Page of Tricks, page 25
His father shuddered as he took a breath. There was fight in his eyes, but it flickered and died as he gazed up at his son.
His shoulders sagged slowly. Wetness formed in his eyes.
“You have my word,” he breathed.
Quentin nodded and returned a little of his father’s own energy to him. But only enough to prevent him from freezing to death out here. The rest he released into the air, warming it around them both. He had no desire to keep it as a part of himself.
“I’m taking Laurence,” he murmured, “and I am going home.” He turned and leaped out of the hole he’d dug, and took Laurence into his arms.
Laurence curled up against him, his gaze hollow, his limbs in soft spasm.
“This is your home,” the duke called.
“No.” Quentin glanced back to him as he emerged from the trench. “Nor will it ever be, while you are here.”
He didn’t wait for Father to answer. Quentin gathered his hold around Laurence to ensure that his precious cargo was safe, then launched himself skyward and left the world behind.
He touched ground a mile from the hospital, out where there were no cameras, no witnesses, then strode briskly the rest of the way.
Quentin was taking a gamble that Frederick would rush Michael to the closest Accident and Emergency department available, so he had come to Aylesbury, crossing through the outskirts of the city to the hospital he had been taken to himself so frequently as a child.
He clamped down on that train of thought. He didn’t have the time for it right now. Laurence was suffering, and every second wasted was more time Laurence had to endure his own private hell.
The doors slid apart for him as he approached, and he tore his way into the dim white lobby.
He scanned the waiting area, but there was no sign of Frederick.
Figures rushed toward him, and he turned to them in time to parse their uniforms and concerned faces.
“Bring him this way,” one of the nurses said.
“What happened?” asked the other.
Quentin followed. “Frederick,” he called, hoping that his voice would carry along the corridor behind the nurses’ desk.
One of his nurses rushed ahead to open the door for him, and the other tilted her head.
“This way, Icky,” she said. “Bring him through.”
It was unnerving, to say the least, but it was also an immense relief to know that he hadn’t just wasted half an hour rushing to the wrong hospital.
He followed the nurses through to the corridor beyond and let them lead him into an unoccupied room.
“Where are you?” Quentin murmured as he carefully set Laurence down on the bed.
“Right here,” the nurse said as she drew the curtain closed. “Let me work, Icky. We can talk once Michael and Laurence are recovered.”
Quentin rocked his jaw, then stepped away from the bed and sat down.
There was nothing else he could do now.
44
Laurence
He woke in an illusion. It had to be, because it was a beautiful summer day, and he was lounging by the mansion’s pool, in the skimpy Speedos he’d always fantasized about wearing, but never dared in case Quentin couldn’t handle it.
He rubbed at his eyes and looked left once the vision of sunshine and peace refused to leave.
Freddy lay on a lounger next to him, sipping some brightly colored drink through a straw, and wearing only a pair of pale cream shorts.
Laurence’s fingers felt down his face. The beard was still there.
He remembered now. Remembered how long it had taken to grow beyond his regularly-maintained stubble. Everything he had gone through, all the torment Freddy and Mikey had put him through.
Quentin fighting his own father until the older man surrendered.
Laurence blinked and let his hand fall to his side. He rested his head back against the lounger and watched the ocean beyond the garden wall. “What now?” he asked.
“Now I’m undertaking some repairs,” Freddy said as he put the drink down on the table to his left. “This will take a while. I want to make sure it’s done properly.”
“Haven’t you messed around inside my head enough already?” He glanced sidelong at Quentin’s brother.
Freddy shrugged. “I’ve rather enjoyed the experience, truth be told. It’s been a stretch of my skill and ingenuity.”
Laurence scowled at him. “You want a gold star?”
“Oh, no.” Freddy sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the lounger so that he could sit facing Laurence. He rested his elbows on his knees. “But I do want to ensure that you are not likely to succumb to any withdrawal symptoms after all of this. You shouldn’t have to suffer any more than you already do.”
“How about less?” Laurence sat too, and turned to face Freddy full-on. He gripped his knees with his hands and squared his shoulders. “You could cure me. You’ve said it before.”
“You’re already curing yourself, Laurence.” Freddy’s lips twisted into the faintest of smirks. “Recall that I said an addict always has an underlying cause?”
Laurence nodded briefly. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hear it. The cure was right there in front of him, but now there was going to be some dumb excuse as to why Laurence couldn’t have it. “Sure,” he grunted. “Whatever.”
“I’m serious.” Freddy shook his head. “Herne even told you, didn’t he? That you need to hunt, that without it, you will act without self-control.”
A chill ran through him, and he narrowed his eyes at Freddy. “Just how much of my mind have you gone through?”
“Pretty much all of it. Do you want help or not?” Freddy waved a hand. “Don’t answer. You’d only say no, then regret it later.
“Look, that drive to hunt is what got your father addicted to chocolate, and it’s what got you hooked on heroin. But now you’ve started to hunt, now you’re with Icky, you’ve had fewer urges, yes? Notwithstanding the need you had after you witnessed… the facts of Icky’s situation. Anyone would grab the brain bleach after seeing that.”
He curled his lip and lifted his legs back onto the lounger, sprawling out with his arms above his head to bask in the imaginary sunshine. “Okay. Sure.”
“But your powers have waned since you’ve been unwilling to sleep with Icky.”
“You’re saying if I just sleep with him, like nothing ever happened, like we don’t know what we know now, everything goes back to normal, and I’m cured forever?” Laurence laughed a little.
Freddy shrugged. “It won’t be quick. Or easy. But if I wave a magic wand and make the whole thing go away, you will have this space inside you, and you will want to fill it.”
He brushed fingertips across his lips briefly. “You have shown him all the patience and kindness he needs, and it’s because of your experience, your addiction, your fear of letting something good slip through your fingers. If I take away your past, and the lessons it’s taught you, you’ll try to jump on him like a horny teenager, and you will lose him. But that would also mean he loses you, and you truly are the best thing ever to happen to him, Laurence. I won’t let you throw it all away chasing some mirage.”
Laurence dropped his arms and sat up again. This time he crossed his legs together, lotus style, and laid his forearms across them. “You love him, don’t you?”
Freddy snorted at him. “Just because I’m aromantic doesn’t mean I do not feel love, Laurence. Of course I love him. He’s my brother.
“I did everything I could to protect him all through our childhoods, and I’m still trying to protect him now. If I didn’t love him, we wouldn’t even be in this mess. I would’ve handed him over to Father years ago and that would’ve been the end of it.”
“But you didn’t know what your dad had done, back then?”
“I had my suspicions. Only once we were older, mind you. And then when I read law, it all made far too much sense, but I still preferred not to believe it. When I met you—” he pointed to Laurence “—and found that you shared my suspicions, it became unavoidable.”
Laurence nodded slightly. “Did you make me look back and see what had happened?”
“I may have fed the fire,” Freddy answered, “but you had already lit that spark. You would have done it sooner or later. You are a hero, Laurence. You know in your heart that you will see bad things, but you look anyway, because you must. Because truth must be found.
“You are a good man, and you are the man he needs.” He smiled wistfully. “Look after him, Laurence. I can’t always be there.”
Laurence scratched his beard, then nodded faintly. “I will.”
“There’s a good lad. And here’s a freebie for you.” Freddy leaned forward and glanced around as though they might be overheard, then lowered his voice. “You like pain, dear boy.”
“What?” Laurence blurted it out and recoiled back from Freddy. “What the hell, man?”
“It’s quite all right. You seem to feel there’s something bad about it, that you shouldn’t even think about it, but it’s there, nibbling away at you. I’m in no way suggesting that you wish to be harmed, but under the right circumstances?”
Freddy shrugged his broad shoulders. “Stop worrying about it. Human sexuality is a complex thing. By all means be cautious, but do explore. There is nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing.”
Heat surged to Laurence’s cheeks. How dare Freddy think that was any of his business!
“Now wait a—”
But Freddy waved, and the sunshine faded away, leaving Laurence with the dim world of a hospital bed, and a strong urge to punch Freddy in the face.
“Laurence!”
Laurence blinked again and found Quentin by his bedside, their fingers entwined together. Despite the dried blood on his own shirt, it was Laurence who was on a bed, surrounded by plastic curtains, and with a nurse just leaving the cubicle.
Quentin was here. After all that he’d seen of Laurence — addiction, withdrawal, the junkie at the heart of the man — he was still here.
“Baby.” Laurence cast a last, parting, middle-finger thought to Freddy as he smiled up at Quentin. “Why am I here? Am I hurt?”
“No. No, not physically.” Quentin’s eyebrows tugged together as he fussed over Laurence’s hair. “How do you feel? Freddy said that he could…” He tailed off.
“Yeah. He did.” Laurence grimaced and sat up, then rested a foot on Quentin’s chair, to one side of his thighs. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know that a hospital is the place to have that discussion,” Quentin said gently. “People here need help, not me.”
“Don’t say it like that, Quen.” Laurence frowned at him. “Where’s Freddy?”
“Overseeing Michael’s treatment. I think he wishes to ensure that it goes well.”
Laurence licked his lips. There was so much he wanted to say, questions he had to ask, but Quentin was right. This wasn’t the place. If something tipped Quentin over the edge here, people could die.
He looked down to the long, thin fingers he held. They were white against his own fading tan, and they looked so fragile, yet Laurence’s repaired memory readily furnished him with the sight of this same man bending the elements to his will, fighting to protect Laurence, to defeat his own father.
There was something else Laurence needed to talk about, so he raised his chin and looked Quentin in the eye. “We should get out of here,” he said. “Find somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can rest, recover. Then maybe talk, if you want to.”
Quentin inclined his head faintly. “Where would you suggest?”
“Hey.” Laurence lifted Quentin’s fingers so that he could kiss them. “It’s your country, baby, not mine, but why don’t we find a quiet hotel somewhere and get some rest, huh?”
Quentin bit his lip and looked down to his hand. “I have no ability to guarantee that I will not ruin another hotel room,” he breathed.
“Sure,” Laurence agreed. “But it’s a hell of a journey back home, and if you can’t sleep before it, you’ll sleep during it.”
Quentin’s gaze darkened, and he nodded. “Very well. But we are taking a taxi.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna propose we walked.” Laurence cracked a small smile.
“Ah, I thought for a moment you might suggest that we fly and, having given that matter due consideration and experimentation, I can conclude that it is every bit as silly as I thought it might be.”
Laurence laughed and hopped off the bed. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get out of here.”
45
Quentin
After he had Siri find them a nearby hotel on the outskirts of Aylesbury, Quentin felt Laurence’s eyes on him.
He raised his eyebrows and lifted his head on the way to the taxi rank. “What is it?”
Laurence chuckled and gestured to the phone. “You’re using your phone. Like, I’m impressed. It’s good. Have you installed any apps yet?”
Quentin narrowed his eyes, unsure whether Laurence was pulling his leg. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“You’ll get there.” Laurence opened the door of the first taxi they reached. “It’s awesome.”
He eyed Laurence suspiciously and slipped into the car, then gave the driver the name of the hotel. Once Laurence was beside him, Quentin placed a hand on his thigh and felt the flow of energy — of power — contained within Laurence’s body. It surged toward his touch, and his breath hitched.
The temptation to take some was almost too great, so he withdrew.
Laurence looked down. He reached for Quentin’s hand and put it back where Quentin had taken it from. “It’s okay,” he said.
“I can’t. I don’t need it.”
“You do. I can feel it, Quen. When you’re low, hurt, when you’re running on empty, this pull you have on me gets stronger. I can feel you pulling now, and that means you need it. So take it. It’s okay.”
“I don’t need it,” he breathed. “I’m just tired.”
Laurence dipped his head and leaned closer. “If you’re sure.”
Quentin nodded. He wasn’t at all sure, but he was damned if he would let himself become a danger to Laurence in any way.
They sat leaning against one another in the taxi, and he fought to keep his eyes open, because he didn’t dare let them close.
They checked in to the hotel with ease.
It wasn’t that Quentin suspected there was a nationwide network of hoteliers who would all phone one another to warn off letting him have any more rooms, but it remained a relief when he was able to close the door to their new room and lean against it.
Laurence crossed to the window and opened it so that Windsor could squeeze through the tiny gap, then kicked his shoes off. “Goddess, I have got to have a shower. I smell like a trash can.” He paused, balanced on one foot, sock in hand as he looked at Quentin. “Do you wanna go first, baby?”
“It’s all right, darling. You go ahead. I can wait.”
Laurence nodded. “Want me to undress in the bathroom?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Okay.” Laurence turned away from him, though, and peeled his clothes off without any panache. “I’m gonna leave the door open in case you need me.”
“Thank you.” He glanced toward the bed as Laurence skirted it and disappeared into the bathroom.
The single, king-sized bed.
He looked around the rest of the room. It was a simple affair, a cheap place like the one he’d lingered a few hours in down in Royal Tunbridge Wells. There was the clean bed, a desk, two chairs — one by the desk and one tucked into a corner for no apparent reason — and an electric kettle. A small wardrobe sat by the door, and that was about it for facilities.
But it had a bed, and that was all that mattered.
Quentin walked around the bed so that he could close the window and blinds, then reached out to pet Windsor’s head. “You must be tired too,” he said softly. “You’ve worked extremely hard.”
Windsor clacked his beak in agreement and hopped onto the back of one of the chairs. Quentin supposed that it was more comfortable for him than standing on a flat surface.
He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and jacket, but that was as far as he got.
He couldn’t take off more.
Could he?
He began to unbutton his shirt, but paused only two buttons down as his hands drew level with the bloodstained cuts in it.
His father had done that.
His own father had done all of it.
To him.
When he was only a child.
The grief that welled up in him pushed past the calm he’d enforced for the last couple of hours. He couldn’t hold himself together any more, but at least he could try to keep quiet.
He didn’t want Laurence to see him cry.
He took quick, gasping breaths that came out again in low, chest-aching sobs, and buried his face in his hands. Trying not to make any noise made his throat hurt, and his shoulders shook as the outpouring of misery struggled to find another way to free itself.
“Baby?” Laurence came to him all too quickly. “Goddess, Quen… it’s okay. It’s okay.” The mattress gave a little as Laurence sat beside him.
“It’s not.” Quentin’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, refusing to raise it from his hands. “It’s not okay.”
“It’s okay to cry,” Laurence said. “You don’t have to hide from me, baby. Whatever you need, I’m right here. We’ll figure this out. We’ll get through it.”
“How?” He tried to look up, but his eyes hurt so much, and his nose began to run. He had to be the most hideous thing Laurence had ever seen.
“I don’t know.” Laurence lifted a hand to cup Quentin’s cheek, and his thumb carefully brushed tears aside. “But we’re together. I want you to know…”
He hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I want you to know that it’s not your fault, Quen. What he did, it was never your fault. It wasn’t anything you did, or were, or whatever else you might be thinking.
