by Jade Astor
“Damn it,” Roark said under his breath. “Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad before? We ought to get you some medical attention. I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No! No, I’m fine, really. Just a few sore muscles. I can’t go to the hospital along with Uncle Vernon. For one thing, it would stress him out so much he’d probably have another heart attack. More importantly, I’m perfectly all right.”
“All right, then. I don’t have time to argue about it. Right now I need to find Justin. He might be lying somewhere, hurt.”
“You’re right,” Stephen said, suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation. Mrs. Mulgrave had applied her home remedy at the worst possible time. He needed to go out and look for Justin, too. “Wait a minute. I’ll come with you so we can both look.” He bent down to pick up his shoes and nearly fell over. Roark grabbed his arm and steadied him.
“Stephen, you really are hurt. Wait here. I’m calling for help.” Roark started to move him toward the bed, but Stephen had just enough energy left in him to struggle.
“That’s not why I’m woozy. Mrs. Mulgrave gave me something to make me sleepy, I think. I was going to lie down when you knocked. But finding Justin is more important.”
“You can’t go anywhere in the condition you’re in. My fault. I should have realized. I got distracted by—never mind. I’ll take care of this myself. You stay here. Promise me you will.”
His urgent tone prompted Stephen to giggle. “One of you is demanding I go, and the other one wants me to stay,” he blurted. His voice sounded thick and drunken. On one level, he was horrified. On another, he found the whole thing inexplicably but undeniably hilarious.
Roark’s dark eyes blazed. His grip tightened on Stephen’s arm. “Who’s demanding that you go? Stephen, tell me.”
“No one,” Stephen said, laughing again. The sound came out backwards. He really wanted to lie down. “Never mind.”
“Get over on the bed.” Roark began to push him across the room. “Stay there until I come back. Mrs. Mulgrave and Leo should have sent for me immediately. I can’t understand why they didn’t.”
“Maybe they did,” Stephen suggested as Roark helped him onto the bed. Since he was already barefoot, they didn’t need to bother with his shoes. He stretched out on top of the covers, sinking gratefully into the plushness of his enormous pillow. “You weren’t around.”
“Stop saying that. Of course I was here. Where else would I have been?”
Out by the gate, Stephen thought. Just in time, he stopped himself from saying it out loud. Exhaustion rolled over him in a heavy wave that mercifully carried his pain away with it. As his eyes began to close, it occurred to him that Roark’s apparent concern over both him and Justin was only another of his ploys. He’d slammed the gate on them himself, doubled back and feigned concern so that no one would suspect him. Naturally everyone would blame Leo for the mishap.
Not Stephen, though. Stephen knew better. Justin did too. But where was Justin? Why didn’t he come back to make sure Stephen was okay?
Unless Roark had made sure that he couldn’t.
He struggled to sit up, his mind screaming Justin’s name. The bedclothes seemed to grow hands that clawed at his wrists and ankles and held him in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t shout. A dark black void sucked him steadily down.
“Stay here,” Roark said again, moving away. His voice sounded distant, like an echo across a vast canyon. Stephen heard the door click into place. He tried one last time to get his hands underneath him so he could get up, but his body slumped, rubbery and weak, back against the bedspread.
The next thing he knew, the room was silvery with evening shadows, and his body felt wrung out but less painful. He could move his arms and legs again.
“Justin,” he whispered. Justin was missing, maybe hurt. He had to go downstairs and see if he had come back yet. Roark would never find him—not alive, anyway. That had been his plan all along.
Stephen struggled to sit up, and had almost succeeded in untangling his legs from the blankets when he noticed a silhouetted figure sitting in a chair beside his bed. The sight startled him so much he cried out.
“It’s all right.” Malcolm’s satiny voice caressed the near-darkness. “It’s only me. Roark called and told me about the accident. I postponed my meeting and came right over. I’m pleased to see you’re doing better.”
“Didn’t have to,” Stephen muttered. His words still sounded slurred. He rubbed at his mouth, embarrassed.
“Family emergencies come before business—always. I know you’re a bit out of it just now. Mrs. Mulgrave said she gave you a muscle relaxer to counteract the effects of the whiplash. She keeps a little stash of meds on hand for just this kind of crisis. It should be wearing off about now.” He laughed softly. “One in a million, that woman. A treasure.”
“Still stiff,” Stephen mumbled, rolling his shoulders. “Collided with the air bag. Lucky.” Then his thoughts swam back into terrible focus. “Justin,” he said, lurching up off the pillow. Without leaving his seat, Malcolm leaned over and steadied him with both hands. “Justin’s missing! We have to look for him!”
“Justin is fine. Don’t worry about him. In fact, it’s just as well he’s not here.”
“How do you know that?”
“Let’s just say I trust my instincts. Justin made the most of the opportunity he saw before him.”
“You mean he’s hiding somewhere on the grounds?” That made an odd sort of sense, actually. Stephen hoped it was true.
“I have no doubt of it, nor should you.” Malcolm made a grumbling noise. “I saw the car when I drove in. Not much left of it. Justin must have hit the gate at a tremendous speed.”
“Didn’t seem like we were going that fast. We thought Leo let the gate close on us. Justin tried to stop, but couldn’t. His car…”
“Wrecked. Yes,” Malcolm agreed grimly. “No matter. His brother will no doubt authorize the purchase of a new one. Thanks to him, Justin will never lack for material comforts.”
Stephen’s thoughts began to drift again. “Must be nice,” he muttered, recalling that sleek black car with its boldly painted stripes, now lying in a twisted heap of metal.
“I suspect many people would agree with you.”
“Don’t you?” Stephen blurted. Then he blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m not thinking clearly.”
“Don’t worry. I understand. And the answer to that question is more complex than you probably realize.” Malcolm clasped his hands and rested them on his lap in a relaxed posture, but his eyes bored into Stephen’s with an intensity that made him flinch. “You and I must talk, Stephen. Now, if possible.”
Chapter 16
“You’re in an uncomfortable position here, Stephen. For obvious reasons, you must remain neutral when it comes to Fairbourne family politics. Yet I am also aware how difficult it must be for you to keep silent.”
“You could say that.”
Malcolm nodded. “It's no secret my nephew cares for you. I don’t blame him, though admittedly your presence has complicated matters where he is concerned. No doubt he explained some of the background.”
Stephen grimaced. Malcolm must be talking about Roark’s campaign to terrorize their mother until he fled. Justin must have recounted their conversation to Malcolm before the accident. He still found it hard to believe Roark wasn’t involved in that little escapade, no matter how sincere his protests. He had only offered his word that he’d spent the morning inside.
“He told me a little,” Stephen said cautiously. “About the rivalry between him and his brother, for one thing.”
“Yes. I suppose that is where this whole sorry tale really begins. Looking back on the parenting arrangement now, I can see it was a risky idea from the start. Yet both families were convinced blending the two strains together would yield phenomenal results. I even thought so myself, at the time.”
Though puzzled, Stephen decided to play along with Malcolm to see what else
he might reveal. “And now?”
“Now I find myself worried that we have unleashed something it will be very difficult to control. Fiona sensed as much just before she left. Even though she was—and is—a powerful witch, she had to face the fact that her own son’s magic was of a darker strain, even when he was a child. It will be much stronger soon, when his powers mature and he comes into his own. All he needs is practice, and training, to become a virtually unstoppable force. That weighed heavily on Fiona’s heart. As I’m sure you know by now, she used her own powers only for benevolent purposes. She fears her son may not be as careful.”
“I admit I wondered,” Stephen said, shrugging casually. “It seems hard to believe she could have raised someone so…so…bent on evil.”
“I can’t help but think that’s where the influence of Istharios comes in. His nature remains a mystery. The best Fiona and I could come up with is that he is a New World demon—raw, ambitious, and possessive of the territory he claimed for his own some four hundred years ago. You might say he is a gift from our Puritan-era forefathers. They summoned him for the very first time, and somehow they transmitted to him the worst excesses of their own zeal for dominion. Or perhaps it was the other way around, after all.”
“That was a long time ago, though.”
“In some ways. When you consider the vastness of eternity, it seems little more than a wink.” Malcolm smiled. “Istharios and Obadiah were lovers, you know. His children, or at least some of them, were rumored to have been fathered by the demon, whom Obadiah invited to his marriage bed. Obadiah didn’t mind sharing at all, nor did his wife—he supplied the Fairbourne name, and she enjoyed the prestige of acting as consort to the most powerful sorcerer this young land had ever known. The demon strain lives on in every Fairbourne—even Roark, loath as he is to admit it.”
Cold sweat prickled at the back of Stephen’s neck. Malcolm spoke of witches and demons like they were ordinary members of everyone’s family. He didn’t seem surprised in the least by Roark’s maliciousness. But then, he’d known Roark and Justin all their lives. Maybe seeing someone grow gradually into evil made it easier to take in stride, almost like a person’s hair getting longer. It happened slowly and naturally, so no one thought twice about it until it had reached shoulder length.
Much as he didn’t want to hear any more of Malcolm’s strange revelations, Stephen knew he had to ask him one last thing. “Where does the missing book fit in? I assume you know about it by now.”
“Yes.” Malcolm’s jaw tightened. “As you’ve probably guessed, the book will mostly likely prove the deciding factor in our current struggle. At present, Istharios lies dormant, thanks to a few perceptive members of our family in the late nineteenth century. For obvious reasons, it would be best for him to stay that way, at least for the moment. Whoever took the book may not share my cautious attitude.”
“But…can anyone read it? I did peek inside the covers, you know. It’s nothing but gibberish—strange symbols and drawings. Impossible to interpret.”
For a moment, Malcolm seemed to lose his composure. He clenched his fists and cursed under his breath. “This was all Owen’s doing,” he muttered. “The book had been hidden for decades—why not leave well enough alone? He wouldn’t listen, just as he ignored Fiona’s warnings. Eventually he paid for his foolishness with his life. He was powerless himself, you know. Recessive genes, perhaps, or some psychological mutation unheard of in a Fairbourne heir. We needed the union with Fiona to counter his weakness. In the end, we may have succeeded only too well.”
“So it was a spell book of some sort? A grimoire? I suspected as much.”
“Not exactly, though an excellent guess. More like a manual…one that can be used to raise a demon. And while it’s true I cannot interpret its code, I trust someone will eventually crack it and recite the spell under the proper conditions. At that point, I’m afraid we will lose any last vestiges of Fiona’s benevolent influence, and Istharios will be master here again.”
“And…and then what?” Though he tried to keep his expression calm, even detached, it took every fiber of strength Stephen possessed to prevent his kneecaps from rattling. He knew now that Malcolm, along with most everyone else at Fairbourne House, must have a streak of madness mixed into their genes along with their supposed occult powers. Thank goodness his instincts had prevented him from leaving Justin alone with them. When he went home with Uncle Vernon in a few days, he had to find a way to bring Justin with him…assuming Justin was only in hiding, as Malcolm seemed to believe. He had to believe Justin would be as eager to get away from Fairbourne House as Stephen himself was. Hopefully Geoffrey would still be willing to help them if it came to that. Stephen would just have to convince him that Justin wasn’t a typical member of the Fairbourne family.
Malcolm took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. “Well, the Fairbourne line will endure—I think that’s safe to assume. Which individual Fairbournes might be left standing is a more delicate question.”
Stephen tried to sound as matter-of-fact about the whole situation as Malcolm did. “Oh.”
“By the way, I heard you were the first to notice the theft of the book, and that it was you who originally discovered it.”
“Yes. It was bound inside another, slightly larger book—some boring mathematical treatise. It’s no wonder no one looked inside it.”
“Done deliberately, no doubt, to spare those more important pages from Bartholomew Fairbourne’s purge. Frankly, I wish you had come to me sooner about all this. It would have given me more time to track the volume, as I must do now.”
“Um…I thought about it. I wasn’t quite sure who to trust.”
“Understandable.” Malcolm gave his head a resigned shake. “You couldn’t have guessed the stakes. It’s so disappointing. All this could have been avoided if only the right Fairbourne son had emerged as the stronger warlock.”
Malcolm used the term “warlock” as easily as most people might use “personal assistant” or even “morning coffee.”
“You don’t have to worry about Justin.” Stephen’s desire to protect Justin gave him a sudden burst of courage. “I plan to do everything I can to help him defeat Roark. If that means hunting through every room in this house until I find that book, I’m prepared to do it.”
“Justin?” Malcolm pronounced the name like an offensive term he’d never heard before. “No, Stephen, no—a thousand times no. Justin is the one we must prevent from learning how to use the book. Didn’t you realize? This whole time, I’ve been talking about Roark.”
“Roark? You’re here to defend him? After everything he’s done? To my uncle, to Justin—even to his own mother?”
“Have we really been talking in circles? Or perhaps I should say spirals. Haven’t you figured out yet which of my nephews has been telling you the truth? Justin was the one who drove Fiona away. His powers were frightening then, and they can only be stronger now. He tried to kill his mother when he was little more than a toddler. As a young man, especially with that book in his possession, he certainly will kill Roark. Along with as many of us as he can manage.”
“No.” Tears flooded Stephen’s eyes, and a rush of dizziness left him unable to stand. He dropped to the edge of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose while the room seemed to tilt and blur into a blur of hideous patterns. “No, it’s not true. You’re wrong. Roark is a total narcissist, for starters. Everything he says and does proves he cares only about himself. Last night, I saw him with that awful servant girl—Ivy.”
“I fear you were the victim of a prank, or possibly some mistaken perception. Roark has no interest in Ivy. It’s you he loves. He told me so himself, but even if he hadn’t, I pride myself on my powers of observation. I sensed your connection from the first—as did he, obviously. You are meant for one another, and you will be his strength as we prepare him to take control of the family in every sense of the word.”
Now it was Stephen’s turn to stare. “Impossible. I
won’t believe it! I hate him! Justin is the one who—”
“The one who deceived you,” Malcolm continued. “As far as what you think you have seen over the past few days, I suggest you guard against trusting your eyes too well. Many people—some residing in this very house—find it easy enough to draw a veil over reality.”
Stephen yearned to answer him, to offer some proof that would instantly convince him of Justin’s innocence and Roark’s guilt and maybe even earn his apology. But his head ached, his eyes burned, and all he could come up with was a devastated moan.
“I’ll see myself out,” Malcolm said in a softer voice. “You’ve gone through a terrible ordeal today, and you’d better rest for a while. Think over what I said. When you feel ready to speak further, please seek me out. Meanwhile, I will work on recovering the book.”
Stephen kept his head down, both hands covering his face, until the click of his door told him Malcolm had gone. His forehead began to throb. How could any of Malcolm’s fantastic claims, much less his outlandish accusations, be true? Malcolm didn’t seem the type who would be prone to hallucinations. Still, as he’d said himself, outward appearances seldom told the whole story.
Only one explanation seemed likely. Roark had gone to work on Uncle Malcolm, filling his mind with his paranoid fantasies and bamboozling Malcolm into accepting them. Of course Malcolm expressed his suspicions with total sincerity and conviction—that, like so much else Stephen had seen lately, had been Roark’s doing.
At least Mrs. Mulgrave’s medicinal potion had begun to wear off. He felt almost human again, though he was still dizzy and suffering from a dull ache in the middle of his back. He decided a soak in a warm tub might go a long way toward loosening the lingering knots in his muscles.
While he lay back and let the hot water soothe both his body and mind, he reflected on everything he had learned about Fairbourne family politics so far. The way Stephen saw it, he had two important tasks to accomplish—one, to avoid falling into Roark’s bottomless pit of deception the way everyone else here apparently had. And two, to show Justin he believed in him. He could only imagine how much Malcolm’s betrayal would crush him when he found out. Hopefully he could find a way to warn him that his cousin couldn’t be trusted any more than Roark could.
