‘Build your strength,’ said Espen mystically. He sat across from Tobias, laying his curved knives on the bench next to him.
I guess this means he won’t offer me a drink. Menelaus licked his lips; he hadn’t had anything since that taste of Lorenzo’s blood. Watching Espen, hands hovering over the knives, he sat down next to Toby.
‘The revelation you mentioned?’
Espen ignored him and looked straight at Tobias. ‘Why are you on the run? I only give one chance for honesty. I advise you not to test my patience.’
It took Toby a few seconds to finish swallowing the hunk of bread in his mouth. ‘Jenny – my fiancée – and I were promoted. Head-hunted by the Praefecti because of our tracking abilities.’ He took a sip of milk. ‘Akhen has some pretty strange ideas. You know about him?’
Espen nodded. Menelaus recognised the white fury in those blue eyes. He’d seen it in Theo’s, when the young warlock had held him at sword-point. ‘We didn’t pass the training programme. We went from being head-hunted to having our heads hunted.’
‘What did Akhen want with your tracking abilities?’ Espen asked.
Toby seemed tired, hunched over the table, crumbling a crust in his fingers. ‘They’re looking for someone – something – very important. They want the kid, Raphael, too. Know him?’
‘Yes.’ Espen bit the word. ‘Did they give you a name?’
‘No.’
‘And Jenny? Where is she?’
‘The Praetoriani have her. Or did. Don’t know if she’s alive or dead. They took her alive.’ He banged his fist on the table. ‘She’s out there. I’ll do anything to get her back.’
‘He almost killed me,’ said Menelaus.
‘Tobias, feel free to use my knives to finish the job.’
A verbal punch to the gut. He pressed his palm to his stomach. What did he expect from Isobel’s widower?
‘Menelaus…’
Scents of rosemary and garlic, hanging on the beams above, added a depth to the falling hush. Espen folded his arms, shifted uncomfortably, and rapped his knuckles on the table. He’s conflicted, Menelaus thought. Espen fixed on the window behind them like it was a gateway to somewhere else.
‘Espen?’ Toby said, confused.
‘No one ever told me that when I fell in love with Isobel I’d be marrying her sister. Twins are a package. You can separate them but you cannot take them out of each other.’
Menelaus tried to interrupt but Espen held up a hand to silence him. ‘She came to Hellingstead with us – Isobel’s twin. But she couldn’t stand our happiness. Isobel said the youngest twin always suffers the success of the eldest’s. She wanted attention, to prove herself not dependant on our goodwill. Sometimes I look back and feel enraged. But she was just a child. We all were. Children who thought themselves grown.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Her name was Elspeth. Elspeth Braec.’
The draught from the window brushed Menelaus’s neck. He shivered. ‘I’ve heard that name before, somewhere…’ Those eyes like blue fire, Theo looming over him in the graveyard, the tip of his sword at Menelaus’s throat: Who’s Elspeth?
‘Elspeth did the impossible. She had the child of a vampire.’ Espen glanced at Tobias. ‘Have either of you read the Praefecti’s Code?’
Isobel Clemensen, I arrest you in the name of the Code.
‘Not the Praetoriani’s Code, Menelaus.’
They stared at each other. How—
He didn’t get the chance to finish the thought. ‘It’s not for public viewing,’ Espen continued, voice smug but expression bleak, ‘and it forbids the union of vampires and witches. It shouldn’t be possible. But all of a sudden, it was. The child became a woman and made a decision a mother makes only when she has to.’
Menelaus felt sick. Déjà vu. I…I…
He licked his lips, remembering the taste of blood. The realisation hid just out of reach, a presence that lurked in the shadows, unwelcome. ‘What?’ he whispered. ‘What did she do?’
‘She abandoned the baby at St. Michael’s Church.’
Menelaus gasped, forcing the air into his lungs. Dark spots filled his vision. No, no, he’s trying to hurt me, he’s trying to punish me…
‘The vampire. The father. Who was the father?’ He breathed slow and deep but his head spun. It was only when Tobias touched his arm that he realised it was shaking.
‘Michele De Laurentis. As far as I know, he believed you were stillborn.’
He hardly noticed the sudden softness in Espen’s voice. ‘And Elspeth? My mother… where is she?’
‘Your dear employers divested her of her powers. She lost you and her heritage in a short time. Isobel told me that she committed suicide before our son was born.’
An earthquake built up in his bones. His pulse throbbed in his ears – an internal scream. Hot salty tears dammed up in his eyes, then slipped over the edge. ‘Does Julian know who my parents are?’ The question wobbled on the way out.
‘He was Elspeth’s Guardian.’
Tobias, who had remained silent, slowly stood up. ‘Menelaus is a dhampir. It makes sense now. Why Akhen is so desperate. If vampires and witches can unite and produce offspring, he’s running out of time. Pneuma are evolving. Soon there will be no distinction between any of us. It will make what he’s looking for impossible to find.’ He patted Menelaus’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about your mother, Laus.’
He couldn’t speak. He seemed to pause on a fundamental level. Espen leaned over the table, forcing him to look up. ‘Do you understand? What the Praetoriani really are? They drove your mother to her death, then sent you to kill your own aunt. They took your powers too. Invisibility was Elspeth’s speciality.’
That got his attention. Menelaus sat up straight, arms rigid and stuck to the table. ‘My aunt. Isobel.’ Dazed, he reached towards Espen. ‘My uncle—’
Espen slapped his hand away. ‘There’s no blood between us. But Theodore is your cousin. I have no doubt the Praetoriani wish him a great deal of harm to satisfy Akhen’s mad quest. On this matter, the Clemensens and the Braecs must work together. If you are truly sorry for my wife’s death, you will protect our son – your cousin.’
An entire marching band passed through his head before he could speak again. Finally, his mind sharpened. ‘Twenty-seven years, it’s been twenty-seven years. Now you tell me this, in a bid to recruit me to your cause? I am your nephew by marriage and still you have no compassion for what I have suffered! What is wrong with you?’
He joined Tobias, standing up. Raw emotion flooded his chest. ‘I am sick of apologising for what happened. It was a terrible accident. I was sixteen years old!’ He untangled his legs from the bench. ‘I already decided to help Theo. I already decided! After losing everything, my powers, the respect of the institution I have worked for since adulthood, and nearly my sanity. I strive and get nowhere. And no one, no one thought to at least give me my identity?
‘I will help Theo. I will find Jenny. But I’m not your spy. I do nothing for you!’ He glanced at the clock above the sink. ‘Tobias is your responsibility now. I’ve got somewhere to be.’
Menelaus Knight.
Menelaus Braec.
Menelaus De Laurentis.
One of those men, or all three, stormed out of Hellingstead Hall. Whoever it was, it wasn’t the same man who’d walked in.
As he drove to the Red Hawk to meet David, the labels flicked through his mind like radio stations. Professor. Guardian. Witch. Vampire. Orphan. Cousin. He jammed the buttons on his dashboard until music blared out, hammering the steering wheel with his fists. ‘Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck am I!’
Hatred scorched his heart. He glowered at the easy smiles of pedestrians as he crawled down Market Road. How dare they know everything about themselves? How dare they have families and roast dinners and quiet contentment? How dare they be human, when he was a freak?
The Red Hawk’s sign swayed above the pavement. Menelaus turned right and
parked behind the pub, hauling out a change of clothes from the back seat. If ever he needed a lock-in, tonight was the night.
21
Liquid Interrogation
‘You’re late,’ Grace hissed as Lorenzo rounded the bar, sans uniform. He moved her gently to one side and squeezed past.
‘I got caught up,’ he said, running into the owners, Fletch and Susan Hawk, as he slipped into the back room to change.
‘We know what you are,’ Susan said, idly polishing her glasses while Fletch rolled a beer barrel to the door and sat on it.
So it’s going to be one of those conversations, is it? The witch couple exuded that faint spice just like Theo did, except his was a far stronger scent. If he could recognise them, they must know…
He dropped his bag and pulled out his T-shirt with the Red Hawk logo. Salt had dried the skin on his arms from his swim in the sea. At least he’d washed his face and hands after dropping Raphael off with Theo. ‘Yet you agreed to hire me.’
‘We did,’ Fletch said, hands resting on his knees, ‘and we’re all for equal opportunities, aren’t we, Susie?’ Susan adjusted her glasses and flopped her arm around her husband’s shoulders.
‘Absolutely. And we’re willing to accommodate your preference for later shifts. But in return we expect you to be a reliable employee. Do we understand each other?’
Lorenzo pinned the name tag they’d given him earlier onto his shirt, opposite the logo. ‘I will be exemplary from now on, come hell or’—he swallowed a snicker—‘high water.’
‘Then I better show you the ropes. First, we’ll hit the taps.’ Fletch stood up and unblocked the door. ‘Hurry up, I don’t like keeping our patrons waiting.’
‘Aye, Captain,’ Lorenzo said in his best Somerset accent, swiftly followed by a mock salute. He followed Fletch out. Grace was flitting about like a demented fairy, popping lids and pulling pints. The bar swelled with bodies, so many hearts pounding in his ears, pheromones luring him away from sanity.
‘Lorenzo, are you listening?’ Fletch said, a tankard of freshly dispensed Hawk Ale in his hand. Another barmaid rushed past with a tray of empty plates and tankards. Her blood smelled sweet.
He swallowed. ‘Err, yes.’
‘Hold the tankard at this angle to avoid too much head.’
Don’t smirk, Lorenzo, don’t smirk. But when he risked a glance at Fletch’s face, his boss’s leathery cheeks crinkled.
‘Now I’ve got your attention, you try.’
Lorenzo easily copied Fletch’s smooth motion. He’d worked in the student bar before; it wasn’t much different, except perhaps the standards. He spent the next twenty minutes dancing around Grace, trying to pick out individual voices in the hubbub, to fulfil orders. When a large group of patrons wandered over to the stage to watch the tribute band, he let Grace show him how to use the till, even though he’d used one at the student bar a million times too. God, Raphael’s candy-floss skin made him so hungry. Grace, she was more caramel…
‘It’s not that hard, Lorenzo; even someone as forgetful as you can handle it.’
‘Forgetful?’
She shot him a hard look and brushed the ginger curls off her shoulder like one might shift dust.
Oh yeah, I forgot she’s pissed at me.
‘You didn’t call.’
‘Was I meant to?’
Her eyes widened a little. ‘You’re such an arsehole sometimes.’
‘I’m sorry, I honestly don’t remember saying I was—’
‘Forget it. As I said, you’re forgetful. And rude.’ She collected up the tankards left on the bar and handed them to Charlotte, who took them away to wash. Then Grace rounded on him. ‘Did last night really mean nothing to you? Because you act like I’m not even here.’
Last night. Last night? What had happened? He’d been with Theo and Ava, Malachi and Penny… He rubbed his head. ‘Sorry, must’ve been out of it last night. I don’t remember even seeing you.’
‘You’re freaking kidding me!’ She pointed a finger at his chest. ‘You have a drinking problem.’
Lorenzo stared at her. ‘Yeah, I do.’ The vein on Grace’s pale neck pulsed angrily. He licked his lips, then turned away. His hands shook as he picked up a cloth to wipe the bar.
‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘is that why you want to work here? Near the booze?’
A youngish man with hair as ginger as Grace’s, only flat and gelled, to hide the bald patch at the back, slid onto the bar stool in front of Lorenzo. ‘Hello, handsome.’ He smiled.‘You’re new. I’d remember a face like yours.’
Grace stepped in. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, David. Usual?’
David sighed. ‘Usual, darling. And, I’m not so sure about this one. He’s got that twinkle in his eye.’
‘Which eye?’ Lorenzo smiled.
David laughed as Grace placed an ornate wine glass on the bar. ‘He’s a quick one, too.’
‘He’ll break your heart,’ said Grace, her freckles ripening. In the low lighting she appeared vulnerable, almost delicate. She caught Lorenzo’s eye and snapped her focus back on the patron. ‘Meeting anyone?’
‘Well, as it happens…’
Lorenzo inhaled, suddenly aware of a familiar scent closing in. A couple milling around the bar split apart as Menelaus strode through. His hair was untamed and he wore a deep brown flying jacket. ‘David,’ he said, sliding onto the stool. Menelaus didn’t climb on stools like most, he sat down on them instead.
He clocked Lorenzo and raised his eyebrows.
‘Hello, Professor.’
‘Laus, honey. You look…like some kind of ruffian.’
‘What can I get you?’ Grace asked.
‘Hawk Ale.’ Menelaus seemed distant, distracted. ‘Please.’
Where’s Toby? Lorenzo thought. Raphael’s deep blush and dimpled smile forced their way into his mind’s eye. He took an empty tankard from under the bar and located the relevant tap, a ruby-coloured hawk painted on the attached panel. Had Theo found Raphael somewhere safe to stay yet? Somewhere outside, where the boy – a vague term, Raphael was beyond such definitions – would be content? He glanced at David. How did he know Menelaus?
When Grace drifted to the other end of the bar, Lorenzo leaned forward. ‘Are you a Professor like Menelaus or a you-know-what?’
David gaped, then took a swig of his wine. ‘Who are you to ask, barman?’
‘Relax, David.’ Menelaus flicked his wrist. ‘Lorenzo is one of mine.’
‘Yours? Boyfriend?’
‘Ward. I’m his you-know-what.’
‘Before that he was my professor.’
The wine quickly disappeared down David’s throat. ‘Sounds too complicated for me, gorgeous. Fill me up, would you?’
The next couple of hours bled together as a group of middle-aged men wearing football shirts stumbling into the pub, sons in tow. Heavy drinkers. Two or three attempted to chat up Grace and Charlotte. Lorenzo didn’t get involved; it wasn’t fair to lead Grace on. Maybe he did see her last night – that would explain the lipstick on his neck when he’d woken up this morning.
Why do I keep blacking out? Is it the blood? Busy hands helped to buoy his thoughts and he bobbed along to the musical beat and the snippets of conversation he couldn’t help but overhear. Thank God I didn’t kill her and forget about it. He pictured the scenario and shuddered.
He lost count of how many pints Menelaus drank. As the evening wore on, he grew louder, taking up as much room as possible at the bar. A thread of feeling extended between them – Lorenzo’s blood was circulating in the Guardian, although it would filter out soon. Wild static surrounded Menelaus, who frowned whenever Lorenzo approached.
‘Theo’s trial…’
Lorenzo paused at a table bathed in light from an antique lamp. The two women he was serving were so lost in an argument that they didn’t notice. He focused his hearing. It was Menelaus speaking. ‘What happens if he’s found guilty? Where will they hold him? The cells beneath… They
’re not strong enough for a Clemensen, are they?’
‘Honey, who knows?’ That was David’s high-pitched reply. ‘Maybe they take the powerful ones somewhere else. What does it matter?’
‘But where? I mean, shouldn’t someone be accountable for prisoners?’ Lorenzo caught the sound of a tankard toppling off the bar, and he darted over. It was Menelaus’s. He slapped down a five-pound note on the bar. Lorenzo pulled him another pint and opened the till with a sigh.
‘Well, maybe. Are you afraid he’ll escape? Given your history with the family?’
Lorenzo watched from his periphery. Menelaus had gone very still, like he was about to rip David’s head off. ‘What if I wanted to find someone held down there? How would I do that?’
David shrugged, slumped into one hand propped on the bar. ‘Let’s talk about something else. I’m dying of boredom here, honey.’
‘Justice is boring, is it? Maybe you’re in the wrong job.’
David groaned. ‘Maybe you’ve had one too many, Laus. When I said you should let your hair down,’ he said, eyeing Menelaus’s salt-encrusted locks, ‘I didn’t realise this would happen.’ He waved his free hand up and down Menelaus’s ridiculously long body.
He shouldn’t be talking about this, thought Lorenzo. The pub was full of Pneuma this evening. Who could say if anyone else was listening in? Jenny might be imprisoned at the Praetoriani like Toby feared but Menelaus would do her no good if he got caught searching for her.
‘Sure, but say if I wanted to find someone, isn’t there some kind of list I… I mean, that one could check?’
‘Ask a prison guard! Or the chefs – they must know how many people they have to feed.’
‘That’s not a bad idea.’
At last, Susie appeared and rang the bell for last orders. He kept his ears tuned on Menelaus as he and Grace dealt with the last influx.
‘And here’s another thing,’ slurred Menelaus, ‘what about powers? Where do they go? Does someone absorb them or are they stored in little glowing jars on some fancy shelf?’
Norns of Fate: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Descendants of Thor Trilogy Book Two) Page 17
