Page 143 of Eternal Surrender

“He did.” Ingrid’s face lit up.

“Go on, Ingrid,” Marcus said. “I know you’re dying to tell us.”

“Lord William Artimas must have had a contingency plan. In the only way the master of a secret society can.” Ingrid headed out of the library.

We followed her into the foyer toward the east corridor leading toward the dungeons.

She paused halfway and stared up at a portrait of the late Lord William Artimas. The artist, Italian painter Alberti Garbodar who’d been commissioned to paint this great nobleman, had done an exemplary job using tempura and oil on wood to capture his intensity; the weight of his responsibilities skillfully etched into the lines of his face. Lord Artimas’s posture was proud, his left hand casually but somewhat awkwardly resting on the long armrest, his forefinger pointing to the floor.

“That’s your father?” Anaïs put her arm through Alex’s. “Scary looking.”

“You have no idea,” he said.

I nudged up toward Ingrid. “His pose?”

“Maybe Artimas was trying to get a message to you,” she said. “Perhaps just in case he died before he passed on his legacy?”

“We didn’t catch it,” I admitted.

“We didn’t like looking at him,” Alex said.

“Where did this painting originally hang?” Ingrid asked.

“It’s been here for decades.” Alex leaned in. “Before that the anteroom.”

An uncomfortable quiet ensued as Lord Artimas’s steely-eyes judged us from the portrait.

“Really does look like he’s pointing to the floor,” Anaïs said softly. “What’s the insignia on his ring?”

“The Stone Masters crest.” I lifted the painting off the wall and carried it toward the anteroom.

The others followed, all as eager as me to see if our hunch was right.

Alex was particularly pensive.

“I’m not planning on arresting you, Alex,” Ingrid said, catching his trepidation. “I’m concentrating on helping both Blake and William now.”

“Why the change of heart?” Alex asked her suspiciously.

“William’s convinced me you had nothing to do with the deaths of those women,” she said.

“And you believe him?” Alex asked, surprised he was off the hook.

“Yes, I really do,” she said. “Now, can we be friends?”

“No,” Alex said bluntly.

Marcus pointed to Alex. “Don’t worry about him, he has father issues.”

“Lord Artimas threatened to harm my horse.” Alex clenched his teeth, remembering. “And there was nothing wrong with her.”

“Seriously, Alex,” Marcus said, “that was two hundred years ago. Is that the average time you hold onto a grudge?”

“He was also ready to bleed me to death. Mustn’t forget that.”

Anaïs cringed. “That kind of stuff stays with you.”

The anteroom hadn’t changed in two hundred years, and by the looks of things neither had the dust. Marcus and I knelt before the fireplace and unraveled the worn rug back into the room. Dust powdered up.