Chapter Thirty-Three
He carefully replaced the telephone receiver onto its cradle.
It was done. His father was dead.
Of course he’d anticipated this very moment—had orchestrated, it in fact. But unlike his mother, Lady Denton, whom it had been a pleasure to assist in killing, he took no such satisfaction in his father’s death. Although he had known it had been a necessity, as much as it now pained him.
His father, who had been the catalyst for Thomas’s own life path and destiny. A man on whom he’d modeled himself, and on behalf of whom he’d vowed to seek vengeance.
Vengeance that was so close to finally being achieved.
Which was why his father regrettably had had to be sacrificed. Thomas was too close now to risk everything, which was why he’d put in place his contingency plan. A plan that had been required, as clearly the inspector had sought to speak with his father.
Damn it! Thomas slammed his fist on the table and felt like screaming to the heavens above.
But he didn’t. Slamming his fist was the only outburst he’d allow himself.
After all, composure had to be strictly maintained despite the provocations he faced.
However, the inspector was beginning to frustrate him, and the man seemed to be getting far too familiar with his Jack of Hearts.
Something he anticipated having to fix, and shortly too.
Slowly, he unfurled his now throbbing hand, stretching out his fingers and wiggling them around in the air.
Fingers that had mastered the skills of dexterity and had become infinitely capable in using all manner of tools to satisfy his more primitive urges—all actions that were justifiable to fulfill the ultimate goal he’d planned ever since his life had been ruined on that fateful night just over twenty years ago.
Finally, he was within reach of not only exposing the fraud that magic was, but also of finally destroying Maguire’s legacy, and his daughter too.
At least he’d been able to share some of his plans with his father before his death.
Plans that his father had been thrilled to hear when Thomas had visited him last week, dressed as his mother.
The old man had delighted in hearing the details of Thomas’s progress, and he’d gotten especially excited when Thomas had spoken of his grand finale for his Jack of Hearts.
It had been a bittersweet visit, as Thomas had suspected it would be their last and had taken precautionary measures in case the inspector did seek to speak with his father.
As he’d been leaving the facility, while he’d been unobserved, he’d slipped into an empty room and conducted a quick change into a doctor’s outfit.
Then he’d leisurely strolled into the patient wing, without ever being stopped or suspected of being anything other than what he had been presenting to be.
It was amazing how people didn’t question things or people when they looked as if they belonged.
He’d wandered down the hall to where his father’s room had been and quickly written the updated instructions on his father’s file, easily forging Dr. Patterson’s writing and signature as he did so.
Then it had just been a matter of strolling into the medicine dispensary room where the drugs were stored and replacing the old man’s medication with a syringe filled with a lethal dose of liquid cocaine.
He hadn’t wanted to do it, but the old man had become a liability to Thomas.
A liability that might have threatened not only Thomas’s life, but more importantly, his upcoming performances.
Not that anyone would have believed the ramblings of a madman.
Though there was always a chance the inspector would, given he was far smarter than most policemen.
A fact that did make things more challenging, but Thomas had always loved a challenge.
He sighed, once again thinking of his father and how it had been such a tragic end for a man who had once been so impressive and a true force to be reckoned with.
After his father had murdered that whore Julia Maguire and been arrested, his mother and he had been shunned from polite society, but despite that, Thomas had been enthralled and impressed.
His father, whom he’d always done his very best to emulate, had performed the ultimate magic: he’d taken a life.
In that moment, his father had been a god.
And at sixteen years old, Thomas had determined then and there to follow in his footsteps, at least in terms of taking lives. Not the part about being caught and incarcerated, then declared criminally insane and sent to an asylum.
Not that his father had been criminally insane. At least not when murdering that whore. But having been locked up at Broadmoor for twenty years would have sent anyone mad, and his father had been no exception. A fact that helped to lessen Thomas’s guilt over his death.
He would have to check, though, that the orderlies had administered the drug early enough so that his father hadn’t been lucid enough to give anything away. Not that there was much to give away; Thomas had made certain to limit the information he’d shared with his father on their visits.
But still, there were times when the old man had been lucid enough that he might have let slip some details that could have derailed Thomas’s carefully laid plans. And a tiny slip was all it could take to potentially erode the careful facade, and the new identity Thomas had taken years to build.
No. He couldn’t risk such a discovery being made. And besides, his father would be happy to know he’d died to protect his son, allowing Thomas to continue his journey to seek revenge against Maguire and crusade against the hypocrisies of magic.
He took in a deep breath and focused on calming his thoughts.
He had to appear calm and normal. Soon, they would find his Vanished Lady, and he had to seem repulsed and horrified, when he was anything but.
Her death had been beautiful, even though it had been simple and without the blood he usually delighted in. Yes, appearances must be maintained.
He was too close to the grand finale to jeopardize all his plans, for any remorse or sadness over his father’s death to break through his carefully crafted veneer.
His father would belt the living daylights out of him in the afterlife if he didn’t succeed.
Thomas pressed his lips together, still feeling the remnants from all of the beatings the baron had whipped into him as a boy.
Every time Thomas’s fingers had slipped, or he’d shown a tell when he’d been practicing one of the magic card tricks his father had been making him learn, it would earn him a severe beating.
His heart started to pound in his chest with the memories of the excruciating pain that would rack through his body, over and over again, as his father had beat him, sometimes until the point where Thomas would pass out.
But the pain had been worth it in the end, for his father had been teaching him important lessons with each pummeling.
Lessons of pain, to remind Thomas that he could not make any mistakes.
That he had to be perfect, in every flick of his wrist, in every twist of his fingers, and in every card he palmed.
There was no leeway for errors, and anything less than perfection was mediocrity.
Yes. Those beatings had been critical in shaping Thomas into the man he was today. They had made him strong and given him the skills to ensure all the wrongs done to him and his family over the years were finally righted.
“Don’t worry, Father and Mother, we are close to finally having the vengeance we’ve sought for so long.
” Thomas looked out this window to the sun in the distance, covered by a blanket of afternoon fog.
He could almost see his father staring down at him, both in pride and in warning.
“My next illusion will be perfect. They all will, I promise you that. And I promise that I will soon be sending another Maguire to hell. She will make for the most exquisite Burning Lady anyone has ever seen. Two more to go before her, and then she will be the grand finale. Then and only then, our family’s mission over all of these years will finally be fulfilled. Then you can rest in peace, old man.”