“To ashes. Nothing to worry about, we’ll get you another one. A better one.” His voice was no longer that of a concerned party, but rather one of naked joviality. “Mohair. Tailored. You’ll look like a million bucks, I promise.” The words worked on Adam like a spell, calming his panicked senses.
“But first, let’s get you some lunch!” Francis laughed and slapped Adam on the back lightly.
Adam dined with Francis there, in the office. Francis' eyes sparkled as they talked. He didn’t bring up the incident, and neither did Adam. Instead, he talked at length in regard to his plans for the future.
Francis painted Adam a glorious picture, and spoke in great depth about Adam’s talents helping to bring them there. He saw a world where De La Poer sat in the background of everything. A capital and real estate firm that would take large chunks in cutting edge technology, media, and real estate interests early on. Lily would cut multimillion dollar deals with small start-ups for a large piece of their business, and Adam would work as a lobbyist. He would make friends with the most powerful men in the free world, and use those relationships to help push forward legislation that would promote Francis’ interests and squash their enemies.
Adam found himself being drawn into Francis’ words the more he talked. The way he treated Adam, even after the incident, was a great deal more respectfully than Adam was sure he had ever been treated in his entire life. As their long lunch stretched even longer, and noon turned into afternoon, Adam found the dark shadows once again pushed back to the recess of his mind. Francis made him feel important, necessary, and like a force to be reckoned with. And if someone like Francis, a formidable man in his own right, felt that way, it was a step closer to Adam believing it for himself.
Just when they were talking about an international arm, which Francis had referred to as ‘World Domination’ only half-jokingly, a faint knock sounded at the door.
Adam was suddenly aware of how much time he had taken out of Francis’ day, and felt more than a little guilty. Certainly he was a busy man.
The door opened to reveal Lily haunting its frame. When Adam saw her, his jaw almost hit the floor. She was wearing a tight black cocktail dress. Pale ivory legs showed themselves from the mid thigh down. She had a small black sequined clutch as her only accessory.
Lily pranced in with her customary eerie dance, humming tunelessly as she entered. Adam smirked to himself. She was on top of the world now, but he had all the time he needed to take her down. Lily Leitch might have been a fixture in Francis’ long term plans for the future, but she didn’t factor into Adam’s. The skimpiest cocktail dress in the world couldn’t distract from the vulture’s visage, put on full display for the world to see.
“No.” The word was sharp, commanding. Adam glanced up at Francis. His eyebrows were drawn sharply together.
“It’s for the auction!” Lily exclaimed, oblivious to Francis’ discomfort. “You’re not allowed to say no! It’s not returnable.” Adam doubted there was enough of it there left to return.
“Absolutely not.” Francis' tone brooked no argument. Adam shifted in his seat, more than a little uncomfortable. Still, anything that hurt Lily was sure to help him. And Adam had no doubt that for whatever reason, the bitch was being raked over the coals now.
Lily pranced over, dancing her otherworldly, mysterious dance. Adam checked his watch. It was still early afternoon, he thought judgmentally. Lily tossed her red curls to and fro in a dramatic flirtation. Adam snorted to himself. They didn’t suit the black feathers at all.
“Please?” Lily begged in a falsetto. “I got it, special, just for the auction. It's too late to look for a new one now!”
Adam shifted in his seat again. This was all getting way too weird, even for him. Lily was suddenly upon them, between the leather seats that surrounded the low glass coffee table. She slipped lithely onto Francis’ lap. Adam felt blood rising to his cheeks. He got up from his seat, pulling his napkin off his lap. Lily’s emerald eyes met his, sparkling with mischief, as she swung her legs back and forth on Francis’ lap. When she spoke next, the napkin fell from Adam’s nerveless fingers.
“Daddy, you promised.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Madam Ubasa grimaced against the strain threatening to overwhelm her. Francis De La Poer was a formidable opponent, and there were perhaps none who knew it better than she.
Sweat dripped from her brow, collecting on the table below. She had been frozen in the same position and had hardly moved for the better part of an hour. Arms raised toward the heavens, she mumbled and muttered inaudibly. Something shifted the still air in the room; the air conditioner, perhaps. The incense she had made of poppy and echinacea was now wafting over on hidden waves, bathing her face and stinging her eyes.
Ubasa blinked the tears from her eyes rapidly, allowing them to roll down and mingle with the sweat streaked down her neck. Spread out on the table amidst her usual paraphernalia were a long black feather, the wings of a dragonfly, and a nondescript pen she had taken from Varro. It had been one of the most difficult endeavors she had ever undertaken. Piercing the veil that Francis had woven around his favorite underling had taken skill, power, and a great deal of daring. But Ubasa was not a woman who had any of those in short supply.
Several more minutes ticked by, uncounted, silent except for her low murmuring. Only when the last candle on her table finally extinguished itself in a puddle of wax did she stop her chanting, breathing a sigh of relief as she did so. It was done.
Ubasa stood up from her kneeling position, groaning as she shifted off the floor to her weary knees. She took within her hand a slim wooden rod, pointing it to the empty air to her left. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. Licking her lips and using her left hand to massage her sore throat, she tried again.
“Spiritus sanctus terrae,” she began, her voice at last returned, “guardians of green fields, secret meadows, and-”
She was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Ubasa glanced, worried, at the noise, and the hand which held her wand produced a visible tremor.
“Spiritus sanctus terrae,” she began again, barely above a whisper now. Her voice trembled as she did so. “Guardians of gre-”
The handle of her door gritted metallically, and rapidly opened. Ubasa whipped her head over her shoulder, as the door opened. No figure could be seen in its open maw. Her hand shook. The dark of the hallway was so solid and absolute that it was as if a black sheet had been draped over the frame.
Madam Ubasa reminded herself quietly that she was not scared of anything, in this world or the next, although her hands still refused to believe her. She waved her extended hand aloft, reminding her to complete the ritual and open the circle. As she started to twist her head back to position, something in the darkness rippled, she was sure.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly to the air, stepping from the wide circle of flour which was spread evenly on the floor of her kitchen. She opened a drawer, nervous eyes darting constantly to the open doorway. With trembling hands she drew out a small, compact pistol.
An instant later, thin, gnarled fingers gripped her wrist, encircling it completely. The fingernails were long and dirty, extending out from equally stained black cloth.
“That was a mistake.” A voice called, caught in the throat like a bad flu. Ubasa gasped as the claw tightened its grip, threatening to crush the bones underneath her skin. Another found its way around her throat, squeezing with infernal strength. Ubasa fought with a desperation born of panic against her assailant, summoning every ounce of strength in her weary muscles.
It wasn’t enough. She was borne to the floor by a strength greater than hers, and far more sadistic.
“You were warned.” The voice slithered from behind a curtain of grimy brown hair, forming a curtain around the face. Stars swam in Madam Ubasa’s vision as she tried to gasp out for help. No help was forthcoming, and a vile, triumphant laugh filled her ears. It was a wicked parody of joy, de
lighting in the suffering and misery it inflicted.
Bartholomew pulled himself up off the cold tile floor of the kitchen, his business concluded. Whistling a jovial tune, he retreated to the hallway, closing and locking the door behind him. He tucked the master key away in the inner pocket of his jacket. Then, taking hold of the room service cart, he proceeded down the dimly lit hallway.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I… Wha... Daddy? Daddy?” Adam exclaimed. Well, the bitch had finally done him in, he knew. There was no way he could twist this around against her. His schemes, his dreams had all been for nothing. The best he could hope for was desperately clinging to a secondary position behind her.
Francis raised an eyebrow in response. Lily giggled, daring Adam to meet her eyes. No one bothered to explain. Now that he was looking for it, Adam supposed there was definitely a family resemblance between the two of them. The green eyes and red hair especially, he knew, were recessive traits. Adam cursed himself for not seeing it earlier.
“You don’t have children, do you Adam?” Adam shuddered. The way Lily sat there, bouncing on his lap, was anything but childlike. When Adam declined to answer, Francis continued. “I thought not. That’s a pity; there is no one you can trust more than family. They’re the only ones who won’t betray you.” Francis paused for a moment, flashing a smile that made Adam’s skin crawl. “It would make the holidays unbeatable.”
They laughed, Lily and Francis. Adam attempted to pass off a weak smile by way of a response. What a horrible, conniving bitch. They were insane, the two of them, of that Adam was certain. He had been a fool to sign up for this in the first place. Adam was already rotating the gears in his mind. He had to find some way out, some way he could leverage his work with Francis into another, similar position. Hopefully, one with fewer lunatics.
Something else disturbed Adam, although it took him several moments of tangled thought to put his finger on it.
“But… You’re Leitch. You’re a Leitch.” He was rambling. “Your name is Leitch. Last name.” He could feel the flush in his cheeks, and cursed internally. Lily nodded, delighting in his confusion.
“Well yes. I kept my married name.” She adopted a face filled with false tragedy. “I’m a widow, you see.”
Adam did not see. By his measure, she was several years younger than he was. He couldn’t imagine, even hearing it out loud.
“Although,” Adam thought he detected a hint of scorn in her voice. “Everything happens for a reason. The late Mr. Leitch did make sure we were well off when he passed. It was such a hard time.” She rubbed her voluminous locks against Francis’ face as she said this, and Adam was startled to see him grinning wickedly.
Adam formed, puzzling out the implication. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was unreal. Lily was staring at him with a level gaze, as though daring him to make a false move. He was walking on a very narrow path; one false step and he would plummet back down to the bottom. A voice within him grew alarmed. He would fall outside of Francis' protection. The voice was insistent. He needed Francis. The power that he wielded, both directly and through implication, were the only thing keeping Adam well right now.
Adam’s head throbbed. The constant mental dissonance from holding onto such extreme emotions over the De La Poer family was threatening to burst through his skull. He braced a hand against his head wearily, feeling ill. Francis let out a deep chuckle.
“It’s hardly that big a deal, eh, Adam?” From the way Francis was looking at him, Adam knew that his inner turmoil must have spilled over onto his face. “How about a drink?” Before Adam had a chance to respond, Francis slapped Lily’s bare back softly, twice.
Lily hopped up with boundless energy, and remained standing over Adam. Francis journeyed to the far corner of the room, where he cracked open the globe and busied himself readying three drinks. Lily, apparently unable to keep still, resumed her dance. Adam’s eyes roamed over her form, watching the twist and writhe in her hips. He couldn’t make himself look up into her triumphant eyes or that wretched beak. The clinking sound of ice brought Adam back to reality with a start, praying his gaze away from her and fearfully back to Francis.
Francis hadn’t seen anything, his back turned as he wordlessly played the bartender. Adam breathed a sigh of relief. When Francis returned, sanctuary in hand, Adam felt the shame rising on his face.
Adam hurriedly raised the glass that was placed before him to his lips, desperately seeking its shelter. Francis, however, apparently had something else in mind, as he raised his glass aloft.
“To family.” He beamed as his glass hovered in the air. Lily responded the salute in kind.
“To Daddy!” She returned, using the same nauseating note she had before. Adam coughed violently, spitting his refuge back into the glass, as he met her eyes while she made the toast.
It was too much, Adam decided there and then. He had to find a way out of this freak show.
Chapter Thirty
Caputo hated driving. As a teenager he had been forced to learn how to drive from his stern, no-nonsense father, and he had hated every minute of it. While his peers would beg and plead for a lesson, Caputo was always happier in the woods behind his house. There was a small creek hidden there, teeming with crawdads, tadpoles, minnows, and other small aquatic life. Beyond the creek was a forest that was always calling him to adventure. Not a forest, Caputo reminded himself cynically. In reality it was just a few acres of woods separating his small subdivision from the next one down the road. But to a twelve-year-old boy, it had been a paradise.
Still, learned to drive he had, under his father’s sharp and critical eye. Caputo was constantly reminded of the fact that his family was fortunate enough to have their shiny black Fairlane, and his father was gracious enough to take time out of his day to teach him. He had vowed to himself, all those years ago, that one day he would hire a driver if he needed one. Caputo scowled.
It wasn’t the straightest of lines that had brought him to a standstill in Slendervale rush hour traffic. Leaving the city was almost impossible at impossible this hour, and Caputo didn’t have the luxury of being on his way home this afternoon. Nonetheless, he fought for a place in the lanes, bullying and bluffing his way through the crowd of black and tan sedans.
Caputo hadn’t done especially well or poorly in school. He had graduated high school, which was about all that was required of him. After a few years of awful jobs with worse pay he had acquiesced to his family and taken a position in the public sphere; a good, stable government job with reliable benefits was all his family had ever wanted for him. His little stream became all of Slendervale, his minnows and crawdads her lost and missing. Gradually his boyish curiosity had been crushed into cynicism and the dull routine of life had forever smothered the spark of his imagination.
Caputo breathed a sigh of relief upon turning off onto a small side street. The torrent of cars flowed onward without him. He navigated the small suburb by means of the scattered ‘Open House Today!’ signs, winding closer and closer to the heart of a circular and tangled neighborhood. He was glad for the signs, though he often felt as though he were driving in circles. The houses around him were all made in an identical style, only differing in slight cosmetic details. One had a bright red door, another a tree by the drive, all striving to be noticeable and different in a land of gray.
He found what he was searching for readily enough. It was a house surrounded by cars, with half a dozen balloons struggling to pull free of a brightly-painted sign on the front lawn.
Caputo parked behind a line of cars already stretching to the curb of the neighboring property. Even as he emerged from his vehicle, a pale green minivan pulled into the spot behind him and halfway blocked the neighbor’s driveway. If this bothered the waddling couple who emerged, they didn’t seem to mind. They rushed past Caputo toward the small two-story, talking excitedly in hushed tones. He didn’t envy them. House hunting had been just one more chore that stacked itself on his already
frantic life.
There was an aggressively handsome young man standing on the front steps, welcoming the newcomers inside. His eyes constantly strayed to Caputo, seeming unsettled by this singular man who was not smiling, not rushing forward, and was still dressed in his durable, off-the-rack suit. He slowed his approach, waiting until the eager pair in front of him had progressed into the house before he approached the square-headed figure.
“Detective James Caputo, we spoke on the phone.” He extended a worn, calloused hand.
“Jake Beauregard.” The hand that met his was young, vibrant and strong. Caputo felt a pang of jealousy. “I still don’t quite understand why we had to meet like this.” The words were hushed, an unspoken request for Caputo to match his discretion.
“I’m looking into the death of Albert Gillman. He was a partner at your firm.” Caputo’s voice was low, but projected. He was used to pressing his advantages. Jake nodded quickly, with a glance inside the home to see if anyone had noticed.
“You mentioned. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to you, officer.” Jake gave a friendly wave to the interior before quietly shutting the door, leaving himself and Caputo on the steps alone.
“Detective.” He corrected, robotically. Caputo idly thumbed through a black leather notepad, produced from the inside of his jacket. It wasn’t that he needed the reference; but sometimes it helped for the subject to know he might already have a version of events on file.
“You met with an Adam Church and Lily Leitch yesterday morning, did you not?” Jake was free of all suspicion in Caputo’s eyes, but he found it never hurt to keep that to oneself. Jake gulped, and nodded before replying.
“I was showing them a commercial property over near Cups River.” As the young man spoke, Caputo scribbled aimlessly on his notepad.
“Anything more you can tell me about the pair of them?” Jake looked off, his gaze fixing on the cars parked off the grass.
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