Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4)

by Amelia Faulkner

  Where his Uncle had come to him in the night to touch him and teach him “boys’ games.”

  Frederick’s jaw flexed. He didn’t have time for this, and it wouldn’t do any good anyway. They were all dead now. Only Michael remained.

  Without further hesitation he pushed on into Michael’s room. The flimsy door which hid Michael’s safe hung open, and there were a few scratches on the safe itself, so obviously some bright spark had had a go at it since Michael left.

  Frederick drew his key card from a pocket and used the rounded corner to tap the safe’s buttons. It wouldn’t ever do to leave his fingerprints in a place like this, on the keypad to a drug dealer’s safe, so once the door clicked open he wedged the card under it and pried it further.

  There were bundles of cash inside, on the top of two shelves. The bottom shelf was half full with bags of heroin, all ready-prepared and bundled up individually. Mikey’s customers rarely bought more than a week or two’s supply at a time, so there was no need for bulk.

  He leaned in and used his keycard to poke through the cash on the top shelf until he could see the envelopes Michael had saved. A handful of important documents, according to his thoughts: the deeds; his mother’s death certificate; his social security details. It wasn’t much, but Frederick took it all, as careful as possible not to touch anything else inside the safe with his bare fingers.

  For a passing moment he debated not closing the safe again. But this cash was Michael’s, and it was best not to give addicts free and easy access to the heroin, so he nudged it closed with the card and turned toward the door.

  I wish Frederick was here.

  Michael’s thought was like a siren. It punctured the peace and screamed in blind panic through the distance between them.

  Frederick stormed from the room and to the top of the stairs as he reached for Michael’s mind. He swooped down the staircase as silently as he could move in such a dilapidated property, and saw the problem only seconds after Michael had already identified it for him.

  Officer Brown.

  Frederick stepped back into the house to prevent himself from being seen, and snatched at Brown’s mind to drag him into the web.

  There was no way — absolutely no way — that Brown was ever going to touch Michael again.

  Frederick expanded his reach. He had to move several pieces on this chessboard to ensure a police officer could disappear from the street and not pull half of Michael’s bodyguards along with him. He reeled Brown in through the door and tugged Michael after him, despite the boy’s own terror, then placed the guards at appropriate places outside to keep watch.

  “Close the door,” he said, once Michael was inside.

  Michael nodded weakly and did as he was told.

  Brown wanted to make demands. Frederick didn’t allow it. Instead he whisked them all into his own mind before Brown could so much as twitch in the direction of his gun.

  He pulled up a memory of the Champ de Mars and lay it out around them, erasing all the people who had been there on the day and leaving the vast green park strangely silent. The grey struts of the Eiffel Tower loomed above them. Beyond it, floating beneath its arches, lay the river Seine, and across those choppy waters spread the expanse of the Trocadéro with its sand-colored walls and columns.

  It was about as far from San Diego as it was possible to get. Not in distance, no, but in every other way. It was chilly, with a brisk wind sweeping up off the river. The skies were overcast and grey. There was grass all around them, leafy trees blowing in the wind, and the unmistakeable waft of piss on the breeze.

  Brown froze on the spot but, as hoped for, Michael slowly began to unwind. He wasn’t relaxed, not by a long shot, but the boy had recognized that he was in a safe place now.

  Good. Michael’s comfort was important.

  “The fuck is this?” Brown’s first words were hardly epic.

  “This?” Frederick shrugged. “This is Paris, Mr. Brown. No, don’t correct me, I am not about to refer to you as officer. You’ve done nothing to earn a title.”

  “I’m dreaming. I’ve gotta be dreaming. This is…” Brown shook his head numbly, then he turned on his heel and pointed at Michael. “You! You doped me up with something, didn’t you? I’ll kill you! You—”

  Frederick choked him off. It was the easiest thing to make Brown think that he couldn’t breathe, and his incessant yammering stopped immediately.

  “Shut up,” he said. “I’m going to explain a few things to you, Mr. Brown, and then I will give you a choice. But whatever you choose, you will be punished for what you have done to Michael. And I presume others?” He sifted through Brown’s memories until he found what he sought, and he stepped closer. “Goodness. You really are a nasty little thing, aren’t you?”

  Brown clutched at his throat. His eyes bulged, and he scrabbled for his gun in mounting horror. His thought process was a tornado of panic and incomprehension, but he’d hit on the idea that if he shot Frederick whatever was happening to him would stop. It wasn’t an unreasonable deduction, and were Brown remotely able to do any real world harm it most likely would work.

  Alas.

  Frederick swept away the illusory choking, but forced Brown to kneel regardless. It was a position which the officer considered deeply humiliating, so it was effective.

  Brown found his gun and snapped off the entire magazine. At first the noise was amusing. And then just to show how pointless it all was, Frederick turned the gun into a flower. A nice big sunflower, with a sturdy stem.

  “I’m telepathic,” he drawled as Brown threw the flower away from himself. “We’re inside my mind because it’s considerably safer than being inside yours, which is full of horrendous things I have no desire to expose Michael to.” Frederick conjured an armchair and settled into it, then patted the arm of it.

  Michael gave Brown a wide berth, but came to perch on the arm, and Frederick curled an arm around his hips.

  He really was supremely proud of Michael. Despite Brown being present, he had composed himself, and had used his trust of Frederick to shelve his fear of Brown. It was a good tactic, and for it to remain effective Frederick had to ensure that Brown was neutralized for good, lest Michael learn that his trust would not protect him.

  Brown strained to speak, and when he couldn’t he struggled to scream instead.

  Frederick pursed his lips. He glanced up to the Eiffel Tower and considered relocating their little meeting to the top observation platform, but that seemed rather overdramatic.

  “The upshot of this, Mr. Brown, is that I am in complete control of every aspect of our environment.” He dropped his chin to regard Brown. “Temperature. Comfort. Guns. Bodies. It’s all nothing but illusion in here. But I can change you, Mr. Brown. I can change you for the rest of your life. I can plant suggestions, or I can make alterations outright. The human brain is little more than a complex organic computer, and I’m a software engineer. I can patch you, update you, wipe you clean, install a virus…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Oh, certainly it doesn’t look as impressive as whipping out a gun and popping off a few rounds, but I can fundamentally alter everything about you, Mr. Brown.”

  He waited for Brown’s mind to latch on to what he was saying and begin to process it before he lifted the prohibition on Brown being able to speak.

  “You’re crazy,” Brown wheezed. His fingers dug into the earth and he tore up fistfuls of grass. “This doesn’t make any sense! How can we be in Paris?”

  “Mm, I’m impressed you even recognize it considering how much time you spend fucking people you’ve arrested. I bet you’re dead set against body cameras, aren’t you? Of course you are.” Frederick released Michael so that he could lean forward and gaze down at Brown. “Let me explain power to you, Mr. Brown. David, isn’t it? Don’t agree, I already know that it is. Let me explain power to you, David.”

  Brown snarled at him and tried to swing a punch. It wasn’t at all difficult to influence his perception so that his swing
went wild.

  “There, for instance, is power.” Frederick propped his elbows on his knees. “Power does strange things to people. Especially people who believe that might makes right. They will complain endlessly about those who have power over them, yet once they have power they behave every bit as awfully as those they used to gripe about. Take you, for example. You loathe that you haven’t even made it to Officer III. You firmly believe that your Lieutenant hates you and is holding you back, and so you take that frustration and anger out on people you hold power over. You abuse because you have the ability to abuse, but also because you believe that those you exert your power over have no agency to have you punished. You would not assault anyone who could stand up to you, or have their voice heard. You even believe that you deserve to get a little something on the side, that this city owes you somehow to make up for your lack of career progression.”

  “Oh, so now you got power over me, you gonna lecture me on power?”

  “Yes.” Frederick chuckled. “That is how it works. Might makes right, remember?” He leaned back and crossed his legs, then settled his hands together in his lap. “People who have power cannot resist using it, no matter how much their victims beg. And I do so like to hear people beg.”

  Michael shifted position slightly as the remainder of his fear was swept away by arousal.

  Frederick smirked slightly. “You’re a rapist, David.”

  Brown snarled at him, then snorted a laugh. “You damn idiot, it ain’t rape if they agree to it!”

  “Oh, you are so entrenched in the Twentieth Century, aren’t you?” Frederick allowed his smirk to turn into a lazy smile. “It’s rape when your victim has no choice. When you coerce them. When they see you as the lesser of two evils. When they agree to let you fuck them so that they don’t face charges for whatever minor crime you scooped them off the street for. You see it as a perk of the job, you tell yourself that they said yes of their own free will, but the fact is that you are a rapist, and you are going to stop. Your choice — because I do love a good bout of hypocrisy — is how you are going to stop.”

  “You’re a monster!”

  Frederick raised his chin. “Yes,” he agreed. “But only under very select circumstances. Imagine your luck, then!”

  It had to be illegal to enjoy himself this much, surely?

  46

  MIKEY

  He felt like Blofeld’s cat. Frederick was being all badass super villain and amazing. Not just to see, but to be a part of.

  Mikey realized pretty quick that he was part of Frederick’s tactics here. Like a woman in a low-cut dress hanging off the arm of a player in some high-stakes poker game, Frederick was flaunting his possession, making it clear that Brown no longer had any claim over Mikey.

  That Mikey wasn’t scared of Brown any more.

  He held his head high and didn’t say a word. He was gonna be the best damn eye-candy he could be.

  Brown’s face was a picture. Everything went across it, from fear and anger to hatred and murderous intent. For a second he looked like he might even start to cry.

  Mikey looked away and took in the trees which lined the pavement toward the Eiffel Tower.

  Was this wrong, what Frederick was doing?

  He didn’t like the idea, but something niggled away at him. Something Frederick once said about cycles of abuse. Sure, Brown had already hurt others, but if Frederick hurt him, surely he’d just go pass that on again?

  Don’t worry. I have the matter in hand.

  Frederick’s voice slipped into his thoughts as though he’d heard it, and Mikey blinked, then turned to look down at him.

  Frederick didn’t meet his gaze. Instead he continued to address Brown. “David,” he purred. “Imagine what we could do here. I could make it so that you never get to use your dick again, and that’s only the beginning. The means just to that single end are so rife with potential. I could tweak you so that you simply can’t gain an erection. Or I could make you take your gun and blast your own cock off. You might bleed out with that one, though, funny as it might be.”

  Brown’s head jerked up. “You’re sick,” he rasped. “Oh man, you’re insane!”

  “Why does everyone say that?” Frederick finally looked up at Mikey. “Do you know why?”

  Mikey shrugged. “No idea.”

  “No, me either.” Frederick shrugged. “So strange. Still, David, I assume you prefer to avoid that option?”

  “You’re asking me if I wanna avoid getting my dick shot off?” The cop’s voice verged on hysterical, and he snatched up handfuls of grass again. “Fuck you, man! Fuck you!”

  “Then here’s your alternative.” Frederick went full-Blofeld now, steepling his fingers and glowering down at Brown across the top of his fingertips. “You’re going to confess. You will head directly to your superior officers and turn yourself in for what you have done. You will tell them the circumstances of each and every dalliance you have ever engaged in with a suspect or other vulnerable party, and you will be unflinchingly honest. You will waive your right to not incriminate yourself, and you will confess.”

  Mikey bit his lip and turned away to inspect the trees again.

  Frederick was right. He did have it in hand. Jesus, better than that, it was a stroke of genius. If Brown turned himself in, nobody got hurt. A whole lot of people got justice. Hell, people Brown hadn’t even met yet got protected from him. It put a stop to Brown’s predations and could save someone from ever having to deal with him in the future.

  They couldn’t undo the past. But they could put a stop to it. And who would be so crazy that they’d rather shoot their dick off than spend some time in jail?

  He heard Brown spit, and looked back to the cop, whose uniform didn’t seem anywhere near so scary any more.

  “You give me all that lecture about how choice ain’t no choice if it’s coerced—”

  “Yes. Recall how I also mentioned how I do love a bit of hypocrisy? Keep up, dear boy, it was only a couple of minutes ago.”

  “I ain’t gonna beg, asshole!”

  Mikey looked down just in time to catch the gleam in Frederick’s cold eyes.

  “Challenge accepted.”

  Frederick oozed from his chair, so Mikey stood quickly too, just in time for the armchair to vanish. The sights and particularly the weird smells of Paris were gone in a flash, and Mikey was prepared to find his body in the same place he’d left it.

  Brown wasn’t. The disconnect between his mind’s kneeling and his body still standing made him lose his balance on the flat floor as Frederick dumped them straight back into their own heads inside Mikey’s house.

  Mikey sniffed. He adjusted his footing and made sure his envelope was secure against his chest. He was almost a hundred percent sure that they were back in their own bodies, but he glanced to Frederick to be sure.

  Frederick gave him the faintest of shrugs, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

  It means yes, with a small side order of no.

  Mikey didn’t even ask.

  Brown unholstered his gun. It wasn’t a sunflower any more, and it was back where it should be — where it had been all along. Once he had it in hand, he cocked it and thumbed the safety off, then unzipped his fly with his left hand.

  “What the fuck…” His eyes grew wide. “Dude, what the fuck is going on? Stop! Stop this!”

  Still his hand dipped into his pants and pulled out something Mikey had seen way too often.

  “You’ll probably get best results if you pop it on a table or something,” Frederick drawled. “You could hold it in your hand, I suppose, but then you’ll lose a whole bunch of fingers, too. And at this close range, hydrostatic shock is a concern, isn’t it? I don’t really know. Depends on the calibre, I think.”

  Brown pressed the tip of his barrel against the flaccid dick in his hand. His finger moved to rest against the trigger. “Oh God, oh God, this isn’t real, it isn’t real!”

  “Is it one of those triggers that goes
off with the slightest squeeze? Or is there some give in it?” Frederick leaned closer like he was genuinely fascinated to find out.

  Brown let out a strangled scream. Tears welled in his eyes. “Okay! Okay, damn it! Make it stop!”

  “You’re missing a word, I think.”

  “Please!” Brown howled it with all the desperation of a man about to put a bullet in his own cock. “I’m begging you! Please, make it stop!”

  Frederick inclined his head.

  Brown’s thumb pushed the safety back into place, and he slowly uncocked the weapon. It returned to the holster, and only once it was there did Brown’s hands begin to shake. He wept and stuffed himself back into his pants.

  “Isn’t that lovely?” Frederick grinned as he stepped toward Brown and cupped his chin. He pulled Brown’s head up and stared directly into his eyes.

  They stood locked like that for several minutes. Mikey bit his lip and wiped sweat from his palms onto the thighs of his pants.

  Did he really think Frederick would have done it? Now the moment had passed, it didn’t seem any less intense, and Mikey tried to assure himself that Frederick hadn’t really been about to let Brown castrate himself with a gun. It was just a threat, a cat playing with a mouse.

  A game.

  Mikey sucked on his lip as his shoulders unwound.

  That was Frederick, wasn’t it? He played games. He treated people like toys. He moved pawns around some international invisible chessboard and entertained himself in the process.

  But was that really so bad?

  Brown deserved punishment, and he was gonna get it. Better still, he was gonna get it because he was turning himself in. There wasn’t any bodily harm, nobody was gonna die.

  They weren’t even gonna lose a dick.

  It was a tremendous relief. Mikey didn’t think it would be, but there was something cathartic about the whole thing. He’d faced the opportunity to make Brown suffer for everything he’d done, and he hadn’t taken it.