Chapter 17
Seventeen
Canon parked in the staff lot. He never went in the front doors for these visits—too visible.
The golf course spread out behind the country club, empty after hours.
He punched a combination into the keypad at the employee entrance.
Hallway lights flickered on automatically as he moved confidently down the hall.
The staff had all gone home for the day, but he knew his employer would still be here.
Learmonth had refused to renegotiate over the phone.
Refused to even discuss terms, claiming he was unable to grant Canon anymore power.
But Canon was sure Vasilios was right. Thomas Learmonth had more to give than he let on.
So Canon was bringing the negotiations to him.
If he convinced Learmonth to enhance him further, the campaign was in the bag.
And Cadenza. Surely if he made himself so extraordinary, it would be enough to make her see.
Piano music wafted down the corridor, leading Canon to the main lounge.
Learmonth swayed at the keys while he played, eyes closed.
His glasses were ruby red with rhinestones.
Some people might scratch their heads at Thomas’s obsession with an accessory—he didn’t need them for vision; they were just a fashion statement—but Canon didn’t fault him for it.
His own favorite accessory, cufflinks—topaz today—sparkled under the chandelier when he switched the lights on.
The music stopped, and Learmonth opened his eyes. He watched Canon in silence for a full minute. Canon leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets. Patient. At ease. No one beat Canon Richards in a waiting game.
“I told you. I have nothing more to give you.” Learmonth finally stood and closed the piano.
Canon smirked to himself. He who speaks first loses.
“But I have more for you,” he said, stepping to the center of the room.
“Then give it to me. I believe we had a bargain. My end of which I have kept admirably.”
A twinge of guilt shot through Canon. But no. This was the right thing to do. “I agree you have kept your side of that deal. But we need a new deal.”
“Indeed?” Learmonth hopped off the low stage to meet Canon in the center of the lounge.
“You were supposed to keep me apprised of goings-on at Norroway Automotive. Yet you failed to inform me that Ms. Cavalieri’s car was out of order.
I could have arranged transport for her today, but instead she had to catch a ride.
Do you know who she caught a ride from?” Learmonth put his hands on his hips and glared at Canon.
“Norroway. Which means now he knows I’m here. ”
“Fine,” Canon allowed. “He knows you’re here. That wouldn’t tell him that you’ve got me spying on him.”
Learmonth shook his head. “If he knows I’m here, he knows I’m watching him, even if he doesn’t know it’s you.
And our wee ‘discussion’ this afternoon,” he touched his nose gingerly, “drove away Cadenza. Your omission threw two spokes in my wheel, Mr. Richards. So tell me, exactly what do you have that merits a new deal?”
“How does Cadenza quitting your club throw a spoke in your wheel?” Canon concentrated on keeping his face neutral and his tone conversational.
Every other time Learmonth had mentioned her, he’d referred to her as Ms. Cavalieri.
The fact that he used her first name just now told Canon something had changed.
And if that change involved Cadenza, he needed to know what it was.
“There are larger things at stake here than your crush, Mr. Richards.” Learmonth stalked to the door, leaving Canon to follow him to his office. Canon did so, but slowly, making sure the older man stopped to check that he was coming.
Irritation flashed across Learmonth’s face. “If you have aught to tell me, spit it out and I will decide what it’s worth.”
Canon sensed negotiations tipping away from him. Time to throw Learmonth a bone.
“Taran suffers from a very interesting condition.” He let that hang in the air.
Learmonth lowered his glasses and leveled a look at Canon. “If you’re referring to the curse, who do you think cast it?”
Canon felt surprise flicker over his face before he could stop it, and Learmonth gave a tight smile.
“If you have nothing more pertinent for me, then I don’t believe we have anything else to discuss this evening.”
Idiot! He should have put that together. His own gift proved that Thomas Learmonth was capable of the unexplainable, and the Norroways moved through a world separate from daily human life. Of course someone who wanted to spy on them would be part of that world.
Sloppy, Canon, he berated himself, mind racing to adjust to the flipped power balance in the room.
Ok, change tack. If negotiations slip out of your control, make yourself relevant again to what the other party wants.
What did Learmonth want? Canon focused his sight on his boss and found his original desire for information had sharpened to something more specific.
Hurt Taran. And hurt him enough to disappear forever. Hurt him enough to fill the chasm in Learmonth’s chest with the cold satisfaction of revenge. Canon involuntarily took a step back. That was dark. Taran was a decent enough guy, except for the fact that he’d stolen Cadenza.
But Learmonth wanted something else as well. Help Cadenza. With what Canon couldn’t tell yet. He steeled himself against Learmonth’s darkness. He could make himself relevant to both those wants.
“I don’t have more information,” he said, spreading his hands in a show of humility.
“But I can still be useful to you. Give me what further power you can. Enhance my gift in some way so that I can impress Cadenza enough to want me instead of Taran. She chooses me. I get my career and Cadenza. Cadenza gets her career. Taran gets his heart broken and gives up. And you get rid of Taran. Win, win, all the way around.” He inclined his head.
“Except Taran of course. But for you, this is a good deal.”
Silence. Learmonth stared hard at the bookshelf, jaw working back and forth. He was thinking about it, Canon knew he was. But slowly, his jaw loosened, and he removed his ruby frames to scrub at his eyes. The lamplight carved crags in his face, grim and tired.
“Go home, Canon.”
The sun took forever to set. Cadenza waited in the Ferrari, arms folded tight across her stomach, as each burnt ray took its sweet time slipping beneath the horizon.
She needed drums. And a hug.
Darkness finally blotted out the last of the sunset. When a boom rumbled through the frame of the car she scrambled out of the driver’s seat. She watched this time.
The F12 melted and morphed. Black paint flashed to black hide as the swirling mass changed size, shrinking and growing and shrinking again.
Stillness.
A heartbeat.
Drums.
Cadenza launched herself at Taran and threw her arms around his waist.
“Whoa, you alright?” He pulled her in closer.
Not answering yet, she anchored to his heartbeat and dove into the ocean of drumsong, letting both pound away the pain of her mother and Thomas until she could breathe again.
He lifted her face, stroking her hair. “What’s wrong?”
“We found Ercildoun,” she said bitterly.
His eyes widened. “You what?”
Cadenza filled him in on everything that had happened that afternoon, both with Thomas and her mother. Against her will, her tears returned with a vengeance.
Taran stayed quiet, staring out of the garage, his bodhran song subdued.
“Well,” he finally quipped. “At least father got off a good one. Was there much blood?”
A laugh burst through her tears. There, that was what she needed. How was he so good at making her feel better?
“Enough blood anyway. He’ll probably have two black eyes.”
“Good.” Taran pulled her close again. “But I am sorry about Italy, mo chridhe. I would have had you go.”
“I know.” She sniffed. “I wanted you to come with me.”
“Cadenza?” Reyna’s voice came from the garage entrance.
“Reyna?” Cadenza loosened her stranglehold on Taran’s middle.
The smith took a hesitant step inside and threw a glance at Taran. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”
“No, no,” Cadenza beckoned her friend inside. “Is something wrong? Oh, right, Taran, this is my friend, Reyna Wayland. We sing together. Reyna, this Taran Norroway.”
“A pleasure.” Taran shook Reyna’s hand.
Reyna nodded. “Cadenza’s told me a lot about you. Actually, it’s good you’re here. I wanted to talk to both of you. Um, your father too, if he’s around.” She glanced over her shoulder nervously.
“Are you ok?” Cadenza asked.
Reyna cleared her throat. “Yeah, I just need to talk to you all.” She took a breath.
“Ok,” Cadenza said slowly.
Reyna paced the garage. “There’s something I’ve been trying to figure out for a while now.
Most of my life, actually.” She gave a tired laugh.
“I’ve spent years researching, especially folklore and history.
In some of my local history research, I noticed that there’s been a business owned by Norroways on this spot for about a hundred years.
There aren’t a ton of photos, but in the ones that there are, the owner is always one of the same three men.
The fashion and hairstyle, the beards—they change, but if you look closely, the faces are the same. ”
Cadenza felt Taran stiffen next to her.
“So, I started keeping an eye on this place. I’ve been watching you guys for a while.” She held up her hands. “I know that sounds creepy, just let me finish. The thing is, I really need answers to those questions I was talking about, and when I saw your dad turn into a wolf the other night—”
Cadenza threw a look at Taran. How did she know that?
“—I hoped you guys might have answers.”
Taran chuckled. “You say you saw my father turn into a wolf? I’ll be the first to admit he can be a bit gruff sometimes, but—”