Betrayed by Blood: The Shelton Family Legacy : 1

by L. A. McGinnis

  “He would have been fine, if not for you,” she hissed, her eyes going dark, and I wondered if she was going to turn into a six-foot mountain man and pummel me to death in the streets. At least, that’s what the magical vibe dancing around us felt like.

  I held my breath as she considered my request, released it as she finally she relented. “Just long enough for that.”

  It was a tense ride up, me and her, and we passed straight through Gabriel’s office, which was dark. “In here,” Dawson said, pushing through another set of doors I hadn’t noticed before. Inside what looked like a giant glass box, Henry had laid Gabriel on one of the tables, which was covered in medical drapes, where a serious-looking doctor was snapping on his gloves.

  “Static-protected area,” Dawson said, her words clipped. “Also hermetically sealed against dust. Better than any operating room as far as sanitization.” Henry and HSG came to stand beside us, Henry’s arm going around Dawson, who leaned into him.

  That could have been me and Gabriel, someday, I thought. Old and crochety and still together, despite everything.

  But such things were not meant to be.

  One kiss and he’d taken a bullet for me. One kiss… and now he might die.

  After I’d left, one thing kept me going. Knowing that Gabriel was out there, alive and well. He wasn’t with me, but I’d satisfied my curiosity with media stories and watching him take the world by storm.

  I’d been back less than a week and I’d almost gotten him killed.

  I kept my word and stayed just long to watch the doctor remove the bullet, stitch Gabriel back up, then come out to give Henry and Daws the good news that, though he’d lost a lot of blood, he’d recover with a few days of rest. Daws blew out a snotty sigh, and Henry hugged her harder.

  Everyone ignored me, except for ham-sandwich guy, who threw me a look of sympathy.

  Of course, that’s the moment Bennett’s phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration startling me enough to jump. I checked the screen and saw the address where Bennett was supposed to hand me over, then tried to ignore the cold hand of fate as it closed around my heart and slowly crushed the life out of me.

  “I’ll go and move the car before it gets towed,” I told ham-sandwich guy softly, nodding to the weepy family unit. Neither of them had so much as glanced my way, probably hoping I’d just disappear. How right they were.

  “Tell them for me, will you?”

  34

  Gabriel’s car was the latest model Mercia, from one of the big two, the regal moniker unearthed and dusted off for today’s lover of all things obscenely luxurious and expensive. Still amazed the thing survived the magical blast, I navigated lower Manhattan’s crowded streets, heading for Long Island.

  I didn’t need to check Bennett’s phone for the address.

  I knew exactly where I was going.

  It was funny. I hadn’t been back here for over half my life, but the area was as familiar to me as the day I’d left. With the city behind me, the landscape opened up to bucolic views and twenty-thousand-square-foot mansions.

  Lincoln had made me read Gatsby as part of my “well-rounded education.” While the story had its charm, I didn’t need a book to open my eyes to the fact that there were the have-nots, and then there were the have-it-alls. I didn’t need to read about it, because I’d lived it.

  Breathed it.

  Survived it.

  Gabriel’s parents lived in this upper-crust neighborhood, my parents lived here, and I could feel the soul-crushing, old-money pretentiousness from where I sat in Gabriel’s admittedly ostentatious car, watching my former abode for any signs of life. Fairhaven Manor, a rambling mansion constructed entirely of native New York granite, was built in 1901 by some famous architect nobody remembers.

  But the house was paid for in cash by my great-great-grandfather, Robert Dean Shelton, who made his fortune muscling everyone else out of the oil business at a time when oil was power. Combined with his wife’s shares in a burgeoning railroad, our family proceeded to control oil production, processing, and transport for most of the Northeast, leaving all future generations of Sheltons set for life.

  That family fortune outlasted numerous wars, scandals, and the Surge, which my grandfather capitalized on by selling gas motors at triple the cost to anyone who wanted to survive that first winter. Again, guaranteeing future Sheltons a rosy future.

  That all changed when Andrew Shelton came along. My father took his wealth for granted. He liked being rich, but even more, he wanted to be important, so he spent the first half of his life plastering his name across any building that would have it. Libraries, universities, banks, and streets, New York became littered with the Shelton name, or any variant Andrew deemed close enough for branding purposes.

  Then he met my mother. Sofia Page didn’t bring money into the marriage, but she brought grifter know-how and old-fashioned mob initiative.

  The Page’s ran a West Coast crime empire, growing rich by selling investment building packages akin to pyramid schemes. Sofia grew up working a con and was still working one, only this time, she had Shelton capital at her disposal. After the unfortunate turn of events with their daughter’s disappearance, namely me, Sofia embarked on a mission. To make her husband’s dreams come true. Blackmail offered a fast track to the top and had congressmen and senators eating out of her veritable hand.

  That led to the construction of Devilton, which led to me cruising past Fairhaven Manor, hunched down like a criminal in Gabriel’s car with the windows blacked out.

  Home sweet home looked the same, although some of the surrounding properties needed work. It must be hard to upkeep all of those manicured bushes, which is why I lived in apartments. I also liked breathing, which was why I wondered what I was doing here. It wasn’t like I’d discover anything new about my family’s corruption. Maybe I just liked rubbing salt in a still-healing wound, but whatever.

  I was here to figure out how deeply involved my parents were in this scheme.

  But Gabriel’s assessment was probably true. Sheltons liked to make money, and the coming disaster offered a golden opportunity. Of course, enough humans would have to survive in order for my family to have anyone to sell their product to. I’m sure that was factored into their business model.

  Across the street from Fairhaven was an empty field of gently rolling hills. I remember Sophia buying it, then tearing down the home that stood there for a hundred years so she had a clear line of sight to Long Island Sound from her bedroom.

  They’d built a dog park beside it, which probably pissed my mother off to no end, but what could she do? The richest zip code had been invaded by suburban sprawl, and there was no stopping the golden-doodle invasion. Pulling into the parking lot, I watched as owners threw balls with gusto to dogs who ran after them like it was the best thing ever, and backed into a spot between two SUVs, the preferred mode of transportation for today’s busy soccer mom.

  Fairhaven had four main entrances, not counting the servant’s entrance at the back. But from where I watched, I had a clear view of two: the driveway and the main entrance. Picking up Bennett’s phone, I texted.

  Maybe lost. Which location?

  The response was immediate.

  Look for the lighthouse.

  I waited, watching the windows for movement. Sure enough, there was Sophia, peering out one of the first-floor windows, worrying the pearls around her neck. She looked the same from afar, and I idly wondered if her face was lined and if she colored her hair to keep it that dark.

  When I was little, everyone teased me about growing up to be a beauty like my mother, when in fact, I wanted nothing of the sort. I wanted to adventure around the world with Gabriel, slaying dragons and hunting for gold and living our best life. Not sitting through endless hours of comportment classes and learning which was more expensive—Prada or Givenchy.

  Finally, a car drove past slowly, probably taking pictures of the fancy mansions from the golden Age, and Sophia watched it
pass by like a hawk. She pulled her phone out and one hand texted me.

  Are you close?

  Almost there.

  Two men, bodyguards probably, circled around from the back of the house, looking not at all conspicuous in their serial-killer black with guns bulging at their hips. They surveilled the front of the property, signaled my mother the slow-driving car was a false alarm, then skedaddled back around the house.

  Two guards for sure, and Mom, who was doing the actual texting. Good to know.

  Of course, I wasn’t supposed to be here, at Fairhaven Manor, spying on my own damn family who were clearly plotting to kill me a second time. This wasn’t the address Sophia texted to Bennett. I was supposed to be twenty miles away at the Sandy Hill lighthouse, located on, of all things, a secluded sandy hill. Remote and the perfect place to take care of business. I watched the SUV next to me pull out, their dog sticking his head so far out the window I thought he was a goner when they turned the corner onto the main road.

  I sent one final text: I want to renegotiate my terms.

  Sophia stared at the phone in her hand, her gaze sliding into the darkness behind her. Was my father there, giving her instructions? I couldn’t see, but it sure seemed likely.

  I waited for what seemed like an hour before Bennett’s phone pinged.

  Do you have the package?

  Yes. Can’t wait to be rid of her. She’s a pain in the ass.

  How much?

  I dithered about this for a hot minute. Bennett had no idea how much money my family had, and they’d totally lowballed him on this capture-kidnapping deal. He thought he was making out, when in fact, he was getting screwed.

  A million.

  I didn’t even have time to set the phone down when Sophia replied.

  Done. The lighthouse, twenty minutes or we’ll track you down and kill you.

  Yup, that was Mom. Concise and goal oriented.

  When the other SUV pulled out, I followed a moment later, white knuckling the steering wheel as I turned and passed by the house, craning to see who was behind my mother. But I only saw her, staring out the window with something that looked like anticipation written on her face.

  My mother knew I existed.

  Knew and paid Bennett to hunt me down and bring me in.

  I had to know why.

  The lighthouse was made of rounded rocks with a red metal roof, its black-and-white, striped towers looking out of place beside the tan stone and brightly painted metal. This place had stood on Fire Island for hundreds of years. It was also over an hour away, taking traffic into account. I set Gabriel’s car on auto, and the car wove in and out of traffic, the speedometer pegged at sixty.

  With technology in control, I called Daws to check on Gabriel.

  I didn’t give her time to piss me off, just asked, “How is he?”

  “Stable.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “He’s groggy.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  There was a long pause while she debated, then I heard Henry as he took the phone from her. “He’s conscious, but he’s pretty out of it, Andy.” Cue the dramatic sigh. “The doctor told him to rest, and he’s pretty drugged up at the moment. Can you possibly wait until tomorrow?”

  “Sure I could, but I have to talk to him now.”

  There was the papery hiss of the phone being passed over, before I heard Gabriel’s voice. It was raspy, and it was faint, but he was alive and talking. My grip on the phone relaxed as I realized I hadn’t gotten him killed, after all.

  “I have your car. I’m looking into something, and I won’t have it back for a day. Maybe two. Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not.” His voice sounded like air, faint and wispy. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course, I am, you big doofus. I’m not the one who had to play the hero and get shot. How’s your side?”

  “Hurts like a bitch. Thanks for asking.”

  “No problem.” I hesitated, deciding how, exactly, to tell him goodbye. I’d been gone from his life for fourteen years. Yet, in just a few days, we’d reacquired a semblance of our former friendship, as easily as if we’d never been split up. While part of me never wanted to give him up, part of me knew I had to.

  “I’ll have your car back as soon as I can. You should get some rest.”

  “Andy...” My name never sounded so sexy as it did when Gabriel said it, and I doubted anyone would ever have the same effect in my girly parts. But the two of us were not meant to be. Different worlds and all of that, not to mention I was dangerous to his health.

  “I’ll have the car back as soon as I can,” I told him, firmly this time. “Listen to the doctor and focus on getting better, Big D.” I clicked off before he had a chance to say anything that made me doubt my decision.

  I hadn’t caved to Dawson and Henry when they’d asked me to stay away from Gabriel.

  I’d agreed because they were right. I had no business hanging around with Gabriel, not when all I brought to the table was trouble. It had taken Gabriel getting shot—almost dying, for chrissakes—for me to realize just how bad I was for him.

  Factoring in this new, dangerous Bennet/Sophia plot line, my intent to disappear became even more pressing. I’d leave Gabriel behind. Just as soon as I figured out who gave my name to Sophia.

  It couldn’t have been anyone at Devilton or even Bennett. Daws looked like a possibility, but I failed to see a strong motive, except her desire to protect Gabriel. Henry was out, at least I hoped so. I really liked him, and besides, he was Lincoln’s brother. His betrayal would break my heart.

  While my mad detective skills worked overtime trying to produce a name, not one single one came to mind. Which brought me to the current plan. My guess was Sophia would stay holed up at the house, leaving me to confront a random body guard or two and hopefully get some answers. Thank God they stuck out like sore thumbs; they’d be easy enough to spot.

  You couldn’t even park at the lighthouse. You had to park at the nearby visitor’s center and walk over, which would be awesome, except I couldn’t walk. My ankle was swollen to magnificent proportions, especially since I’d taken my shoe off to give it some room. I should have kept it elevated and iced, but that was so not doable when I was chasing down leads and my own mother.

  The tourists were sparse today, given it was the middle of the week. Also, the parks system closed the lighthouse, something about an explosion near Newark, and all public places were on lockdown. I chalked that development up to luck as I hobbled unimpeded down the sand-drifted boardwalk, toward the dunes beyond the lighthouse.

  I’d always hated this place. Occasionally, in my past life, Sophia brought me here for mother-daughter time. She’d ignore me and read while I explored, and the only time we interacted was when she yelled at me to get in the car to go home. Fun family times.

  But something that Sophia didn’t know was the dunes offered a spectacular view of the entire site, and offered some cover, as the grasses had grown enough to cover the tops. Once I reached the top, I hunkered down, careful of my poor foot, and scanned the site for signs of black-outfitted, muscle-bound bodyguards.

  Sophia’s guards pulled in a minute later, their low, fancy sedan a dead giveaway among the locals’ SUVs and out-of-town rentals. One of them gave Gabriel’s ride a long look as they ambled down the boardwalk, practically drooling as he elbowed his buddy. Deep in my pocket, Bennett’s phone dinged.

  Where are you?

  Down by the water. I wanted to see who was coming at me.

  Stop fucking around, detective. Deliver the package and you’ll get paid.

  She’s in the trunk of my car. The maroon sedan. Leave the money.

  The musclebound pair put fingers to their ears, listened intently, then spun around and made it back to the parking lot in record time, considering their thighs rubbed together. I giggled at their expressions when they realized there was no burgundy car. A red one, which they considered before deciding, apparently, that
red was not the new burgundy.

  What’s the point of this exercise, you might ask?

  “Put the phone down,” the man behind me said.

  I’ll give him this, he was quiet, although to be fair, he was walking on sand. An elephant could pass by unheard as deep as these dunes were. I complied, hitting record on Bennett’s phone as I laid it on the ground beside me. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d know something.

  “Stand up, keep your hands raised.”

  “That’s going to be an issue, given I can’t walk because my foot’s broken,” I told him, climbing awkwardly to my feet. I did try to comply by hiking my hands up as soon as I was balanced on one foot. “There. Happy?”

  “Where’s Bennett?”

  “Dead,” I told him pleasantly, picturing the asshole’s smoking corpse.

  I watched him work it out, his face hardening to stone, as the air around us changed. He was an Elemental, and a powerful one. Salt air takes on an especially ripe odor when there’s magic around, probably something about electro-static conductivity. If Gabriel was here, he could explain it all to me, but for the moment, it was just me and…

  The air sparked, then turned sweeter as a crisp breeze picked up. I’d barely erected my shield when the force of the wind hit me full-on. Had I not prepared, the blow would have definitely snapped my other ankle.

  The Cronus stumbled back a step, frantically conjuring up another wave of magic until I encased him in an orb of fire, his eyebrows instantly disappearing. He was only inside the fiery circle a second before I released him, and he flopped onto the sand, hairless and incapacitated.

  Hopefully his lungs weren’t too scorched for him to talk.

  “Let’s get to know one another,” I said, crouching down. “I’m Andy and I’m having a really shitty day. You are?” I was done fucking around with all of this. I was out of patience, and I would have my answers if I had to claw them from his throat.

  “AAgnnht...”

  “Again, clearer this time, or I’ll turn you into a beach bonfire.” I scanned the dunes for any sign of tweedle dee and tweedle dumber as I waited for his answer.