Chapter 2 #3
“I don’t like to think about it,” Sam repeated, “because if Derrick knows who we are in truth, then you know he’s told Zach. They’re too chummy by half, those two.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “Zach already knew, which you already knew, and so does Stephen.”
“Zach and Stephen both think we’re still annoying teenagers.”
“Is that what Stephen said the last time you had supper at Artane?”
Sam fumbled for the can of Lilt he’d opened for breakfast and downed the remainder of its lukewarm contents. “I’m as polite as you are about not refusing invitations whilst subsequently confining my conversation—still—to my host’s health and the weather. What does Stephen say to you?”
“We just eat without speaking,” Theo said with a faint smile. “I make it a point, however, to discreetly deliver whispered tidings about Aunt Pippa to the lady Peaches if we find ourselves passing by each other in the hall.”
Sam shook his head in disbelief. “What is wrong with you? Peaches and I sit down over a cuppa and I tell her everything I know, then we pretend I haven’t been there.” He shook his head again. “You worry me.”
“What should worry you,” Theo said pointedly, “is the fact that if Stephen and Zach and Derrick know we’re here, others do as well. And by others, I mean a certain cousin wanting a little payback.”
Sam had to agree that those sorts of ruminations did keep him up at night—almost as often as ghostly grumbling from more than one ancestor. “We sent Jack directly into wedded bliss. Surely that should purchase us a bit of peace.”
Theo smiled. “You would think so, but I suspect he’d very much like to repay us for his little jaunt to Elizabethan England. The saints only know who else is here and what they’re thinking.”
Sam chewed on his next words simply because they were ones he hesitated to give voice to lest they somehow draw unnecessary cosmic attention. “I think they’re stalking us for sport.”
“The cousins?”
Sam nodded.
“I agree,” Theo said. “And because I don’t want to imagine what will be left of us when they find us, I’m back to thinking we should go meet James MacLeod. A flattering request for advice on navigating perilous times and who knows what might come of it?”
“Finding ourselves skewered on the end of his sword is what will come of it,” Sam said darkly.
Theo smiled. “I can’t say I disagree, so let’s table it for a fortnight. I’m going to be busy anyway.”
“Doing what?” Sam asked with a snort. “Looking for your courage?”
“Well, not exactly that,” Theo said slowly. “I’m going to be at a writer’s conference.”
“How lovely for you.”
“I’m sure it will be apart from the fact that it starts tomorrow afternoon.”
“Why does that mat—” Sam shut his mouth around the rest of that because he suddenly understood why his brother was wearing an expression he obviously thought made him look both helpless and charming at the same time. “Absolutely not.”
“But you’re an actor,” Theo said in reverent tones. “Think about the opportunities for creating a character this will afford you. A devastatingly handsome man who is full of nuance, perhaps a bit conflicted, but absolutely brilliant beyond his years.”
Sam threw the empty can at his brother. “But I’m not a bloody mystery writer! What if someone wants to talk to me about that?”
Theo set that somewhat crumpled can down on the table. “It might help if you’d actually read any of my books.”
“Read them? Damn you, Theo, I lived them with you!”
“Then you won’t have any trouble, will you? Besides, it’s only for the cocktail party. Look slightly aloof and make small talk about Man City’s chances this year. I’ll rescue you bright and early the next morning.”
Sam found that not even any of the very pithy comebacks he knew thanks to a thorough familiarity with the Bard’s saucier exchanges were equal to what he wanted to say to his brother at the moment.
He settled for a curse and a suggestion about where Theo might want to go as expeditiously as possible, but that only earned him a faint smile.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t agree to this!” Sam exclaimed. Yet, but perhaps that didn’t need to be said. “Why did you promise to do it in the first place?”
“It was my agent’s pound of flesh, and I thought it best not to ask too many questions.”
“Of course not,” Sam muttered, “since you aren’t the one paying the price.”
“But I will be,” Theo said, “day after tomorrow. Plus, I’ll owe you.”
Sam stopped to consider the possibilities of that. “Anything?”
“Within rea—oh, very well, aye, anything,” Theo said, blowing a few of his very fair locks out of his eyes. “Name your price.”
“I’ll give it some thought. Where is this torturous event happening?”
“Bradford-Next-the-Stow,” Theo said. “Lots of honey-colored stone buildings and some pretty chocolate-box cottages. You’ll adore it.
The hotel’s an old coaching inn with masses of history.
” He looked up briefly from his packing.
“That re-enactment group from Chevington is putting on their medieval faire the following week, but their venue is well to the north.”
Sam didn’t bother to comment on that. He and Theo had made a minor career of avoiding events of that sort, for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, his brother looked as if he might have liked to have said something more, which made him nervous.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Theo shrugged carefully. “One of the weapons experts from that group is speaking at the conference, but that’ll be my worry, not yours.”
Sam knew he didn’t need to say that he would absolutely have Theo’s back if something about that went sideways, but that didn’t explain his brother’s continued hesitation. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Well, I committed to being part of a different writing retreat the following week,” Theo said carefully.
“It’s located closer to the faire than I’m comfortable with, but hopefully no one involved in that retreat will want to visit that medieval heels-up.
Again, my worry, not yours.” He smiled. “Just do me proud tomorrow night, my lad, and I’ll come rescue you as soon as I can. ”
Sam suspected there was more going on there than Theo was volunteering, but perhaps he was better off not knowing the gory details.
“Very well,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Don’t be late and do be prepared to pay dearly. What gate are you using tonight?”
“The one by the Boar’s Curly Forelock.”
“We need better spots here in London,” Sam said with a grimace. “If the names of pubs they find themselves near don’t unsettle me, the loose cobblestones in front of them certainly do.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Theo said, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “I’ll see you day after tomorrow.”
Sam checked his watch, went the extra step of snapping a photo of the time with his phone, then nodded at his brother. “Don’t be a dolt and don’t drink the water.”
Theo swore at him on his way out of the kitchen.
Sam listened to the front door open and close again, then ignored the unsettling feeling that fell over him along with a silence fraught with things he didn’t want to think about.
The only bright spot in the gloom at the moment was that he didn’t find himself listed on the pinboard, either by his brother or any ghostly scribblers.
The Quartet of Doom that haunted their kitchens could matchmake for Theo all they liked as long as they left him happily looking over his own state of bachelorhood with satisfaction and not a single moment of wishing he had at least one century out of the many he routinely visited that he could properly call his own.
He took a sticky tab, wrote Theo’s departure date and time on it for the sake of being thorough, then put it over Penitence Chase’s name. He stared at it, finding himself unable to shake the feeling that Fate was standing next to him, watching in a way that should have made him nervous.
He took a step back and shook his head sharply. He would go to that bloody reception, look reclusive and intelligent, then spend the rest of the night thinking about the very heavy price he would exact from his brother when he returned from his business.
He closed the cabinet doors over that matchmaking monstrosity, then turned to see what might be lurking in the fridge.
On one hand, it would be kind to leave his brother something to eat.
On the other, he was taking his life in his hands to go mingle with people whose business it was to invent ways to do away with others whilst not getting caught.
He settled for a handful of wizened carrots unearthed from the bottom of the veg bin, then feeling both virtuous and properly annoyed, took himself off to bed for a decent night’s sleep.
He had the feeling he was going to need it.