Second Door to the Right

by Nikki Hyson

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “James was born of the union between a wealthy banker and a marquis’s’ daughter. A forbidden match, she parted from both James and his father. However, she never forgot her son. She never stopped trying to be a part of his life. She made a vow. She’d always be there for him. His kin would never desert him again. Lily, you are heir to that vow.”

  “What are you saying? James and I?”

  Cris nodded. “Not exactly sure the semantics, but let’s call it half siblings, six generations back. Back through your mum, of course. James’ mother married after a time and had four children. One of the lads is in your family tree.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And Moriarty cares because—”

  “He’s worried. It’s a family oath. Blood is thicker than ink.”

  Lily struggled against the current trying to carry her away, taking her from this nightmare of snarled truth and twisted logic.

  Cris’ hand slid across the white tabletop, crossing into her space only until she pulled her gaze to them. The final confession, words so small they seemed incapable of containing the possibility. “You could set James free.” The barest tremor betraying his hope. “You might free us all.”

  Is there such a way?

  Breath hitching, she almost said the words. She almost asked how. Another question slipped through her lips instead. “Did the Guild murder Stephan?”

  Cris blinked, a momentary confession of surprise. Looking away, his hand found the mug. “Why would they? They didn’t even know you existed—”

  “—He was a writer. Maybe you only wanted a character from his books. Did they?”

  “Hit and run isn’t the way it’s usually done. Too many witnesses.”

  Lily’s gaze narrowed to a fine point. “You aren’t answering.”

  Cris drew a breath, meeting her eyes with absolute conviction. “We didn’t kill him.”

  She slumped back against patched vinyl, defeated thrice over. Was it the pointless loss she couldn’t push past? Did there have to be a reason? “I didn’t even get to see him. I didn’t get to say goodbye. They said it was too much to fix. They said I shouldn’t remember him that way.”

  “I’m sorry, Lily.”

  The door opened, café bells chiming to welcome rain-damp air. A chill settled across Lily’s shoulders. Suppressing it, she asked, “What’s Moriarty afraid I’ll do? How do I end this?”

  “Lily.”

  Tension coiled his voice. She jerked her eyes up to him. Apprehension hooding his gaze, the Count looked past her, to the new customer dripping on the welcome mat.

  Curious, she started to turn. He gripped her hand, stopping her. Lily frowned. “What is it?”

  “You should take your parents and run. Find another stone cottage. Stay out of sight. It took them years to find you the first time, and you weren’t trying to hide.”

  “Cris?”

  “If you love them, take them and run. Don’t look back.”

  Lily didn’t say his name a third time. This time she squeezed his hand. Their eyes locked for two beats. “What about James?”

  The pity she’d glimpsed, at the pizzeria on that first night and then again only a minute ago, glimmered. He shook his head once, twice. “Forget him. Forget all of us.” Finding her hand, he squeezed it. “Run, Lily.” He stood. “Run.” The warmth of his hand separating from hers, he whispered, “Goodbye.”

  The man who’d been at the library with Rochefort now stood at her elbow. Hyde. “What’s this?” he wondered, triumph twisting his smile.

  “Pie,” she said simply.

  “What could the two of you be doing here, in this diner, at two in the morning? What plans might you be making?”

  “Cris said he’s a high school English teacher. He wants to get NaNo ready for next year.”

  Luckily, their accuser, suit still wrinkle free at two a.m., seemed focused solely on Lily. Not Cris. She alone saw Cris’ lips part softly, eyes expressing shock at the quality of her lie. With effort, she didn’t smile.

  “But here? Why are you here?” Hyde rounded on Cris. “You promised you’d never come back here. Rochefort vouched for you.”

  “I chose the diner.” Lily’s innocent reply pulled his attention back to her. “They have the best pie.”

  He glared from her to the untouched plate and back. “You don’t seem to care for it.”

  “It’s my second slice.”

  Their waitress hovered near. “Another coffee?”

  Cris bowed his head, refusing to look her way. “No. We were just going.” Lily saw emotions, swirling like constellations through his eyes. “Thanks for everything.” He reached for his wallet.

  Lily lightly touched his arm. “I invited you. My treat. I’ll get a package ready for you to pick up. Give me a couple days? It’ll be waiting for you at the library.”

  “Again. Thank you.”

  She smiled warmly. “My pleasure. I’ll think about what you said.”

  “You do that.” Cris stepped from their table and towards the door, not waiting to see if his accuser followed. No hesitation on the other’s part; they almost left the door as one.

  Lily watched them through the glass until they were out of sight. She looked back at her pie, the need for sudden comfort begging her to pick up the spoon. She hesitated, realizing she wasn’t alone. The waitress still stood within arm’s reach, but she wasn’t looking at Lily.

  Back straight, shoulders square, her gaze lingered on the last square of space where Cris had been. A single tear dampened an otherwise flawless cheek.

  For the first time, Lily looked at her faux brass nametag. “Haydee?”

  The waitress jerked her gaze from the sacred spot. Glaring a challenge, she lifted a brow. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  If she understood Lily’s exact translation, she gave no hint of it. “Working,” she said briefly, clearing Cris’ plate and cup. Passing a rag over the surface, removing a crumb, she slapped the bill on the table. “Have a good night.” A moment later, she vanished into the kitchen.

  Somehow, Lily knew Haydee wouldn’t be back out until after she left. The pie suddenly far less appealing, she stood, pulling a few bills from her pocket. All she wanted was a bolted door, a warm bed, and a loving beagle wired to hear every little noise.

  32

  Staring at the ceiling she’d quit seeing more than two hours before, Lily sighed. Amos lay curled into her side, one paw laying casually over her arm as he snored peacefully. She envied him. Tears, clinging stubbornly to the corners of her eyes, refused to fall. Then dry up already!

  In the street below a horn honked, another dull blade sawing at her nerves. Her muscles tensed, twisting the bands into ever tighter knots.

  She’d never fall asleep here again. She knew she wouldn’t. She’d always be wondering if They were behind the door.

  “Stephan, are you there? Was he telling me the truth?”

  No magical answer whispered across her mind. No reassurance of a life after this one. Nothing but silence. Silence, and the roll of her gel pen across the desk and onto the floor.

  Lily lifted her head, gaze straining at the deadbolt and chain first. The door was secure. She was alone.

  She sat up slowly. Amos, grunting protest, claimed her pillow. He exhaled deeply, breathing his dogginess all over clean linens before sucking in a deep drought of her. Tail thumping softly, the growly snores resumed.

  Leaving Amos to his rest, Lily went to her desk. Picking up the fallen pen, she speculated over it. “We didn’t speak our words, did we?” Setting it beside her journal once more. “It was always letters. So many letters between us.”

  She sat before her favorite tools, opening to the back of the book where her recent novel ended. Flipping to a cool, blank sheet, Lily ran her fingers lightly over it. Some writers found the emptiness paralyzing. She’d always found it a little intoxicating.


  With a thumb stroke, Lily clicked the pen and set point to page. “What is it, Love?”

  Words flowed. As if they’d only been waiting for her to blow the dam. Filling her brain, finding their level, spilling down her arm, through her fingertips, and splashing onto the page before her. Faster than any word war, more fluid than any stroke of inspiration before it, Lily wrote without thought or pause—

  Stephan knew the moment she entered the forge even though his back faced the door and no horse whickered. He knew because he always knew when she came near, and this would be the last time his eyes would ever look upon her.

  She just didn’t know it. He dropped his bit of iron into the water bucket, steam hissing up noisily, and waited.

  She didn’t call his name. At last, he had no choice but to turn. Her back was to him, face buried in Starfire’s mane, one small hand stroking the stallion’s sweat damp neck.

  Stephan moved from behind his anvil, removing gloves as he neared. She’d never minded the fire scorched skin crossing the back of his left hand. “He’ll miss you, Lass. That he will,” he said, brogue soft with gentleness.

  He hesitated, chuckling low in his throat. “Wonder what he thought of you on that first day. Slip of a lass with no right among the great draft horses. No one speaks kindly to them.”

  She shifted slightly, one arm still around the Belgian’s neck, but her eyes now on Stephan. Three years since that first day and she knew him better than he knew himself. She knew when to speak and when to listen. When to bring a basket lunch because he hadn’t thought to eat in days. She knew—

  She stepped away from Starfire between one beat and the next, arms filling with him before he could flinch away. Tilting her head, he saw it again. The something shining deep in her eyes. He’d been refusing to name it for many a month now. In the end, it didn’t matter. She gave him no choice.

  “I love you, Stephan. You know I do. And I think you care just a bit for me too.”

  He didn’t deny.

  He only tried to blunt the blow to her heart. “You’re leaving.”

  “Only for six months. I’ll be back.” Smiling, she hugged him a little tighter. “I’ll always love you. Please, believe me.”

  “I ca—can’t— I—” Agitation flaring his stammer into renewed life, his cheeks flamed scarlet. Head bowing in humiliation, he shook his head. “I can’t. Please.” She was too soft, too sweet against him. Eyes sliding shut, his resolve quaked. “Go,” he whispered. “If, if you care.”

  She filled her hands with his sweaty, work roughened hair. Rising up on tiptoe, she pulled his head down. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

  His heart filled with the rightness of the moment, thoughts frozen between her two small hands. He pulled her close. If he must sacrifice all the ones after. He would have this moment to remember.

  They would both have this.

  Sliding a heat calloused hand up into her hair, at last he felt what had filled his endless dreams. It was like silk running through his fingers. He smiled against her mouth, bending a little lower to deepen an already scorching kiss. She didn’t resist, responding with tears that tasted both sweet and salty across his tongue.

  “I knew,” she gasped. “I knew you loved me.”

  Stephan straightened slowly, thumb wiping away tears of joy before they changed to salted sorrow. “Aye, Lass,” he said softly. “I do. But I canno be with you. I’m sorry, Lass.”

  Confusion chased fear across her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I spoke to your father. It isn’t safe for you here. This is farewell.”

  “I don’t understand. If it isn’t safe, then come with me.”

  He shook his head. “Your brother, James, is right. They’re watchin’ me. Have been for a long time. Being near me puts you in danger.”

  “I can’t accept that.”

  He chuckled softly, “You must. Tis the only thing making any of this bearable.” His breath hitched softly. “If you are safe. Try to be happy. Please.”

  Wordless, she buried her cheek against his shirt, holding on as if she’d never let him go.

  “You must stop writing of me, Love.” He kissed the top of her head. “End our story now. Let me go.”

  “I can’t.”

  He parted them, meeting her red eyes. “You can,” he said, carrying conviction for them both. “I love you, Lily.”

  Her father’s voice beckoned. “The carriage is ready. It’s time.” Neither glanced his way. Neither looked from this moment, both wishing it could last forever. Both knowing it was already over.

  “I love you, Stephan,” she whispered. “From the first day.”

  “I know, Lass.” His smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

  Lily lowered her face to the page, pen falling from useless fingers. Silent tears flooded, doubling her over with the pain of loss renewed. She let it overwhelm her, losing herself in a parting that had come too soon.

  Finally, she’d told the farewell they’d never been allowed.

  Somewhere near the middle of total loss and composure, Amos wakened. Hearing tears, he slipped to the floor and padded over, flipping her hand to his head with a nudge of his nose. Patiently waiting for some response, his breaths drew in and out, warming and then cooling her fingertips.

  Sniffing hard, Lily rubbed his faithful head. “Thanks, Amos.” Gently shutting the journal, her gaze lingered there for a long while; moments ticking by the thump of a beagle tail.

  At last, she reached for the phone. Scarce after six, she thumbed the speed dial. Both her parents were of the early to rise variety.

  Her father answered on the second ring. “I was beginning to wonder,” he said without preamble.

  “Wonder what?”

  “After you left, I started thinking one or more of the Guild might show up for your little gala yesterday. Did it scare the shit out of them?”

  “I think a little. Cris warned me to take you both and go. He said we should hide for a bit. Stephan said the same thing. I’m starting to think they might be right.”

  Lily was thankful Peter didn’t pause. “They likely are. We can be ready Saturday.”

  “Dah, it’s Monday. I think Cris meant a little quicker.”

  Her mother’s voice carried a question over the line. “Peter, who is it?”

  “Telemarketer, Love.”

  “At six o’clock?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Aye. Hush now so I can have a bit of fun.”

  Neither did Sarah. “Well, remind Lily I’ll be in town Saturday if she wants to have lunch.”

  “Yes, Dear.”

  Lily smiled, cheeks tight with dried tears. “Dah, we should go sooner.”

  “I need to get a few things together first. So many books.”

  “We won’t be gone forever. Just pack a bag each and throw the dog bowls in a sack.”

  “It’ll take me a few days to get myself sorted for this, Lily. You know I hate the car.”

  She hesitated a long moment, deciding between understanding and encouragement. “I know,” she finally said. “Saturday then. Mum can come over after her artist seminar Saturday morn and we’ll head out to you. Please, be ready.”

  “Rent a car.”

  “What?”

  “Me, a car, and your beagle. Which one of us will unravel first? You can take the Tooks, Amos and Beatrix with you. We’ll take River. Use your uncle’s emergency account. I doubt they know about him, or his generosity to us.”

  Lily pressed her lips tight. She’d mentioned it offhand to James, but what choice did they have? She didn’t have the funds to rent a car indefinitely. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good girl. And Lily?”

  “Yes?”

  “There will be three books in my briefcase. The one you were looking at the last time, and two others. We must take those with us. No matter how I act Saturday, promise you’ll remember those. Promise they won’t get left behind.”

  “I promise, Dah. They won’t leave
your side.”

  Peter exhaled deeply into the receiver. “Good. Be careful, Lily. Act normal. Tell no one.”

  “I will. I will. I won’t.”

  At her playfulness, Lily felt him relax; heard the creak as he settled a little deeper into his chair. “Good girl,” he said a second time. “Now, go walk your little radical.”

  “Love you, Dah.”

  “You too.”

  She waited for him to click off first, as she always did, and then set the phone atop her journal. Her fingertips grazed the leather cover. “Goodbye, Stephan,” she said softly.

  33

  Moriarty passed his gaze slowly round the room, pausing at each face for a long moment before continuing. Haydee stood directly before his desk, Rochefort on one side and Edward on the other. The Count stood a few paces to the side, hands clasped and head bowed.

  The Professor shifted focus back to the girl. He read fear in her eyes, but she covered it remarkably well under a guise of righteous indignation. He admired her for that, always had. Regretting the necessity of making a decision with only one choice, his eyes shifted to Hyde for a bare instant.

  So pleased with himself. His joy at finding Cris’ betrayal, and inevitable punishment, flit across Edward’s face. Moriarty suppressed a sigh. Hyde’s emotions ran so close to the surface. Only one at a time and never coupled with any degree of logic. Try as he might, Moriarty remained unable to fold Jekyll’s intellect and Hyde’s lack of inhibitions into one paper soul. He’d tried so many different points of exit. They’d all failed.

  He moved on.

  Rochefort stood perfectly still, eyes fixed forward. Waiting. Perfect knight. Perfect pawn. The musketeer never raised a flicker of concern. That alone begged questions, but Moriarty didn’t have time for those now. Edward had managed to snarl matters enough to last a fortnight.

  Moriarty considered Cris last of all; knowing here would be the crux of the problem. A promise had been made to the Count. A promise that had been broken. If Cris betrayed him, as Edward claimed, Moriarty felt no qualms with ending this interview in ash. If he hadn’t—