The League of Illusion: Legacy

by Anna, Vivi

  The servant didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead, waiting for Darin to go with him to wherever his father was waiting. If he could’ve gotten away with it, he would’ve struck the servant for his insolence, but Gustav was his father’s favorite.

  Sighing, Darin marched over to where Gustav hovered in the doorway. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  He followed Gustav through the long winding corridors of the Hawthorne mansion to the double oak doors of his father’s study. Knocking once, Gustav opened the door and stood aside while Darin entered. Once he was through, the servant closed the door behind him. The clicking sound had an ominous feel, and Darin had to suppress a shiver.

  He stood, shoulders back, in the middle of the room waiting for his father to acknowledge him. His heart hammered and his throat constricted. It wasn’t every day that his father summoned him. Most weeks, he went without seeing his father at all. He was a busy man, and had many important things to attend to. Most of them, Darin was ignorant of.

  So, this summoning was most unexpected and ill-omened, forming a pit of unease in Darin’s stomach.

  Seconds ticked by as he waited. He tried not to shuffle his feet, knowing that his father hated it. So he pinched his leg and stared straight ahead, his chin lifted. Being in this room made him feel like a boy again. A boy waiting for any attention his father would give him. Good or bad. With Clive Hawthorne it was usually bad.

  Finally, Clive lifted his head from the big heavy-looking book he’d been reading, and gave Darin a steely look. Narrowing his dark eyes, he set the book down on the small table beside his high-backed chair.

  “I heard from my man on the council that the Davenports sent for a tracker.” He sniffed. “A Druid woman named Skylar Vanguard.”

  Hearing her name startled Darin. She was one woman who had always vexed him. He’d seen her last at the Winter Solstice Ball when he’d made his intentions clear to her. That he wanted her at his side, convinced they would make a good match, a powerful one. But she’d scorned him. Looked at him like he was but a servant and not the lordly gentleman he’d been raised to be.

  Even now his fists clenched at the image of her walking away from him in front of so many people. The stares they’d given him. Like he’d slapped her. Although he’d wanted to, he’d managed to keep his hands at his sides.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s obvious they are trying to locate the eldest son Sebastian before the Solstice.”

  “But why her? Why not someone more experienced?”

  His father sneered at him. “Think about it, boy. How can you expect to sit on the council as its head if you’re not one step ahead of everyone around you?”

  Darin dropped his gaze a little. He didn’t want to incite his father’s anger. Even now after all these years, and he a grown man of twenty-eight. “I’ll have you to guide me, Father.”

  That seemed to appease him, because he gave Darin a rare smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They never did. “Wise answer, boy. Playing to my ego. Always a good tactic.”

  Darin felt his chest swell with pride. It was an infrequent thing for his father to compliment him, so he sucked it in as greedily as he could.

  “So, why her?” he asked Darin again.

  “She knows the family and her father is the acting head of the council?”

  Clive nodded, clearly pleased with Darin’s answer. “Yes. This works for us too.”

  “How?”

  “One of my men is close to Lord Soren. The Druid trusts him. So, all information given to him by his daughter will be relayed.” He stood and moved to stand in front of Darin. His father was a tall man, thin, frail-looking until you looked into his dark eyes. There was no mistaking the power there. Power he’d seen strike a man down with a wave of his father’s long bony hand.

  Darin wanted to move away. He’d never liked his father’s intensity. It was like standing next to a crematorium. It was hot, uncomfortable and you knew exactly what was going on inside, and it wasn’t in the least bit pleasant.

  “I hear Miss Vanguard is a skilled tracker. Better than some of the male Druids.”

  Clive waved his hand as if swatting away a nasty insect. “I’m not concerned with the girl. She’s a nuisance at best. It’s those two sons you need to worry about. Despite being Davenports, I imagine they are both extremely skilled in magic. Blake Davenport would’ve prepared them properly, I’m sure.”

  “Jovan’s a buffoon. I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s more concerned with his drink and gambling and women. Rhys, though, he’s more serious.” Darin remembered Rhys from several of their social gatherings. He was quiet and kept to himself, but was always watching. Darin could see in Rhys’s eyes that the man was prepared for anything. It was too bad he wouldn’t be equipped to handle what Darin planned to unleash.

  “You will d K“ng uno what you have to, to keep those foolish Davenports from finding their brother.”

  Darin met his gaze then. It was difficult to do but he kept it, although he wanted to tremble beneath its weight and power. “I’ll need help.”

  “You’ll have whatever you wish if it’s to stop Sebastian Davenport from

  gaining the head of the League.”

  Chapter Six

  It was half past seven by the time Jovan, Rhys and Skylar convened in the parlor for a breakfast of bread, preserves and tea. She was dressed very much like a man, with her riding trousers, knee-high leather boots and formfitting jacket, but one would never mistake her for one. Even in pants she was the epitome of feminine beauty and power. Her snow-colored hair was pinned up around her comely face, but cascaded down her back in perfect ringlets. They bounced when she moved her head, and Jovan found he desperately wanted to reach out and grasp one curl between his fingers. Instead he concentrated on spreading orange marmalade over the slice of his bread.

  He lifted his gaze again to watch her eat but she failed to meet it. She was obviously still angry from their earlier tryst. He didn’t blame her. He’d behaved poorly, as he often did when he was around her. She still made him feel like the awkward young adult he’d been when they’d first met.

  He’d made a total fool of himself that day, fumbling over his words and even going as far as diving under the dining table to retrieve her dropped fork. Although he’d kept silent, his father had witnessed the event and once the Vanguards had departed, he’d given Jovan a stripping down for over an hour about his behavior. Then came the lecture about how to court a young lady such as Skylar. Of course, he’d disregarded his father and pursued her the way he wanted. Nothing was going to stand in his way. He’d been fearless in his pursuit of her, abandoning all thought and reason. He’d been a fool then and he was still a fool.

  “How do you wish to proceed?” Rhys asked Skylar, as he poured more tea into her cup.

  “Well first we must examine Sebastian’s daily habits and determine what had changed during the days before he disappeared. Despite magic, people just don’t vanish.”

  Jovan didn’t wish to argue with her, but she was wrong. People could disappear. He knew by experience. Years ago he’d perfected a vanishing spell. With a short incantation and concentration of his magic, he could cloak himself in invisibility. To the layman’s eye it would look as if he’d vanished into thin air. If he could do the spell, he was sure Sebastian could as well. His older brother had more magic than he did and better control.

  “I’ve made notes on Sebastian’s usual schedule,” Jovan offered. “I went over them for months after he disappeared, to no avail.”

  Rhys smirked. “You’re no tracker, Jovan.’

  He met his brother’s disdainful look with his own. “I never claimed to be.”

  “I would like to see these notes.”

  Jovan reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out his black leather-bound notebook. He set it down on the table next to her plate. “As the lady wishes.”

  She made no comment as she picked up the notebook and thumbed through
it. “I’ll need to see Sebastian’s apartments in London.”

  “Of course,” J N“ngits ovan said. “They’re just as he left them.”

  “Good. I’ll be able to get a reading from there.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, then stood, pushing back her chair. “But first I should like to see Mr. Davenport.”

  Blake had a hearty grin on his face when Jovan and Skylar entered his bedroom. But Jovan knew that grin was strictly for Skylar. His father had always liked her, and had often told him how lucky he’d been to court her. Jovan also remembered the lecture he’d received about his idiocy when he’d ruined himself and lost her.

  “My dear Skylar, you do an old man a kindness by visiting him.”

  Skylar gripped his outstretched hand in hers and smiled. “There’s a rumor you are unwell, sir, but I don’t believe it. You look as hearty as a bull.”

  His booming laugh filled the room. “Hearty enough to scold my son for not waking me when you arrived so I could’ve greeted you proper.”

  “You were in no shape to be out of bed, Father,” Jovan said.

  Blake pierced him with a disapproving look. “Forgive me, Jovan, if I ignore your judgment in these matters. I still can’t believe what a mess you made of things with this beguiling lady.” He shook his head. “Still baffles me to no end.”

  Jovan opened his mouth to defend himself, but Skylar responded before he could.

  “The only thing that saddens me about that business is that I haven’t been able to see you, sir.”

  Blake beamed at her. “You could’ve called on me at any time, my lady.” He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her skin.

  The way Blake lingered over her hand put Jovan’s back up. He suspected his father did it on purpose, to make him uncomfortable and angry.

  “I brought you a gift from my father.” Skylar handed Blake a small mahogany box engraved with the sigil of the Vanguard family, the sun and sword.

  He opened it gingerly, knowing it would be something of significance coming from Lord Soren. The Druid lord did not impart gifts on just anyone. Blake lifted out a piece of wood carved into the shape of a pipe. It had symbols engraved into the white wood.

  “I’ve never seen a finer sláinte pipe,” Blake said.

  Skylar touched her forehead with the tips of two fingers, then touched Blake’s. “He wishes you well, as do I.”

  “You must let him know I am honored by his gift.”

  “I will.”

  Blake set the pipe aside and folded his shaking hands onto his lap. “Now on to more pressing matters. How to find my son.”

  “Skylar is the best tracker, Father. We will find him in time.”

  Blake looked at him and nodded. “You were smart to ask her to come.”

  Surprised by the compliment, Jovan just nodded in return. “We’ll keep you abreast on our progress.”

  “Good, then there’s no more time to waste on me.”

  Forty minutes later, Jovan, Rhys and Skylar were packed into the motor coach and on the road to London. By horse the trip would’ve taken them at least four hours, but in the steam-powered carriage, it would be two hours at most. For this, Jovan was relieved. Spending time with Skylar in such a cramped environmentwere Sirostewith her tantalizing scent filling his nose and pulling at his loins—was torture and not something he could endure for long.

  To make the trip bearable he spent most of the time up top with the driver. Bernard was a quiet, unassuming man of sixty and the perfect travel mate. They talked leisurely of the weather and the state of industry and about the upcoming world’s fair that Her Majesty was obsessed with. It was perfect conversation to pass the time and occupy his mind instead of constantly brooding about a certain beguiling Druid lady sitting mere feet below him.

  London was abuzz with excitement about the fair, the grand opening being only a day away. When they parked on the usually quiet street it came as a shock to see crowds streaming along the walkways and carriages, horse-drawn and steam-powered, rattling down the road. Jovan jumped down from the carriage and opened the door for Skylar. She took his offered hand but he knew it was from an ingrained sense of propriety and not because she wanted to.

  As they mounted the step to the brownstone building, Jovan said “Sebastian would loathe this place now. Too busy, too much noise.”

  “Yes, our brother did prefer his quiet and solitude.” Rhys opened the door for them.

  They took the stairs to the second floor. Jovan unlocked the door to Sebastian’s large apartment. It took up half the floor. The other half had been owned by Mrs. Rothschild, but she’d passed on two years ago, and now her dreadful grandson owned it. He was a giant bore of a man with a penchant for too much alcohol and gambling. A few years back, the man would’ve been the perfect chum. But Jovan had learned his lessons about drinking and gambling. It had cost him everything, including the one woman he would’ve died for.

  That woman was currently standing in the doorway inspecting the apartment, the heavy leather satchel draped over her shoulder. “How long did he live here?”

  Rhys answered before he could. “Not long, a year maybe. It’s not far from the theater where he performed.”

  Skylar took a few steps into the apartment, Jovan right behind her before Rhys could move in.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Please don’t crowd me. I need space to work in.”

  “My apologies.” Jovan gestured for her to proceed. He noticed the condescending smirk on Rhys’s smug face. “Something amusing, brother?”

  “When it comes to you, everything.”

  He was about to respond when Skylar gave them both a shrinking glare. “Be quiet, the both of you. I can’t concentrate when you’re nattering away.”

  She moved deeper into the apartment, the tips of her fingers trailing along the wooden furniture. He’d heard that some Druid trackers got feelings from inanimate objects. That they could see pictures pieced together from these feelings. Jovan didn’t understand it but didn’t deny the ability. He’d seen stranger things in his lifetime. A person didn’t grow up in a magical world and not experience the odd, absurd or outrageous.

  “Do you sense anything?”

  She flexed her fingers then shook her head. “Five years is a long time. A person’s energy dissipates over time. Some objects will hold that energy for an eternity but it would have to be powerful energy and an object of great importance. I don’t get that here in this place.”

  For the next half hour, Skylar moved through the rooms, touching things along the way. SongizeThe chair by the hearth, an oil lamp, a brass clock, a framed picture of the three brothers together. But nothing gave her any information.

  Jovan picked up the picture and studied it. In it, he couldn’t have been any older than ten; Rhys would’ve been twelve and Sebastian fifteen. They were all laughing at something. He didn’t recognize the setting but he remembered the feeling of that day.

  He set the frame back onto the mantel but not before he caught Rhys looking at him. It wasn’t his usual look of disdain though. Unnerved, Jovan moved away from the hearth and glanced out the window overlooking the street. He watched the passing of horse-drawn carriages.

  A maudlin sense of loss crept over him. He was all about progress, the engine of industry, but sometimes he longed for simpler times. Sebastian had hated the technological wheels that turned. He’d often complained about it to Jovan whenever he’d visited, which wasn’t as often as he’d wished. But such were the lives of men.

  “I don’t think he spent much time here. All the times I came to visit him, he’d been at the theater. That was where he truly lived, I believe.”

  “Then let’s not waste any more time here.” Skylar did an about-face and walked out of the apartment. “How far is the theater?”

  Rhys answered, “Not far, but a ten-minute walk.”

  Their ten-minute walk took twenty, as the streets were crowded and they had to avoid a brawl between three drunk a
nd burly men outside an alehouse. When they reached the theater, the doors were locked and Jovan had to bang on them several times before a man with an enormous bulbous nose poked his head out.

  “Whadya want?”

  “To ask you a few questions,” Jovan said.

  “We’re closed.” He went to slam the door shut, but Skylar was quicker and stopped him with one gloved hand. His eyes widened in surprise likely at her swiftness and her strength.

  “It will take but a moment, sir,” she said with a smile. “We inquire about Sebastian Davenport.” Between her fingers a piece of silver glinted. It hadn’t been there moments ago.

  The man grinned, showing off brown rotting teeth, and reached for the silver. “Well, why dinnya say so.” He opened the door wide. “Come in. Come in. Any friend of Davenport’s is a friend of mine.”

  Skylar went in first, with a kind nod to the man. When Jovan entered, he caught a hearty whiff of stale tobacco, sweet pork and the stink of a person accustomed to copious amounts of alcohol on a daily basis. Once they were all inside, the man led them across the lobby to a small office in the corner. There he took a seat of authority behind a scarred wooden desk, leaning back in the chair and putting his ratty boots up on the surface.

  “Now what’s this about Davenport? Haven’t seen him in years.”

  “That’s why we’re here, sir. To find him,” Skylar said.

  The man nodded toward Rhys. “You have the look of him. Except you dress far more fancy.” He eyed Rhys’s top hat, long overcoat and polished cane.

  “Sebastian is my brother.”

  Jovan noticed the new glint in the man’s eye.

  “Is he now? Well, when I come to think of it, that bloke owes me some money, he does.”

  Jovan didn’t buy that for a second. Sebastian was not a m Sn w that blokan for owing. He’d never have debts, especially not to someone like this downtrodden man. Jovan leaned over the desk. “I highly doubt Sebastian owes you a thing. He’s a respectable gentleman with great honor.”