Unhallowed (Rath and Rune #1) - Jordan L. Hawk Page 0,72
the starting point.
In 1830, a man named Gregorio Hollowell died in Ipswich. He was subsequently suspected to be a vampire, and his body exhumed, the heart removed and burned. This act had a profound effect on his four surviving siblings. Together they turned their intellects to learning the arts of necromancy, though it is unclear what they hoped to achieve by this.
They came to Widdershins around 1833, probably intending to use the arcane maelstrom beneath the city to fuel their magics. Emeline, Filomena, Thaddeus, and Quincy Hollowell.
I haven’t yet found anything to explain what happened next, only that the four died, or perhaps were murdered. Under the flaming tail of Halley’s Comet in 1835, their bodies were taken apart and made into four books: breath, blood, bone, and flesh. Their spirits were bound to the books, and apparently could grant great power to any sorcerer who laid hands on them.
I don’t know how Ladysmith and Dromgoole came across them—hopefully it’s hidden somewhere in their letters. But they decided the books were too dangerous to be on the loose.
From what I can tell, the Books of the Bound were still able to exert some sort of influence on the minds of those around them. They needed an extra layer of protection. Dromgoole was to assist with this, along with unnamed others. But how? The only thing certain is that Dromgoole’s mind broke as he finished the Ladysmith’s library.
So long as the protections remain in place, there’s no need to worry. But Rebecca was worried. I wish she’d told me everything.
“So do I,” Sebastian murmured.
The next few pages were annotations, along with lists of architectural features common to Dromgoole’s known works. Had Kelly been trying to identify other buildings he’d designed?
He turned a page, and found only a single line, written so large it took up most of the sheet.
God help us all. One of the books is free. And I don’t know in whose hands it resides.
Chapter 24
Thirty-four Cranch Way backed up to the river that flowed through the heart of Widdershins. The nearby fish canning factory loomed against the sky, its stink permeating the area. The neighborhood had likely been a pleasant one long ago, but now it had sunk into decrepitude. Roofs sagged, and many of the houses seemed deserted. An entire block was nothing but burned-out ruins, wildflowers growing amidst ashes, brick chimneys slowly crumbling to join the rest of the long-vanished residences.
The house Fagerlie had rented was one of the better ones, for all that. Though the roofline wasn’t straight, it at least didn’t look about to collapse. A coat of paint had been put on the door within the last twenty years, and the lawn hadn’t succumbed to wilderness. Even so, the place looked forbidding, with curtains drawn over the windows despite the fair spring day.
Ves stood and watched it for several minutes. Noct was probably behind those curtains. Unable to come outside except under cover of darkness. Was Ves about to condemn him to a lifetime spent hiding in attics, behind shutters?
That’s why he was here—to talk to Noct. To let him know all was not well and Fagerlie had darker motives than they’d guessed. To warn him they weren’t going to be freed from the curse of their blood tonight after all.
Gods of the wood, he hated this. It would have been so easy to just steal the architectural drawings and bring them here. Hand them over and hope for the best. But he couldn’t do that to Sebastian, or Bonnie, or the librarians.
He took a deep breath and walked to the door. It swung open before he reached the stoop, revealing Fagerlie on the other side.
“Vesper,” he said. “I hope you aren’t wasting my time again. Do you have the map I requested?”
Ves stepped up to the door and stopped. “I want to see Nocturn.”
“You’ll see him in a few hours,” Fagerlie said impatiently. “The comet will make its transit between earth and sun tonight! Then, only a short time later, the earth will pass through its tail. If I am to help you, I must have the map in my hand by sunset.”
Ves’s heart hurt, the death of hope painful. “Did you ever mean to help us at all?” he asked. “Or was I just a useful fool?”
Fagerlie scowled. “What are you talking about, boy? If you’re here to impugn my character again—”
“You’re after the Book of Breath.”
Fagerlie’s expression went from outrage to surprise—then closed off entirely. “Not outside.”