“As I’ve already explained to you thrice before: First, I have no sway over my father, nor does he care for my opinions. Second, my father has no sway over the Saint of Silence inanyother capacity. Third, my father cannot be lied to, therefore making the second point moot.”
“Then that leaves it to us, gentlemen, to persuade the Saint to work with us.” Hargreaves held out his hands. “To do this, we must find a weakness with which to exploit him. Should he turn his formidable resources to helping the Wake, I am sure we will find thisvessel before the revolutionaries form any lasting plans. But time is of the essence. Every one of you must be in search of any means, any weakness, with which to blackmail the Saint.”
Hargreaves had no faith that this would be accomplished by Lord Kilworth, or even Lord Calligan, who would return to the demon world to live his life of debauchery while making only mild inquiries to his father. Perhaps there was more to be had from Martin, but Hargreaves could not bet all his cards on the tradesman.
Years ago, Hargreaves would’ve trusted Percy. It had proved to be to his detriment.
Percyhad held a red diary in his slightly shaking hand. “It’s all here. This will lead us to a vessel that cannot die. The demons foolishly think it a mere broken trinket, but I possess the knowledge on how to revive it. We can control both worlds with this vessel. In demon lore, they call it the Limitless Vessel.”
Yet all Percy’s secrets had died with him.
The red diary.
The whereabouts of the Limitless Vessel.
All lost in Weavingshaw.
Hargreaves had spent the last ten years searching for the diary, but the estate knew how to keep the secrets of an Avon. Weavingshaw would devour itself before allowing a stranger like him to unveil those mysteries.
He knew only the Saint of Silence, master of secrets, could reveal what the dead had hidden.
That night, afterreturning from Lord Avon’s house in town—the night before she was due to meet Rami—Leena awoke to whispers.
She had dreamed of Mrs. Van.
The housekeeper had appeared in a monstrous form. Her eyes, normally cool and impersonal, were forceful—the pupils blown, the black entirely overtaking the white. Her fingers, always so unnaturally long, were wringing themselves.
“Do you wish to harm my master?” Mrs. Van demanded.
Leena felt as if she was being torn apart beneath the housekeeper’s glare. She wanted to fall to her knees, but a cold prickle on her neck kept her upright. Gritting her teeth, Leena gathered her strength. “Not if he does not harm me first.”
“What are you trying to do, girl?”
Leena didn’t answer, but lurched forward. The power shifted between them. There was a sliver of fear in Mrs. Van’s face as she took a few uncertain steps back. “Don’t—don’t touch me.”
Leena reached out a hand. There was a secret imprinted on the woman’s skin…something essential to know.
Mrs. Van staggered, her long fingers covering her face. “Protect him, please protect him. Find Lord Avon. How long must he survive this?”
And when Leena touched the housekeeper’s forearm, she understood what bound Mrs. Van to St. Silas. A hidden memory: a woman sweeping the floors before a small, sleepy-eyed boy runs in, crying over a scraped knee.
Mrs. Van disappeared and Leena jerked awake. By then, the dream was only a subtle aftertaste in her mouth, a lingering taste of rot. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dark. The only ghost who haunted her that night was a shoemaker who wept as he held up a leather heel to the moonlight, but he stayed beyond the circle of salt. Dim lights flickered through the crack beneath her door, and a sudden fear gripped her. Why was her door ajar?
Had someone been in her room?
Horror tightened her stomach.
Whispered arguments and the sound of pacing carried from the hallway. She listened intently, not daring to move.
“…leave her be.” A harsh voice filtering in and out—St. Silas, uncharacteristically furious. “You should have sought my permission—”
Another voice responded, pleading. Mrs. Van. “It had to be done…”
Leena strained her neck but could hear no more. Quietly, she slipped from her bedcovers and crept toward the door until she could hear the housekeeper’s voice once again.
“…she took something from me.”
The pacing stopped. She heard his disbelief. “From you? How is that possible?”
