by Eva Chase
I made the comment wryly, but every part of my body was wound up in anticipation. I didn’t know whether I was more afraid that the test would show I’d been told the truth or lied to. Both options were exceptionally horrific in their differing ways.
Bash lowered himself onto the edge of the bed next to my chair. “Assuming it’s nothing—assuming it was just one of the monsters’ sick mind games—you’re thinking Spain next?”
“From the notes, it looks like the one commune there is larger than any we’ve dealt with here. I think it’d be a good next step.”
“And we’d be looping your Londoners back in, or going it alone?”
“Do you really think they’d let me off the hook after all that?” I raised my eyebrows at him. “We’re lucky we didn’t get more argument about this little retreat.”
I’d told the trio that I needed a few days of space to work out a few things before we continued our mission against the shrouded folk. Then I’d taken every possible caution to make sure the rental of this house couldn’t be traced to me, just in case they got nosy, as had happened before. You couldn’t be too careful with Sherlock Holmes in the mix.
At the growl of a motor, my back tensed even more than it already had been. A white car with a courier logo came into view on the lane. I stood up. My heart beat out a staccato rhythm at the base of my throat.
Bash got up too, watching me. “Do you want me there with you when you open it?”
I turned the idea over in my head as the car sped toward the house. “No. I think I’d like to be completely alone to work out what I’m going to make of the result before I have to figure out anything else.”
He inclined his head and sat back down as I headed for the stairs.
The knock came just as I reached the pastel yellow front hall. I signed with the fake name I’d given the company and accepted the thick envelope with a stiff smile. Then I sat down in the living room and waited until the sound of the car’s engine had faded away.
The envelope’s seal tore easily. I slid the papers out, and my hand trembled. I’d sent away a little of my blood and a little from the severed toe the shrouded one had so graciously gifted me with to a DNA testing facility with an extra fee for expedited results. As I looked down at the plain type printed across the stiff paper, my mouth went dry.
Analyzing the submitted samples… The results are conclusive to a high degree of validity… The two samples are a high enough match to indicate shared parentage.
My fingers twitched. The paper slipped from them. As it drifted to the floor, I stared at my empty hand.
No shrouded folk hallucination could have faked that result. A digit severed years ago wouldn’t have been seeping fresh blood. My parents, if they were even still alive, couldn’t have had any other children—I remembered my mother complaining about the hot flashes of her menopause a few years before I’d fled.
It was true. Olivia was alive. She was still alive. Oh my God.
A rush of adrenaline hit me, joy and anger mixed together. I hadn’t failed her after all. I still had a chance to save her. What the hell had the folk being doing with her all this fucking time?
She hadn’t been at my old commune when I’d gone back for her. Everyone there had believed she’d been taken in sacrifice. Which meant she hadn’t been kept in this world. The shrouded folk had dragged her off to their own horrible realm. The tortures she must have endured—when I got my hands on their floating mummified asses—
The ring of my phone interrupted my silent tirade. I fished it out and frowned at the unknown number. It was the phone I’d used with the trio, but the caller wasn’t in my contacts. I hesitated and then answered it.
“Hello?”
“Miss Moriarty.” Sherlock’s measured voice carried over the slightly staticky connection. “I’m glad you’re up on this fine morning. Would you mind if I dropped in for a visit?”
He’d called from a different phone because he’d suspected I wouldn’t answer if I’d known for sure it was him. I made a grimace he couldn’t see. “I’m a little occupied at the moment, and I’m still out of town. Believe me, as soon as I’m ready to pick up the quest again, I’ll let you know.”
“Funny thing. I don’t entirely believe you. You have been in the habit of giving us the slip. Which is why I’m currently at a hotel about a half hour’s drive from that house you’ve taken up residence in. The Highlands rather appealed to you, did they?”
My chest tightened. He was up here? He knew where we were staying? Or perhaps it was a gambit to try to get the information out of me. “Nice try.”
“Surely you have more faith in my investigative abilities than that by now.” He rattled off the house’s name and address. My stomach sank. “You employed some worthy tricks, Jemma, but I’ve come to know you quite well. No more sneaking off on us. Whatever you’re occupied with, I want to hear about it—until those creatures we’re battling are wiped off the face of this earth.”
An admirable and absolutely frustrating sentiment. I closed my eyes and dragged in a slow breath.
This wasn’t going to work. He wouldn’t understand—the lengths I’d need to go to if I meant to rescue my sister—the trio wouldn’t just stand by for that. They’d say I was taking things too far or that I shouldn’t go it alone, blunder in with all their good intentions and ignorance of the shrouded folk… They’d insist on interfering like he was right now, and that could easily ruin everything. If I was going to reach Olivia, I had to keep a perfect balance of elements they barely comprehended.
I’d gotten back my chance to save my sister. To keep the promise I’d made to her ten years ago. To make up for leaving her behind to the tortures of our commune while I made my escape.
I couldn’t put that mission at risk, not in the slightest way. If I failed her again because I couldn’t keep these over-enthusiastic men at bay…
“John accompanied me, of course,” Sherlock was saying into my silence. “Garrett should be up this evening for the weekend. That job of his does get in the way more often than not, as useful as I suppose it often is.”
“So the gang will all be here,” I said, willing my voice to stay steady. “Wonderful.” What could I do to make you leave again?
Nothing. Not as long as they had working minds and bodies. Not as long as they believed I was still working on the most pressing problem the world had ever faced. If I could be sure of getting even a week without Sherlock tracking me down all over again… But he was far too stubborn for that, wasn’t he? Far too stubborn, far too brilliant, and now he’d had far too much time to observe my habits in ways I couldn’t be fully aware of.
The answer rose up in my head with cold certainty. My throat constricted, but I didn’t shy away from the thought. I studied it in its brutal clarity, the gears in my mind already whirring with their usual sharp precision.
Yes. It could be so very simple. The thought made me sick, but the possibility of losing Olivia all over again was far worse.
She came before anyone and anything. That was all there was to it.
“All right,” I said with feigned resignation. “You found me. I’m not really set up for entertaining here. Why don’t I come to you?”
When I got off the phone, I went to the bottom of the stairs and called up to Bash. He appeared in an instant, his expression taut.
“The shrouded folk have her,” I said simply. “I’m going to bring her back. But to make sure I actually get to do that, we need to accomplish one thing first.”
“What exactly is it you wanted to show me up here?” Sherlock said, peering across the mountain slope.
I nudged him onward along the narrow rocky path. Our shoes rasped against the stone. “It’s just a little farther. I’m not entirely sure what to make of it. It’s difficult to explain without you seeing it.”
“But you didn’t want John and Garrett making their own observations?”
“They can come take a look later if you think it’s a good idea. For
now I’d like your perceptions only, without any distractions.”
An appeal to ego always smoothed over a request with Sherlock. I could tell he didn’t believe I’d told him the whole story, but he’d gone along with my somewhat strange invitation to see where it led anyway.
Because he didn’t believe it could lead anywhere all that awful. Because he trusted that my intentions were good even when I was dissembling. That was going to be his biggest mistake.
I resisted the urge to ball my hands and strode on toward the spot I’d identified yesterday. The mountainside fell away with a nearly sheer drop at our right, gray scree spotted with tufts of grass and weeds.
It felt as if we’d left summer behind this high up. The wind whipped past me with a chilling bite. I didn’t let myself shiver.
Bash was off doing his part. I’d timed the walk as he and I had discussed. If I looked back the way we’d come, if I peered for the vehicle and the figures that should be emerging from it right now, Sherlock would definitely notice that. I couldn’t afford to give the game away, so I kept my gaze trained on the path ahead. On the man ahead of me who I admired so much my chest stung with it right now.
I couldn’t think about the passion I’d woken in him and how delighted he’d been to provoke as much pleasure in me. I couldn’t think about the thrill of matching wits with him time and time again. None of that matter. Not when Olivia was waiting for me.
My pulse was thumping hard and heavy. I kept my posture straight even though it wanted to hunch against the awful task I was about to complete.
This was necessary. It was all necessary, from the act itself to Bash bringing John and Garrett as distant witnesses. After all this time when she must have thought I’d abandoned her, I owed it to Olivia to give her everything I could.
Even if it meant sacrificing everything new and wonderful I’d discovered in myself in the last few months.
We’d reached the spot. I knew from the knob of rock that jutted from the ground beside the path. I stopped and pointed toward an imaginary object down the slope. “There. Can you see it? It’s small, so it’s hard to make out.”
Sherlock frowned and eased closer to the edge. I watched his feet, his stance. He bent over to peer in the direction I’d pointed. “Can you give me a better idea what you’re looking at?”
A way out. A severing as utter as the one that sliced my sister’s toe from her foot.
One last thread of resistance trembled through me. I gritted my teeth against it. Then I smacked my hand into Sherlock’s back and shoved as hard as I could down the sheer treacherous drop.
* * *
What will become of the London trio in the wake of Jemma’s betrayal—and will she manage to save her sister without losing herself? Find out in The Valley of Flames, the fourth and final book in the Moriarty’s Men series. Get The Valley of Flames now!
If you’re a fan of reverse harem paranormal romance, why not check out one of Eva’s complete series, The Witch’s Consorts? You can grab the prequel story FREE here!
Next in the Moriarty’s Men series
The Valley of Flames (Moriarty’s Men #4)
Jemma begins the treacherous journey to save her sister from the shrouded folk with Bash by her side, while the London trio is left shattered by her betrayal. Will any of them make it out of this war alive?
Get it now!
Consort of Secrets excerpt
Want to get a taste of Consort of Secrets, my gothic-flavored witchy reverse harem paranormal romance? Enjoy the first chapter below…
CONSORT OF SECRETS
1
Rose
To a stranger, Hallowell Manor would have looked like the kind of place where dark deeds happened. You know: skeletons bricked up behind the tall foreboding walls. A madman prowling in the attic beneath the steeply sloped roof. Cheating lovers pushed from the turrets’ arched windows to their death. Although as far as I knew none of those things had actually happened there.
Let’s just say the house had a lot of character.
My father pushed the control on the Bentley’s dash, and the automated gate whirred shut behind us. The car turned along the drive through the falling twilight. As the house loomed over us, my heart lifted with anticipation.
I wasn’t a stranger, and to me this place was home. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t set foot on our country estate in more than eleven years. The manor and the massive property around it had set the stage for my fondest childhood memories. Through all that time in Portland, through my studies and the dinner parties and the strolls through fenced back gardens, part of me had always been waiting for the moment when I’d return here.
“That is an eyeful and a half, now isn’t it?” Philomena said in her lilting British accent. She craned her neck as she peered out the window. “Just ripe for adventure.”
“I’m supposed to be settling back in, not stirring up trouble,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure we can find time enough for both, Rose.” She shot me the classic Phil expression: lips curved, brows lightly arched, brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
Dad parked by the garage. A couple of the staff were already hustling over to retrieve the few pieces of luggage we’d brought with us instead of sending it ahead. My stepmother let out a slow breath, her pale blue gaze fixed on the house.
“Well, here we are,” she said. Her tone was so dry I couldn’t tell whether she was expressing relief or trepidation.
I found it safest to care about Celestine’s feelings about as little as she cared about mine—which was essentially not at all. Ignoring her comment, I pushed open the door and stepped out onto the pavement. The cool breeze of the early spring evening teased through my hair. I pushed the black tumble of those locks back over my shoulders and drank in the lush green scents of home.
The tang of fresh paint reached my nose. The staff must have been touching up the outer buildings to prepare for our arrival. The once-green slats of the garage walls now glowered a deep maroon.
Something deep in my chest twisted. The change jarred with my memories. But it couldn’t stop the image from rising up in my head of the last time I’d seen the boys, standing just a few paces from where I stood now, watching a car very much like this one carry me away.
I jerked my gaze away before Dad or Celestine could notice me looking. It was the company I’d been keeping all those years ago that had prompted our move to the city. Better if neither my father nor my stepmother suspected how much those memories still meant to me.
Dad typed a quick message into his phone and tucked it into his slacks pocket. Probably letting one of the many people he did business with know he’d be available for conversation and negotiations within the hour. Celestine smoothed her hand over her sleek silver-blond bob and wrapped her slender fingers around his. He directed a quick but warm smile over his shoulder at me, and we started toward the house.
“Good Lord, it looks even bigger from out here,” Philomena said, clutching her expansive skirts with one gloved hand while she braced the back of the other against her forehead. She stared up at the manor. “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t forget to tell me you’re a duchess or a marchioness or some such?”
I swallowed a laugh. “I promise, I’m nothing by regular standards. In witching society, I guess we’re about on the level of a viscount?”
“Hmm.” She glanced at Dad. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying I have always thought your father would look rather tempting in a proper tailcoat and cravat.”
“Ugh. I’ll forgive you if you promise to never mention finding him ‘tempting’ ever again.”
Philomena just smirked at me. It really was a good thing she was only a figment of my imagination and not someone Dad could actually overhear.
Phil’s insatiable exuberance had practically made her leap out of the book she starred in during the gazillion times I’d read it in the last seven years. I hugely admired her habit of speaking her mind unfiltered. But it wouldn’t have g
one over any better in my society than it should have in hers, if her regency romance had been particularly true-to-reality.
Trust me, if you’d met the company I’d had in Portland, you wouldn’t blame me for plucking my best friend out of the pages of my favorite novel instead. The girls from the witching families around the city had all been as alternately judgmental and fawning as my older stepsisters. As far as they’d been concerned, I was either a country rube to look down on or a Hallowell they should suck up to. Sometimes both at the same time, which had thrown more than one of them for a loop.
But they didn’t matter now. I was home.
The staff had opened up the manor’s broad front door. Golden light spilled down over the front steps. My gaze caught on the tiny crack that ran through the second from the bottom.
How many times, long ago, had I sat there and traced my finger along that spidery line? A voice that wasn’t Philomena’s swam up in my head from the past. Are those stairs a lot more fascinating than they look, or do you figure you’d like to come have some real fun?
My fingers curled toward the sleeve of my sweater. I had one of my ribbons wrapped around my left wrist, like always. “Rose’s little fashion trend,” my stepsisters had liked to comment with a giggle.
We stepped into the grand front hall. The porters hefted our luggage up the wide, velvet-carpeted staircase to the second floor. The cherry wood of the banisters and the wall paneling gleamed.
“I hope the journey was smooth, Master and Lady Hallowell,” our estate manager, Meredith, said, welcoming us in. She’d come ahead with the rest of the key staff that moved with the family when we relocated from one property to another. They’d have spent all day setting the house in order for our arrival.
“And for Rosalind as well,” she added with a quick wink. Now with only a few streaks of gray left in her white, braided hair, Meredith had been with the Hallowells for generations. You could say she’d raised me alongside my father.
