The Lost Heir (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1) (29 page)

Jake, of course, in his magical trance had no choice but to follow. But as soon as the earl paid the cab driver and began escorting the now-limping Fionnula toward the side door of the house, a shout from beyond the gates took them by surprise. Other voices joined in.

“Quickly! There he is! Sir! Lord Griffon!”

“Hurry—he’s back! My lord!”

“A word with you, please!”

Waldrick turned, blanching to find a small stampede of newspapermen rushing toward them, reporters in tweed caps, with their scribble pads at the ready. They had even brought along two fellows with large, clunky cameras to take pictures. Egads! He usually loved the attention, but this was rather a bad time.

“Gentlemen, I can’t imagine why you would bother me at this hour,” he exclaimed, pushing Fionnula and Jake nervously behind him and shoving them toward the side door that led from under the portico into the house.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir! It’s just that we’ve been waiting all day for you to come home!”

“Why?”

“Wal
-drick!”
Fionnula called frantically.

“Jake, take the lady inside,” he clipped out. Jove’s beard, he could not have the sea-hag turning into her true hideous form in front of these photographers.

At once, obediently, his spellbound nephew took Fionnula’s elbow and steered her toward the door.

“Is that the boy there?” A man with a large camera pushed his way from the back and nearly blinded Waldrick snapping a picture, quite without permission.

“What is the meaning of this?” Waldrick exclaimed, offended.

“I’m from the
Times
, sir!”

“Well, I’m from the
Post
,” his rival said. “We’d love to have a comment from you if we might on today’s amazing headlines. It doesn’t go on sale ‘til dawn, but we’ve all heard the news. It’s sure to cause a sensation.”

“Talk of the town!” the other agreed, nodding. “So, any comment from you, sir?”

Jake finally got Fionnula inside, while Waldrick struggled to keep his mask of calm control in place. In truth, he was bewildered. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but you have the advantage of me. I don’t know what ‘news’ you are referring to. I have been out of town for the past few days. I have not seen the papers.” He lifted his eyebrows politely in question.

One of the men held up an advance copy of the morning paper, soon to go on sale. “Here it is, my lord! Hot off the presses!”

Waldrick’s gaze homed in on the giant black letters across the front page: LONG-LOST GRIFFON HEIR FOUND ALIVE!

He read the headline three times swiftly and felt the blood drain from his face.

Their questions hammered his ears, but for Waldrick, the world began to spin. Dizzying rage coursed through his veins, so strong it threatened to come pouring out of his ears in the form of steam.

How could this be? The old woman! Of course! Lady Bradford. Curses on that sly old witch! He’d get her for this. Somehow, Waldrick managed to mask his fury.

“Was that boy you had with you just now your long-lost nephew, sir?”

“Can we snap his picture, sir?”

“You must be so relieved to have him back!”

“How is his condition? When do you plan to introduce him to Society?”

“Will you be giving a Welcome Home Ball in his honor, perhaps?”

“W-what? Well—yes—of course,” Waldrick stammered, cursing his reputation for hosting lavish parties. “With all the excitement of finding my dear, dear nephew at last, I-I had forgotten. Now then, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must go and see to my nephew. As you can imagine, poor little Jacob has been through a great ordeal. I’m sure you understand. The boy’s been through so much. It’s been a very long and trying day.”

“We understand, my lord,” said the chap from the
Times
.

The
Post
writer elbowed his rival. “It’s not ‘my lord’ anymore, if you’ll pardon,” the man added, giving Waldrick a respectful nod. “The boy is the rightful Earl of Griffon now, which means we should address you as ‘Mr. Everton’ from now on. Isn’t that right, sir?”

Mr. Everton?!
Waldrick stared at the reporter, aghast.

Why, he had half a mind to club the impertinent fellow over the head with the nearest heavy camera. But he stopped himself in the nick of time. It would not do to ruin his image now.

“That is correct, isn’t it, sir?” another waiting journalist prompted. “You will have to give up the title now that your older brother’s heir has been found.”

Waldrick glanced around at them, dry-mouthed. His heart was pounding. So much for putting Jacob in a cage! Now that the world had found out about him, the game had just grown a lot more difficult. This was a terrible setback. But perhaps not a total disaster, if he could find some way to turn it to his advantage…

With all the newspaper parasites hanging on his every word, he knew he must answer very carefully. He must not let his fury show. He had spent years building up his reputation in Society as a great philanthropist and humanitarian. Of course, it was easy to give away gold when you had an endless supply. The gift was basically meaningless. But the world admired him for it,
and
, he realized, they would admire him even more if he played his hand right. He could be the picture of noble gallantry, the devoted uncle and legal guardian of the poor, orphaned boy.

Waldrick Everton, unselfish hero.

Now there was a headline!

After all, the brat could always meet with an unfortunate accident later, in a year or so, after the fuss died down. Fortunately, the Oboedire spell gave him total control over the kid, so at least he could rest assured that Jake wouldn’t cause any trouble.

Yes, Waldrick thought. He wasn’t amused by this turn of events, but he could make it work.

“Will you give us a comment, sir?”

“Of course.” He drew on all his theatrical talents to summon up a benevolent smile for the sake of the reporters. “We haven’t had a chance yet to work out all the details pertaining to my nephew’s miraculous return. Right now, we are just focused on taking care of Jacob. We are so glad to have our precious lad back in the bosom of his family, where he belongs.”

“Can we come back and interview him soon, sir?”

“Of course you can, dear fellow, as soon as he’s had some time to settle into his new home. I’m sure you understand. He’s been through so much, brave child. If you’ll pardon, my nephew needs me. Good night, gentlemen.”

“Good night!”

“God bless you, sir!” one called in fervent admiration. “We hope the boy will be all right!”

“I’m sure he will. Good evening, gentlemen.” Waldrick waved graciously and walked away seething. Although he had saved the situation, this was still a sickening turn of events. He’d fix that old Bradford witch someday for this!

But when he stepped inside his house, he saw Fionnula was having even worse problems than he was. Egads! She was on the floor, returned to her true horrid self.

Stuck on dry land, as she was fated to be, her many squidy legs flailed wildly from under her petticoats. Her fine satin gown had torn, as well, the seams burst by her blubbery bulk.

Jake was standing a few feet away, staring down at her in horror. The sea-hag was trying to drag herself across the marble entrance hall.

“Waldrick! Help me! That useless boy is just standing there! I should’ve put him under the Oboedire spell with one of
my
hairs, not yours! The brat won’t listen to me!”

“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll have you back down in your pool directly.”

“Water! I need saltwater!”

“Yes, yes, dear, don’t fret.” Waldrick was merely relieved that Jake had got her inside before the reporters saw her like this. If Society knew what his opera-diva mistress really looked like, he would never be able to show his face in London again.

Ah, well. A man had to do what a man had to do.

He bellowed for his magical servitors as he hurried over and helped Fionnula up. They popped back to life.

The butler, who spent most of his time as a candlestick, came running to assist.

“Jake: stay,” Waldrick ordered as the two of them carried Fionnula away.

“Yes, Uncle,” his nephew echoed faintly.

At last, Waldrick deposited Fionnula back into her large stone pool filled with tepid seawater. She flopped into it with a splash, lolling about in relief.

As much as she loved the beautifying effects of the red feathers’ magic, it took a toll on her to assume that lovely form. Her true, ugly shape was more comfortable.

“Ahhhh.” She sank into her pool and closed her eyes.

Waldrick took Malwort out of his pocket and the spider went scuttling back into his box to his home web. Waldrick sauntered over to the row of cages to check on the others. “And how are the rest of you?”

The giant silkworm rolled away in disdain; the satyr bared his teeth at him; the cherub merely sucked his thumb with a sullen look. Lastly, Waldrick peeked in on the captured fairy.

She was curled up on the floor of her box and didn’t even acknowledge him. He tapped the box rudely. “Still alive in there?”

No answer. But he saw that she was breathing by the rise and fall of her shoulders, more visible now since he had cut off her wings.

“Well, then,” he said, straightening his cravat. “Goodnight to you all.” He heard a muffled roar from the stone pit well below his secret lair, but he ignored it.

Walking back up the dark stone staircase that led to his elegant house above, Waldrick paused as a strange image flashed across his mind. It momentarily disoriented him.

He saw a little red-haired girl laughing as a scrubby brown terrier danced on its hind legs. And it came with the happiest feeling, as if he could feel the emotions Jake felt around this girl…

What on earth?
He touched his chest, unfamiliar with the odd warmth that lingered there.
I don’t even know that person, let alone that dog.
But wait! he suddenly remembered. He
had
seen that little redhead before.

She was one of the children who had been tagging along with Jake back in the village of Gryphondale. Egads! He suddenly realized what this meant. This was not one of his own memories, but one of Jake’s!

Just like Fionnula had warned him, the Oboedire spell had one drawback—that Jake and he were going to be able to see into each other’s minds every now and then, recall each other’s memories.

Oh, dear
, Waldrick thought uncomfortably. Well, it was a bit late to worry about that now.

Jake was already under the Oboedire spell and had to stay that way, especially now that the public was about to hear his story. Somehow, Waldrick would have to be extra careful to block the boy from seeing particular memories he wanted to keep hidden.

Not that Jake could do anything about it, he mused with a slight shiver as he returned upstairs.

When he found Jake still standing in the entrance hall, exactly as he’d left him, Waldrick felt his worries relax. “Turn a somersault, Jake,” he ordered, just to reassure himself.

Jake dutifully got down and turned a somersault over the hard, marble floor.

“Good.” Then Waldrick turned to his candlestick butler. “Flickers, show young Master Jacob to his room—indeed, the finest guestroom for our little, long-lost earl. Follow Flickers, Jacob. You will go to sleep, and when you wake up in the morning, I’ll tell you all about the new life you will have here with me, your devoted uncle. The old Bradford witch had no right to take you from me. I am your closest living kin, and if anyone ever asks, you are to say you are
incredibly happy
to be here, and thankful to your wonderful uncle for finding you and rescuing you, and that you want to stay here with me forever.”

“Yes, Uncle,” he intoned dully.

“Now go.” Jake went, marching slowly after the butler, and headed up the opulent staircase.

Waldrick watched him go with a shrewd smile, clasping his hands behind his back. He lifted his chin, satisfied that he had the situation well in hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Say Uncle

Dani was tired from riding through the night, but worry kept her awake. When they reached London at sunrise, she directed Derek to all the places Jake might’ve gone. Alas, the circus freaks at the abandoned pleasure grounds had not seen him. The garden folly on the island in the pond was empty, too, the swan-shaped boats untouched. From there, they tried Covent Garden Market, but none of the orphans dodging about had seen him, either.

Dani turned to Derek, at a loss. “I can’t think where else to look. Should we try the rookery?”

“Might as well.” But they had only gone two blocks into the rough-and-tumble neighborhood when Derek stopped, scanning with an intense expression on his face. Then he shook his head. “I don’t sense him anywhere around here.”

“So where does that leave us?”

The Guardian glanced at her with an ominous frown. “If Jake’s not at any of his favorite haunts, maybe he didn’t simply run away. He may be in some sort of trouble.”

“What do we do?”

“Not we. You are going to stay out of this,” he murmured. “I think it’s time I went and had a little talk with Waldrick Everton.”