The Last Sun
Page 36
I pulled a torn magazine page from my pocket and unfolded a publicity shot of Ashton Saint Gabriel.
I tacked the picture into one of the nine squares with painstaking care.
Half House’s backyard was wider and deeper than the rest of the house. Queenie’s one-room cottage took up a large chunk of the northwest corner, but there was still enough room to squeeze a large amount of people into it. Well, “large” by our antisocial standards, at least.
Addam; Quinn and Diana; Lilly Rose. I’d invited the Tower and Ciaran, to be polite, but neither had shown. Addam brought a strange, black watermelon, and he was carving it up on the picnic table. He handed me a slice on his way to the grill, which he’d politely commandeered when Brand started getting too free with the lighter fluid.
I took the watermelon to the cherry tree, and eavesdropped. Lilly Rose was whispering to Queenie about dental plans. Max and Quinn were sizing each other up—and this after Quinn pointedly warned Max that he would tolerate no ferrets in their relationship. Max was even laughing, which was a nice sound to hear.
“See,” I said, when Brand came over. I held up my watermelon. “This is a normal, everyday gift. He’ll fit in.”
“Sure he will,” Brand said. “I’ve lost fucking count of the times that someone’s brought a densuke watermelon to our house.”
I stared at it. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means that your everyday guy is a really rich smart-ass.”
Half an hour after the grill’s last yield, the doorbell rang. I waved Queenie off and went inside the house myself.
I checked the peephole first, which Brand had installed through the woodwork, about five feet from the fake peephole. A small smile crossed my lips. I went over to the bookshelf above the sofa and pulled down an old book with a broken spine.
“Why hello, Geoffrey,” I said when I opened the door.
Geoffrey gave me a deeply suspicious look from the front stoop.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “Sorry about the short notice.”
“What’s going on?” Geoff asked. He sniffed. “Are you barbecuing? Did you call me here for a barbecue?”
I went out on the stoop, nudging him aside when he didn’t step back. I shut the door behind me.
Geoffrey didn’t look good. It had been a hard week for him. If there’d been a funeral for Michael, I hadn’t heard about it; and the Arcanum’s investigation had been taxing.
“Do you honestly think,” I said, “that I’d invite you into my home?”
Geoffrey reddened. “I don’t need to take this from you anymore. I’ve made my peace with the Arcanum.”
“Because I protected you.”
Geoffrey gave no response other than grinding his teeth.
“I protected you,” I said.
“You protected me,” he spat. “But even if they knew what you knew, I’d have survived this. I wasn’t the real villain, Rune. You know that.”
“It’s a bad practice, telling me what I know. It makes me want to ask all sorts of questions.”
“Enjoy your barbecue,” he said, turning to leave.
“Not so fast. I bought this for you.” I turned the book faceup and held it out for him.
His face ran through emotions like a child’s flick book—annoyed, puzzled, shocked, scared, and, finally, a forced blandness. Geoffrey would never make a good poker player.
“What is that?” he asked.
“A copy of the book you were holding when I first met you at Moral Confidence.” I tilted the binding. “Rare herbs and their history. Fascinating shit.”
“I read a lot of books, Rune.”
“Sooner or later, we’ll get to the part where you poisoned Christian Saint Nicholas.”
“Ashton poisoned him. It was Ashton’s plan!”
“Do you honestly think that lie would stand, if the Arcanum put the right questions to you?”
Geoffrey took a step back and stumbled on the edge of the landing.
“This is what I think,” I continued. “I think Ashton was the real villain. And I think you’re greedy and stupid. I think you saw a chance to become important. But, either way, you were much, much more involved than you’ve admitted.”
“What are you going to do?” he said.
“I’m going to blackmail you, Geoff.”
“I . . . I gave the Arcanum a Vow of Redemption. I can’t—”
“You’re going to swear a greater vow to me. I’ll set up the ritual this weekend.”
“Why?” Geoffrey demanded. “Why would you do this?”
“Because a man who knows poisons now owes me a favor. Think of the possibilities. Now get the hell away from my house, Geoff. We’ll talk soon.”
I went back inside and shut the door. The look on his face was something to be cherished.
I was in the process of sliding the book back into place when I noticed a man sitting on the other end of the sofa. He wore a brown cowl and had a large and dripping nose.
“So,” I said. “This is happening.”
“Brother,” he greeted me.
“Lord Hermit.” I went over to the armchair and sank heavily onto the cushions. “How much of that did you hear?”
The Hermit made a dismissive sound. “Don’t flatter yourself with your schemes. You still fail to see the larger picture, child.”
Considering I’d never so much as exchanged a word with the man before, his presumptuousness seemed cheeky.
“There is,” the Hermit said, “a prophecy about you.”
“Oh, don’t even.”
Something that may have been a smile flashed white inside the cowl. “It’s too soon to tell you. One day, not too far from now, you’ll come to me for answers. And I’ll tell you the truth. I’ll tell you what I know. I will do this, for the service you provided me.”
“Ashton was an idiot. A raid on the Hermitage would never have succeeded.”
“Maybe so. Maybe not. Nevertheless, I will discharge my debt.”
He stood up and folded his arms under his sleeves. “Be cautious, brother. Coincidences will draw closer, and the current will become deeper. Be cautious.”
He vanished.
Fucking Arcana, I thought.
I surprised myself by having fun. It was a fun afternoon.
We ate and drank and laughed. It was unspeakably normal. Even Quinn fit in—relaxing into his age, acting like a real teenager. When he found out Brand had considered him a suspect in Addam’s disappearance—however briefly—he was ecstatic. He spent the rest of the barbecue jumping around with his hands on his hips, waxing a fake mustache.
As the failing sun seared the horizon, I retreated to the elevated patio with a bottled beer. Addam joined me after a few minutes.
“Densuke,” I said. “Really?”
“I know a guy.”
I shook my head through a smile.
Addam stared over at his younger brother, who was telling Max a story that involved wide, exaggerated arm gestures. “You are saying something with this.”
“With what?”
“Inviting Quinn. Do you know how many barbecues he’s been invited to? How many birthday parties? How many opportunities he’s had to be . . . For this . . .” His voice went tight, and he cleared his throat. “For this alone I will love you, Hero.”
“And yet,” I said in a shaky voice, “you’re scared of me.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t lie, Addam. I saw the look on your face back at the basilica.”
To my surprise, he laughed. He wiped his eyes and laughed.
“Of course I am scared of you. You brought a church down on our heads. You scare the sainted spit out of me, Rune.”
“We’re both scions. We’re both powerful.”
“I am a scion. You are Arcana. I accept this.”
“It’s that easy?” I asked. I stared at him, not sure I wanted the answer to the next question. “And that’s the only reason you’re scared?”
I opened and closed my mouth, and then opened and closed it again.
“You will not convince me you’re not my talla,” Addam said softly. “You will not convince me that we’re not important.”
Addam kissed me on the forehead. “Tomorrow, I will begin our courtship.”
He walked away.
The railing under my hands was moving. I looked down and saw that branches were growing out of the wood. One of them was studded with buds, and the buds bloomed into powder-blue flowers.
Brand came over. We stared at the railing. After a suitable period of reflection, he said, “You are such a freak.”
He slapped the bottom of his beer against the neck of mine so that foam shot out of it. I laughed and held it away, while he walked off.
There are moments in your life that are so impossibly large that it’s difficult to even comprehend them. They make your very bones vibrate. Standing there, it was like my future spiraled outward. Waves of possibility crashed on each other, bound by the insane certainty that everything could start.
That everything could finally start.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For the best agent in the known multiverse, Sara Megibow of kt literary; for my awesome editor, Rene Sears of Pyr; for the Writer’s Cramp and its exceptionally talented authors; for the fantastic friends I made in the Emerging Leaders Network . . . There are, quite literally, a million thank-yous I need to make, starting with Miss Hubbard and going straight through to the amazing folk at Pyr (Rene! Jade! Jake! Hanna!); the talented cover artist, Micah Epstein; and the barista who made my iced mocha at Open Eye this afternoon. But Sara? Rene? The Writer’s Cramp? ELN? These people helped nurture and shape the book you just read. I am so grateful for their skill and support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K. D. Edwards lives and writes in North Carolina but has spent time in Massachusetts, Maine, Colorado, New Hampshire, Montana, and Washington State. (Common theme until North Carolina: Snow. So, so much snow.) Mercifully short careers in food service, interactive television, corporate banking, retail management, and bariatric furniture have led to a much less short career in higher education, currently for the University of North Carolina system.
And feel free to follow K. D. Edwards on Twitter, @KDEdwards_NC! (Except for parents and coworkers and anyone else who thinks K. D. is polite and mild-mannered. Seriously. Save him from that reckoning.)