Chapter 16 #2
“No, it’s heavily subsidised by the government. The families, of course, pay astronomically to have their heirs attend, but it’s not enough to keep it running.”
“So how the hell are we supposed to keep it running?” I ask.
“That is a future you problem,” Axl says, sitting forward. “My biggest irritation right now is who this mystery caller is.”
I sit back, scowling like it’s a national sport.
Families pay astronomically. Well, I didn’t, but some fucker did.
I lament for a moment the envelope of cash that was under my mattress that is now a smoking mass of ash, but I push it aside.
“Someone paid my university fees. I don’t know who.
When I first arrived, Emma said it had been taken care of. ”
“Cian?” Cillian asks.
I shrug. “I had no idea at first, then I thought, maybe it was him. But now… could it be this mystery man? He clearly wants to keep me safe, so maybe it’s a friend rather than foe.”
“Yeah, if it were a foe, we’d all be dead twice over,” Ciar mutters.
“You know what I mean,” I say, standing.
“Cillian? Where’s the shower? I feel gross.
” Oh, how the mighty have fallen back into the gutter.
There were times when I wouldn’t have a shower for a couple of days until I snuck into a gym or a place with hot, running water.
Now, I’m getting too used to this basic luxury, and it’s not good. It’s changing me.
I follow Cillian down the hallway to a small bathroom with a cubicle shower. My attitude must scream for him to leave me alone, because he simply sees me inside, shuts the door, and disappears back the way we came.
I turn the shower on and strip off my grimy clothes, placing my cracked phone on the sink. I stare at it as I lean on the white porcelain and jump a mile when it buzzes with our mysterious friend-or-foe’s No Caller ID. I snatch it up and answer. “Thanks for the heads up. We owe you one.”
He chuckles. “Glad you are on your own, finally, little Gannon.”
I gulp. He’s watching.
“You were a lot easier to keep tabs on when you were Red Reaper.”
“What do you know about that?”
“Everything. I know everything about you, Sorcha Mullen-slash-Gannon-slash-Rhodes.”
“Well, that’s a bit unfair,” I say lightly. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“And?”
“And I’d like to know who to thank in person. Are you a friend of my dad’s?” It’s a start, if a little shaky.
“I wouldn’t say friend.”
“Family then?”
He chuckles. “You are determined, aren’t you?”
“Oh, for the love of all things unholy, just tell her!” a female voice rings out down the phone, startling me. “This mysterious bullshit is starting to piss me right off.”
English?
The man snorts. “Dear god, she is impatient as fuck. I was having fun, but fair enough. I’m Ciarán Gannon. Your cousin.”
“What?” I snap. “My cousin?”
“One of many, many cousins. We’re in Manchester.”
“What is this? Why are you watching me? Why are you warning me at the last second when things go boom?”
“Because if I’d warned you any sooner, they’d have known I was watching,” he says, his voice losing its amusement and turning serious. “And then we’d all be dead. This is a delicate game, cousin, and you’ve just kicked the Bishop off the board.”
The Bishop. Literally and metaphorically. It’s always a board, always pieces on a chessboard. Which means there is a king calling the shots.
“I was gathering intelligence,” he continues after a pause. “Brady’s puppet master is one Reginald Kavanagh. His daughter is engaged to Robert Gannon in a farce to grab St. Bartholomew’s. I hear you got to it first.”
“How did you even know about any of this?”
“I make it my business to know everything when new Gannons pop out of the woodwork. Also, I’m friends with people in high places.”
“High enough that someone knew about Ardal Gannon’s hidden and oh-so-secret legacy? You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that’s nothing like the dark amusement from before.
It’s genuine. “Ardal wasn’t the only Gannon who could keep a secret.
Our aunt is a vault. But a vault that found a trunk buried in the back yard of her passed-down house when she wanted to put some decking in… It’s a whole thing.”
“You’ve just been waiting? Watching?” The idea is fucking creepy. A whole other branch of my fucked-up family tree, lurking in the shadows.
“Waiting for the right Gannon to show up,” he confirms. “Looks like that’s you. The legitimate branch is too tight, not enough females and those that are born have the ranks closed around them—as it should be. But you… you’re a feral fucking bastard. Oisin’s daughter.”
“Are you done flattering her so you can tell her the important bit?” the English woman asks sweetly.
I realise I’m on speaker and I feel exposed, standing here naked in the bathroom while they clearly have eyes on me enough to know I broke ranks to take a shower.
I grab a towel and wrap it around myself.
“This is my wife, Summer,” he says. “She has no patience. The important bit is that Reginald Kavanagh doesn’t know you know who he is. He thinks he just wiped you off the board. He’s probably celebrating right now.”
A cold, hard knot of rage forms in my stomach. “He’s the king?”
“Now you’re thinking like a real player,” he says, and the line goes dead.