by Chris Cannon
“Later, it was found that one of the maids had taken the paintings. For lying and stealing from her employer, she was sentenced to five years in jail. The Black dragon who had been wronged was given a new studio stocked with art supplies.”
“If the Black dragon didn’t do it, why did they put him in jail in the first place?”
“He seemed the most likely suspect, but you’re missing the most important part. The Black dragon could have taken the blame for stealing the paintings, done the commissioned work without pay, and gone on with his life. Instead, he told the truth, maintained his innocence, and proved himself honorable by not taking the liar’s way out.”
The twisted logic made her head hurt. “So he was rewarded for choosing jail time he didn’t deserve rather than lying and essentially paying a fine of free portraits.”
“Yes,” her grandfather said. “Loyalty and honor are more important than taking the easy way out.”
He seemed to expect some sort of response. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to understand our belief system and act accordingly.”
The phone on his desk rang, saving her from coming up with some sort of response. She used that chance to escape, opting to leave the books behind, afraid he might quiz her on the court cases later.
...
The next morning, Bryn woke late. It was the first time since coming to school that the damn stress-inducing alarm clock hadn’t woken her. Talk about a bonus. Of course, after Christmas break, she’d have to return to school and deal with it again. But this was a nice sabbatical.
Okay, she was awake. Now what? Would her grandmother call and ask her to come down to breakfast? Could she go have breakfast by herself somewhere? That sounded nice. In this ginormous house there had to be a quiet room with a normal-sized kitchen table somewhere.
Rather than wander for hours, she decided to ask Rindy, the all-knowing phone fairy. After dialing and waiting for the call back, she learned there were tables in a sunroom on the third floor. Abigail would have breakfast waiting for her in thirty minutes. Having money didn’t necessarily make you happy, but it certainly made life easier.
After a quick shower, she dressed in jeans and a nice blouse (as a concession to her grandmother). Until she was told there was a formal dress code in the house, she would continue to wear tennis shoes and jeans.
Silence met her when she walked down the hallway. Her tennis shoes made no sound. Why have such a giant house for two people? From her conversations with her grandparents yesterday, everything seemed to be about keeping up appearances.
Living your entire life that way would be exhausting. She’d do her best to keep her grandparents happy, but there were limits. People could think what they wanted. She didn’t give a rat’s ass.
Almost every room she passed had a closed door. Was there a living room somewhere, a place to sit and watch TV or listen to music? There were five freaking stories in this mansion. There had to be a television somewhere.
When she came to the stairs, she looked up and down to see if anyone else was around. Nope. She was by herself. Wanting to burn off some anxiety, she jogged up the stairs to the third-floor landing. The back wall of the landing was floor-to-ceiling windows. Trees and manicured greenery went on for as far as she could see. If she were in charge, she’d put a table and chairs right here to enjoy the view. How isolated were they out here? Maybe she’d ask Valmont to bring her a map.
Rindy had said the sunroom was the second door on the left after the landing. When she entered the room, she spotted Abigail collapsed on the floor next to the food cart.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bryn scanned the area for someone who might jump out at her as she ran to kneel next to the maid.
“Abigail?” She turned the woman’s body over. Her eyes were wide open, her pupils dilated. Should she try to heal her or find a phone and call for help?
What if time was of the essence? She focused on her life force, imagining it as a small sun glowing in her chest. Once it burned brightly enough, she placed her hand on Abigail’s forehead and pushed her life force into Abigail’s body like Medic Williams had taught her to do with Jaxon. The familiar claustrophobic feeling hit as she channeled Quintessence into Abigail’s veins, feeling for what was wrong.
There was no head trauma. The plush carpet must’ve cushioned the woman’s fall. She pushed deeper. What was that sickening sweet scent? God, it was awful, like rotten meat. Where was it coming from? And then she saw it, an odd grayish substance in Abigail’s blood. That had to be poison.
She directed her Quintessence in the form of fire to burn the disgusting substance. In a few minutes the gray was gone, and the rotten meat smell went with it. Bryn withdrew her life force from Abigail’s body. Nervous, she watched as Abigail came to, blinked, and looked around.
“What happened?”
Bryn helped her sit up. “I came in here and found you passed out on the floor. Do you feel okay now?”
“I think so.” She tried to stand and wobbled a bit.
“You should sit.” Bryn pulled a chair over. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Abigail sank into the chair. “I came in, opened the curtains, and set the table.” She pointed at the table set for one. Then I checked the food to make sure it was hot.” Abigail blushed. “Don’t tell your grandmother, but I ate a few strawberries. I’ve been up since five and…”
“You don’t have to justify why you were hungry.” Bryn walked over to the dish of strawberries set on the table. “Are these the strawberries you ate?”
“No. I filled your dish, and then ate the extras before I put the plate back on the cart.”
Bryn stabbed a berry with a fork and sniffed it. The faint odor of rotten meat made her gag. “These are drugged or poisoned. We’ll explain what happened, and then my grandmother can have them tested.”
Abigail wrung her hands. “Please. I’ve worked here for years. I don’t want to be fired.”
Seriously? Her grandmother would fire someone over eating extra food? Abigail would know better than she did. “Fine. Let’s say I came in while you were dishing out the strawberries. I said it would be a shame for the extras to go to waste and suggested you eat them. Does that work?”
“Your grandmother will yell at you for fraternizing with the staff.”
“I think my grandma is going to be yelling at me about a lot of things. I don’t mind. Now, as soon as you fell, I used Quintessence to help you. Okay?”
Abigail nodded. “Thank you.”
Bryn walked over to a phone set on a side table. “Here we go.” She spoke to Rindy, and her grandparents swooped into the sun room five minutes later, looking beyond pissed off.
“Tell me everything,” her grandfather said.
Bryn shared the story she and Abigail had set up. Her grandfather grilled Abigail on who prepared the food.
“The new chef prepared everything,” Abigail said.
“We didn’t hire a new chef.” Her grandfather pulled a cell phone from his pocket and stomped from the room shouting orders. Her grandmother headed for the door, signaling that Bryn and Abigail should follow.
In the kitchen, the staff gave a description of the new chef. He’d shown up that morning claiming to be substituting for the normal chef, who was out due to the birth of his son.
“Call his house, make sure he’s okay,” Bryn said, to no one in particular.
Her grandmother looked at her like this was an odd request.
“The last time someone tried to kill me, they killed the plumber to take his place.” How could her grandparents have forgotten that?
“Maybe this is just food poisoning?” Abigail said like she wished it were true.
“No. I’m sure it’s people trying to kill me, again.” Bam. Bam. Bam. Her head pounded like a mariachi band was playing inside it. “Funny that I’m getting used to this.”
“I am not.” Her
grandmother spit the words out.
A man cleared his throat. “Pierre is at home. His wife had a baby boy. They’re all okay.”
“He’s fired,” her grandfather roared.
“You can’t fire him because the temp agency sent a bad guy in his place. Fire the temp agency, not the man who has a wife and child to support,” Bryn shouted.
“Don’t tell me how to handle my staff.” Her grandfather spoke through clenched teeth.
“They’re not just your staff. They’re people with lives and families. They matter. You can’t just move them around like they’re pieces on a chessboard.”
The only sound in the room was the clock ticking on the wall. Everyone looked ready to duck and cover, even her grandmother.
“You are an ungrateful brat,” her grandfather said.
“You’re inconsiderate and narrow-minded,” Bryn spat back.
Her grandmother looked ready to burst a blood vessel. “That’s enough. Both of you need to learn to control your tongues and your tempers. The problem here is that someone made an attempt on your granddaughter’s life under your roof. Again. Focus on that. You can work out your personality differences later.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it wasn’t her personality that was the problem, but since she didn’t want to be kicked out, she offered him an olive branch.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. It’s just… I thought I was safe. It’s unsettling to find out these people are organized enough to come after me so quickly. It’s only my second day here. How did they even know where to find me?”
“I imagine news of your parents’ passing has made its way through the social network,” her grandmother said. “People would have heard you left campus with us. It was only logical to surmise that you’d stay here.”
Bryn kept her gaze on her grandfather. Waiting for some acknowledgment that she’d apologized. He didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow in her direction. What had she expected? Common civility? She could hear her grandfather claiming that he wasn’t common. The idea made her laugh.
“What about this situation do you find amusing?” her grandfather asked.
“Sometimes you have to laugh or cry. I’m choosing to laugh.”
“None of this is funny.” Her grandmother stalked over to the refrigerator and yanked the door open. “I want all this food removed and the entire kitchen sanitized.” She pointed at Abigail. “Give the guards a description of the culprit and then go see a medic to make sure you’re okay.”
Abigail scurried from the room.
Her grandmother gave orders and handed out assignments to the staff. After everyone had a task to carry out, her grandmother turned to her husband. “I presume you will speak with the guard and the Directorate about this.”
“Of course.”
Bryn’s stomach growled loudly enough for her grandparents to hear. They both regarded her with distaste.
“I didn’t eat yet this morning. Since you’re getting rid of all the food here, maybe I’ll fly into Dragon’s Bluff for breakfast.”
She expected an argument. Her grandmother surprised her by saying, “Let’s take the car instead.”
“Okay.”
“First you need to change into something more suitable.”
Crap.
Fifteen minutes later, she and her grandmother sat in the backseat of a large black SUV driven by one of the Red guards. Bryn had changed per her grandmother’s request into a dress, but she’d worn flats rather than heels. They were black patent leather, so it’s not like they were casual.
“Is there any place we can have pancakes?” Bryn asked. Carbs were her go-to comfort food. Right now she wanted a dozen drenched in maple syrup and butter.
“Take us to Suzette’s,” her grandmother told the driver.
She’d never heard of the place. “Is that a restaurant in Dragon’s Bluff?”
“It’s more of a tearoom, but they do serve a nice breakfast. Maybe if I bring your grandfather a box of muffins, he won’t be so testy for the rest of the day.”
Should she apologize for arguing with her grandfather? Nope. She’d already apologized once. It hacked her off that he hadn’t acknowledged the effort she’d made.
“In the past, when you two have fought, has he ever apologized or recognized an apology from you?”
Her grandmother chuckled. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Ephram Sinclair has never apologized to anyone for anything.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“How’s that possible? He must’ve made mistakes at some point in his life.”
“Mistakes, he has made, but he hasn’t seen them as such. Your grandfather is a very confident man. He thinks he knows what’s best for everyone.”
“Is that a side effect of being on the Directorate?” Oh shit, did she say that out loud?
This time her grandmother laughed for real. “I believe it is. When it comes to dealing with Blue males, it’s best to let them think they are in control. Yelling at him was risky. You shouldn’t do it again. If he had kicked you out, there would be no second chance.”
“How do you deal with his attitude? I’d shoot a fireball at his head.”
“Believe me, there have been times I’ve wanted to. But there’s a lot to be said for keeping the peace. Like I told you once before, he goes his way, and I go mine. It’s just…easier.”
…
When they reached Dragon’s Bluff, the guard parked in a lot across the street from a bakery.
“Are we having doughnuts for breakfast?” Bryn asked.
“No.” Her grandmother exited the vehicle and waited for Bryn to join her. “Suzette’s is just down the street. Before we eat, we’re going to visit a bakery. I need to decide on a dessert for the Christmas ball.”
When it came to Christmas, there was only one dessert that mattered. “Does the bakery make Christmas cookies?”
“I suppose they could.”
Her grandmother didn’t sound that interested.
“If they don’t, could we buy some ingredients to make Christmas cookies?” Sadness welled up inside her but she pushed it down.
“You want to bake your own cookies?” Her grandmother looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language.
Patience. “The only thing better than eating Christmas cookies is baking them.”
Her grandmother nodded. “We’ll see what we can do.”
They crossed the street. It was a pretty winter day with crisp weather and a cloudless sky. The light posts in front of the shop were decorated with silver snowflakes. “I wonder if it will snow for Christmas?”
At home, she’d had a few white Christmases. Her eyes grew hot. She sniffled and tried not to think about what had been. Too late. Images flooded her mind. Her dad dressing up like Santa Claus. Waking Christmas mornings and running to find the reindeer food they’d left on the fire escape gone. Stringing popcorn while watching Rudolph on television. Her dad singing all the songs, badly off tune. Bam. Bam. Bam. The hits kept coming.
She clutched at the light post she stood next to because it was within reach. It was real. Everything else was gone. Her entire life. Gone. Everything good, gone gone gone.
Bryn became aware that she was sitting on the ground and her grandmother was yelling at her. “Bryn, what is it? Are you sick?”
Strong hands grabbed Bryn by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Jaxon stared into her face. “What’s wrong?”
“It can’t be Christmas without them.” And then she burst into tears.
Lillith appeared by Jaxon’s side. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
People kept saying that, but it didn’t do her any damn good.
Her grandmother passed her a lace-edged handkerchief. Bryn took it and dabbed at her face, but the tears kept coming.
“You’re not going to stop crying, are you?” Jaxon said.
“I’m not doing it on purpose.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. Didn’t help.
“Perhaps we could sit somewhere and have a cup of tea,” Lillith suggested. “Suzette’s is just around the corner.”
“God, no.” Jaxon backed up a step.
The look of utter horror on his face turned Bryn’s tears to laughter. How bad could the tearoom be?
Her grandmother stepped into her line of sight. “Do you feel up to eating, or should we go home?”
The last thing she wanted to do was go stare at the walls of her bedroom. She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. “Breakfast sounds good.” Wanting to prove she was okay, she added, “And we can shop for desserts afterward.”
“So we’re going to the teahouse?” Lillith’s face lit up with excitement. “I’ve been craving sweets, and they have the best cherry pie.”
Jaxon picked up the shopping bags he’d been carrying. “Why don’t I take our bags home, and you can stay and have a nice visit.”
“But you love the cherry pie at Suzette’s.” Lillith sounded like she might cry. Was she acting or was she experiencing hormonal mood swings?
The way Jaxon sighed and gave a resigned nod hinted at one answer over the other.
Lillith and her grandmother took the lead. Bryn and Jaxon walked behind them.
“So your mom is a little mood-swingy right now?”
Jaxon snorted. “I’m not sure you should comment on someone else’s mental stability.”
Bryn came to a dead halt. “Have you reverted back to the asshat you used to be? Because a little notice would’ve been nice.”
He rounded on her. “I am not the problem here. You, my mother, and that god-awful flower-infested tearoom are the problem.”
“You’re this upset about a tearoom? Now who’s emotionally unstable?”
“My mother dragged me there every Sunday afternoon from the time I was five until I was ten. Believe me, the pie doesn’t make up for the agonizing conversations I was forced to endure about china patterns and tablecloths.”
She almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite. “Does my grandmother strike you as the type to chat about china patterns?”
“They all talk about china patterns. Like it’s mandatory.”
“I promise I won’t engage in any dish-related conversations.” She pointed toward her grandmother. “We better catch up.”
