Sam wanted to regret it, wanted to take back her words; to tell Hel never mind, she’d see her in the morning. But she didn’t. It didn’t matter that it was Ruari who had put those words in her skull. Once they were there, she couldn’t get them out. Sam needed to know if Hel had known her grandfather. If she had killed him.
“Hel, please,” Sam said to the silence on the other side of the door. She heard Hel shift.
“I don’t... recognize the man from your stories,” Hel said carefully.
“That’s not what I asked,” Sam said, hurt by Hel’s oblique answer. “Did you kidnap him?”
“What? No,” Hel said. “I wastwelve.”
Sam didn’t think that would have stopped Hel. “Did youkillhim?”
“I?—” Hel stumbled, and Sam’s heart squeezed. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know if you murdered someone!” Sam said, and she could feel herself losing her grip on her words.We need to trust each other, or there’s no point to any of this.But how could she, if Hel couldn’t answer this?
“I already told you,” Hel said, her voice hollow and aching. “When I left, I burned the place down. I don’t know who was still inside.”
The weight of the silence between them then was almost too much to bear. But Sam couldn’t bring herself to speak. Couldn’t get the image of her grandfather’s body, charred and broken, out of her head. She should have known. The way Hel was so quick to pull her revolver at the mention of her brother’s name, even shooting at the raven who bore his voice. Of course she’d tried to end things with her family before she left, the only way she’d known how. She was her father’s daughter, after all.
“Sam, he wasn’t?—” Hel began carefully, before trying again. “The man you describe, soft spoken, understated, always there with a story to make you laugh. You should know, I never met a man like that. I don’t know what your grandfather did for my father. It was kept secret, even from me. But I did a few jobs for him. They were... worse... than most of the work I did.”
Sam stilled, remembering Hel’s casual mention of dismembering a corpse. What could be worse thanthat? Or was that, then, part of Hel’s work for Sam’s grandfather? No. Sam wouldn’t believe it.
“He was only doing what he had to, to survive, to protect us,” Sam argued. “Who knows what your father might have done to ensure his compliance?”
“You’re probably right,” Hel said, but she didn’t sound as if she believed it. “Good night, Sam.”
Sam wanted to say it back. But she couldn’t. At last, Sam understood what it was to be manipulated by a Moriarty. It didn’t matter that Ruari had wanted her to ask;Samhad wanted to, and now she regretted it. Hel was wrong, Sam told herself. Her grandfather was in enemy territory, after all. It was no wonder he would be different. Unkind to those who’d torn him from his family. What had Hel expected, that he’d sit with her against the dark, the way he had with Sam? That he’d tell her stories and teach her to catch frogs and give her the saint medal from his own neck to protect her when she was scared? Her grandfather was a good person. She knew that to be true, and nothing Hel said could change that.
But still, Sam didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Only stared into the darkness and listened to thetap-tap-tappingof her grandfather’s numbers in the rain.
Chapter Thirteen
Amiens Street Station, Dublin (Stáisiún Shráid Amiens, Baile Átha Cliath)
Two Days Before Samhain
“Miss Harker?” Van Helsing’s voice came muffled from the other side of the door. Sam startled awake, her legs sprawled and tangled in her sheets, her honey-blonde hair straggly with sweat. She blinked blearily at the muted light that washed over the room, listening to the rain stilltap-tap-tappingon her window. The pounding came again. “Miss Harker, Mr. Wright is on the line for you.”
“Mr. Wright?” Sam stood up a little too fast, the world dizzying. What could Mr. Wright possibly want? He wasn’t in charge of this case, didn’t even have the clearance. Besides which, shouldn’t Mr. Wright want to speak to Van Helsing? He’d made it clear enough he didn’t trust Sam and Hel. Though, it occurred to Sam that perhaps the two had already spoken.
“Were youasleep?” Sam could hear the frown in Van Helsing’s voice. “It’s nearly noon.”
“Thank you,Van Helsing,” Sam said quickly. She was becoming unnaturally nocturnal. “I’ll be down directly.”
Sam swiftly pulled on a grey walking suit embroidered with large black diamonds at the hem and a smart burgundy bow tie, astutely aware that her curls were a mess, her matching hat askew. She knocked on Hel’s door as she passed, but there was no answer?—not that Sam could blame her. She felt the sting of guilt at how she’d left things. Not that it had been entirely Sam’s fault. In the foyer, the concierge was waiting for her behind a massive mahogany desk.
“Miss Harker.” The concierge nodded and handed her the earpiece. Sam took it, only to nearly drop it at a rustling sound. She looked over to see a gentleman with a cane and bowler hat, reading a newspaper. The newspaper. It had been the newspaper. This was what came of too little sleep. It had her jumping at shadows.
Van Helsing eyed her from where he stood by the door, looking concerned. Before he could get any ideas, Sam lifted the earpiece and cleared her throat. “Samantha Harker speaking.”
“Miss Harker,” Mr. Wright said. She could hear his frown over the line, surprise etching his tone. “Are you... all right?”
Sam wished people would stop asking her that. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Mr. Wright said. He drew in a breath, as if he didn’t relish what he had to say next. “Miss Harker, it has come to my attention that you have been compromised.”
“Compromised, sir?” she said as evenly as she could. She could not break down in the foyer?—shewouldnot. The man reading the newspaper tugged his hat low, glancing at her from under the brim. He must have overheard her. She’d have to be more careful. She turned her back on him.
