Andri’s nervousness ratcheted up another level as sweat beaded on his upper lip. “No, sir. I’m not.”
Castillo watched him, and decided not to press the issue. A gentler hand was needed to urge Andri to trust. His time with Elisibet had all but destroyed him. Castillo wondered why Andri would put himself into the position of repeating the past by working for Whiskey. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Andri’s fidgeting grew more pronounced, and he stared at the edge of Castillo’s desk. “The day of the murders...I saw something.”
Castillo’s pleasant demeanor faltered. He leaned forward, studying his visitor with intensity. “What did you see, Andri?”
There was explosive movement as Andri yanked a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his face. “I would have told my Ninsumgal but...she was so angry.” His eyes, naturally reflective, shone brighter with a dab of wetness as he glanced at Castillo.
Having been the emotional punching bag for someone more powerful in the past, Castillo well understood Andri’s reluctance to pursue the matter. “I understand.” His voice soothed over the edge of panic emanating from his visitor. “Tell me what you saw. I’ll be glad to speak to Whiskey on your behalf.”
Andri paled. “I don’t...I don’t want her knowin’ it was me,” he whispered. His fingers gripped his cap with such strength, his hands shook from the exertion. He’d had centuries of experience with Elisibet. Only centuries more with Whiskey would break through his conditioning.
“I can’t promise not to tell her where the information comes from, but I swear to do everything in my power to convey to her your role as innocent witness to whatever it is you’ll tell me. It’s the best I can do.”
Several moments passed as Andri considered the offer, his shoulders hunched so high, he looked like a small, brown turtle.
His swallow audible, he peered at Castillo and nodded.
“What did you see?”
Andri’s mouth worked before his voice actually caught up with it. “It was the morning of the murders. I had been released from my duties after I set clothes out for my Ninsumgal.” He dropped his gaze. “I was going to the Resident’s Lounge when I saw someone going into that girl’s apartment. It was that man—”
Castillo blinked, his heart thudding. “What man, Andri. Whom did you see?”
Refusing to look up, Andri cringed. His voice was so faint, Castillo barely heard him. “The Sublugal Sañar.”
Valmont? Castillo slumped into his chair, mind whirling.
Why would Valmont go into Cora’s quarters? Was he even on the premises that day? He distinctly remembered Chano insisting that Valmont be called after the security lockdown had been put into place, and Valmont’s arrival thirty minutes later. What would be the point in targeting Cora? He returned his attention to his visitor. “What did he seem like? Was he upset? Calm? Can you tell me?”
Andri wilted further under Castillo’s concentrated scrutiny.
He shrugged, a weak gesture of his already strained shoulders.
“He seemed normal, I guess. I don’t know.”
“You’re certain it was Valmont?”
“Yes, sir. Very certain.” Despite his adamant answer, Andri shivered. “I’ve seen him in the residential section a few times now. There’s no mistaking him.”
Residential section? “Was security with him?”
“No, sir. He was alone.”
Castillo frowned. To his recollection, Valmont had refused an apartment in the building, preferring to live elsewhere. He hadn’t been friendly with anyone who did, either. Despite Whiskey’s attempt to alleviate security where Valmont was concerned, he had never been allowed to roam the residential floors without an escort. How could he have gotten there, and why? “Define ‘a few times,’ please.”
***
“I don’t believe it.”
Castillo took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he faced Whiskey. “I didn’t think you would, actually. But who else could it be?”
It was the day after the wake, and Castillo had requested an audience with Whiskey. Even being one of her advisors hadn’t exempted him from a thorough body search before being allowed into Whiskey’s apartment. They now sat at the dining table in her sitting room, joined by Margaurethe and Chano. Dorst was still missing.
Whiskey rose from her chair and circled behind it, grasping the wood frame. “I know Valmont. He wouldn’t have killed Cora.”
Chano resorted to a grunt of assent, using the standard non-verbal response of his people before choosing to speak. “Perhaps the man you remembered wouldn’t. But none of you has been close to him in centuries. Who knows how he lived? Time and regret change a man.”
“I still don’t believe it.” Whiskey hated the unfocused anger at the murders, and the sick uncertainty that she may have been wrong about Valmont’s intentions. Valmont had changed from the man Elisibet had known, but would he have done this?
“I have to agree with Chano.” To Margaurethe’s credit, she didn’t show her pleasure at the justification of her concerns regarding Valmont. “You know I’ve never trusted him. We’ve done a thorough sweep of all Sanguire allowed access to The Davis Group, and he is the only major security issue we have. Who else could it be?”
“Maybe Andri is wrong. Perhaps he saw someone else.”
“Andri’s Sanguire, just like the rest of us,” Castillo interrupted.
“He might be emotionally damaged, but he’s not blind.”
“He is old, as old as me.” Chano frowned, his face becoming more craggy in the process. “Elder Sanguire do suffer the same dimming of the senses that Humans do.”
Margaurethe shook her head. “Speculation is getting us nowhere. Perhaps we should call Andri in to report his sighting.”
Castillo raised one hand in a placating maneuver. “That would probably be best, but he’s terrified of incurring his Ninsumgal’s wrath.” He met Whiskey’s gaze. “We know you’re not Elisibet, but he firmly believes you’ll punish him severely for what he saw.”
“In other words, tone it down.” At Castillo’s nod, she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. “All right. Bring him in, Padre. I’ll be gentle.” A burble of sadistic humor soothed the rage seething beneath the surface. Margaurethe’s hand and mind on hers further mellowed her. It took a few moments for Whiskey to restore her equilibrium.
Castillo escorted Andri into the room with a firm hand on one elbow, not releasing him until they stood before Whiskey. Andri’s iron-colored hair presented itself to her as he stared at his feet, shoulders hunched, awaiting a sharp blow. He visibly shivered, the wave of fear radiating off of him thick enough for even a nerve-deadened Human to smell. Whiskey couldn’t demand answers from him in this state. She had tried for weeks to settle him in her presence, to no avail. Something drastic needed doing to get through to him. She stood and walked around the table. Andri cringed away, but his training held firm; he didn’t evade her approach, probably assuming she would physically attack him as Elisibet had habitually done in the deep past. Instead, Whiskey knelt at his feet and took his cold hands into hers.
Castillo backed away.
Andri gaped at her, a horrified expression on his face. His fear of her fought his solidly entrenched idea of royal etiquette.
He tried to pull his hands from hers, tried to step back, shaking his head, but Whiskey refused to release him. Andri could stay where he was or drag his liege across the floor on her knees. An almost silent sob escaped his lips as he steeled himself to remain still, staring at their joined hands.
“I need you to tell me what you saw that morning, Andri.”
His jaw jumped as he worked his mouth. He had difficulty finding his voice, but it came in a bare whisper. “After you released me for the morning, I went to the Residents’ Lounge for my breakfast. When I finished, I returned to the elevators. That’s when I saw him.”
When he stopped, Whiskey gave his hands a light squeeze, ignoring his nervous jump. “Saw
who?”
Andri swallowed. “Your friend, the brown man, though he wasn’t the brown man in the past.”
Whiskey felt her expression harden. Only one man could be considered the “brown man.” “You mean Valmont?” She received a jerky nod in response, chilling her heart. “What was he doing when you saw him?”
His quivering increased as he recognized the danger signs.
“He was going into Gasan Cora’s apartment, my Ninsumgal.”
“Did he see you?”
“No, Ninsumgal. I don’t believe so.”
“What happened next?”
“I returned to my quarters, Ninsumgal.”
Chano spoke. “Are you certain it was Valmont?”
As Andri nodded assent to the question, Whiskey considered her options. It seemed wrong that Valmont was involved. He had never had anything to do with the pack, their activities and interests so far removed from his youthful experience that they bored him. And why kill Cora? He’s had ample opportunity to kill or kidnap me over the months. It doesn’t make sense to murder an innocent victim. Why now?
She had to see what Andri had seen to confirm his report.
There was only one way to do that. The inadvertent discovery of her ability to see and feel a memory of Castillo’s, and the discussion she’d had with Chano over the noticeable lack of information regarding such a skill in the European Sanguire records, made the decision for her. She felt trepidation at the thought of invading Andri’s mind. He had been through so much as Elisibet’s valet—she doubted she’d be able to find the recollection without hurting him. She shook his hands, bringing his attention back to her. “I have to see, Andri. I won’t hurt you, but I have to see for myself.”
His craggy features crunched into an expression of confusion.
“What do you mean?” Margaurethe asked.
Whiskey glanced back at her. “You know what I mean.”
Her gaze swept over the others. “You all do. Padre, I saw your memory of meeting Valmont back in Seattle when you found me with Alphonse and Zebediah. That’s how I knew you’d seen him.”
Castillo blinked, his mouth dropping slightly open at the revelation.
“And Chano tells me that some Sanguire—the very strong ones—have this ability.”
“I thought—” Margaurethe looked aghast, hand to her heart.
Whiskey wondered if perhaps the sharing of visual memories between them was more one-sided than she had thought. “That’s preposterous!”
Andri’s complexion turned pasty, his eyes widening as he understood Whiskey’s intentions. With Sanguire strength, he wrenched his hands from hers, wrapping his arms around himself in a parody of protection. He didn’t step away. Pleased he didn’t attempt escape, Whiskey remained on her knees before him. “I know this is a tough thing I’m asking, Andri. I know how much Elisibet hurt you. I remember what she was like when she was angry.” She stared at him until his glance flickered to hers. “I won’t hurt you, I swear. I won’t go where you don’t want me to go. I just have to see what you saw that morning. I have to know.”
Terrified tears spilled down Andri’s face as he closed his eyes, nodding.
Permission given, Whiskey reached out with her mind, allowing the barest edges of it to wash over Andri. As much as she wanted to know now, she refused to push. This connection might go a long way in helping Andri realize she was not her predecessor, an added benefit. She soothed his fears, and let him feel her awareness. He emanated the sensation of rough stone, cool but abrasive if rubbed against. It didn’t feel the least bit familiar, and Whiskey took a moment to relish the unexpected newness.
A quick scan of Elisibet’s memories indicated no knowledge of Andri’s essence. He had been such a nonentity to her, at her side since birth, that she had never bothered to register what he felt like when she had become an adult. Her gentleness lulled Andri into a sense of normalcy, and Whiskey reinforced the link. His mind fluttered under hers, a delicate butterfly banging against the glass jar imprisoning it. She paused, hating the excruciating slowness, knowing she had no choice. She let Andri get used to her presence in his mind, not sifting through memories, not taking control of his will, not attacking. “Show me, Andri. Show me what you saw in the hallway the day Cora and Anthony died.”
Several moments passed before he strengthened the connection, tentatively reaching out with a mental finger to touch the surface of her essence.
She felt power radiating below the surface of Andri’s mind, and was reminded that despite his appearance of lowly servant, he was an aged Sanguire, strong in his own right. Whiskey had no idea how old he was; in Elisibet’s earliest childhood memory he was a full adult. Quick calculation surprised her. Andri had to be at least nine hundred years old. Technically, he should have the strength to mentally snap her in half. She put herself on guard. She didn’t believe he would attack, but his excessive fright might cause him to attempt to repel this invasion. It wasn’t inconceivable that he could lash out in defense after a misplaced nudge on her part. Better prepared than dead.
In her mind’s eye, she saw a black cloud hover where their essences met. She focused upon it, watching it solidify into a picture. It was the fifteenth-floor corridor, blanketed in grayness. As her attention narrowed to the scene, it rapidly grew until she was in the shadows, standing near the elevators. The transition felt odd, and she blinked and shook her head. Cora’s murder occurred in the morning, but the dimness made it feel like twilight. Beside Whiskey, Andri stood near the elevators.
He seemed at ease, something she rarely saw when dealing with him. Despite the semidarkness, he had no candle or flashlight; but then, perhaps his eyesight was going bad because of his advanced age. Chano was right; Sanguire do age like Humans. We lose our eyesight and hearing as a matter of course before we die of old age. A gentle scuffling noise drew his attention. Whiskey watched as he rushed from normal man to scared mouse. Andri’s eyes widened. He scanned the foyer as he slipped closer to the elevator doors.
She turned to see what caused the sound. Valmont stood at a door down the hallway.
The connection wavered as she stared intently at him, knowing what was going to happen once he entered that apartment. Her flare of anger derailed Andri enough that the contact faltered between them. Whiskey quickly suppressed her emotions, sending him an unspoken apology. When things settled once more, she looked back at Valmont’s form.
Everything had frozen as if someone had hit the pause button on a video player. Valmont had the apartment door open a mere inch. His attention elsewhere, he glanced over his shoulder to where Andri huddled just out of sight. Whiskey realized it had been sheer luck that Andri hadn’t been discovered. Slowly, as her valet returned to the memory, Valmont turned as he opened the door, scanning the hall as he stepped backward into the apartment.
Once the door firmly closed behind him, Andri slipped quietly into the Residents’ Lounge and relative safety.
Whiskey resisted the urge to plunder Andri’s mind for more.
She could tell he thought the same, his mind trembling before her as he prepared for an assault. Reluctant, she pulled back, severing their link as gently as possible. “Thank you, Andri.”
He shivered, tears freely flowing down his face.
A wave of disgust for Elisibet washed over Whiskey. “You can go, Andri. Take the rest of the day off, okay?” Andri barely managed a nod. He backed away, giving a half bow before fleeing the room. Whiskey sat back on her heels, shoulders slumped.
“Well?”
Looking up at Margaurethe, she said, “It was Valmont. He almost saw Andri, too.”
Castillo frowned. “It’s a good thing he didn’t, else there’d be three murders on our hands.”
“And a bigger mystery,” Chano added.
“I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
Margaurethe came to Whiskey, taking her hand and helping her rise. “You’re not stupid. You’re young and inexperienced.
You’ll make mista
kes and learn from them as time goes by.”
“How many innocents will pay the price for my mistakes?”
Whiskey ignored the glances between her advisors. They worried about her looming depression with good cause.
“Some,” Castillo said bluntly. “But you’ll never make those mistakes again, and fewer will die as a result.”
Whiskey resisted the urge to respond in anger. She knew Castillo wouldn’t defend himself if she attacked, regardless of what it would do to his mind. He was one of the innocents paying for her mistakes, as was Margaurethe. Perhaps Castillo was right; she certainly remembered that particular lesson.
“Now what?”
Inhaling deeply, Whiskey set aside her black melancholy. Her head ached, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’m tired. This can all wait until tomorrow. Valmont must realize we’ll be on our guard for the next few days, even if he doesn’t have a clue we’re onto him. I’ll deal with it later.”
“But, Whiskey—”
“Tomorrow!” she snapped, standing. “Leave me.” Unable to ignore the implicit order, Castillo took his leave, Chano following closely behind. Regret filled her heart after they left. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
Margaurethe took her hand. “It’s to be expected. You’ve had a very trying few days. Let’s see to lunch.”
Whiskey allowed herself to be led into her apartment.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Margaurethe had insisted Whiskey turn on the lights in her apartment. Instead of brooding in the dark, she moped before a cheery gas fireplace as night fell outside. She sat alone.
Margaurethe had gone to the office in her apartment to attend a couple of things with the promise of her return by dinner.
Whiskey wasn’t hungry, but doubted Margaurethe and Sithathor would let her get away with not eating anything.
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