Page 91 of His Wicked Charm

“Yes. The three goddesses grouped together like the Fates.”

Lilah began to read Emory’s letter aloud. “‘I agree with your theory regarding the connection of the Matres to the Sanctuary.’ He talks about the importance of the sacred power of threes. Then he says, ‘However, I am not convinced that the Matres was three goddesses in one in the same way as Hecate. But like her, they were connected to the Otherworld, in particular guiding lost souls through the Gateway.’”

“Pedantic sort, wasn’t he?” Con said wryly.

“Yes. One could wish that they’d been a bit more specific about what they found and where it was, instead of philosophizing.”

“Even though Bertie’s ‘not one for religion’ and Blair seems to regard it more as an intellectual exercise than faith, they seemed to believe in the blessings. It makes it more understandable that they kept up with it over the years and were insistent that their sons carry it on, but—”

“But it doesn’t help us find either the place or the key,” Lilah finished for him.

“That’s it for Bertie. At least he wasn’t long-winded.” Con restacked the letters and tied them. “Perhaps we should look at the earlier letters from Emory since he was more assiduous at corresponding. It sounded from that first letter you read that they had some idea where they were going. Perhaps they’ve discussed it earlier.” Lilah handed him one of her stacks, and he continued to read. “Hmm. Listen to this. ‘I am concerned about the disturbing dreams you have been having.’ Perhaps your grandfather was being pulled by this force, as you were. Guided to it, so to speak.”

“I wish it would tell me where it is, then.”

“You’re pulled to the maze,” Con pointed out.

“But how could the maze be the Sanctuary? It’s hardly a secret. And there’s no door.”

“It could be underneath the maze. A trapdoor.”

“I thought your theory was they were talking about the subcellars.”

“Yes, but I’m always open to other ideas. Beneath the maze, you’d still have the idea of the underworld, which seems to figure into their belief. This gateway they’re guarding could be the gateway to the dead.” He tilted his head, thinking. “Maybe the maze sits on top of some ancient burial ground.”

“A bit gruesome, meeting in the midst of the dead bodies.”

“We’re talking about university-age lads. I suspect the grue would be one of its appeals.”

“The more you say about young men, the gladder I am that I’m female.”

Con laughed. “So am I, my dear.”

They went back to reading, and the room was silent until Con said, “Lost John—who the devil is that?”

Lilah stared at him blankly for a moment, then began to laugh. “Last John, I imagine, not Lost. Why on earth were they discussing him?”

“Your grandfather found some journal written by him, which influenced his thinking.”

“Really?” Lilah said doubtfully. “It would have been terribly old.”

“Blair was skeptical, as well.”

“Last John was an ancestor. There were three Sir Johns in a row before the grandson got more creative and named his son William. The family refers to them as John Major, John Minor and Last John.”

“Well, apparently Ambrose wrote Blair, saying he’d found this Last John’s journal, and it revealed that there were tunnels beneath the house—I can’t tell if he means the dungeons or something besides that. Ambrose believed that your ancestor found a secret passageway. Not only that, John added to it.”

“This is all so bizarre.” Lilah shook her head. “Secret passageways. Ancient gods. A gateway to the Underworld. How am I to believe this?”

“It does sound like something out of one of those books you and Liv like.” He shrugged. “I don’t know that it’s true. But if it was all a mad delusion, what did the young men do? Why did they meet for so many years? Why does Dearborn believe in it? There must be a sanctuary.”

“Yes, one that’s going to destroy us all in a few days.” Lilah grimaced and returned to reading the letters. “I’m finding almost nothing in these newer letters.” She picked up the last one in the stack. “This isn’t from Emory—oh, I see. It’s from Hamilton—Sabrina’s father. It’s after Hamilton’s father died, thanking Ambrose for his condolences.”

Con flicked a finger at the date. “Look. Emory died at a young age, too.”

“Yes, I suppose it was. They found the Sanctuary while he was in university, so he must have been around twenty. That would have made him only forty-eight or so when he died.”

“Don’t you find it odd? Emory’s son Hamilton, Sabrina’s father, died when she was twelve or thirteen, so he must have been in his forties, as well. Your father passed on at...”