Wuthering Frights Part 4

I glanced up at him, unfazed. "What? He is an a.s.shole."

"You know his temper."

"Yeah and now he can get well acquainted with mine."

Once freed from the confines of Ink, I approached my Suzuki quickly, and noticed an electric blue sports car, complete with black stripes on either side, parked beside it. Quillan beeped it unlocked and I glanced over at him as I wrestled with my helmet.

"Are you okay?" Quill asked as he faced me with concern in his eyes. I wasn't sure if he was referring to my emotional sanity or my close encounter with Baron. Maybe both.

"I'm fine," I answered tersely, "I just want to go home." I turned the key in the ignition only to hear it click a few times. I turned the key again and nothing. The engine was dead. "Son of a f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h!" I yelled and slammed my palm against the tank. Quillan walked over and took the key from me and motioning me aside, straddled the bike as he inspected it and attempted to start it himself.

"It's dead," he announced, standing up and eyeing me sadly. "I think it's the starter."

"You've gotta be kidding," I grumbled and shook my head like I couldn't believe it. Talk about s.h.i.+tty timing!

"I'll take you home," Quillan said as I tore off my helmet and felt like I wanted to cry.

"What am I going to do with this?" I asked, meaning that I didn't want to be tied to Ink in any way, shape or form; and everyone at the ANC knew what I drove. It wasn't any stretch of the imagination at all to think that Knight, Trey or anyone else from the ANC might happen to do a drive-by to make sure Baron was on the up and up. Seeing my motorcycle in the parking lot was not a good thing.

"The bike is done, Dulce," Quillan said in a grounded tone, as if he were afraid I was super attached to it or something. "Baron has guys who can strip it and sell the parts. I'll let him know on the way to your house."

I nodded and approached Quillan's car, scanning it quizzically. "Is this a Mustang?" I asked, finding some of the lines fairly reminiscent of the iconic Ford.

"2013 Shelby GT 500," he answered with obvious pride.

I gave him a raised brow as I opened the door and seated myself. "Mustang?" I asked again once he was within earshot.

He chuckled and helped himself into the driver's seat. "Mustang," he answered.

I secured my seatbelt and then sighed. "I guess it beats a 1961 Galaxy Town Victoria."

I walked in my front door at a little past ten p.m. Locking it behind me, I immediately noticed my answering machine blinking red. From the looks of it, I had two messages. I checked my cell phone lying beside it and lifting it up, saw that it also had messages. Probably Sam and Dia wondering what in the h.e.l.l had happened to me while I'd been in the Netherworld. Even though I knew I needed to face them at some point, I just couldn't bring myself to do it now. Not after the c.r.a.ppy evening I'd just endured. But what was even scarier was that there was something inside me that wanted to sever all ties to my old life, something that wanted to invalidate any and all a.s.sociations with my friends because I realized I was now a different person. Even worse, knowing me could be detrimental to their wellbeing. I mean, who knew what sorts of power trips Melchior could hold over my head now? He already had Knight for insurance, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine Sam or Dia could be next. Yep, my father had me exactly where he wanted me, and that was a desperate place to be.

Trying to avoid the naked truth in my thoughts, I searched the fridge for something to eat, but it was just as bare as it had been the last time I'd opened it when Knight had visited after his release from the Netherworld.

Knight ... just the image of him filled my gut with a deep-rooted sorrow, and a tremor that rattled me. I felt like I'd soon cave into a puddle of jelly.

At the sound of my doorbell, I pulled myself together, forced myself to put on my poker face and see why the h.e.l.l someone was visiting so late. The fact that my alone time was now nonexistent was really getting old. I huffed over to the front door, expecting to find Quill or Baron and checked the peephole, instantly recognizing Bram. A sense of guilt washed over me as I remembered I'd never paid Bram a visit to tell him I was okay. And that was bad-especially after he'd acted as my guide and protector in the Netherworld.

With a sheepish smile, I pulled the door open and found the das.h.i.+ng vampire glaring at me. "Then it is true?" he asked, pus.h.i.+ng past me and showing himself into my living room.

"What's true?" I asked as I closed the door behind us. I was actually happy to see Bram. Somehow, along the course of our Netherworld adventure, I'd actually grown fond of the vampire. If nothing else, he was definitely amusing.

"That you have escaped the Netherworld and returned to Splendor." With his raised brows and frown, he looked p.i.s.sed off. There was something livid in his eyes, which surprised me. I mean, even though it wasn't exactly polite that I'd failed to inform him that I was back, I didn't imagine he'd be this bent out of shape.

"Oh, yeah, it's true." I took a deep breath and caught his eye. "About that, I, uh, had been meaning to come by and tell you."

"And yet it appears you did not find the time?" he chided, crossing his arms against his chest.

That was basically the short of it, but it wasn't like I could tell Bram exactly what I'd been up to. Yes, I'd never painted Bram as a "good guy," but I also was fairly convinced he was nowhere near the likes of a Baron or even my father. Nope, Bram basically ran in his own circle.

"I'm sorry, Bram," I started, shaking my head, not really knowing what I could say to lessen the blow of my obvious bad manners.

"Perhaps I was not important enough?" he pouted. Jeez, he was really wringing everything he could out of this. But, I guess I deserved it.

"I really was meaning to come tell you," I said in as sincere a voice as I could. "I feel really terrible about it, I mean it."

"I see," he grumbled but I could tell his mood was lightening. Note to self: apparently Bram likes panderers.

"How did you find out that I was back, anyway?" I asked, trying to change the subject because there was only so much a.s.s-kissing I was prepared to do. And where Bram was concerned, I'd already reached my limit.

"I make the goings on in Splendor my business, sweet," he answered and when he called me by my pet name, I guessed he was well on his way to forgiving me. Forgiving me was important because I wanted to keep Bram on my good side. He wasn't the type of person to have as an enemy. Nope, he was powerful. Just how powerful, though, I wasn't sure, but that's exactly what I intended to find out.

"And I was quite concerned with your whereabouts," he continued, inspecting his fingernails as he spoke. "It has been the only subject to occupy my mind."

"I'm sorry," I said again, trying to belabor the point. "I really am, Bram."

He said nothing for a few seconds, just watched me as if to gauge how sincere I was. And the truth of the matter was that I was sincere-I did feel bad about it.

Finally, he dropped his stern expression and smiled handsomely. "Apology accepted."

And now it was time to move on to more important topics. It was time to learn just how involved Bram was with the Netherworld. I cleared my throat and thought about the best way to approach him, as well as what my chances were of getting some straight answers out of him. Figuring there really was no "right" approach, I just opted for friendly. "Have a seat," I said, motioning to my couch.

Bram looked surprised at first, but quickly acquiesced and seated himself on the far end of the sofa. He eyed me curiously, as if wondering why I'd invited him to stay. Well, he was about to find out.

"Bram, I have questions for you," I started and sat down in a chair beside him. I pulled it out so we were facing one another.

"As I have questions for you, sweet."

It didn't surprise me to know he'd have questions for me. Bram was always nosy. "I know you're curious as to how I got home," I began, searching for a plausible excuse. Remembering that I'd nearly blown my cover with Knight regarding my story about Caressa and the portal, I decided to learn from past mistakes.

"Quite so," the vampire replied; and when I didn't respond immediately, he prodded. "Go on."

"I escaped," I said simply.

"Escaped?" he repeated dubiously.

"I overpowered Caressa and tried to talk Judge Thorne into taking me back into custody in exchange for Knight's life," I spewed out, nearly tripping over the lie.

Bram said nothing, but eyed me suspiciously as if he found it hard to believe. "And yet the Loki has returned, as have you."

I nodded, reminding myself to stick to my story. "Judge Thorne wouldn't listen to me and decreed that I be escorted to the portal by one of his guards." I took a deep breath. "As to why Knight was released, I don't know."

"I see."

I shrugged, thinking I needed to play up my surprise a bit more. "I mean, I thought for sure he was never going to get out."

"It is quite the riddle, is it not?" Bram asked and then smiled in an off-putting sort of way.

"It is," I agreed and even nodded to reaffirm my words.

"And you have been reinstated in your position at the ANC?" he continued. Bram was definitely at the top of the gossip totem pole. He always had been, though, which was why I found him so useful in my position as Regulator. He got the inside scoops before anyone else did.

"You're impressive, I'll give you that," I said softly and then smiled at him.

"Why did you insist on becoming a Regulator again?" he asked, his tone slightly more casual, but I knew his indifference was merely an act-Bram wanted to know what was going on. He made it his business to know the ins and outs of ANC business.

"I missed it," I answered nonchalantly before turning to the subject of my own questions. "How high do you rank in the Netherworld pecking order?"

Bram smiled, revealing his fangs, clearly appreciative of the question and even more clearly impressed with himself. "High." He narrowed his eyes on me. "Why was the Loki truly released?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know," I bluffed. "Are you familiar with the head of the Netherworld?"

Bram's smile dropped. "Yes."

I felt my heartbeat quicken. "How familiar?"

"Familiar enough." He paused a moment or two before that debonair smile was back in full effect. "Are you familiar with the head of the Netherworld?"

"No." I paused to catch my breath, completely aware that he was testing me, that he knew more than he was letting on. "Are you involved with his affairs?"

"No," he answered quickly. Maybe too quickly. "Are you involved with his affairs?"

My heart thundered through my ears, sounding like waves cras.h.i.+ng against rocks. I almost felt like I was going to pa.s.s out. "No."

"Are you aware that he shares the same last name with you?" Bram asked in a casual, bored tone.

I swallowed hard. "There are many people with the last name O'Neil," I said simply, even adding a shrug, trying to portray the image of someone bored, apathetic and uninterested.

"Very true," he answered noncommittally.

"Why were the prison guards so frightened of you, Bram, and why do you have your own portal entrance to the Netherworld?"

He smiled, long and languidly. "Why do you share the same last name as the Head of the Netherworld? And why was the Loki returned when Melchior had him exactly where he wanted him?"

I didn't say anything for four seconds and I'm sure I was wearing my anxiety. Bram smiled even more broadly.

"It seems we are at a standstill, Dulcie, sweet."

Six.

Somehow Bram knew Melchior was related to me and I was pretty sure it wasn't just a guess based on the similarity of our last names. Since Bram hadn't said anything for the last few seconds, he was right-we were at a standstill.

"How did you know?" I asked finally. My voice sounded hoa.r.s.e as I realized I'd been first to show my hand.

Bram smiled slightly, like he was pleased I'd finally acknowledged my familial relations.h.i.+p to Melchior. I watched as he relaxed against my couch and sighed dramatically. "I a.s.sumed from the moment I met you, sweet."

The word "a.s.sumed" held a lot of weight because it implied that Bram didn't know I was related to Melchior. And I must say I was relieved he hadn't been in the know-I mean, it's not exactly a good feeling when you realize everyone around you knows more about your life than you do.

"Well, he's my father," I finished, my jaw tight and my tone betraying the fact that I wasn't happy about it.

"Ah, I see," Bram said, nodding thoughtfully. "And it seems you just learned this?"

It was my turn to nod. "Yep."

"And your story regarding the escape from Caressa?" he pried, eyeing me with a drawn brow as if he knew I hadn't exactly been telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled just as deeply. "It wasn't true."

Bram's left brow continued to reach for the ceiling but, otherwise, his countenance remained unchanged-the same expectant, yet unconcerned look he tried so hard to achieve. "And what is the truth?"

"Before we get into this dog and pony show," I started, my voice suddenly sounding bossy and harsh, "this has to be a quid pro quo, Bram. If I'm going to spill the contents of my diary to you, I expect the same in return."

Bram threw his head back, laughing heartily before his merriment died on his lips and he faced me with a wide smile and shook his head in wonder-like he seemed to approve of my sense of humor. "Of course, sweet, of course."

I nodded and continued. "The truth is that I broke into the Head of the Netherworld's office with the express purpose of holding a gun to his head and forcing him to release Knight." Bram's eyes went wide, but he said nothing while I merely shook my head, admitting that my plan had gone off with a major hitch. "The joke ended up being on me when I found out Melchior was my father."

"Quite the sobering joke," Bram said in an aristocratic tone, his English accent dripping. Sometimes I wondered about how, after living in California for a hundred years, his accent still sounded like he'd just jumped off a plane from Heathrow airport. Yep, Bram was one of those people who impressed himself often and it wouldn't have surprised me in the least to learn that Bram talked to himself just to hear the sound of his own voice.

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly laughing," I admitted.

"Then you negotiated the Loki's release with the Head of the Netherworld?"

"Yes," I replied, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. The matter of what those negotiations with my father entailed was now just a matter of connecting A with B to arrive at C.

"And what did your father gain in return for releasing the Loki?"

"A daughter," I said simply, not wanting to delve much deeper than that. I already felt as if my business was now standing in front of us, completely naked and embarra.s.sed.

"You have sold your soul to the devil, it appears?" Bram deduced aptly and I felt my stomach drop. Sometimes he just had this uncanny ability to see right through me. It was almost as if I were a book and he'd merely opened me to the chapter where my innermost thoughts and feelings lay.

"Then you're aware of my father's ... business dealings?" I asked, eyeing him pointedly.

Bram was quiet for a few seconds and then simply nodded, saying nothing. But I wasn't about to put up with his silence. Not after I'd just spilled my proverbial blood. Now it was his turn to do a little bleeding. "How long have you been aware of it?" I asked, finding it somewhat ironic that I couldn't put a word to my father's underhanded ways, that I couldn't refer to them as what they were-illegal.

"The entire time I have lived in Splendor," he said softly, pursing his lips together in something that most resembled a frown.

That was when I remembered Bram telling me, upon our entrance to the Netherworld, that he hadn't stepped foot on Netherworld soil in one hundred years. Jeez, that had to mean good ol' Pop was older than I'd imagined. I mean, I knew elves could live a very long time-the oldest on record having lived to see her four hundred and twelfth birthday-but this was still a surprise. "How old is my father?"

Bram c.o.c.ked his head to the side as if my question had given him cause for pause. "Perhaps one hundred fifty," he finished.