Soul and Blade

by Tara Brown

  The next is a video link. I click it and watch as I, a young pregnant me, walk into a store. I buy food—a sandwich. There are sores on my face and my hands shake as I count change on the counter. I resemble a junkie; there’s no doubt. The way I eat as I leave the store makes me think I hadn’t eaten in days. I glance up at the camera, clearly aware of them. It’s me. There’s no mistaking the girl as me.

  I look like I am dying of starvation and on drugs while being very pregnant. A man follows me out. I back the video up and watch the man in the video. He’s watching me. I can’t help but notice the way he stares at my belly.

  When the screen-me leaves, I catch a glimpse of his face. I don’t know him and yet he seems familiar.

  The next link is a police report. I click it, immediately seeing the handwritten account of Jane Doe.

  Seventeen, approximate age.

  Caucasian.

  Female.

  One hundred twenty-eight pounds.

  I grimace at the thought of being that small nine months pregnant.

  The next lines catch my eyes.

  “Victim is easily recognized by other street people. They say her name is Andrea, no last name. She’s a runaway from Atlanta. One girl bunks with her at a shelter for homeless kids. Says the victim was due in a few weeks and that the baby was being given up for adoption. Says it was legal, but none of the agencies know of her. Spoke to one agency in the Lower East Side. They said the street kids sell their babies illegally. Lady at the adoption agency said she has seen this before where the seller went back on their word and decided to keep the baby. It’s a theory the buyer might have taken the baby.”

  I stare at the words sell their babies. My eyes cross, but I don’t stop staring.

  I click the next link and find a doctor’s write-up of the damage—the stitches and surgeries and lacerations and prognoses.

  I should have died.

  But I didn’t, not really.

  The words might as well be a language I cannot read, because I do not know the girl in the report. I do not know her, I do not remember her, and I do not know what it would be like to be her. I cannot even comprehend what it means to have a child.

  I see it there in that moment. Dash gave me a second chance. He bought me a second chance. My medical bills were paid. I was sent to the best brain-injury clinics and centers. Every single document that comes next is a shocking revelation that Dash has been caring for me for as long as he said.

  I dug myself into a terrible hole and he pulled me out and sheltered me until I was strong again.

  I had a family, but I left them?

  I chose to starve on the streets, and sell my body and my baby, over going home?

  How bad was home?

  Or was I such a bad kid they kicked me out for drugs and stealing?

  The possibilities are endless, and I can see why Dash took it all away. Whatever happened to me, happened to a different girl. I am not her.

  I am me.

  I would love a baby and care for it and treat it better than anything in the world. I would love to be married and be normal, but I don’t think that will ever happen for me.

  Maybe this right here is the me that I am choosing to be.

  The only thing that makes everything else right is the knowledge I am not that girl. Andrea or Jane Doe or whoever I was.

  She was my twin sister.

  We were identical.

  But now she is dead. She died in an alley.

  I am free.

  All I can do is pray that the baby is okay.

  18. ADDICTED TO YOU

  While the past is exactly what Dash said it was, the horror and reality push back against my desire to know about any of it.

  However, the car ride to the house in London, after the plane ride, goes much better.

  Nichols, Dash’s family’s loyal driver, picks me up from Heathrow and even lets me ride up front, after much persuasion.

  “How have you been?” I ask. I genuinely like the man. He is gentle and kind and thoughtful. And he is far more intelligent than either of Dash’s parents.

  He nods and smiles. “I have been well, miss. Thank you for asking. How have you been?”

  “Very well.” I contemplate sparing him from my nosiness, but I can’t. “Did Henry ever have his court date with the international tribunal?”

  “No, miss. He is scheduled to be tried along with the other men next month. International courts take much longer, and the evidence is just so extensive.” He doesn’t have to tell me that.

  “But I thought he was being tried in the military courts?”

  “No. The last I heard from Lord Townshend was that none of them are being tried by the military. They had hoped the American military courts could prevent the media from hearing all the details. But the crimes aren’t localized to one region; this is widespread and global, so the United Nations is demanding an international tribunal.”

  “Oh God.” I wince, realizing I never did tell Henry’s father to help him. “Has Henry got a lawyer?”

  “No, miss. He’s been cut off completely. Been given a barrister from the UN who is meant to do the job.”

  “That’s not very good.”

  “No, miss. He’s a foolish boy, but cutting one’s children off is not the way to handle a situation like that.”

  I nod and glance out the window at the stunning neighborhood of old row houses and mansions made into apartments. We are in Hyde Park, a wealthy section of London. “Is the house nearby?”

  He chuckles. “No, miss.”

  I sit back and relax, thinking about everything, when it dawns on me I haven’t sent Antoine the e-mail I had composed on the plane. I link my phone, creating a hotspot, and send it. It has the picture of the man who followed me from the store on the video. I can only hope Antoine finds him.

  I would very much like to repay the favor he once bestowed upon me.

  I may not be able to mourn the loss of the baby I never knew, but I can fucking well avenge him or her. That is the one motherly skill I possess.

  We drive for what feels like hours but has been closer to an hour, then he turns into a driveway and slows the car. I cringe as he drives up to the house that is not a house but can’t stop from laughing nervously. “A castle? Do they own anything but castles?”

  “My dear girl, honestly.” He sighs and shakes his head. “You must learn to Google the family better.”

  “I do. Their houses never show up on Google Maps.”

  He gives me a look. “In today’s technological world, you can’t get a few pictures of these places?”

  “I never really think of it until it’s too late. And by then we are driving up and I’m doing my orphan stare and reliving scenes from Annie.”

  “At least they can’t ever say you were a—what is that American term? Gold digger!” He snorts as he gets out, pointing at my door. “You open that and never sit in the front again, young lady.”

  I lift my hands innocently, wishing I wasn’t wearing a work outfit. A pantsuit isn’t exactly Lady Townshend–worthy.

  “Your friend Miss O’Conner is here,” Nichols says as he opens the door.

  I haven’t seen her since the big reveal. I nod. “That’s good. I’d like to see her.”

  “Come now, we are already late.” He escorts me to the massive front door of the English castle I am absolutely going to be exploring in the morning when it’s light out. Even in the dark it is incredible.

  “This is bigger than the house in Virginia.”

  “Far bigger,” he laughs. “This is the Townshend Castle. It is a very fine home with a lot of history. The family has owned it for hundreds of years. The smallest section was built in the fifteenth century and the largest addition was built in the seventeenth century and expanded again in the eighteenth and nineteenth centur
ies. It is so large it is continually under renovation. The original castle was a quadrangle in shape for military defense. It was a fortress, which is why it is allowed the term castle. It’s situated on thirteen thousand acres and has a total of one hundred fifty-three rooms.”

  “Holy shit.” I glance about the massive front entry and wonder if they have turned it into a museum or if the museums are all built to mimic it.

  “I assure you, my dear, if there was shit here, it would be holy.”

  We both laugh at his joke as the large wooden door is opened for us and Nichols stops dead in front of it. “Have a lovely evening, miss.” He bows and leaves me there.

  I step inside, wrinkling my nose as always.

  “Yer the only girl I know who dates a prince and hates it.”

  “No. The rest of them hate it too, they just don’t have the balls to say it. And he isn’t a prince. Trust me.”

  “Och, come on now.” Angie rushes over, wrapping herself around me. “He’s rich enough. And I do suppose ya have balls big enough for everyone.” She kisses my cheek. “I have an outfit for ya in the bathroom to the right. Slip down there and wash up. Ya have a splattering of something there.” She pulls back, giving it a look. “That blood?”

  I wipe it and shrug. “Maybe.”

  “That’s disgusting.” She tilts her head to the right. “Off with ya.”

  I hurry down the hall to the bathroom, which matches the house—huge and marble and over the top. I pull on the simple black dress she left on the counter and then put on the lipstick beside it. After folding my clothes and placing them in a neat pile in the corner of the room, I give myself a once-over.

  The dress is perfect and the makeup from Cami is still fresh looking. I wipe the random splatter of blood from the side of my face, hopefully without disturbing the makeup, before washing my hands and leaving the room. By the time I get back down the hall, Angie is gone and Evangeline has replaced her. She smiles wide. “Miss . . . Jane. How are you?”

  I hug her. It seems like the right choice. She is awkward for the first second, or maybe I’m awkward. But neither of us melts into it.

  “Jane.”

  I turn to see Dash. “Hey.”

  “I didn’t know you’d arrived.” He walks to me as Evangeline disappears back into the scenery. When he hugs me it’s different—all encompassing.

  “How was Bahrain?”

  “Good.” I pull back and look up at him. “What’s my story?”

  He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Why was I on a business trip? Am I a doctor, still?”

  He laughs. “No. God, no. I explained that you are actually a very important young woman with a very important career and that everything you do is top secret.”

  “You have told them the truth?”

  “Not the whole truth. They don’t know you are the patient I spoke of years ago, with the memory issues. They think I met you at work. And as far as your job is concerned, I only told them that it is sensitive in nature and military in description. That it is a matter of national security and you aren’t able to speak about it.” He lifts his right hand in the air. “But other than that, I am all about the truth now. There may be some omissions, but there’s not a single lie in this room.”

  I bite my lip, knowing that’s not true. I wince and spill, hating that he’s working so hard at being honest and I am the one who’s lying. “Except one.”

  “One?”

  “Your brother. He called me awhile ago looking for my help with your father.”

  Dash looks confused and annoyed, and yet he manages to keep his tone calm. “Henry called you awhile ago and you didn’t tell me about it?”

  “I am telling you.”

  “What help could you offer him?”

  I blink and blurt, “He implied another family member was actually at the brothel and that whichever of you two it was, you were smart enough to avoid the cameras.”

  “The log books?”

  “Every name is named. I can only assume there is another Townshend name on that list they found in the brothel and Henry is suggesting he be helped before the entire family is implicated.”

  Dash wrinkles his nose. “Crikey.” It’s the most English thing I have ever heard him say. “My father went there as well?”

  I can’t even stop the smile crossing my lips. “Yeah. Unless it was you.”

  That pisses him off. “How many fucking times do we have to discuss this? A girl crying into the pillow as I hold her down isn’t really my thing, Jane.”

  I lift my hands. “I know. I’m just pointing out your father and you were both sort of implicated.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me. I clearly don’t think human trafficking is acceptable. And I don’t pay for sex. Jesus, I have some standards.”

  I pull his face to mine and receive a wooden kiss. One that suggests he is going to be angry with me for a while over the accusation.

  “I can’t believe my father would be so angry with him for it and act so indignant about it, and yet have gone himself.”

  “Henry could be lying.”

  “He could indeed be, but on the other hand, perhaps my father thought going was not such a big deal. The men at the club did start it out as a place for men to live out their fantasies. In their eyes it might have been legitimate prostitution, given that the women got paid. My father would hold with that easily.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Let me take care of this. I will speak to him.”

  We turn and walk into the castle proper. He grins wickedly when I look at him. “I know. ‘It’s a fucking castle, Dash,’” he says, trying to mimic my voice.

  “It’s ridiculous.” I can’t help but laugh at the way he does my voice.

  “It’s a family heirloom of sorts, nothing more. I don’t live here and I don’t believe in the pomp of this place. I like our life, Jane.” He kisses my cheek and squeezes me into him. “Did you happen to notice the house in McLean at all when you were there? It’s half the size of this, if not a third.”

  “No, it’s not. I did see it’s larger and fancier than I expected, but my heart breaking on the tile obscured everything else.”

  “Indeed.” His voice deepens with remorse. “Well, I was hoping that you would contemplate coming to see it again. And maybe staying there, just overnight or something like a weekend. Binx likes it.”

  I turn. “You’ve brought my cat to your mansion? When?”

  “Last month when you were in Libya for those ten days. I couldn’t keep the two of them at the townhouse; it’s not enough room for his highness. He felt that Sirius was in his space. So I packed them up and went to the country. They loved it. And Evangeline came to give me a hand out there, as my parents were in Monaco for the week. Binx loves her. And I mean, she is so very pretty. It was a great week.”

  I don’t know how I feel about another woman, besides Mrs. Starling, being with my cat and my man.

  He points. “Got you.”

  “That’s not even funny, Dash.” I swat him. “Letting another woman snuggle my cat is a surefire way to annoy me.”

  “What about me?”

  I cock an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “You get mad because the cat is being loved by another woman, but not if I’m loved by one?”

  He’s completely joking, but I have to push it. “What are you? Fifteen?” I laugh and nudge him. “You are free to love whomever you want. Binx is my prisoner.”

  He chuckles and nods. “That is true. He’s got a look about him like he’s counting the days in captivity.”

  “He is.” We walk into a large foyer that leads to a great room. Of course it isn’t just dinner; it’s a gala, as usual. I sigh and squeeze up next to Dash. Angie glances up from the man she’s speaking to and gives me an approving nod.

  Dash’s
mother and father both look our way from the group of people they are talking with. His mom laughs, maybe too loud and too excitedly. It’s as if she’s trying to fill the huge room. I almost glare back at her, but Dash whispers in my ear, “You should know she’s very threatened by you. She acts like this because she can’t compete with you. I swear to you, she isn’t a bad person. She is quite self-conscious.”

  I lift my brow and my head, giving him a dubious look. “You don’t have to lie. I don’t care anymore. She makes me uncomfortable because she’s so different from me. But I don’t care if she hates me.” I don’t tell him that even a wicked mother-in-law is better than no mother at all. He’d think I was warming up to her, and I may never. I have just made up my mind to tolerate her and this bullshit way of life. It is all for him, after all.

  He kisses my cheek, pressing his warm lips against me. “I love you, more than I know how to share.”

  The exact thing I need to hear.

  We stroll into the room, greeting people. I see their eyes search for the ungodly engagement ring I sported last time we met with them. But I don’t wear it anymore. To me that promise of love and forever was broken. It can’t ever be repaired and I don’t want it to be.

  I want something new and fresh. Something that suits us. The us we have become.

  This room full of people offering false smiles and fake hearts is not us either.

  But it is him, and if I want him, I have to suffer through them. His arm around me or his hand at the small of my back feels better than anything in the world. There is nothing like being loved by someone willing to go to every length for you. He has already committed crimes and paid for things I don’t even know about, to protect me.

  I smile wide and shake hands, doing the same thing for him.

  It’s something I want to do.

  It’s part of the girl I am.

  The one I want to be.

  19. TATTERED BANNERS AND BLOODY FLAGS

  My flats don’t click the way her heels do. I am little next to her. But Cami looks up to me in every other way. She wants to learn the art of being a spy.