to get this book out of my head, let alone into the hands of dear people such as your good self. If there’s anything to be taken away from the past two years, it is this: tea makes everything better. No, wait, I mean: don’t give up.

If thanks could be baked, the following would form a cake about ten miles high: thank you to Jennifer Udden, who has steered this little ship through such stormy and dangerous waters with skill, grace and a magnificent sense of humour.

I would like to thank Laura Duane, previously of Diversion Books, for giving the series safe harbour. Big thanks to Jaime Levine, my new editor at Diversion Books, for being so massively enthusiastic about the series and sending me emails that made me grin. Thanks to the production and publicity team at Diversion Books, including Nita Basu and Christopher Mahon, for giving the series such a splendid new look, smashing the champagne against the side of it and sending it back off into the world again with much fanfare.

Even though he’s not my editor for this series any more, I would still like to thank Lee Harris, without whom the first three books wouldn’t have found such a fantastic and dedicated group of readers.

Of course, this wouldn’t be an acknowledgements without thanks going to my wonderful husband, Peter, and the Bean, both of whom have been very understanding and supportive and generally wonderful. Thank you, my darlings.

A huge thank you to the readers of the first three books who have waited so long for the next part of the story. Your tweets, emails, posts, blogs and gifts have meant the world to me. Thank you so much. And don’t worry, there won’t be such a long wait for the fifth and final book of the series!

And Kate. Still miss you, darling. It was hard sending this out into the world without having read it to you first. But as I wrote, I could still hear you shouting at Will, laughing at Rupert, and commiserating with Cathy. This book is for you, too. I love you. I always will.

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