He adjusted his position to be more comfortable, then dove straight into Laurence’s mind and replaced reality with a perfect replica.
Laurence blinked and looked to him, alerted by his movement. “Sorry, man,” he muttered. “I kinda zoned out. Do you wanna go?”
“All in good time.” Frederick tapped the replica table with his imaginary fingers. “I wondered if I may ask a favor of you first.”
“Oh?” Laurence straightened in his seat and nodded. “Sure. Anything.”
Frederick gave him a laconic smirk. “Well, almost anything.” He shook his head and allowed the smile to fade. “You are aware, of course, that Mother died some years ago.”
“Yeah. And Quen’s telekinesis went off.” Laurence nodded to him.
“I want to know how she died.”
Laurence swallowed.
You want me to watch your mom die?
Goddess, how many people am I gonna see die? Jack. Dan. Everyone Wilson ever killed.
I see dead people. Fuck, that isn’t funny, man.
“You want me to look back,” Laurence breathed with care, “and watch your mom die?”
Frederick inclined his head. “I have to know, Laurence. At the funeral, Icky accused Father of murdering her, but I don’t think he remembers what happened back then. You know how mercurial his memories are.”
Laurence dipped his chin.
“I need to know why he believes this. Whether he ever saw anything, whether there’s any evidence. If Father killed her, he has to be brought to justice, but if I can’t prove a damn thing that’ll never happen.” He bit his lip and widened his eyes ever so slightly. “I’m sorry. If there were any other way I would have done it by now. It’s been six years, Laurence. I don’t even know where to begin anymore. Icky has been in this self-imposed exile for so long that any clues may be long gone, but you can see what actually happened. You hold the key to solving this.” He broke off and shook his head. “You’ve seen awful things. I imagine you don’t want to see any more. If you say no, I understand.”
Not that Laurence had a choice. This was only going to go one way, and he nudged Laurence toward the response he sought.
Laurence chewed his thumb for a few seconds, then sighed. “Fine. Okay. But if I see it’s your dad, you make sure he pays, okay?”
“Oh, I absolutely will.” He allowed a soft snarl to touch his words.
Laurence’s own deeply-sublimated urge to tear people to shreds fed on Frederick’s snarl, and he raised his chin again. “Okay. Let me see what I can find.”
“Take your time.” Frederick nodded.
Laurence closed his eyes, and he underwent the same process as he had when hunting for Wilson. He seemed to function by teasing his gift out of hiding, peppering bait in its path and waiting for it to stir before he struck.
Quentin’s mom. Rose garden. England. Heart attack.
Laurence assembled all the scattered facts he had about the duchess’ death and allowed images to drift past him. And then, as though guided by pure instinct, he latched onto one and dove headlong into it.
She was beautiful. Hair like the afternoon sun, and features fine as bone china, she stood in the warm afternoon and ran gauntleted fingers across leaves.
The roses grew so tall that they formed the very walls of her garden, this solitary space to the rear of Castle Cavendish. Its pale stone walls could be seen here and there, in the spaces between flowers and thorns.
Elizabeth d’Arcy took three steps, and her gaze roamed across the roses she passed. They were in full bloom, with nary a dead leaf in sight. A few petals had begun to curl with age, but there was no need to intervene there. They would fall of their own accord once they began to die.
The scent was wonderful, and she inhaled deeply.
Laurence was by her side, though she would never know it. His tension mounted. Had he chosen the wrong vision? Was this the wrong time? Was he about to witness something else instead? That might not help Freddy, but it could be useful to Quen, unless Quen got upset that Laurence was poking around in his mom’s past like this.
Either way, he wouldn’t be able to tell Quentin what he saw for at least another week.
Elizabeth moved further away, and Laurence hurried to keep up with her. She had pruning shears in one hand, but they went unused as she checked her blooms.
It took every ounce of Frederick’s will to remain steady.
Christ, he missed her, and seeing her again as she was all those years ago hurt more than he’d anticipated.
The duchess dropped like a stone.
Frederick felt Laurence’s shock. All it did was amplify his own. The vision shifted as Laurence got closer, but it was like she had been switched off.
She lay on the ground, her pruning shears a couple of inches from one outstretched hand. The position she had crumpled in looked like it should be uncomfortable, but she didn’t move.
Frederick wanted to scream. GET UP! MAMA! SOMEONE CALL A DAMN AMBULANCE!
But this was six years ago. None of those things happened. Her pupils were blown, and she was turning gray.
It was a textbook cardiac arrest, nothing more.
The vision faded as Laurence withdrew from it, and Frederick had to pretend he didn’t know what was coming.
“I’m sorry,” Laurence whispered. “Goddess, I really thought… I mean…” He grit his teeth. “She just dropped dead outta nowhere. She must’ve had a heart problem nobody knew about or something. There wasn’t any sign of your dad anywhere.” He closed his eyes and rubbed them wearily, and his disappointment was as strong as Frederick’s own.
All this fucking effort, and he was no closer to the truth.
Unless the truth really was that simple. Mama had died of cardiac arrest, and that was all there was to it. Icky’s accusations were baseless, and the family had been torn apart for nothing.
Six years. Six goddamn years he’d been chasing shadows.
“I understand,” he said. Or rather, he pretended to say. It was all just in Laurence’s mind, so his voice could be as flawless as he wanted it to sound, rather than as hoarse as it would be if he tried to speak right this very moment. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
Laurence shrugged. “For what?”
“For two things. First, for making you watch another death. And second, for making you forget it.”
Laurence’s eyebrows raised at that. “What do you mean?”
Frederick said nothing more. There was no need. Laurence had discovered nothing new, but the poor boy really had witnessed far too much death. Where was the sense with leaving him with additional burden that he didn’t need? Worse, burden that he would have to keep to himself until Icky was better, and then likely cause harm when he did get around to admitting that he’d watched their mother die for no damn good reason.
No. That wasn’t decent. Neither Laurence nor Icky should go through that. The past was over, and it was time Frederick let go of it, and that meant taking it from Laurence, too.
He took care to erase everything from the moment he had disconnected Laurence from the real world. Every word, every thought, every second of Laurence’s vision. He swept it all away and replaced it with the ocean that Laurence had been watching and, as he withdrew from Laurence’s mind and returned reality to his perception, he plastered the most convincing smile he could across his features and rose from his chair.
“I should go,” he whispered, ostensibly so as to not rouse Icky, but also because he didn’t trust his vocal chords. “Let me know in the morning if you need me to pop back in the afternoon, all right?”
Laurence jolted upright and took a sharp breath. “Sorry, man. I kinda zoned out there for a second. Yeah, of course. I’ll think it over.”
Frederick nodded and patted Laurence’s shoulder in passing. “No need to see me out,” he murmured. “Give Icky my best, and call me if you have need of anything.”
“Sure.” Laurence half-rose from his seat anyway, but Frederick didn’t
look back.
He tugged the door open without another word, and hurried down the stairs with his fingernails digging deep into his own palms. The rest of the pain would have to wait until it was safe to let it come out.
23
FREDERICK
It wasn’t until he was safely ensconced within the car that he could allow himself to even think about what he’d seen. He thumbed the intercom and snapped into it.
“Back to the hotel. Scenic route.”
Frederick released the button without waiting for acknowledgement and withdrew from the world, leaving nothing more than the shell of his body where it was as safe as it could be for now.
Only then, once he was utterly certain nobody could witness his loss of control, did he cry.
BY THE TIME he trusted his composure enough to return to his body, they were halfway back to the hotel. Frederick checked his phone’s GPS just to be sure that he hadn’t come around partway through a kidnap attempt, then settled back to watch the world go by.
The driver was, as per his instructions, taking the coastal road rather than the interstate. There were moments of scenic beauty interspersed with ostentatious houses and potholed roads.
Of all the outcomes that he could have anticipated, that his mother may have passed from natural causes was not one which was high on his list. Icky had been so damn certain that she’d been killed that Frederick surmised his brother must have known or witnessed something, even if he later forgot what that thing was. But she really had collapsed right where she stood, with nobody to be seen anywhere around. Frederick was glad that Laurence had ended the vision before Icky arrived to find the body. That would have been too maudlin to endure.
His search was over. He had the truth. The only question remaining was whether he accepted it, and he didn’t feel ready to. The void it would leave felt insurmountable. What would he fill it with?
His phone beeped, and he thumbed at it. There was a new email from the investigator. He debated leaving it as he had the others, since he was already fully aware of Michael’s movements, but he was paying to have Wilson followed around too. It would not do to let this slide for too much longer.
Frederick fetched himself a bottle of water from the fridge, then began to read through the emails. He had to smile briefly at Sloane’s sarcasm over Michael’s whereabouts, but Wilson’s doings were more interesting.
Of course, Wilson had only been followed for a small handful of days now, but already Sloane had identified a slew of people the psychic interacted with and begun background checks accordingly.
Frederick tapped out a quick response. There was little purpose in Sloane continuing to tail Michael now that Frederick had that matter in hand, and that would free up resources for Sloane to tail the myriad of people Wilson had under his control.
Satisfied that he had refocused at least some of his excess energy, he tucked his phone away. The rest would have to wait until he attended the gym later.
HE RETURNED to the suite and found Michael at the desk, using the laptop. A moment was all it took to discover that Michael had used Frederick’s card to order replacement identification documents and nothing else, and he was now using his time to educate himself about the British peerage system.
Michael looked up, then blushed a fetching hue. “I had to order the stuff to my house,” he mumbled. “Could take a couple of days.”
Frederick nodded as he divested his pockets of their contents. “I may have to return home and await your receipt of your passport in due course.”
Michael’s fear spiked. “You’ve gotta go? Why? What happened?”
“Delicate maneuvers,” he reminded Michael. “There is little more for—” He broke off as his phone rang. “Excuse me,” he added as he reached for it.
The caller ID made his blood run cold.
“You need to remain absolutely silent,” he rasped. “Understood?”
Michael’s fear only increased, but he nodded quickly.
Frederick cleared his throat, then thumbed the green button. “Father,” he said warmly. “What a pleasant surprise. How are you today?”
The duke’s tone was anything but warm in return. “Frederick,” he said. “I trust that you are enjoying your impromptu holiday?”
He forced a chuckle. “Sun and sand. Just what the doctor ordered.” He wandered toward the windows. “It must be rather late in the day for you. I do hope nothing is amiss?”
“Only the Home Office contacting me to note that you are out of the country.” There it was. The edge of disappointment Father used whenever any of his children disobeyed his will. He had turned the weaponization of displeasure into a fine art, and Frederick loathed that, despite all his self-control, it still tapped into some childish part of himself who would forever remain ten years old in his father’s eyes. “At the very beginning of your internship, no less. For you to take such a foolish measure, I can only conclude that you have found Quentin.”
Frederick sighed. “You never know. One day I might convince him to come home. It’s worth a shot.”
“If he refuses, bring a sample of his blood to me.”
Frederick blinked as he rested a palm against the cold window. He didn’t think it was at all inappropriate to respond the way he did. “What?”
“There is no need to keep it fresh,” the duke continued, as though Frederick hadn’t interrupted. “If you cannot secure Quentin, this will have to do. Don’t return without one or the other.”
“But—” Frederick paused, and finally shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to, boy. Do as you are told. I shall see you on your return.”
Father hung up, leaving Frederick with nothing but questions. He stared at the phone in his hand as the screen went dark.
The order made no sense. None at all. What possible use could Father have for Icky’s blood? He hadn’t even specified how much he wanted, but that he didn’t even care whether it was fresh just boggled the mind. What did Father intend? A DNA test? Blood wasn’t required for that, and it would be considerably easier to source some of Icky’s saliva or hair follicles. Sneaking a swab while Icky was sleeping would be child’s play.
But blood?
“Christ,” he muttered. He turned from the window and found Michael still sitting at the desk, his lips pressed together tightly despite the worry and curiosity causing turmoil in his thoughts. “Thank you. No need for silence any more.”
Michael exhaled in a rush. “What’s wrong?”
“A sizable spanner in the works,” he mused. “One that could not possibly have been anticipated.”
It was only partially true. The longer he remained outside the UK, the more chance there was that Father would find out where exactly he was. The risk rose on a daily basis, and Father hadn’t mentioned whether he knew exactly where Frederick was; only his sound deduction as to the why.
“You gotta go home already?”
Frederick shook his head. “Quite the opposite. I must remain longer than intended.”
What a pain in the arse. He couldn’t get into Icky’s brain, couldn’t make him forget Frederick taking blood from him, so that meant waiting for Icky to be asleep or unconscious.
What lousy bloody timing. If Father could have called before Icky fell off a bloody horse in the middle of a wildfire Frederick could have just popped into his hospital room to do the job. Now here he was with a brother who was recovering from a concussion, and…
Frederick narrowed his eyes. Icky’s head was bandaged. Perhaps if he could undertake a dressing change in the morning, he could abscond with whatever was on the old bandage, if there was anything there.
It was a better plan than none at all, and would have to suffice for now.
“All right.” He shook his head and scrolled through his phone’s contacts. “Nothing to be done about it. You’ve ordered your identification, but to your home address, yes? Then we must secure your home to ensure that those documents
do not go missing.” He clicked his tongue as he idly rested a possessive hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Two to three days?” Michael nodded. “Excellent. Very smart, paying for the express service. Once we have those we should be able to expedite your passport application and be on our way.”
Michael nodded numbly, still caught up in his confusion.
Frederick tapped the number for his concierge service and, once they answered, raised the phone to his ear. “Yes, I’m going to need to hire bodyguards in the short term, to begin the day after tomorrow for a two-week contract. Preferably from a PMC, preferably a well-oiled team. Quick as you can, please.” He hung up, then nodded to the laptop. “Best do a little shopping,” he added. “Get yourself some new clothes. That one outfit won’t last you forever. You’ll need enough for a couple of weeks, at least. And book that doctor’s appointment.”
Michael popped his password into the laptop and began two-finger typing a rudimentary to-do list into it before he could forget Frederick’s instructions. “Bodyguards?” he squeaked.
“If you have to go back to that house, I won’t have you caught up in any local criminal activity. You go in, you come out, and they’ll keep you safe.” Frederick squeezed his shoulder and then released it. “I’m going to the gym. Let housekeeping in when they get here, won’t you?”
“Sure.” Michael bobbed his head. “Then after you can maybe tell me what that phone call was all about?”
“No.” Frederick walked away. “That isn’t a matter which can be divulged quickly or carelessly. Worry about the short-term and let me handle the bigger picture for now.”
He felt Michael’s sullen disagreement, but the man said nothing, and Frederick gave silent thanks to Michael’s discretion.
24
MIKEY
“Awful, isn’t it? To have no control. To be entirely under another’s domain. You do this to people, Mr. Brennan. Day in, day out, you take free will away, and you don’t even put it to any good use.”
The words burned. Mikey wanted to scream, to tell the tourist that they were a lie, but when he blinked the man pinning him down wasn’t a tourist any more.
Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4) Page 15
