He called a cab on Lydia’s landline, and while he waited he put on his shoes and socks, and gathered his useless cell phone and wallet. He was collecting his car, getting changed, finalizing the valuation so Lydia wouldn’t be left in the lurch again, and then finding a way to get the Window off Lydia without stealing or lying or glamouring or doing anything vaguely immoral and fairy.
Given that he was no longer human he didn’t like his chances.
Lydia skimmed through the day’s newspapers, and then yesterday’s, catching up on the news and making sure there was nothing in the papers that she needed to action. But she was thinking of Caspian. He’d been different somehow. Exhausted. He’d barely spoken to her. And yet when he’d hugged her it had been like he hadn’t wanted to let go.
He loved her.
He hadn’t exactly said it as much as admit it and that was worth more. An unguarded moment had revealed the truth. And she hadn’t responded. She hadn’t known what to say. She still didn’t know what to say. She’d been so worried and scared while he was gone, and now that he was back she just wanted to be with him and find out what had happened.
She did love him. Not the kind of love where the words are spoken to be kind and return the favor; she’d done that before. But the kind that made her unable to say the words because she was scared if she did it would all fall apart.
Should she call and check on him?
No. He’d been dead to the world when she’d left this morning. She’d considered waking him to show him the mirror, but had decided that a few more hours wouldn’t hurt. Besides, if he had to face Shea again it was probably better to do it well-rested.
Her gaze glided over the story about a new drug-resistant strain of malaria that was killing fast. Some were calling it a bioweapon test, others that it was the beginning of the end and listed a whole bunch of other diseases that were springing up. Others dismissed the notion and blamed the new outbreaks on climate change. She shook her head and moved on. There were always people preaching about the end of the world.
Deeper into the paper there was a small heading about the memorial service, nothing salacious just that there’d been a good turnout to farewell Nannette Callaway. Of course the reporter had mentioned the House’s past, but it had been balanced by the mention of family and community. She smiled; that was probably as good as it was going to get. But then this was the respectable paper. It was reading the other one she dreaded.
Her cell rang, she checked the number, then let it go through to voice mail. The reporter had already rung once this morning wanting to know if she’d changed her mind about selling the diaries.
Changed her mind?
She’d hardly had time to think. She was still waiting for the repair quotes to be finalized and she hadn’t had a chance to mention the offer to Caspian. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about anything. They’d barely spoken, even though they’d needed each other so badly.
She hadn’t spoken to the lawyer yet either. She added that to her to-do list. Was she even allowed to start repairing the house before the will was finalized? Probably not; she was in limbo.
Damn it. She needed that valuation turned in. She hated waiting. She forced herself to take a breath. Once the valuation was in it would settle. Helen wasn’t going to contest—unless her name was mentioned. How was she going to keep the media from scrounging that up?
Her stomach gave a quiver as she picked up the other newspaper. It wasn’t front page, but then she hadn’t expected that. But it was page three. A photo of Gran in her heyday coupled with a headline about secret diaries. Her stomach contracted and for a moment she thought she might be ill.
If that didn’t stir up a shit storm, nothing would.
She wasn’t afraid of what was in the diaries, but as long as she kept them hidden other people would be. Her mother would be. She could see a fast settlement evaporating. As if on cue her cell phone rang. Blocked number. For a moment she considered leaving it, then answered. She couldn’t ignore every call she received.
“Hello?”
“The Callaways will burn for what they’ve done,” a male voice snarled down the line.
Lydia froze and said the first thing that came to mind. “Pardon?”
“You’ll be left with nothing but ashes if you go public with those diaries.” Then the line went dead.
It was a moment before she lowered the phone from her ear. She put down her cell and took a sip of water. Her hand shook as she placed the glass down. The media outlets chasing a story was to be expected, that kind of venom wasn’t. Her heart continued to skip and race.
He must think there were names or mentions of backroom deals in the diaries. There wasn’t; going public would be the best way to prove that, right?
Her phone rang again. The reporter this time, the one who’d mentioned the damn diaries in the first place. She was beginning to wish she’d never found them. She hit ignore and let the reporter talk to her voice mail.
She wouldn’t sell the diaries to that paper on principle.
Would Caspian sell the diaries to fund the repairs? Was that the smart thing to do? She was sure it was, but it didn’t feel right. The other option was to give them to the historical society and let them take care of them. She worried her lip. Gran had left no instructions and no clue that they even existed in her will.
She pressed her teeth together and forced out a breath. She’d never needed anyone to help her make a decision before, and she wasn’t going to start now. She’d work it out on her own, the same as always. She didn’t need Caspian… no, it was much worse. He was under her skin and lodged in her heart.
Chapter 19
The shop looked exactly like he’d left it, except emptier and open. The door chimed as he walked in. A fairy man walked in from out the back. He smiled, that odd smile that offered friendship at a cost. Caspian had seen a lot of that lately. To the average human the man in his shop probably seemed pleasant, friendly, hell, even good-looking. Once again Caspian thought a life without fairies would be so much simpler.
“Caspian ap Felan.” The fairy extended his hand. “Gratitude to your father and you.” He gave a half-bow that should’ve made Caspian uncomfortable.
It didn’t; instead, there was the growing feeling that he deserved this respect. He didn’t like this fairy blood of his rising to the surface so rapidly. It was going to reach a point where he didn’t trust himself.
“And you are?”
“Bramwel ap Joria,” he said like his name should mean something.
The name meant nothing, but that he’d given it freely did. Bramwel had nothing to hide and was happy to associate with him. This was his new temporary assistant. Who was owing who the bigger favor?
“You were sent by my father.”
“I owe him a debt. Since you can’t enter your house at the moment I took the liberty of bringing clothes here for your return.”
Caspian blinked. “Why can’t I go home?”
“The tea set protects against the banished.” Bramwel said the word like it left a bad taste on his tongue.
“And what has Dylis got to do with this?”
“You don’t know? She never mentioned me?” Bramwel’s eyes went wide in shock. “I spent three hundred years waiting for her and she never mentioned me once?”
Caspian regarded the fairy for a moment, the little pieces of the puzzle dropping into place. He’d always liked puzzles. It was because of Bramwel that Felan had been able to get Dylis to look after Caspian. Deals were made, and made again to guarantee an outcome.
Bramwel regarded Caspian cautiously. “So, the Prince really took your soul.”