Ties That Bind: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 2) (6 page)

“Miss Wallace, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” a tall man with slicked back blonde hair said, extending out his hand.

I wanted to mention that it was “Maxwell,” but instead forced a polite smile onto my face and shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Alex appeared next to me, and the blonde man reached over to shake his hand as well. “Mister Campbell, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jonathan.”

The men shook hands, and luckily, Alex was able to keep him engaged in conversation as we made our way outside. The lower level was as “medieval dungeon” as the one in Haven, so I wasn’t shedding any tears over having to leave. As the salty sea air hit my face, and I looked down at the orderly white buildings of the city, however, all I wanted to do was go back inside.

Dovesport’s Temple rested on a small hill overlooking the entire city. The view was just as beautiful now as it had been when I was a little girl. I managed to coax Alex into sleeping in, so we arrived later than he intended, but the hour did nothing to diminish the city’s seaside charm.

Cobalt blue waves lapped gently against the shore leading up to the docks, its ships regal giants standing proudly against the pale grey canvas that was the sky. A vibrant mass of colors blended together in the middle of the city – a flower garden, if I remembered correctly.

But no matter how beautiful Dovesport was, it couldn’t hold a candle to the ugly memories I had of it.

“Your parents took you to the gardens a lot,” Jonathan said as he followed my line of sight. “My father used to work for yours, and I took over he when retired. When I was a kid, he used to tell me all about his days at work. From what he told me, your mother was particularly fond of white roses, and you used to insist on visiting the hydrangeas at least three times before your parents could take you home.”

“I don’t remember.” I pursed my lips – memories of a dead family weren’t my idea of a good time.

My tone made Jonathan frown, but he didn’t comment on it. Alex placed a hand on my shoulder in what was probably an attempt at comfort. I shrugged him off, feeling way too prickly from being back here. Eighteen years of avoiding this place and now here I was. All I wanted was to get this case over with so I could go back home. My real home. Jonathan could talk about my childhood all he liked – all I remembered was a big house and empty seats at the dinner table. What was it about humans that made us remember the bad things more than the good?

When we reached the car, Alex took the front seat while I stewed in the back. Jonathan was more than happy to play tour guide, extolling the virtues of the city and answering Alex’s questions.

The citizens here – and in most Order cities – lived pretty sleepy lives. These were the safest cities on Earth. Nobody who lived here was in any real danger and the standard of living was good. Well, as good as the heads of the respective families let it be, but the Council would step in if things seemed to be going downhill.

As he drove, I kept going back to Jonathan’s words. Maybe I could get some info from the people who worked for Sullivan while my mother was still around. I had considered asking the man himself, even if the thought did make me want to curl up and die, but I remembered how closed off he would get whenever I mentioned her. Hell, after she disappeared, he had all the photos of her locked away. Aside from one less than vivid memory, I knew nothing of my mother outside of her appearance and the fact that she was a witch and an expert potion maker. But the people in the house had known her. There must be something they could tell me about her, about what kind of person she was.

There was also a chance, however minuscule, they had information about Fake-Corrigan. The image of him pulling back his hood to reveal a face I had fuzzy recollections of as a child played in my mind. His features were definitely more angular, but there was no mistaking those warm grey eyes I used to run to as a child. His eyes had been colder, sly, dead even, but they were so similar that I couldn’t discount it. And for him to use my mother’s name made it even more unlikely that it was a coincidence.

All this introspection was pissing me off and making my head hurt. I rolled the window down, hoping the sea air would calm me. It didn’t. Instead, it reminded me of a childhood spent staring out the window and looking at the incoming ships, wondering if it would be the one that held my mother. If she was going to come back to us so my father would stop ignoring me. If we were going to be a family again. God fucking damn it. I could’ve been just as maudlin watching cheesy soap operas in Haven. And I could’ve done it without putting on pants. Fuck pants.

The Wallace family home – which was kind of a misnomer since everyone in an Order city takes the same family name – looked the same as it did the last time I saw it. It was a stately looking manor with a plain but elegant garden. A prim, cobblestone path winded up from the sidewalk to the dark red front door that contrasted well against the white building.

Jonathan pulled up and stepped out to open the door for me. He even held his hand for me to take, what a gentleman. Every step I took towards the front door felt like a step closer to the electric chair, which sounded a lot better than this right now. I’m aware that I’m being a giant baby about this but…
I don’t wanna
.

Alex reached over to give my hand a reassuring squeeze. It did nothing to make me feel better. I felt like I was wearing a really itchy wool sweater in one hundred-degree weather – being touched just made it worse.

Jonathan led us past the foyer, our footsteps clacking loudly across the black and white tiled floor. He stopped in front of a pair of double doors, the bright lights making his gelled hair glisten. It kind of reminded me of butter, but for once, I was too disconcerted to be hungry.

“Sir Wallace is waiting for you in here,” he said, opening the door.

Nice to know nothing had changed since I was shipped off. The walls were a pale blue lined with white moldings. There was a fireplace on the right, the flames casting a delicate glow across the three piece seating arrangement.

The two men who sat on the couch across from us were anything but delicate, however. Both were on the older side, at least late forties to fifties. The man on the right was the portlier of the two, with a light wisp of white hair and small blue eyes. He had a deep scar, its edges jagged and angry, peeking out from the collar of his plaid shirt. It looked like it hadn’t been given the chance to heal properly and was forced to close up in an ugly death scream.

The man on the left took me by surprise. He was taller than his companion, his deep brown eyes sunken above heavy purple bags. His hair was thick, cut in the same militant style it always was, but the dark brown color I remembered had long been replaced by a distinguished grey.

The last time I saw him was at Lady Cassandra’s funeral, but I was so busy trying not to burst into tears while taking care of Lily, that I hadn’t paid him much mind. Even at Order meetings before the funeral, his skin had been tighter, and the wrinkles on his face hadn’t been as severe. It would have been easy to mistake him for another person, but I recognized that strong jaw anywhere. I guess this was the first time since I was eight that I really had the chance to see my father up close. It shouldn’t surprise me how old he’d gotten over the past eighteen years, but it did.

If the pleasant aroma floating around the room was any indication, they’d been sipping coffee before we arrived, but set their cups aside to stand up and greet us.

“Morgan Wallace and Alexander Campbell,” Jonathan introduced, gesturing to us before turning to the two men. “This is Sir Sullivan Wallace and his right-hand man, Sir Wright Wallace.”

The shorter man shook our hands with a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A pleasure. Your reputations precede you both. It is an honor to have two such fine examples of the Order here with us today.” His manner of speaking had a soulful beat to it, which reminded me of those preachers who could whip a crowd up into a faithful frenzy.

Wright, the right-hand man. Really? Dude’s name already reminded me of a Stan Lee villain, but right/Wright? I’d mark his name down as my favorite wordplay of the month if I wasn’t too busy trying not to throw up at the thought of having to actually interact with my father.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Wright,” I forced out, sounding only the tiniest bit nauseous. A strange feeling flowed up my arm as we shook hands, like I’d just submerged it into a deep puddle of mud or the limb had spontaneously fallen asleep.

“Please, just call me Wright.” His voice was rough, like a longtime smoker’s, and at this distance I could detect the smell of nicotine and scotch on him. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name, Miss Wallace.”

My already queasy smile tightened further at the use of that name, and I found myself considering how bad of a gaffe it would actually be to correct it to “Maxwell.” Sullivan would probably kick me out. Y’know, again.

Being able to make jokes about traumatizing childhood memories meant I may be able to get through this after all.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Sir Wallace,” said Alex, shaking Sullivan’s hand.

Sullivan gave him a curt nod before looking at me. “Morgan.”

My stomach flip-flopped at the sound of him using my name after all this time, but I managed to give him a short nod. “Sir Wallace. Shall we get down to business?”

I took a seat before my legs could give out. Not even the fireplace could fight off the chill inside me, and I was amazed my agitation hadn’t yet reached the point where my magic was acting up around me. I suppose that was a good thing, burning this house down wouldn’t do anything to improve the situation. Though it might make me feel better, which was a whole other can of worms I didn’t want to open.

The three men sat down while Jonathan bowed and excused himself, closing the door quietly behind him. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop my foot from tapping, my heel hitting the floor at a hummingbird pace. It was a nervous habit I’d had when I was younger. Regression was already starting, it seemed. Awesome.

We’d only done introductions and I was already exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to lean on Alex and beg for him to take me home. I wouldn’t, of course. For all my whining, I was still a professional – a quality I loathed more with every passing second. Besides, Sullivan would probably herniate if he thought anything was going on between me and Alex.

“Straight to the point,” said Wright. “I like that. A real shark, just like your father.”

“We’re just eager to stop these murders.” Alex gave me a cautious look as Wright finished speaking, probably realizing the Herculean effort I was making to not flip the man off.

Sullivan’s voice was still the same stern tenor it had been when I was a child. It was the tone of a man who was always in control and used to getting his way. “I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here, Mister Campbell. I only requested Morgan.”

“Requested,” like I was some hired hand he could call on at will. I fought back a sneer, but couldn’t hold back the deep condescension in my voice as I spoke. “Well, I figured you would need all the help you could get. Y’know, since apparently every hunter in this town is incapable of handling this. I mean, why else would you need to summon me like I’m some–”

“What Morgan means,” Alex said, quickly cutting me off, “is that it’s a bit odd to be asked for when Dovesport is home to so many capable hunters.”

I pursed my lips but didn’t argue. Leave it to Alex to be politically correct or whatever. Hell, that was probably his middle name.

Sullivan’s brow twitched and he looked down at Alex in disapproval. “You call her ‘Morgan’?”

“Yeah, that’s my name.” I leaned back and crossed my arms while Alex looked like he’d just gotten caught with his hand up my shirt. It was hilarious, but I’d never tell him. Until tonight.

Sullivan’s jaw clenched as we stared each other down, my anger quickly replacing any anxiety I may have had. It took him less than five seconds to wrench his eyes away from me, though I was sure it had more to do with the fact that he couldn’t stand to look at me rather than any intimidation I put forth.

“I have my reasons for asking you to handle this,” he said. “From what I hear of your exploits, this shouldn’t be too much for you to handle. Judging from your reluctance, however, perhaps the rumors of your abilities have been greatly exaggerated.”

I wondered if his drink was still hot enough to burn if I kicked the table over onto him. I forced myself to remember that I was a professional and asked, “Who died first, a shifter or a werewolf?”

“A shifter,” said Wright, his expression of grief so exaggerated he could have passed for a moving caricature. “Gruesome sight. Absolutely terrible.”

“Did the shifters mention having any suspects?” asked Alex.

“No,” said Wright. “Both sides have refused to speak with us. I think it’s selfish, considering their little blood bath is going to spill over onto us. Dovesport has more people living here than both of their tribes combined. Selfish.” He shook his head. “Truly selfish.”

“If they aren’t speaking to you, how did you learn of the murders?” I asked.

A maid came in holding a tray of fresh coffee. With a polite bow, she placed new cups on the table. Steam billowed from them as she poured the coffee for us, its rich aroma soothing me a little.

“A friend brought it to my attention,” said Sullivan.

“Is he reliable?” I avoided looking at him in favor of watching the cream I poured turn my coffee beige. “We need to speak with him.”

“
She
is reliable, yes, but you can’t speak with her.”

“May I ask why, sir?” Alex was already sipping his drink. I had a theory that he was incapable of burning his tongue, but that phenomenon was overshadowed by the weird-ass way he took his coffee: two sugars, no cream. There was no possible theory for how he could drink that poison – you needed cream, you just did.

Sullivan looked down at his cup. “She isn’t around at the moment.”

“What have you found so far?” Alex said.