harsh I couldn t hear myself think. Molly s face screwed up with pain, but she still managed to stride right up to the nearest wall and glare right into the howling faces.
Shut the hell up! Or I will make your paint run and your colours fade!
And just like that the sound shut off and all the faces went back to being portraits and photos again. They must have been listening when I said Molly s name. Of course, they wouldn t know her power levels were at an all- time low. Molly smiled brilliantly, stepped back and shouldered her shillelagh. I armoured down and smiled at Heather.
Dear God! It s you, Eddie! Heather actually relaxed a little, and sank back onto her chair. I should have known; if anyone could survive the complete destruction of Drood Hall, it would be you. We all thought the Droods were gone forever! I m so glad you re all right! She broke off to run one hand quickly through her dishevelled hair, took a deep breath and then fixed me with her best professional smile.
So, Eddie. Do you have an appointment?
Guess, I said.
Catherine Latimer doesn t see anyone without an appointment.
She ll see us, said Molly.
Heather s gaze flickered from me to Molly and then back again. She was still smiling, but I could sense the effort.
We have to see the boss, Heather, I said.
And I mean right now. If you ve heard what s happened to my family, you know how urgent this is. And how upset I am.
I really thought you were dead, said Heather.
When you just appeared here, I thought your enemies must have taken the armour for themselves. Why didn t you use the main entrance and the proper protocols?
Too many eyes and ears, I said. I m the Last Drood, but I don t want just anyone knowing that.
The boss has already arranged for formal wreaths from the Institute, said Heather. To show our respect. Not that we could send them anywhere, of course, but we will find somewhere suitable to put them. Is this really the infamous Molly Metcalf? I always thought she d be taller. Please ask her not to kill my computer; I have a lot of vitally important typing to finish before the day s over.
I looked at Molly and she sniffed loudly, in an I m-making-no-promises sort of way.
I am keeping this shillelagh! she said loudly.
I like it and it s mine now. Just in case anyone starts getting snotty. Always wanted one
Let her have it, I said to Heather. She ll only make a fuss.
I can always get another one from the armoury, said Heather. One of our janitors hand carves them on his own time. You still can t see the boss without making an appointment. Even if you do trash my office and murder my filing system.
I looked thoughtfully at the door behind her desk. The very heavily reinforced steel door with no handle or electronic lock on this side that led into the boss s office. I didn t have to raise my Sight to know it was crawling with powerful protections. I grinned at Heather.
Get out your camera phone. I think I m about to make history.
Yeah! Molly said happily. Someone phone Guinness! Go, Drood. Go!
And then we all stopped and looked round as the intercom lying beside Heather s desk buzzed loudly. A cold, calm voice sounded clearly in the office.
Heather, if Edwin Drood and Molly Metcalf have quite finished striking dramatic poses, ask them if they d like to come through. I can give them ten minutes.
Yes, boss, said Heather.
How did she know we were here? Molly said suspiciously. How did she know it was us? I don t see any surveillance cameras here.
The boss knows everything, Heather said scornfully. In fact, that s probably part of her job description.
The highly impressive door swung smoothly and silently open on its own. I nodded briskly to Heather and strode into Catherine Latimer s very private office. Molly hurried after me, determined not to be left out of anything, her shillelagh still slung casually over one shoulder.
The grand old boss of the Carnacki Institute, Catherine Latimer, her own very bad and intimidating self, sat stiff-backed behind what I immediately recognised as a genuine Hepplewhite desk. Latimer had to be in her late seventies, but she still burnt with severe nervous energy, even while sitting still. She was medium height, medium weight and handsome in a way that suggested she had never been pretty because she d always had too much character for that. She had a grim mouth and cold grey eyes and looked like she d never been pleased to see anyone in her life. She wore a smartly tailored grey suit and was smoking a black Turkish cigarette in a long ivory holder, supposedly an affection that went all the way back to her student days.
While I was busy looking her over and working on my best opening gambit, Molly just sauntered round the office, displaying a keen avaricious interest in everything on display. There was a lot to look at. She made a series of loud ooh! and aah! noises as she cooed over the various intriguing objects in their display cases, many of which I remembered from my last time in the office. Catherine Latimer wasn t much for change for the sake of change.
There were reminders of past triumphs, famous cases ancient and modern, and souvenirs of people and places best not discussed in polite company. Molly ignored the many valuable books and folios crammed onto shelves all over the office, and had no time at all for the endless locked and sealed case files in their colour-coded folders. She bent over a goldfish bowl full of murky ectoplasm in which the ghost of a goldfish swam slowly, solemnly backwards, flickering on and off like a faulty lightbulb. Next to that a crimson metal gauntlet with two broken fingers, twitching unhappily inside a brass birdcage, was labelled THE SATAN CLAW. Farther along, a badly stuffed phoenix posed awkwardly inside a hermetically sealed glass case, to keep it from smouldering. And finally, on open display on a black velvet cushion, the Twilight Teardrop. Molly actually crouched down before it so she could set her face on the same level and study it better. The fabled ruby stone was actually composed of fossilised vampire blood made into a polished gem in the shape of an elongated teardrop, some four inches long and two wide, set in an ancient gold clasp and chain, supposedly taken from a dragon s hoard. I say supposedly; there s a whole lot said about the Twilight Teardrop, most of it contradictory and all of it upsetting. All anyone knows for sure is that it s a major magical depository for unnatural energies, mad, bad and dangerous to own.
Molly snatched it up and held it dangling before her eyes before flipping the gold chain over her head and round her neck, so that the glowing bloodred gem hung over her bosom.
Mine! she said loudly. I m taking it.
Put it back! I said.
Shan t!
Molly, I don t want that nasty thing anywhere near me, never mind you. And need I remind you, we re trying to make a good impression here?
Don t care. I want it. Pretty, pretty.
I ll take your pony away.
You wouldn t! All right, you probably would. You big bully, you. Oh, but, Eddie I really do need this. There s enough magical energy stored in here to replenish all my spells and abilities! And you know I have to be strong if we re going after You Know Who.
I looked apologetically at Latimer. Sorry about this.
Oh, let her have the bloody thing, said Latimer.
Given the sheer number of curses and bad vibes associated with the thing, she s welcome to it. She ignored Molly as she preened over her new toy, and fixed me with a cold glare.
Is she always like this?
Mostly, I said.
It s all part of my charm, Molly said easily.
Latimer and I exchanged a look but said nothing.
I have to admit, I m surprised to see you here, Edwin, said the boss. I have heard about what s happened to Drood Hall. I really thought all you Droods were dead and gone. I should have known the reports were too good to be true. And don t you raise your eyebrow at me like that, Edwin. You know very well your family has always been as big a threat to freedom as most of the threats you take on.
