Private Dicks

by Samantha M. Derr

  "Nearly twenty milady."

  "Nearly twenty? Do you have a young lady?"

  Quinn thought of Oz and felt warmth fill his face. "There is someone I am fond of," he admitted.

  "Unrequited love," Sebastian observed, sounding unimpressed. There was something old and knowing in his eyes, as if he had seen far too much and found himself disinterested in it all. Quinn was far more curious about him than he should have been.

  "How romantic!" Lady Covington clapped her hands together, and in her cheer, resembled a woman half her age. "Does she know? Does she return your feelings?"

  The portly gentleman came up for a break from his food at last. "Lady Covington, perhaps this is not the best of times."

  Lady Covington looked disappointed, until Sebastian pointed out, "You will have other times to speak to him and share your romantic woes, Abigail."

  Lady Covington favored him with a sweet smile. "Yes, of course. I apologize for interrupting your work, Quinton. Thank you for taking a moment to speak with me."

  Quinn was so shocked by her gratitude that he stumbled over his next few words and hurried from the room. When both he and Mary had returned to the kitchen, he asked, "Is she always like that?"

  "Lady Covington? Yes, she's a very kind lady, bless her soul. Many people will say bad things about this house, but not a poor word escapes about Lady Covington." Mary seemed fond of Lady Covington, and in Quinn's experience of talking to those who worked for nobility, that was not very common. "She's a very lonely woman."

  "But she has those guests."

  "That's true, and Sebastian stays from time to time, but she always struck me as lonely." Quinn thought of the woman who had been gaily entertaining her guests—the same woman that had shown genuine remorse for the loss of her employee. Perhaps she was lonely; perhaps that was why she sought to know her employees.

  Turn back. Quinn jumped and spun to face Mary. "Pardon?"

  Mary turned from where she was neatly stacking plates. "What was that?"

  Quinn glanced around to ensure that there was no one nearby. "I thought I heard something."

  Mary looked concerned. "Perhaps all those plates at once were too much. You can go on home now. Don't worry," she continued when he started to protest, "you've already been a big help to us since poor Lawrence has left us. You can go on home."

  Quinn nodded. "What time will you need me tomorrow?"

  "Dinner again would be lovely, and you're just about tall enough to reach some of the taller shelves."

  Quinn nodded again. "Thank you, Mary." There was a part of him that wanted to protest the assumed weakness on his part, but the voice scared him a bit. He knew he had heard it, but Mary clearly had not. Who was the voice, then, and why was it speaking to him? Quinn considered himself practical if nothing else, and was not one to believe in ghosts, but he knew no one had been there. Something had spoken.

  But why had they told him to turn back?

  Suddenly, Quinn felt another sharp pang in his chest, this one more painful than the last, as though something inside of him was fighting to get free. There was no way he could be sure of the cause, but he fought the feeling nonetheless. It had the same aura of the house, liquid dark and full of … something, but unlike the house, it did not feel evil; simply powerful.

  When Quinn came to again, Mary was hovering over him worriedly. "Are you okay?"

  "Fine. I apologize." But before he could so much as get the words out, Mary had organized two of the bigger boys that helped outside of the house to help him lie on a cot in one of the closets. "Nothing is wrong with me."

  "Just rest here for a moment," Mary cooed, and closed the door, leaving Quinn in the dark. Quinn had never been the sort to be afraid of the dark, but the house was bothering him. Whispered words that no one else could hear, sudden pangs of pain … He wanted nothing more than to flee this house and never return. But Lawrence; he had to find the person behind Lawrence's death. And to find out who was warning him and about what they were warning him. He carefully stood, worried that the pain would return. As he reached the door, he heard voices, and for a moment, he worried that the voice had returned. But when he opened the door a bit more, he saw Lady Covington and Sebastian talking.

  "You will not last much longer," Sebastian was saying, his tone grave. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. It looked old and rusted, but Quinn could sense something from it. He could hear the steady ticking from his hiding place.

  Lady Covington nodded slowly. "I am aware."

  "And still you delay?"

  "You would not understand, Sebastian. The reason I choose to stay would not make sense to a person like you." Quinn was surprised at the amount of bitterness she injected into the statement. "This is something I must do. I cannot allow myself to fall. Not now."

  Sebastian looked like he might say more, but suddenly glanced in Quinn's direction. Quinn choked on his gasp—Sebastian's eyes were amethyst no longer, but a dark, smoky color that gave Quinn a sense of vertigo. Quinn stumbled back and tripped over the cot, falling hard to the floor. Oddly enough, the first to investigate was Mary, who stared down at him with worried eyes.

  "I-I tried to get up. And I … knocked something over." The words tumbled out of Quinn's mouth when he saw Sebastian and Lady Covington standing over Mary's shoulder.

  Mary sighed. "Quinton, you're a bit clumsy."

  "I apologize," Quinn whispered. He could not take his eyes off of Sebastian standing behind the two women, his gaze knowing. But what did he know? Did Quinn want the truth? And did it make sense that he feared the truth of Sebastian's knowledge more than he feared the man himself?

  "As long as you're not hurt," Lady Covington remarked, her voice drawing Quinn's attention. "What sort of employer would I be if my employee seriously injured himself on the first day?"

  Quinn glanced back at Sebastian and saw that his eyes were back to normal. Sebastian noticed him watching and offered a knowing smile. "I should be getting home," Quinn squeaked, under that penetrating gaze.

  "Should you be walking home hurt as you are?" Lady Covington worried.

  "You can't go home," Mary stated. "You're injured. What if you're attacked by some vagabond?"

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Women: always there to strip you of your pride. I will escort him home, then."

  The women protested and Quinn wanted to join them; he was fairly sure that that last thing he wanted was to be alone with Sebastian. But he kept his thoughts to himself and Sebastian won his argument against the women. The next thing Quinn knew, he was being lifted in strong arms and made to lean against Sebastian, who smelled like something Quinn could not quite identify over his abject embarrassment, as Sebastian helped him to the carriage.

  Before he could do so much as beg for his life, Sebastian had him bundled away inside and had given the driver instructions, and then climbed inside of the carriage, taking the seat beside Quinn. They sat in silence as the carriage started to move, but Quinn could sense a shift, beginning with the scent of lavender. Quinn had smelled it earlier on Sebastian, along with the sweet smell. Only a few minutes passed and Quinn could feel the tension heavy around them. He was uncomfortably aware of Sebastian beside him, studying him in the dark. Their shoulders brushed when the carriage hit a bump, making Quinn's skin tingle. He scooted over as far as he could, but it somehow didn't seem quite far enough.

  Section Two

  "Why did you offer to escort me home?" Quinn finally asked when the tension got to be too much.

  "Why do you think I escorted you home?" Sebastian asked cheekily, but Quinn was not fooled by the foppish exterior. He had seen into Sebastian's eyes; he knew the truth of what lay there. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Sebastian finally answered, "Well, I intend to ask you some questions. The rest depends upon your answers to them."

  "What are you?" Quinn asked.

  "You're not very good at this, are you?" Sebastian remarked. "I said I would ask the questions. Your job is to si
t there prettily and answer them." While Quinn tried to tell himself not to take offense at being called pretty and deal with the fluttering in his stomach, Sebastian cleared his throat. "My first question is, what are you?"

  "I just asked you that!" Quinn accused, and Sebastian laughed.

  "Yes, Quinton, but right now I ask the questions. You may ask yours when I finish. What are you and what do you want with Lady Covington?" Despite the levity of his tone, Quinton could hear the clear demand of his question.

  Quinn was not sure why he was so disappointed. Of course Sebastian would be interested in Lady Covington. A man did not visit a woman as often as Mary implied Sebastian did without having a romantic interest in her. "I have no idea what you mean by asking what I am. I just happened to realize that there was an opening, so I came up here for a job."

  "Why are you lying?" Sebastian asked calmly, and Quinn blanched.

  "I—I am not—" Sebastian continued to stare at him, and Quinn flushed. "There are some things a gentleman keeps to himself," he finished primly.

  "I suppose." But Sebastian sounded more amused than anything else. "What do you want with Lady Covington?"

  "Nothing," Quinn answered. "She seems like a very nice person."

  "Sometimes," Sebastian murmured.

  "What were the two of you talking about?" Quinn asked curiously, figuring that his chances of getting an honest answer were fairly low.

  "What was it you said? Some things a gentleman keeps to himself?" Sebastian laughed at Quinn's frown. "Not as fun in the reverse? Well, I know what your plan is, Quinton, and you will not find Lawrence's killer in that house."

  Quinn paused. How would Sebastian know that? Unless he could truly read minds—or perhaps he was the one behind Lawrence's death. Quinn was reluctant to believe it, but it was completely possible, especially considering Sebastian's manner, that aura of creepy mystery. "How do you know that? Do you know who killed him?" Did you kill him?

  "I know many a thing, young Quinton. You do not wish to share in my knowledge." For a moment, he seemed to loom over Quinn, beautiful and terrifying all at once and his eyes were again full of mist. Quinn's breath caught in his throat.

  "I'm not afraid of you," And it was true: he was not afraid. There was a fluttering in his stomach that had started his heart beating faster. It felt like fear, but without the lingering bitterness that fear usually held.

  Sebastian pulled back with an inquisitive look, and suddenly Quinn could breathe again. "Oddly enough, I believe that." The worst part was realizing that it had never really been fear all along. His heart was beating faster and his skin tingled where Sebastian touched against him.

  No, Quinn had to focus. Sebastian knew who had killed Lawrence and it for about that which he should be trying to get answers. Hell, Sebastian himself might be the killer. Still, Quinn was curious. "Is it so strange that someone would not fear you?"

  "Not strange, but certainly not common." Sebastian looked intrigued. He leaned in again and Quinn watched as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He wanted to badly to kiss him—even though he was waiting for Oz. Although, if Quinn was honest to himself, what Sebastian had stated earlier was true: his love was only one-sided, as much as it hurt to admit it. He was fooling himself into believing that there was any chance that Oz might return his feelings.

  "What?" Quinn asked after a moment, his voice hoarse.

  "Nothing; simply wondering whether it is bravery or stupidity that drives you. One has elements of the other, though, I suppose." He leaned closer and Quinn's eyes fluttered shut. When no kiss was forthcoming, however, he opened his eyes again to see Sebastian simply hovering over him.

  "I want to taste you," Sebastian stated simply.

  Hearing the words spoken aloud made Quinn blush, and he started to pull back. "What?" But before Quinn could even object, Sebastian had hooked one gloved hand behind his head and pulled him in. Quinn wasn't sure what he expected of the kiss, but it was certainly not the calm confidence with which Sebastian took his mouth, using his hands to position Quinn's head so that he could plunder his mouth. Quinn felt aroused and violated in the best of ways, and rather than moving away, he arched himself closer, until he could feel Sebastian's warmth flush against the front of his body. One kiss faded into another, until he felt dazed and short of breath.

  When Sebastian finally drew back, Quinn could only lie on the seat, still panting for breath and embarrassingly hard. Had he any energy, he might have attempted to cover his erection for modesty's sake. As it was, however, he simply lay there as Sebastian's hand drifted down his threadbare shirt, the silk cool through the fabric.

  "Was that your first kiss?" Sebastian asked, and Quinn flushed. "I believe it was." Quinn opened his mouth to lie and save his pride at least, but Sebastian leaned into to kiss him again. Sebastian's hand never brushed below his waistline, but still Quinn felt nearly ready to burst. Every touch sent another spark through his body, until he was panting, chasing Sebastian's lips when he pulled back. "You should be wary, Quinton. The darkness seeks innocent souls such as yourself."

  "What?" Quinn was dazed, his mind still focused more on the feeling of Sebastian's hand against him than his words. He was shocked into awareness, however, when Sebastian pulled back completely, keeping Quinton from following him with a palm on his chest.

  "Do not come back to the estate." The rejection stung, and Quinn pulled back from him to sit in the opposite corner of the carriage, quickly putting his clothes back together. He was so embarrassed, he could hardly form words.

  "I apologize." His words were stiff with propriety as he tried his hardest to gather the tattered pieces of his pride.

  Sebastian had the audacity to laugh at him. "So innocent. Trust me, Quinn, my request has nothing to do with how much I would like to see how many more of those sweet moans I can draw from your lips." Quinn blushed and pulled back further. Had he really been making that much noise? "However, you should be more concerned with yourself than your friend. He is already dead; nothing you do right now will change that fact."

  "His mother deserves answers as to why he is dead," Quinn stated. Because he truly did believe that. But the truth was, Quinn could not live with himself thinking that Lawrence had died because of him. Because of something he had done.

  "Perhaps. But Lady Covington is not what you suspect."

  "What do you mean?" It was the second time he had asked that.

  "We all have a darkness inside of us, Quinton." Sebastian leaned back and moved the curtain aside. "We've arrived."

  "I have questions!"

  Sebastian shook his head. "Unfortunately, this is not quite the neighborhood to ask them. I would hate for some thief to happen by. So long, Quinton."

  Quinn met Sebastian's eyes for a long minute, before he nodded and hurried from the carriage. Sebastian had dropped him off at the town square. The walk to his home would not be far from there and it would give him time to think away from the overwhelming presence that was Sebastian. Lady Covington was not as she had appeared? What did he mean by that? Did Sebastian believe that Lady Covington had killed Lawrence? Quinn was not at all sure how that might be possible. After all, it would take quite a bit of strength to behead a person. Not to mention carrying the body to the stoop.

  The street was dark and he nearly missed the human-shaped shadow. It startled him enough that he yelped and jumped sideways. Then he realized he recognized the shadow. "Francis? From the store."

  Francis did not look any less mean in the lack of light. In fact, Quinn would have been inclined to believe that he looked even more so. He loomed over Quinn, the low light making his shadow stretch until Quinn felt covered in darkness. "Rather late to be out, is it not, Quinton?"

  How had Francis learned his name? "I suppose. I am just arriving home from work."

  "Work, huh?" Francis gave him such a thorough study, that Quinn became paranoid that Sebastian had left some permanent mark on him. "Do you know what I am, Quinton?"

  It s
eemed an odd question, but followed with the theme of the night. "I'm afraid not."

  "Have you heard of the Hunters, Quinton?"

  Quinn wished Francis would stop repeating his name like that. Every person knew of the Hunters, if for no other reason than to learn how to avoid them. "Hunters are a sect of the Church, correct?"

  Francis smiled. "Ah yes, I forgot you went to school. Yes. They are a sect charged with ensuring that the supernatural do not one day turn us all into their playthings."

  The problem was that in the execution of that mission, hundreds of innocent people had been decried as witches and killed. The way Francis took so much seeming pride in his work made Quinn want to get away from him faster. "Yes, well, thank you very much for the lesson." Quinn made to step around him and continue on his way, but Francis moved quickly in front of him.

  "I have not finished yet, Quinton. Do you not wonder why I have come here?"

  Quinn took a cautious step back. "I suppose not to minister to the poor and needy?"

  Francis looked disgusted. "No, I leave tasks such as that to neophytes like Oswald."

  Despite his recent realization, Quinn still refused to let any insult to Oz slide. "Oz is not a neophyte!"

  Francis snorted. "What do you know of it, boy? What do you know of him?"

  "Enough. Oz has helped my father since the beginning and I will not allow you to besmirch his name."

  Francis looked taken aback by his vehemence, then simply annoyed. "You should be more worried about yourself, boy."

  Yet again, the second time that night. "Why is that?"

  "Because I am coming for you. No matter how much your father tries to hide you, or Oswald tries to protect you, I am coming for you."

  Quinn was startled. "Why would you do that?" What had he done to offend this man?

  Francis's grin was feral. "Perhaps you should ask yourself that." And the pain came back again sharper than before, a beast struggling to be freed. Quinn nearly blacked out for a few moments, and when he finally managed to fight it back, he looked up to see that Francis was gone. Still reeling from the odd encounter and the revelations, Quinn made his way back home.