TheSmallPrint (34 page)

Catch laughed and took a forkful of another cake. “Ooh, this tastes good. Light, fluffy, perfect. Full marks.” Catch thought about eating more of it but looked at the cakes still to taste and sighed. “What’s your plan to deal with Gabriel?” He stared straight at Turner. “You’ve had twenty years to think of something.”

“Give him the copies I made of the books but make him work for them,” Turner said in a quiet voice.

“And you’re expecting him to say thanks very much and disappear from your life again?”

“Why wouldn’t he? What use is a discredited historian? He’ll find someone else to support his theories.”

“Alternatively, he holds you responsible for his arrest and you get to see the sun for the first time since you were turned.” Catch shivered as an icy finger ran down his spine.

“You really think that?” Turner asked.

“I don’t have a clue what’s going through Gabriel’s head.” He took a forkful of cake. “Too much flour, poor taste, nice presentation. Twelve out of twenty.” Catch turned to look at him. “What’s wrong with the copies you made?”

“Apart from the fact I can’t find them? Nothing.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes.”

Turner met his gaze and Catch believed him, though he still had the feeling something else was going on. “What have you been doing for the last twenty years?”

“Don’t you know? You said you’d been keeping an eye on me.”

“Only to check you were okay.” Which was mostly the truth. “What have you been up to?”

Turner sucked in his cheeks. “Working for the Council.”

Catch’s jaw dropped and he snapped his mouth shut so hard he broke the fork still between his teeth. He spat out the slivers of plastic. “Doing what?”

“Seeing how much truth the diaries held.”

“And have you come to any conclusions?”

“All the pieces of the puzzle aren’t in place.”

“After two decades?” Catch gaped at him. “What exactly have you been doing?”

Turner dropped his voice. “Research on plants. Experiments.”

“Who on the Council are you working for?”

“Nathanial Golding.”

The head of the SBI.
Shit.
This felt wrong to Catch, though he wasn’t sure he could explain why. “The diaries weren’t fakes?”

Turner shook his head.

“Then why the fuck was I told they were?” Catch snapped. He rushed through the next few cakes, trying to think. “Does Golding know about the copies you’ve made?”

“Yes.”

“And about the experiments?”

Turner nodded. “He also knows I’ve made no progress.”

“Why hasn’t he provided backup for you? If
I
thought Gabriel would come here, then why wouldn’t he think the same? There’s something here that we’re not getting.”

“All the more reason for you to take Matty somewhere safe.”

“I need to make some calls. You can manage the last few cakes. Just chop the slice around a bit with your fork. I’ll find Matty and meet you at the ice rink. Okay?”

Catch stalked out of the marquee.

“Has Turner finished?” asked the bat.

“More or less.”

He moved aside as the woman went into the marquee. Catch turned, took two steps and slammed to a halt. He smiled, but as he felt the blow at the back of his head, he had a split second to realize he’d been played before he lost consciousness.

* * * * *

Turner had spent the last ten minutes feeling anxious. He wasn’t sure if his concern came from something specific or just the overall situation. At least Catch had gone to find Matty, except something—
Oh shit. Catch is in trouble.

As Turner headed for the exit, he saw bat-woman walking toward him.

“Done?” she asked.

“Yes.” Turner pushed all the paperwork into her arms.

“Who’s won?” she called as Turner hurried past.

“The one who scored highest,” he said.
Idiot.
He threw back the canvas flap at the exit.

“Hello, Turner.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“You look surprised to see me,” Gabriel said.

Turner opened his mouth and nothing came out. He wanted to ask what he’d done to Catch but didn’t dare, though Gabriel had to be responsible, didn’t he? Catch was nowhere in sight. Turner’s stomach churned. Gabriel looked exactly the same as he had twenty years ago. A charismatic white devil. Not hard to see how many could be taken in.

“Somewhere we can talk?” Gabriel asked. “Your home?”

Turner nodded, reminding himself that he’d anticipated this meeting. The sensation of Catch being in trouble had gone. Turner hoped that meant the trouble had gone too, but with Gabriel at his side, he feared not. He took out his keys, opened his front door and went in.
God, it hurt to do this.
“Come in,” Turner muttered through gritted teeth and Gabriel walked into his house. He gestured to the drawing room.

Gabriel’s eyes flickered over ceiling, walls and floor. “What made you decide to move?”

“A hankering for a bygone era when life was clearer cut.”

“Large house. Four bedrooms? Pool area?” Gabriel asked.

“Five bedrooms.”

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Gabriel said, and dropped onto the couch.

Turner sat opposite.

Gabriel pinned Turner with his gaze. “Lovely, In fact I like your home so much I think it should be Purelight Calling’s new headquarters.”

Oh fuck.
That was something Turner hadn’t anticipated. He made sure his voice remained calm. “Except there
is
no more Calling and I don’t want
you
in my house let alone a group of your followers.”

Gabriel shrugged. “You invited me in.”

“To talk, not to live.”

Gabriel sat up. “Do you still believe?”

Turner hoped Gabriel couldn’t detect the sudden rise in his heart beat. “What do you want me to say?”

The smile on Gabriel’s face was beatific. “I’m only interested in the truth.”

“I don’t know what the truth is anymore. I thought I did, but by the end of the trial it appeared I was wrong.” Turner felt as though he were walking a tightrope across a deep canyon. One tiny slip and he’d have no future.

“I find that hard to believe,” Gabriel said. “You always seemed so sure.”

“Who did you really acquire the diaries from?” Turner asked.

Gabriel’s lips twitched. “Benjamin Lombard.”

Turner gasped. “The Keeper?”

Lombard had been the historian in charge of the Vampire Archives. Turner hadn’t been impressed. His organizational skills were terrible, but he’d died before Turner had even heard of Purelight. Turner had been offered Lombard’s job and declined.

Oh God, died how?

Gabriel shrugged. “He needed money. I needed something to prove a legend. The diaries were supposed to be fakes, but I’ve had time to work out what happened. Lombard became desperate as his illicit little nest of females he’d turned grew demanding. If he didn’t give them money, they threatened to go public that he’d made them. He sold me something that was never intended to leave the vaults.” Gabriel grinned. “When you almost came in your pants at the sight of the books, I figured they’d been worth every penny. Though of course I had envisaged some J.K. Rowling wannabe slaving over their creation.”

Thank fuck I’m sitting down.
“And if I hadn’t been convinced of their authenticity?”

“You’d have had an unfortunate accident and I’d have found someone easier to work with. But you couldn’t have been more perfect. The books fascinated you. You
believed
in them. You gave integrity to Purelight.”

“And you laughed behind my back.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Well, yes, because I thought the bloody things were fakes. Though for a while your fervor was so infectious I wondered if the joke was on me. Everything changed when the Council declared them not just a forgery but seditious.” He spat out the last word.

Turner had wondered about that too. Gabriel was a greedy fraudster but Turner hadn’t seen him as more ambitious than that.

“It’s not like I was planning to take over the world.” Gabriel glared.

Except that’s exactly what he could have done, if he’d found a way for their kind to walk in the sun.

Gabriel huffed. “I could hardly keep track of whether the books were fake or real. Not you though. All through the trial you insisted the books were authentic. Why, when you made yourself look even more foolish?”

Because Catch had told him to and because Turner wanted to believe in the books. “Because if I’d said they were fakes, I’d have been condoning what you’d done. I’d have been imprisoned as well.”

Turner waited as Gabriel considered that. “Possibly,” he said eventually. Gabriel stood and walked over to the fireplace. He leaned against the mantelpiece and stared at Turner. “I still don’t quite know what upset the Council so much. Why would they want to keep us in the dark if there was a chance of walking in the sun?”

Turner opened his mouth to point out that Gabriel would hardly have offered sunlight for free and neither would the Council, but then closed it.
Placate, don’t aggravate.

“Back to my earlier question. Do you still believe?” Gabriel stared straight at him.

“In you or in the books?”

Gabriel’s mouth twitched in a smile. “I never had you, did I? You’re immune to my charms. It was always the books. Where are they?”

And so it begins.
“They were destroyed.”

“Ah. What was it you told the Court?” Gabriel tapped his chin. “In the confusion when the SBI thundered in and my staff rushed to burn records, the diaries were accidentally burned too. William, wasn’t it, who did the deed? Sadly, he’s not with us anymore to confirm or deny his culpability.”

“The Court accepted the books were destroyed.”

“Maybe they were. Everything else was except perhaps the copies you made?”

Turner thought he could almost have written the script. Except this part was where things went wrong because he had no clue where the diaries had gone. Catch didn’t have them, nor it seemed did Gabriel.

“What copies?” Turner asked.

“The ones you made as you worked on the originals.”

“Ah those.”

Turner had imagined the truth being gently tortured out of him, Gabriel leaving on a wild-goose chase with the three diaries and peace descending on Turner’s world. Would naiveté be his undoing once again?

“I don’t know,” Turner said eventually.

“Or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I really don’t know.”

Gabriel’s eyes glittered. “Then I’ll have to find a way to refresh your memory.” He took out his phone. “Dava? Call everyone to the house. The door’s unlocked but use Pete to invite you in. Tell him to bring Matty.”

Gabriel winked and rage roared through Turner, a crimson riptide racing through his veins. His fangs shot out and despite his best efforts to keep his lips together he found himself snarling in a way he’d only seen vampires behave in movies.
Shit.

Gabriel laughed, which made Turner snarl louder.

“If you harm her, I will kill you,” Turner said slowly.

“Define harm.”

“Nudge one hair on her head out of place.”

The house phone rang right next to Gabriel’s hand and he grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Turner?”

Turner’s enhanced hearing picked up a man’s voice.

“He’s a bit…busy at the moment. Can I help?” Gabriel asked.

The door opened and Dava walked in with five men. Turner didn’t know any of them. She hadn’t changed a bit. Still queen bitch.

“You can give him a message.”

Turner recognized the voice.

“This is Bernard Strachan. He’ll know who I am. Tell him if anyone else calls asking about my niece, he’s to refer them to me. She’s not to have visitors. I’ll be complaining to St. Luke’s hospital board.”

“Your niece’s name?” Gabriel asked.

“Matty Hobsbawm. She—”

Gabriel put the phone down and glared at those who’d just entered the room. “Where’s Matty?”

* * * * *

Matty closed herself into the secret compartment in the hall in time to hear Gabriel ask where she was. Once Pete had moved away from the door of the motor home, she’d slipped out and run back to the hall, but when she’d seen a group of people heading in the same direction, Matty had stayed in the shadows and waited to follow them. Best to assume everyone apart from Pete could see her. Until she knew what was going on, she’d stay hidden.

Pressing her face to the plasterboard paneling, she peered through the peephole into the room.

Gabriel looked thunderous. “How hard could it be, Pete? I handed the woman to you. The rope was on the table.”

Pete squirmed. “There wasn’t anyone there.”

Matty almost felt sorry for him.

“What the fuck do you mean?” Gabriel snapped.