“I love you, Morty,” she said. “I love all three of you. But by God I sometimes wish none of you had been born.”
He grit his teeth and glowered at the tile only inches from his nose.
Mother never explained further. She shared stories of how she had learned about her own telepathic powers, and that she had inherited them from her father, but that was the one and only time she ever expressed anything remotely akin to regret over the existence of her children, and she was dead too soon after for him to press her on it.
But she was right about the ease with which things came to him, and how dull each victory was. As a child he was easily pleased by trinkets and toys, sweets and snacks. As he grew older, more things came to him just as readily; lovers, academic success, his career. It was one of the reasons he valued rugby so highly. He had to work his arse off at it. His body wouldn’t get fit or build muscle of its own accord. Physical prowess would not come to him by dint of his birth, nor from his ability to read minds. He had to get off his own backside and work hard, and the reward was sweeter than any handed to him on a platter.
Perhaps this was why he was so determined to uncover the details surrounding Mother’s death. The truth was nigh-impossible to come by, and if he’d learned anything in life, that was a strong signal that it was information well worth pursuing.
He turned the water off and stopped only to brush his teeth, then patted his skin dry and threw a bathrobe on. He couldn’t spend his time gnawing at an old wound in the shower. He had a guest.
HE SWEPT from his room just in time to catch Laurence carrying all of his belongings while wearing only a towel.
Icky had good taste in men, that was certain.
Frederick took his eyes from Laurence’s damp chest and wandered toward the stairs. “I’ve ordered replacement clothing for you. Shouldn’t be too terribly long. I’m afraid you rather ruined your own.”
“You did—” Laurence shook his head and followed. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” He continued on past the sitting area and to the kitchen, where he fetched a glass of water and pressed it into Laurence’s hands. “Here. You will be dehydrated. Little sips.”
Laurence didn’t argue. He nodded as he took the glass, and sipped from it as instructed.
Frederick observed him to ensure that he did as he was told. The shock had thankfully passed Laurence by, and even the adrenaline had subsided. The shower Laurence took had multiple beneficial effects; he was alert again, color had returned to his skin, and the dreadful whiff had left at last.
Satisfied that Laurence was able to proceed, Frederick inclined his head. “Now,” he murmured. “If you can do so while retaining what remains in your stomach, would you care to let me know what it was that upset you so?”
Laurence grit his teeth and set the glass down on a worktop, then rubbed his eyes. “We’ve gotta stop Wilson,” he said. “I don’t care what he’s doing. I’ve seen what he’s done already.”
Frederick arched an eyebrow as he feigned ignorance. “And what has Mr. Wilson done?”
“All those articles you found. You’re right.” Laurence drew a breath. “Wilson’s a murderer. He’s killed over and over, and he’s not gonna stop just because he’s not a kid anymore.”
He licked his lips slowly. “Is Icky in danger?”
“No.” Laurence shook his head. “No, not yet. But he will be if Wilson ever works out that Quentin’s not on his side.”
Frederick clamped his lips together a moment. “Then we had best ensure that he does not.”
“Yeah,” Laurence agreed.
He couldn’t blame Laurence for not wishing to rehash the details so soon after witnessing them. He had no real desire to revisit the florist’s visions any time soon either. But one thing was certain, and he could tell without invading Laurence’s mind that the boy was in silent agreement.
Wilson had to die.
10
FREDERICK
Now was not the best time Icky could have chosen to avoid answering his phone, although Frederick was astounded Laurence had managed to convince the man to carry one in the first place. And with the car away to be cleaned, all Frederick could do was have the concierge fetch a taxi for them instead so that they could head to Icky’s place in search of his errant brother.
Bad enough that the address the taxi took them to was a tiny little house. Worse still that Icky appeared to only live on the topmost of the two floors. Some enterprising landlord had taken a small but perfectly serviceable house and turned it into two apartments, and Laurence led him up a bland stairwell as though he were familiar with this hell-hole.
“This is ridiculous,” he groused. “What on Earth is Icky doing in a place like this?”
“What?” Laurence huffed as he took the stairs two at a time. “This is huge!”
“It’s an insult.” He followed at a more leisurely pace. “Half of a house? Preposterous!”
“Yeah, well. Your dad didn’t leave Quen with much money, you know?” Laurence slid his key into the door at the top and pushed it open. “Quen? Why aren’t you answering your phone? Baby?”
A giant beast of a dog bounded over to Laurence and head-butted his thigh. Laurence patted the dog’s head as he called out, “Quen?”
“Not here,” Frederick murmured as he passed by man and dog. He looked around the tiny flat and noted a second dog — this one a Border Collie — and then he saw the piano. That couldn’t possibly be the same piano, surely? Would Icky really cart the thing half-way around the world? He shook his head slowly. “Where else is he likely to be at this hour? Getting blotto, I assume?”
“Blotto? Oh, drunk? No.” Laurence shook his head with a grimace. “We don’t drink.”
“Ah, yes. You did say as much.” Repeatedly, he added without comment, though Icky has yet to say it once. He moved past the dogs which were now both enthusiastically greeting Laurence, and it was clear from their behavior and thoughts that Icky had been absent some time, so he took the opportunity to search through kitchen cupboards. If Icky was off the booze, he’d best not find any here. “Wilson’s, then?”
“Most likely.” Laurence muttered. “What’re you doing?”
“Looking for clues, dear boy.” He crinkled his nose at the scarcity of edible goods in the cupboards. “Although at the moment all I can surmise is that the dogs eat better than he does, so nothing new there. You really should get yourself a grounding in basic investigative techniques. Stop relying on your gifts quite so much.”
“Relying?” Laurence huffed as he sprang to his feet. “If anything I don’t use them anywhere near as much as I should!”
“Really.” He moved from the kitchen to the living room, prying into every corner. It didn’t take long to find the alcohol cabinet, far too full for a man who had allegedly given up on booze. He continued on, not wishing to make it obvious to Laurence that he was disappointed with his findings, and poked his nose into a vase of flowers before flicking through a small pile of books. There was a first aid manual, a rudimentary introduction to a couple of martial arts, and a local guide book. None of the tomes reassured Frederick in the slightest. “Then find him, Laurence.”
Laurence scowled and poked his nose into the bedroom, then backed out and tried the phone again. With no answer, Laurence growled. “We have to go to Wilson.”
Frederick picked up a stack of envelopes from a side table and flicked through them. “To what end?”
“If Quentin’s there—”
“Wouldn’t he answer his phone?” He sat at the dining room table and began to open the envelopes. Each and every one held an invitation, and he drew them free to lay each one atop its envelope. “Yes, he would. Unless he were already dead, in which case there is little hurry.” He opened and read each of the cards. “Hm.”
Most of the invitations were out of date. Icky had opened them, and yet he had neither attended nor tossed them in the trash. Was he clinging to them as a re
minder of things he had given up, or did he simply not realize that for them to reach the trash can he had to physically place them in it?
“You’re not helping!” Laurence stalked to the table and picked up one of the cards, then set it down again.
“Does he attend any of these?” Frederick continued to nose through the cards, and took out his cellphone out to Google any names he didn’t recognize.
“Not any more.”
“Hm.” Fredrick consulted his phone in dismay. “God, what a dreary selection of people. No wonder he doesn’t go. Christ, even politicians have hold of his address. Kill me now.”
“What’s looking at all these even telling us?” Laurence scowled.
“It tells us the sort of company my brother keeps. Or, rather, the sort of company who wishes to keep him. It’s all very B-List.” He sighed and looked to the windows. “Really, Laurence, what’s he doing here? A dismal little apartment, a slew of sub-par invitations. It’s not like him.”
Laurence shrugged. “He’s happy.”
“For now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Frederick snorted. “The boy has ants in his pants, Laurence. Can’t sit still for five minutes. But he’s also used to far more than—” he waved a hand at the apartment “—this.”
“Yeah, well your dad cut him off, so he’s gotta watch the pennies.”
He tutted a little. “Regardless, it’s safe to say that he isn’t here, and we cannot visit Wilson.”
“So we gotta wait?” Laurence curled his lip. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
“No, we don’t have to wait. Now, I think, is time to switch from my skills to yours.”
“Oh, now the gifts are good enough?”
Frederick shrugged. “We shall see.”
FREDERICK DECIDED it was for the best not to peer into Laurence’s brain this time. What would happen if Laurence saw Icky being horribly murdered by Wilson’s army of super-powered teenagers? No. He couldn’t guarantee to keep a straight face if that happened, so it was best to simply wait.
Laurence screamed in frustration. “No! Goddess, Quentin, don’t be so… Ugh!”
The big dog nosed at Laurence’s hand. Her ears were flat, and her tail thudded against the ground.
“It’s all right, Pepper. Shh.” Frederick gently eased the big dog back from Laurence with a light press of his hand to her shoulder, and silently cursed using her name out loud. He hadn’t overheard anyone use it yet, but Laurence didn’t seem to notice. He calmed her with a whisper of his thoughts against hers, and her ears slowly came forward.
“No. It’s not!” Laurence sprang from the couch and searched a moment, then grabbed his phone instead.
“What is it?” He stood slowly. “What did you see?”
“I think he’s gone to fight a fucking wildfire.” Panic crept into Laurence’s voice.
Frederick blinked, and looked to the windows. The view over the ocean was at least bearable, but there was certainly no sign of a fire out there. “Where?”
“Scripps Ranch. It’s like a half hour east of here, maybe less. Shit.”
“Well, how bad can a fire be?” He turned back to Laurence.
“You’re kidding, right?” Laurence groaned. “No, I guess it always rains in England. SoCal’s been in a drought for years. There’s always a fire, even in winter, but with the summer and the heat waves they just come in all the time. They don’t reach downtown, but they’ve come in as far as Chula Vista before.”
He stared in horror at Laurence. “That’s madness,” he breathed. “A fire that size… It becomes a firestorm, surely?”
They’d covered the bombing of Dresden in school. The British and the Americans had sent in over a thousand aircraft to bomb a civilian population during the Second World War, and had dropped so much ordnance on the city that the resulting blaze became a firestorm, a conflagration so intense that it generated its own wind system. The updraft from the heat brought strong winds in to fuel the fire even more. The idea that people here could live with such a thing virtually on their doorstep was unthinkable.
That Icky could even contemplate trying to fight such a thing was the very definition of insanity.
“Yeah.” Laurence nodded. “Sucks in all the air at ground level, spews out smoke and embers at the top, gets so hot it can melt metal. It’s crazy dangerous and they’re heading straight for it.”
“They?”
Laurence stuffed his phone away and strode to the door. “Yeah. Sebastian’s going. He can control fire.”
“Can he control this much fire?” Frederick stood and hurried after him.
“I doubt it.” Laurence wrenched the door open and sprinted down the stairs.
“Laurence, wait!” He slammed the door after himself and jogged to try and catch up with the American. “We can’t run off after them!”
“Quentin’s in there!”
He grabbed Laurence’s arm and spun the man to face him. “And Icky can manage. We cannot!”
“How the fuck do you suppose he can ‘manage’?” Laurence screamed in his face.
“Because fire requires three things!” Frederick didn’t let go of Laurence’s arm. “Heat, oxygen, and fuel.”
Laurence bared his teeth and fought to wrench his arm free. “So?”
“He’s telekinetic,” he snapped. “He can deprive fire of fuel.”
Whether or not Icky would think of such a thing, Frederick couldn’t say. Hopefully with this Sebastian at hand, able to control fire, the pair of them would survive such an idiotic maneuver.
“You think he can uproot trees?” Laurence spat.
“Can’t he?” Frederick grit his teeth.
Laurence’s chest heaved for breath.
“Think, Laurence.” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice as he freed Laurence’s arm. “We don’t have the luxury of running toward danger, and if you get yourself killed Icky will never forgive me.”
“You?”
He snorted. “You don’t think he’d ever blame you for your death, do you? No. It’d be my fault. So let’s go back upstairs and apply some intelligence to the problem, yes?”
Laurence roared in anger and slammed his fist into the wall, then promptly sobbed as his shoulders sagged. The rage rushed from him like air from a balloon.“Fine,” he whispered. “But I swear to the Goddess that if he dies—”
“Yes, yes,” Frederick muttered. “Vengeance on all, et cetera.”
On you first.
The thought was so crystal clear that it startled him, and he blinked at Laurence, but he turned on his heel and led back up to the apartment.
HE DID what he could to waylay Laurence, but the boy was restless.
Frederick checked news streams and twitter feeds, but there was no sign or news of Icky anywhere. That was hardly reassuring, and certainly wasn’t enough to stop Laurence’s endless pacing back and forth. “I can’t tell which you will wear a hole through first,” he murmured. “That carpet, or the back of my head.”
“I don’t know what research is supposed to achieve,” Laurence growled at him.
“Nor do I, or it would take considerably less time to research. Look.” He lay his cellphone on the dining room table. “Wilson has been attending some rather swish events these past few months.”
“So?”
“So he is hardly the sort of fellow one would invite to those events,” he said dryly.
“He’s using his gift to get in. I don’t see—”
He raised his hand to cut Laurence off. “Or he’s being invited. Either way he is hobnobbing far above his reach. Why?”
Laurence’s hands curled into fists at his side, and he snarled. “Money.”
“Don’t be silly. Nobody carries cash to these events.”
“Jewelry.” Laurence threw the suggestion out without any thought.
“Perhaps.” He pursed his lips. “We should speak with some of the other guests of these things, find out what they
remember of them, whether they lost any precious earrings, whether he solicited them for anything else.”
“Okay. Sure.” Laurence bobbed his head sharply. “You go do that. Take the cab. It’s probably still waiting.”
“It had better be.” He gathered up his phone and eyed Laurence. “Are you sure you won’t rush off to do anything foolish?”
“Maybe!”
“Well, don’t. Icky will never forgive me.”
Laurence nodded. “I’ll stay here.”
It was a lie. They both knew it. But what could Frederick do? He absolutely was not about to chase off into an inferno. No amount of telepathic prowess could save him there. At least Laurence had the facility to control plants, which would be as useful at depriving a fire of fuel as telekinesis, but no amount of accelerated healing would bring any one of them back from the dead.
Oh he could force Laurence to stay, of course, but to what end? Laurence would only develop an acute sense of guilt at staying put, especially if Icky was harmed.
No, he’d stopped Laurence rushing off immediately and given the boy breathing space. What he chose to do with it now was his problem.
Frederick took one last look at Laurence, then made his way out of the dreary little apartment to the waiting taxi, and urged it to get him back to the hotel as swiftly as possible.
He knew now how Laurence’s gift worked, and it gave him a little latitude to move freely.
Laurence had to choose to look at what he was up to. All he had to do, then, was to ensure the florist had no reason to do so.
He sat back in the cab and let loose a silent prayer that Icky would be all right.
11
FREDERICK
It took some digging around online to find the sorts of locations local drug dealers and addicts frequented. It wasn’t in his best interest to get caught attending a dealer’s den; that was a sure-fire way to kill off a promising law career before it had even begun.
There were some reasonably brazen dealers on Craigslist, hidden behind the weakest of slang terms, but he wasn’t a fool. Half of those were likely to be police, or at the very least observed by cops, and it was impossible to know which was which.
Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4) Page 7
