26. Deargán
DEARGáN
Lasair Manor rose out of the dark like a carcass half-buried and rotting.
I stayed low along the east wall, moving through shadows where the security lights failed to fully reach. I knew every blind spot in the perimeter now. Every dead angle beneath the cameras. Every place the grounds opened wide enough to leave a man exposed.
Rainwater dripped steadily from the stone gargoyles guarding the roofline while I crossed toward the servants’ entrance hidden among the naked ivy.
I picked the lock and slipped inside, the servants’ passage swallowing me immediately into damp stone and musty air, narrow enough that my shoulder brushed rough wall every few steps.
The passage finally opened into the east corridor.
I stopped there and listened.
Lasair Manor breathed around me. Old pipes knocking faintly inside walls. The wind tapping branches against distant windows. The subtle creaks of settling timber.
No footsteps. No voices.
I moved forward through the dark hallway, passing the silent library on my left.
Light glowed from inside the library, the smell of pipe smoke rolling out, Maggie’s soft small hand in mine.
William Lasair’s voice came muffled from behind the wood.
My footstep faltered, bitterness rising up to coat the back of my throat. That night. That fateful decision. My biggest mistake.
I paused outside the library one beat longer than I should have.
Then I forced myself forward.
The east staircase curved upward into darkness to the second floor, to the bedrooms, and his door was the third on the left.
I stopped outside it.
Alistair’s son was the ending to all this. I would end it. Tonight.
My hand closed slowly around the brass handle and I opened the door carefully.
It was empty.
Moonlight spilled faintly through the tall windows while shadows stretched long across the floorboards. His expensive cologne and hint of smoke clung to the walls.
I stepped inside and shut the door softly behind me.
The boy would be back soon.
I settled into a dark corner to wait.