“You know, the undead get an unfair rap. They’re actually not that bad; they can just be a bit of a nuisance sometimes. Banging on family doors and stuff. Plus, the gravediggers don’t like it much—means twice as much work for them.”
I stared at her. “You’ve seen the undead?”
“They can get a bit frisky around Día de los Muertos. Happens every year, though it’s our job to make sure they stay six feet under. People think they want their dead loved ones back, but they’d run a mile if they actually saw the rotting corpse of their abuelos and abuelas crawling out of a grave. It’s not pretty, but they don’t mean any harm. They just get a little bit excited. It’s a national holiday for them. They can’t help it.”
A stern figure with a sweep of black hair, gelled to within an inch of its life, stormed across the hall toward us. His eyes were a weird shade of gray, almost too light, and his thin, angular physique gave the impression of a hawk or a vulture. Either way, I sensed we were the prey.
“Excuse me,” he barked, in a strange, transatlantic accent. “Might I ask who you are? No arrivals are scheduled for today.”
My neck had somehow already started sweating. “I’m… Harley Merlin. And this is my associate, Santana Catemaco. We’re here to gather some information on Hiram Merlin and Katherine Shipton, on behalf of the San Diego Coven.” It was a risky move using my real name, but I figured the New York Coven knew about me by now. The only trouble was, I had a feeling he definitely wouldn’t let me near my mom and dad’s Grimoire.
He whipped out his phone and scanned it for a moment. “No, no record of your arrival. No record of intel requests. Are you sure you’re supposed to be here?” He eyed us both curiously.
“Director Waterhouse sent us,” Santana replied, without missing a beat. “We can’t leave empty-handed, or he’ll have our heads on a silver platter.”
I nodded. “I guess we presumed he’d have sent word ahead that we were coming.”
The man sighed. “Well, there’s no record of it here. Someone must have screwed up. I’m supposed to be clocking out shortly, but I suppose I can stay and guide you in whatever you require.” His hand shot out with such violence that Santana and I staggered back. “The name’s James Salinger. Preceptor of International Cultures… and cleaning up other people’s messes, apparently. Now, you said something about Katherine Shipton? Popular name at the moment. Can’t turn a corner without hearing someone muttering ‘Shipton’ under their breath. I’m not particularly surprised that you of all people, Miss Merlin, would be sent to investigate the matter, given your…unfortunate…connections to the issue.”
“We’re trying to gather as much information as possible,” I replied, putting my hand into Salinger’s. He grasped it with intense force, his grip as stiff as his demeanor.
Santana nodded, avoiding his handshake altogether. “Better the devil you know, right?”
“Better the devil indeed, Ms. Catemaco,” Salinger muttered.
“We’re interested in learning more about Hiram Merlin, too,” I reiterated.
Salinger pulled a face. “Well, there’s another devil right there. When he swanned in here like an overstuffed peacock, thinking himself the big ‘I am,’ I knew he’d come to no good. And I was right.” He paused, seeming to remember that Hiram’s daughter was literally standing right in front of him. “No offense.”
Maybe if you sounded a little more genuine, I might believe you.
“None taken,” I replied coolly. This guy was already starting to grind my gears. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt—maybe he’d had a bad day—but that didn’t give him the right to start jamming insults down my throat about my dad. It was going to be a challenge to try and keep my cool around him, if he kept on like this. The thought of gathering information was just about the only thing that maintained my sense of calm.
“Pride comes before a fall, and that man had it in spades. That’s all I’m saying.”
I frowned, feeling offended on my dad’s behalf. “I take it you didn’t like him very much?”
“Hard to like someone who used to look at everyone as though they were bugs under his shoe, Miss Merlin. Very hard indeed.” A weird smile crossed his face. “Not to mention the murders. Naturally, that’s the main reason he’s not liked around here.”
“What about Hester? Did you know her well?” I couldn’t help myself. If he was going to keep insulting my dad, I at least wanted information.
“She was a bit of a goody two-shoes, though she knew how to keep your father on his toes, which seemed to thrill him. I doubt he’d ever met anyone who’d told him no in his entire life. He chased after her like a dog after a bone. Hester was a favorite around here—'universally adored’ is a fitting term. Tragic, really, what happened to her. I might not have liked her much, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t saddened by her death. Not that I didn’t see it coming. Hiram was a black hole who sucked the life out of everyone around him and dragged them all into his pathetic nonsense. He’d have been a great man if he’d put his efforts into the right places.”
“Should we get going? We’re on a bit of a tight schedule,” I said, through gritted teeth. One more insincere word out of him, and I’d shut him up myself.
“I suppose so, now that you’re here,” he said. “This way, if you please.” He whirled around and stalked toward the main corridor. He walked fast, leaving Santana and me to sprint after him. Santana shot me a sympathetic look, but I was still wrestling with the desire to use my Telekinesis and make snooty Salinger trip over his own feet.
We walked through gothic hallways draped in tapestries, with a thousand doors branching off. Lamplight flickered in silver sconces, casting shadows across the black marble floor. They were definitely going for a Transylvanian vibe, which seemed pretty fitting considering the witches and warlocks who lived here. Occasionally, through medieval-style arrow slits and stained-glass windows, I caught a glimpse of the city beyond. It seemed the New York Coven inhabited a similar interdimensional bubble as the San Diego Coven, though this one had been built within the sprawling grounds of Central Park.
Heading down a spiral staircase that plunged us deeper into the belly of the coven, we stopped at the lowest floor and moved along a bleak corridor. There were no windows here, only an endless array of curved doorways that reminded me of a monastery, or a medieval castle.
“Here we are,” Salinger said, pausing outside one of the doorways. “We don’t bring people here much, since it’s easier to forget that those miscreants belonged to our renowned coven. Anyway, this is where you’ll find everything you need to know on the Merlins and the Shiptons. Most of the files concerning them were never copied to the electronic database, so you might have to do a bit of sifting. If you’re that eager for the information, I’m sure you won’t mind.” That eerie smile tugged at his lips again, unsettling me. There was something dark and strange about Salinger that left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Santana and I exchanged a glance, neither of us impressed. He pulled out a gigantic set of keys from his gray suit and slotted one into the lock.
He led us into a medium-sized room filled to the brim with labeled boxes. It was a fairly plain storage room, which was a little disappointing. I’d been expecting the antithesis of a trophy room, where details on all the bad guys were kept. Not that my dad’s a bad guy. We don’t know that yet.
We followed him down one of the aisles formed by metal bookshelves and stopped in front of a shelf at the back.
Salinger sneered. “Merlins and Shiptons, side by side until the bitter end. Even in the Dewey decimal system. You’ll find all that you need here—mortuary records, family trees, details that were generally kept out of the magical public spectrum. I must ask that you don’t actually take anything out of here, but feel free to make all the notes you like and take some pictures. I can make some copies, if I must.”
“Thanks,” I said tersely. I didn’t like his tone.
“I’ll leave you to have a look and come back in ten minutes or so. As I said before, I should really have clocked out by now, but there are a couple of things that I still need to attend to. I’ll be back shortly. And, again, don’t take anything out of this room, and please leave everything as you found it.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode back out of the storeroom, leaving us to it.
“I’m going to punch him, I swear,” I muttered, after making sure he’d really left.
Santana whistled. “Definitely not a fan of your parents. I doubt he could have been less sympathetic if he’d tried.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Should we start looking?”
She nodded, reaching for the first box labeled “Shipton.” I went for the box beside it, labeled with my family name. Taking them down, we sat cross-legged on the floor and sifted through the contents. A few moments later, Santana took out a folded length of cream vellum that had been scrawled on with curling black ink.
I eyed it curiously. “What’s that?”
“Shipton family tree,” Santana replied. “There’s not much to go on, by the looks of it. Katherine is on here, but there’s no mention of her being a Shapeshifter. No mention of any of her ancestors being a Shapeshifter, either. It’s just names, no abilities at all.”
I grimaced. “Well, that’s annoying.”
“Yeah, Finch isn’t on here either.”
“Poor bastard can’t catch a break when it comes to family,” I said. “You know, I wonder what he’d have been like if he’d actually had a family to take care of him. Like, a real family, not just Mrs. Anker.”
“With Katherine as his mom, I doubt it would ever have turned out good for him.”