The next morning, Matthew was incensed to realize that Quinn had gone out against his orders, confining Quinn to his room and seating Oz outside as a guard. With a small apology toward the door, Quinn swung easily out of the window once again and scaled his way down the back of the house. After dropping into the alleyway, he walked back to Lady Covington's estate. The walk was a good distance, but he had spent most of his money the night before on the hackney to her estate. When he arrived, Mary made sure to stuff him full of food, before setting him to dusting the library shelves until dinner was ready to be served.
Quinn found he did not mind dusting. It was mindless work, and beside that, he could look through the books Lady Covington had in her collection. He had just begun browsing an unfamiliar volume of poetry, when she asked from behind him, "Do you enjoy books as well?"
Quinn jumped and quickly set the book back onto the shelf, murmuring excuses which she waved away. "Books are meant for reading, Quinton. It hardly matters to me if you take a few minutes to read a poem." She looked at the book that he had put away. "Do you read Italian?"
"No, but it looked so interesting." Quinn blushed when Lady Covington gave him a knowing smile.
"How fortuitous, then, that you would pick up a book on love poetry." She laughed when his blush deepened, the sound sweet and innocent. Quinn thought of the warning Sebastian had given him the night before—the warning he had blatantly ignored. She seemed so kind, but evil could take many forms.
"I apologize if I have interrupted your reading time," Quinn said, noticing the book in her hand.
Lady Covington followed his gaze down and brought the book up. "No, not at all. I had hoped to find you here, truthfully. I wondered if you were all right. Sebastian said you were fine, but men simply do not understand these things." She gave him a conspiring smile and Quinn wondered abstractly if she was counting him among the women that would understand these things.
"I am fine, milady."
She blushed. "You must think I am such a bother. The truth is I had a son. He would have been about your age." Her last few words were said as if the loss of her son was a wound that had only just begun to heal.
"About my age?" Quinn studied Lady Covington critically. "You look to be about my age." And his intent was not to flatter; Lady Covington did not look old enough to have a son his age.
Lady Covington simply giggled. "That is very kind of you to say."
"What happened to him?" She looked confused. "Your son I mean."
"Oh." Profound sadness crossed her face. "He died in birth." Quinn had heard of that before; it was said that the child's soul had simply never developed. Some said that they were children destined for the Devil, but Quinn did not believe that. "You must think me terribly familiar. I apologize for telling you all of this. I simply hoped you might understand."
Quinn tried to keep Sebastian's warning in mind, but it was difficult, especially when Lady Covington was so likeable. "You may feel free to mother me as much as you want."
"What of your own mother, Quinton?"
"She died before I had a chance to know her." Lady Covington's eyes were filled with pity. "I never knew her, so it was hard to miss her. And I have my father." His father who was likely even now worrying over him. Quinn felt a pang of guilt.
"My mother died when I was young, as well. And my father … " A look of pain passed through her eyes. "He did not handle it well."
She looked so sad that Quinn apologized. "I did not mean to depress you, milady."
Lady Covington gave him a weak smile, and then shook her head. "Well, perhaps you will allow me to keep you company until dinner, then." And she sat and chatted with him about books while he dusted. Quinn was surprised by how knowledgeable she proved to be about literature, since reading was not often a pastime of ladies of her stature. Still, he found himself making notes of some of her recommendations and thoroughly enjoying her interpretation of the novels they discussed. When dinnertime came, Quinn was surprised to realize that he was legitimately sad at the idea of ending their conversation.
Sebastian did not look too happy to see him when he came down, and while he responded to all of Lady Covington's remarks, he continued to shoot Quinn irritated glares. Quinn ignored him, while wishing desperately that he could forget the night before.
Quinn was thankful to escape after helping Mary with the dishes once again. He tried asking her more about Lawrence, but she had decided that she no longer wished to speak of it. She had a love for telling stories, however, and Quinn took the little bit of information he could glean from her stories about Lawrence's work in Lady Covington's estate. By the time he left to return home, he felt no closer to the answer of who had killed Lawrence than he had been at the beginning of the night. He declined the offer of a ride back and set in to walk.
As he walked, Quinn realized that he had not heard the odd voice that night. He walked back toward the center of town more confused than ever, where he was once again accosted on the way to his neighborhood. "Ah, the boy with no fear of the future." Quinn turned to see the gypsy approaching him slowly, her many scarves bright in the scant light from the moon.
"I fear the future," Quinn confessed to her. "But is there a point to worrying over what has yet to happen?"
"I suppose not," she replied. "Would you like another question?"
He thought of her last answer to him: a warning. "I may not like the answer."
"Honesty will suit you well through life. If not a question, then a warning. Death, darkness, and light follow you. I wonder which shall claim you first."
"I am not afraid." If Quinn said it enough times, perhaps it might come true.
"You are," the gypsy responded, "but that is good. Fear is healthy. Sleep well, dear Quinton."
Quinn blinked and she was gone, leaving him wondering for a moment if she had ever truly been there. Perhaps she was simply another symptom of his growing paranoia. Maybe Sebastian was right about Quinn being in over his head. He mourned Lawrence's death and still wanted to find his killer, but between the gypsy and Sebastian's warnings, and Francis's threat, Quinn had begun to worry that he was digging into matters he would not be able to handle.
Disheartened by his lack of progress and his lack of faith, Quinn walked home and up the stairs to his room. There sat Oz, nearly asleep and still standing guard at his door. Quinn thought of Francis's words as he approached Oz. Despite his actions the night before, seeing Oz like this, asleep and defenseless, tugged at Quinn's heart. Perhaps there would always be a part of him that loved Oz this fiercely. Leaning in close, Quinn wondered what it might be like to kiss Oz. Would it be a quick burn, like he had felt when he kissed Sebastian, or would it be a slow fire that consumed him bit by bit? He had spent quite a few years imagining it. Did Oz see him as a little brother? Quinn thought that might be the worst possibility. Oz certainly treated him with the fond distance of an older brother—except for that day in the shop when Quinn had been almost sure that Oz had been about to confess.
With a sigh, he poked Oz and tried not to giggle when he startled awake, staring at Quinn with wide green eyes. Oz looked at the door. "When did you leave?"
"Does that matter?" Quinn patted him on the head fondly and walked through his bedroom door, not at all surprised when Oz followed.
"Your father is very worried, you know."
"Worrying him was not my goal," Quinn sighed, and sat heavily on his bed, pushing the hair that had freed itself from his queue out of his face.
"What was your goal, then?"
"Lawrence was my friend, Oz. Do you not find it the least bit worrisome that bodies have begun appearing on the doorstep?"
Oz frowned. "It is a dangerous neighborhood, Quinn." But it was obvious from his tone that even he did not believe that.
"Odd, then, how bodies are dropped on our doorstep and no others. Treat me like a child if you feel you must, but I will not sit around and wait for the killer to show himself."
"No one expects—" Oz
stopped himself and sighed. "Why did you grow up so fast, Quinn?"
"I grew up a long time ago. No one bothered to notice."
The look in Oz's eyes made Quinn blush and he turned. How long had he wished that Oz would view him that way? Wiping the thought from his mind before his body could begin reacting, Quinn stripped off his shirt. When he peeked behind him to see if Oz was watching, he saw Oz studying him with interest, before his cheeks pinked and he turned back to the window. Suddenly embarrassed by his own boldness, Quinn changed quickly.
"So where were you?" Oz asked once again.
Quinn debated the merits of lying. "I found work at Lady Covington's estate," he answered finally, deciding to stick close to the truth.
Oz turned quickly. "Do you need money?"
Quinn gritted his teeth in irritation. "Even if I did require money, I would earn it myself."
"Of course," Oz soothed, and Quinn frowned at him. "Then what were you doing at the estate?"
"Working," Quinn answered. "As I just told you." He tried an innocent smile when Oz gave him an irritated look, but Oz had known him for far too long. "I had hoped that by asking around Lawrence's last workplace, I might be able to find who killed him."
Quinn watched as Oz fought with the worry that threatened to spill out of his mouth. "I hope you aren't seeking revenge, Quinn."
"One day, Oz, everyone will be able to afford to be as softhearted as you are." The sad part was that Quinn liked Oz's soft heart; admired it, even if he found it difficult to follow the philosophies he knew Oz believed.
Oz sighed. "There was a time you wouldn't even kill a bug."
"I was thirteen, Oz." And to be honest, he had thought that acting like a damsel in distress would win him Oz's attention.
Oz shook his head, and asked, "And did you find Lawrence's killer?"
"No." Quinn settled himself in bed. "I have no idea who killed Lawrence. I know he was well loved at the estate he worked at. I know the house is as disturbing as the rumors say."
Oz settled on the bed beside him and it was reminiscent of something he'd done years ago, around the time he had first started visiting and another killer had been haunting the area. Quinn had been afraid. and Oz had sat beside him all night and promised to keep him safe. The memory made him ask wryly, "Do you intend to sit here all night, then?"
"For as long as I can. It seems the best way to keep you safe." From yourself was heavily implied.
Quinn wanted to be angry, but he truly did feel safe with Oz there. He curled up until his head was in Oz's lap, feeling the Oz's surprise. "Have you ever felt a darkness so deep, you could swear you would drown in it?"
Oz's hand paused from where it had begun playing in his hair. "What happened, Quinn?"
"Nothing." But his hand came up to lie against his chest. The pain had yet to come back, but he could still feel the phantom pangs. "A little scared is all." Fear is healthy.
"I will protect you, Quinn," Oz promised, and Quinn enjoyed the privilege of a closeness he never thought he would have. When Oz brushed his fingers through his hair and against his scalp, Quinn felt warmth spread through him. Even the pain seemed to fade away under the feeling of protection and safety. Exhaustion started to catch up with Quinn, making his eyes heavy. "I don't like you going into that house if a killer might be residing there."
"Are you going to slay all my demons for me?"
"If that is what it takes." Oz said it so confidently that Quinn could only huff in laughter.
"Part of being an adult is slaying your own demons, Oswald."
"Part of being important to someone is knowing when to let them help you."
Was he important to Oz? Quinn was silent for a moment, and then asked, "Do you think someone is after me?"
Oz stiffened. "Why do you ask that?"
"I have stumbled over all the bodies so far. It feels like a warning." And the note, but Quinn once again chose not to mention that.
"I won't let anyone hurt you."
Quinn could feel consciousness slipping away. "Will you stay with me through the night?"
"For as long as I am able." Oz stopped stroking his hair and Quinn made an irritated noise. With a chuckle, Oz resumed. "You're very important to me."
The part of Quinn that was not currently flushed with happiness wondered why Oz had never bothered to express this before. But since Oz saw fit to confess his feelings at last, Quinn felt comfortable admitting, "I love you, Oz." Had he bothered to look up, he might have seen the looked of stunned disbelief on Oz's face. As it was, he drifted into sleep.
When he awoke the next day, Oz was gone. Quinn fought with himself not to feel too disappointed. When he wandered downstairs, his father favored him with an unhappy look. "Returned home, have you?"
Quinn ignored the belligerent question, and instead asked, "Where is Oz?"
His father shrugged. "He said he had something to take care of. He left before the sun rose." Quinn glanced at the clock in the corner to see that it was nearly noon. Had he really slept that late? But he felt better rested than he had in the past couple of days. His face flushed when he remembered why he'd slept so well. He had thought that when he awoke, Oz would be there and they might talk about the night before. But with Oz gone, Quinn wondered if perhaps he had read something into Oz's words that simply had not been there.
The confession had seemed so sudden. Maybe it was not a confession at all. Quinn sighed sadly. "I will be at the library."
He saw his father's mouth open, could practically hear the objection. But Matthew took one good look at him and changed his mind. "I don't know why you bother to mention it to me, anyway. Not like you would listen if I asked you not to."
"Will you tell me why you would prefer me not to go outdoors?" Quinn paused with his hand on the knob of the door.
Matthew replied, annoyed, "There is a killer out there, Quinton. It's hardly difficult to understand."
Quinn frowned at his father, then shook his head, determined not to begin an argument. Instead, he pushed the door open and started outside, nearly tripping over the prone body lying in the doorway. The pain came back worse than ever in his chest when he realized the identity of the body. Oz lay in front of their store, disheveled and dirty. Quinn nearly thought he was dead, but Oz let out a weak groan.
"Father!" As Matthew ran to see what was wrong Quinn noticed the darkening red bloom on the front of Oz's clothing.
Blood. Oz was bleeding.
Matthew pushed Quinn aside and bent down to help Oz. Quinn could only watch uselessly as his father searched for the source of the bleeding. "Quinn, go warm up some water." Quinn nodded and started to step back, when he noticed that Oz was mumbling something. Matthew stared at Oz in horror, and then seemed to notice that Quinn had yet to move. "Quinn! Water!" Quinn nodded again and hurried off this time.
It took most of the morning for them to stabilize Oz, and even then he still looked near death. He had yet to try speaking again and had slipped into unconsciousness not long after Matthew had moved him upstairs. He had patched Oz up the best he could and informed Quinn that it was in God's hands now.
Quinn sat beside Oz and wanted to cry. It was his fault that this had happened. He should never have told Oz about what he was doing. It should not have come as a surprise that Oz would try and protect him, to get to the bottom of it if for nothing more than to protect Quinn.
Quinn leaned down and brushed a soft kiss on Oz's cheek. "I swear I'll find them." He dropped quietly from the window and exited the alley. His father would be angry when he realized that Quinn was missing, but no one else would get hurt—not while Quinn had the ability to make the coward face him.
Section Three
When Quinn arrived at Lady Covington's estate, he was out of breath and Mary was nowhere to be found. Poking around found him Sebastian in the library. Rather than reading, however, Sebastian had moved the chair until it sat directly in front of the fire and he stared as if hypnotized by the flames. "Back again, Quinton?
You never learn, do you?"
"Someone hurt Oz."
"Oz? Your one-sided love interest?" Sebastian turned to look at him and his brow furrowed. "Or perhaps not so one-sided after all." He looked down at his own hand. "Very interesting." Before Quinn could ask him what he was talking about, Sebastian stood. "Still not afraid?"
Sebastian was dressed in a black cloak that made his hair seem all the darker. One eye had gone to the mist and a slow smile curved his lips. He looked like the devil himself, and Quinn felt another pang in his chest, the feeling of something trying very hard to free itself. He fought it back with determination, and answered through clenched teeth, "Someone reminded me fear is not a bad thing. But I am still not afraid of you."
Sebastian laughed. "I believe that, too, though I'm not sure why I find it so appealing." He shrugged. "Someone else said the same words to me last night. An avenging angel."
Quinn paled. "Did you hurt Oz?"
"I did not touch your angel." Sebastian had come close enough now to lay his hand on Quinn's chest. "You find it harder to fight now, do you not?"
"What do you mean?"
"Inside of you. Fighting to get free."
Quinn pulled back and brought his own hand up to his chest. He could still feel tingles where Sebastian had touched him, the pain fading to a dull throb. "What is it?"
Sebastian leaned in until their noses nearly touched. "Humans are taught to fear the darkness, for evil lies inside. What they often miss is the truth that humans themselves shape the darkness. It mirrors their hearts." Sebastian placed his hand on Quinn's chest once again, and Quinn did not pull back. "What lies in your heart, Quinton?"
"Stop talking in riddles," Quinn retorted. "It is uncharacteristic of you."
Sebastian laughed, the sound full of genuine amusement. "I suppose you are right. You're a demon."
Quinn's mouth fell open. "I cannot be a demon."
"Oh, but I assure you: you are one. Only half of one, admittedly, but I would argue that that makes you all the stronger—or the more dangerous. One never truly knows with demons." Sebastian stepped back and went to his chair. "I have time to answer a few of the questions you must have."
Private Dicks Page 33
