Gaslight Hades (The Bonekeeper Chronicles Book 1) by Grace Draven

Author:Grace Draven [Draven, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grace Draven
Published: 2017-03-09T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nathaniel followed his most current nighttime visitor to Highgate past the towering obelisks flanking Egyptian Avenue and on to the Circle of Lebanon. Lenore’s stray mongrel padded silently beside him, ears forward and alert.

This intruder moved like a cat: silent and fleet with hardly a footprint to mark their passing. Nathaniel’s only clues to their presence were a sixth sense of recognition and the sweet perfumes of tobacco, licorice and honey.

He tracked his quarry to the steps leading to the inner circle of crypts. A figure sat casually on the bottom step, smoking a cheroot. The thin cigar’s burning tip glowed cherry-red in the darkness. A pair of eyes, black as the Chislehurst caves, with white pinpoint pupils, regarded him through a haze of smoke.

Whomever Nathaniel expected to find here, it wasn’t another Guardian, especially not this one. He gave a short bow. “I think you’ve wandered into the wrong bone yard, my lord. Kensal Green is a leisurely stroll south of Highgate.” He cocked his head. “Or are you visiting in hopes of a hunt?”

His brethren drew deeply on the cheroot, inhaling smoke and exhaling revenants that swirled and silently beseeched before fading into oblivion. His voice was raspy and held a thread of amusement. “Kensal Green swarms with gardeners at all hours. Tripping over one isn’t nearly as entertaining as confronting a body snatcher, though I begin to wonder which of the two is more ubiquitous in our cemeteries these days.” He gained his feet in one smooth motion and joined Nathaniel at the top of the steps.

Nathaniel clasped the other’s offered arm. “Good to see you, Gideon.”

Like Nathaniel, Gideon possessed the physical attributes of all Guardians: long, snowy hair and equally white skin, spectral eyes and the ability to protect his body in a hard shell of armor by simply willing its presence. He was the first of the Guardians and the deliverer of the other six from enslavement to a madman who fancied himself a god.

Gideon returned the welcoming clasp. “How are you, Nathaniel?” He offered the cheroot.

Nathaniel declined. “I thought you abandoned that vice.”

Gideon shrugged, and with a graceful sleight of hand, made the cheroot disappear. “Only in the house. I don’t wish to incur my housekeeper’s wrath.”

Nathaniel recalled a tall, elegant woman with hair the color of summer wheat, smiling eyes and soothing hands. Newly rescued by Gideon, and delirious with pain from the gehenna flowing through his resurrected body, he’d thought Rachel Wakefield an angel at first as she bathed his face and crooned soft assurances to him. “How is Mrs. Wakefield?”

“Quite well I suppose. She’s engaged to be married.” Gideon’s voice held a bitter edge, even while his expression remained studiedly bland.

He and Gideon shared a warped and twisted history. They were the alpha and omega in an exclusive club of a select, unfortunate few. They were not, however, close friends, and Nathaniel sensed the other’s reluctance to speak more of the woman who managed his household and aided him in rescuing the other Guardians.

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