by H. D. Gordon
Surah brought her right hand up, holding her fingers together as if clutching a pencil, and began to write in the air. The piece of White Stone tucked into her shirt grew warm against her chest. The words hung there before her eyes on an invisible sheet of paper, but Surah was the only one who could see them. It was a simple kind of Magic, like a mental filing system, much less risky than writing things down in a journal or with a wand, as common folks did, but most people never took the time to learn it. Syris had taught her this, had told her it was an important skill to have, and now she could really see why. She had to put the puzzle pieces together.
This was what she knew: The Black Stone was missing. Merin Nightborn and an old common Sorcerer named Milner were dead. The only witness to the deaths was a man who she’d met once as a girl. He was the boy she’d given her sister’s stone to and pretended she didn’t know what happened to it when the matter was questioned. It had been assumed stolen, and she’d let the assumption stay.
Now a Highborn was dead and the person she’d given the stone to was the main suspect. Stone Magic had caused both of the deaths; that much was obvious. And the man had been lying. And she had lied for him. She needed to make sure that didn’t blow up in her face.
Charlie. She wondered how she could have forgotten his name. He’d told it to her that day on the lake, when she’d been mourning the loss of her sister and mother, and she’d slowly lost the memory over time. Now it all came flooding back to her, and she realized if Charlie was guilty, and her sister’s stone was involved, she could be in a spot of trouble here.
Well, she could lie, of course, if he accused her of having given it to him. Her word would certainly be taken over his, but the idea didn’t sit right with her. That would be a nearly sinful thing to do, and Surah may be the most privileged person in the kingdom, but she didn’t think she was a sinful person. No, she wouldn’t deny his accusations if they came to light. But it would be a whole lot better for everyone if she could just solve this thing and place him in the clear before that could happen.
Assuming he was in the clear.
Surah sighed and stood, patting Samson on the head absently. The morning sun was just beginning to brighten the sky, filling the horizon with soft blues and pinks. She probably should have tried to get some sleep, but it was too late for that now. The next step was going to see her father, and she wondered what her report would be. Was she prepared to lie to him too? She didn’t even know the man she was protecting, or why the hell she was even protecting him, other than the guilt of having given him a gift that could get his head taken off. If she were going to set the record straight, now would be the time.
A moment later she was sweeping into her father’s study, where Syrian sat in his chair in front of the fire. A table had been set up in front of him, and a breakfast of exotic fruits and meats and fresh bread was sprawled out there. He looked over at his daughter as she entered and smiled around a mouthful of food. “Surah,” he said, “how were your travels?”
Surah took a seat in the chair across from her father, staring into the fireplace as if the answers to her questions burned there. She folded her gloved hands in her lap, her heart seeming to sink down into the chair with her. “Travels were fine, father,” she said.
Syrian was silent for a moment. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
Surah gave her father a small, real smile, and nodded. The two of them could fight like cats and dogs, but they had an overall good relationship. They took care of each other. They loved each other, and they were the only immediate family either of them had left.
Silence hung between them, Syrian waiting patiently for Surah to speak, as he knew was best with her. A Hunter entered the room and delivered a tray of food for her that matched her father’s. The two of them sat eating for a time. Then Surah finally decided to just jump in.
“It doesn’t look good, father,” she said, fixing him with her purple eyes.
Syrian’s hard jaw worked as he chewed, his face settling into that of a king doing business. Again, he waited for her to speak.
Surah told the story, leaving out the falsity of Charlie’s recount. For now. When she was finished, Syrian sat back and released a slow breath, folding his large hands on his ample belly over the silver chain resting there that held his piece of White Stone, which was twice the size of hers. Surah knew what his first question would be.
“Was he lying?”
Yep. First question. Sometimes she hated that her father was so in-tuned to her. No one in the world could read her like him now that Syris was dead. She was careful not to avert her eyes. She hadn’t known before if she would tell him the truth, but like always, she found it difficult to lie to him.
“I don’t think the witness is guilty of murdering Merin Nightborn, or of stealing the Black Stone,” she said. “It’s…complicated.”
Syrian raised an eyebrow at this. “Oh, I would say so, Surah. I would indeed say so. But my question is, why do you think it’s complicated?”
Again, to lie or not to lie. Surah sat back and sighed. Not to lie, she decided. Lying only ever made things worse, and her father would be angry with her, but he wouldn’t hate her. She had used some bad discretion when she was just a young girl, and now it had come back to bite her in the rear. It was time to come clean, and it would probably be a relief. Yes, he would be angry, but he would also understand. And he would help.
“Well, the Black Stone is missing and Lady Nightborn was indeed murdered,” Surah began. “She was almost certainly murdered with Stone Magic, and I do think the two matters are connected.”
Syrian said nothing, waited.
Surah reached into her cloak and pulled out the tiny piece of Black Stone attached to the necklace that the Hunter had found on Milner’s body. She held it up. Her father’s eyes first widened then narrowed as he realized what it was.
Now for the bombshell. Surah breathed deep. “I just don’t believe Charlie Redmine has anything to do with the missing stone, or the murder because—”
“What was that name?” Syrian snapped, cutting her off before she could tell him she’d given Charlie her sister’s stone, and everything else. His face had gone hard, his mouth tight and fingers digging into the armrests of his chair. Surah’s heart dropped, and she hadn’t even known it’d been at risk of falling.
“Charlie Redmine?” she said, her voice just above a whisper. She didn’t like the look on her father’s face.
Syrian spoke through clenched teeth. “I thought I remembered it from somewhere. Is Redmine still in custody?”
Surah swallowed, nodded. The blazing fireplace suddenly seemed very hot at her side.
Her father seemed to relax a little. “Good. Have him locked up immediately pending investigation,” he said. Now his violet gaze fixed on her. “I bet he was lying, wasn’t he? He didn’t pass your test?”
Surah answered that with questions of her own. Her voice sounded somehow robotic to her own ears. “Who is he father? How do you know him?”
Syrian stared at her, and Surah’s breath seemed to freeze in her chest. Whatever he was about to tell her, she probably didn’t want to hear it. Just by his look she could tell it was going to seriously complicate matters.
“He’s Black Heart’s younger brother,” Syrian said.
And Surah wasn’t sure why, but for a moment, she couldn’t breathe at all.
CHAPTER 10
Charlie went home, which was just a small cabin behind his bar, and the two Hunters that had stayed to “watch him” followed and perched on his doorstep. He sighed as he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door to the cabin. “You fellas let me know if you need a sleepin’ bag or something,” he said, and then stepped inside and shut the door behind him before they could respond.
He stood for a moment in his living room, just looking around at the sparse contents of his home. It had been one helluva morning. Charlie ran his hand down his jaw and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the robotic feel
ing that had taken over him. He was in big trouble here. He could feel it, but he may as well try to relax.
He hid the stone first, underneath a loose brick in his fireplace, and felt a little better after having done so. Grabbing his guitar from the stand in the corner, he sat down on the couch with the instrument across his lap.
Music and painting had always been his comforts, and right now he didn’t have the energy to sit at his easel. Later he was sure he would paint a portrait of the princess, one in which she was no longer a little girl. He had only allowed himself to paint her before once and had immediately destroyed the picture after, but now the image was new, and he eventually would have to get it out of his system, and be done with it. Especially now. Now that she was the Keeper on a case where he was the main suspect. He had to be done with it, once and for all.
Charlie settled back in his seat, intent on not thinking too much about the events of the morning. He strummed the guitar strings absently, the chords stringing together in a tune he had been playing for as long as he could remember, one that he never played for anyone but himself.
After a few moments, his exhaustion took over and he fell asleep with his fingers still on the strings. He was still asleep on his couch when the princess who walked his dreams popped into his living room twenty minutes later, not long after the sun had completely risen on what would surely be another long day.
CHAPTER 11
As soon as she did it she wished she hadn’t. In one hour Hunters would be here to haul Charlie Redmine to the cells, and she would be leading the arrest. She stood now in his living room, having just teleported from her father’s chambers. She’d told Syrian she would report back to Theo and have him ready a team to arrest Charlie, but she’d come here instead.
She saw him first. He sat asleep on the couch, an old wood guitar perched on his lap, his handsome face peaceful. Surah tore her eyes away and glanced around nervously, taking his slumber as a sign from the Gods that she better just leave now before it was too late.
She was just about to snap her fingers and get the hell out of there when she stole one last look at the sleeping man to see that he was no longer sleeping.
His jade-colored eyes were open, staring at her in that penetrating way they had. Her fingers relaxed and her hand fell to her side, thoughts of leaving momentarily forgotten. Charlie said nothing, just sat up a little, straitening his flannel shirt, and slowly placed the guitar on the floor, his gaze never leaving Surah’s.
She felt very much like a deer in the headlights. Couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His face was carefully expressionless. “Princess,” he said.
This snapped Surah out of her trance. “Do you still have it?” she asked, deciding to cut to the chase. The longer she stayed here, the worse it could be. For both of them.
Charlie nodded slowly, not having to ask what she meant.
Surah took a deep breath and a step toward him, and his head tilted back as he looked up at her from his place on the couch. She took the glove off her right hand and held her hand out to him. She thought she saw Charlie’s jaw clench, but couldn’t be sure. He placed his hand in hers.
“Did you use it to kill Merin Nightborn?” she asked.
“No.”
Surah breathed a silent sigh of relief. True.
“Did you use the stone I gave you to kill Brad Milner?”
“Yes.”
Surah sighed outwardly this time before she could stop herself. True.
“Was it self-defense?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. True.
She took a deep breath. “Do you know anything about the disappearance of the Black Stone?”
Charlie’s brows knitted together, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “No, ma’am,” he said, momentarily forgetting the proper way to address her.
Surah dropped his hand and stepped back, relieved a little more than she probably should be. She pulled her glove back on her hand, still feeling the warmth of his touch on her fingers, ignoring it. Charlie’s eyes watched her the whole time, and she found herself struggling to look right back at him.
But she managed it. “Is your brother Black Heart?” she asked.
Charlie swallowed, his face still carefully blank. “Yes, my lady.”
Surah waited for elaboration.
“I haven’t spoken to him in years,” Charlie said. His jaw was still just a little too tight, so hard it was to look at her. She had gotten even more beautiful and enchanting with age. And it was never pleasant talking about his brother. If the Black Stone was missing, he wouldn’t put it past Michael.
Surah moved away from him, turning her back on his piercing gaze, and went over to the wall where more paintings like the ones in his bar hung. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Did you do these?” she asked, gesturing to the paintings.
Charlie nodded.
“They’re beautiful,” she said, wondering why in the hell she was making small talk with the clock ticking the way it was.
“Thank you, my lady,” Charlie said, his deep, country-accented voice matching the modest contents of his home; warm and clean.
It was so different from the way Surah lived, so simple and cozy, and it fascinated her. She wondered if all the common people in the country land lived so simply.
“You’ll have to give me the stone,” she said turning to face him again.
Charlie nodded and stood, and Surah had to stop herself from staring at his body as he did so. He seemed to be made of nothing but muscle and smooth skin. He walked over to the fireplace with lithe movements for such a big man, and removed the brick that hid the necklace she’d given him so long ago. Then he came over and stood in front of her.
Surah’s breath caught a little. He was much taller than her, probably a little over six feet, with wide shoulders clothed in flannel. She had an image of the two of them from the outside, standing next to each other, all of their differences so plainly evident, and it brought home the fact that she had no business being here, no business at all. She suddenly felt a little sympathy for Merin Nightborn, and was sure of the fact that the lady had gone to the bar to flirt with Charlie Redmine. This made sympathy for him pass through her as well. She wished it wouldn’t.
He held the necklace with her sister’s stone out to her on his open palm, his jade-colored eyes staring down at her. She reached up slowly, willing herself to look away from him, to break their eye contact, and not quite succeeding. Her gloved fingers brushed his as she took the necklace.
“Thank you,” she said, and was aware only after that her voice had fallen to a husky whisper. And then, as if her tongue had a mind of its own, she added, “My father wants you arrested.”
Charlie’s expression didn’t change, and Surah found herself admiring his self-control. He was almost better at it than she was. “I had a feelin,” he said, his voice also low and deep. “Because of my brother, right?”
Surah nodded, pulling her eyes away at last, and took a small step back from him. “I confirmed your story,” she said, wondering why in the hell she was telling him this, why she was even still here.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Surah flicked her violet eyes up to his and away again. “I’ll try to help you, but I’ll be back here in an hour with Hunters to take you to the cells. King’s orders.”
Charlie released a slow breath. “Alright,” he said.
Surah was just about to teleport out of there, to someplace where maybe her breathing could regulate, when Charlie stepped forward and put his hand over hers, halting her leave. Her heart kicked up in pace, and she was helpless to still it even with concentrated effort.
“Why, Surah?” the man from her past asked, his deep voice a pitch lower than it had been before. “Why’re you here? Why you helpin' me?”
Surah met Charlie’s eyes, the same exotic ocean color as when he had been a dirty young boy of only fifteen beside a lake, and she a broken young girl, and he had c
omforted her. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, angry with herself for liking the way her name sounded from his lips. Her father was the only person who called her by name now, and she should have taken offense to it. Theo certainly would have.
But she didn’t. “I don’t know,” she repeated, and snapped her fingers and got the hell out of there.
CHAPTER 12
Jude Flyer arrived at Charlie’s house thirty minutes after the princess left. He entered to find Charlie sitting on the couch, his guitar propped on his lap, his deep voice humming the rhythm to an old country tune, one Jude and all other common people learned early in childhood.
Charlie’s fingers halted on the strings and he looked up at the Defender as he entered his living room. Jude flyer looked refreshed and ready to go, his pudgy cheeks holding roses and his hair slicked back to perfection again. He raised a thin eyebrow as he took a seat in the armchair across from Charlie, smoothing out his cloak with his fat fingers. “You look incredibly calm for a man who’s thirty minutes away from being arrested by Hunters,” Jude said.
Charlie took a deep breath, setting his guitar beside the couch. “Should I be flailin' my hands and pacin' ‘round the room?” Charlie asked, a small sarcastic grin on his lips.
Jude shrugged and sat back in the chair. “You’d be surprised how many people actually do that.”
Now Charlie shrugged. How could he worry about being arrested when all he could think about was her? She had been here, right here, in his living room. That thought alone was enough to occupy his mind for decades.
“We need to talk about your brother, Chuck,” Jude said. “I know he’s not your favorite subject, but we need to talk about him, and you have to be honest with me. You have to tell me everything you know.”
“I will,” Charlie said, “but it ain’t much. I haven’t seen Michael in over a hundred years.”
Jude looked a little relieved at this. “So you have no idea what he’s up to?”
