“You always did make bad decisions, Edwin,” said another familiar voice.

And out of the deep, dark shadows of the War Room came my grandmother, Martha Drood, Matriarch of the family. She stood tall and stiff and proud before me in her neat grey twinset and pearls. Looking at me with her cold eyes and colder face. No sign of the awful wound that killed her in her own bed, soaking the whole front of her in blood. She looked me up and down and sniffed briefly. Another familiar sound. It tore at my heart. I hadn’t realised I’d missed it so much.

“You ran away from the Hall to be a field agent, and what good did that do you? All because you didn’t have the discipline to buckle down and do what you were told, like everyone else. I was grooming you to take a high position in the family, but you turned your back on us. You were always such a disappointment to me, Edwin.”

“I avenged your murder,” I said steadily. “I caught your killer, the Immortal disguised as your husband, Alistair. I killed him for you, Grandmother.”

“I’m still dead,” she said. “All because you weren’t paying attention. Too caught up with your new girlfriend. I never approved of her.”

“You never approved of me, Edwin,” said Alistair Drood, stepping forward to stand beside Martha. “You were responsible for my death too. I was only trying to do the right thing and protect my wife. You watched me burn in hellfire, and did nothing to save me. Tell them what they want to know, Edwin. Let your grandmother and me know peace, and rest at last.”