Double Alchemy: Climax (23 page)

He watched through hardened eyes as Rowan Kirkpatrick died in agony, the heat of the blue flames reducing him gradually to nothing but charred bits of bone. It took a long time but finally the flames abated, having nothing more to burn. All that was left of a once living man was a pile of grey ash. Everything that had been Rowan Kirkpatrick was gone.

Quinn regarded the pile of ash thoughtfully and then moved forward purposefully and kicked it, displacing the ash into the grass, and into the air, kicking and grinding it into the ground until there was virtually no sign of anything ever being there. He wanted no reminder of this man left for anyone to see.

Daniel watched him in despair, his face gaunt and pale.

Quinn shook his head vehemently. “He deserved it. The man was a monster.”

He turned to look at Daniel, who stepped back slightly at both the sight of Quinn’s black eyes and the ferocious expression on his face.

“I’m going to get Cade’s things and then I’m going home,” Quinn said tightly. “Tell everyone to leave me alone. I don’t want to see or speak to anyone for a while. Especially Percy. If he hadn’t talked me out of killing this bastard when I wanted to, none of this would have happened.”

Quinn went back to the bank and picked up Cade’s bag, his towel and clothes, and walked back toward home. He didn’t look back. His eyes were too full of tears to see anything. The auras of everything around him swirled and ebbed as he walked. He held Cade’s shirt, still smelling of his aftershave, close to his chest. The raw ache in his throat and chest threatened to cripple him and drive him to his knees to howl at the sky. He had no idea what would happen now. He wasn’t even sure if he cared about anything anymore.

He will come back. They will take good care of him. You put him in the water just in time.

Taliesin’s voice was sad, an emotion Quinn had never felt from his Withinner before.

“He’d better, Taliesin. He was the best part of me and now he’s gone.” Quinn’s voice choked. “I can’t do this on my own, I just don’t have the strength anymore. I’m so bloody tired of it all.”

He stumbled as he walked, his tears blurring his vision.

We will get through this. My heart is heavy too. Cade was very special. Remember I am here. I have
always
been here for you. You are not alone.

Quinn got back to the dark and empty house and let himself in. He needed a drink, needed enough of it to blot out the events of the night and help him forget Cade wasn’t at home. He poured himself a full tumbler of whisky and took it and the bottle over to the chair by the lounge window, the one that looked out over the heath.

The lithe form of Marco Polo wound itself around his ankles and it brought home with even more clarity that Cade was gone. Quinn sank into the armchair, his hands covering his face and his body shuddering with sobs as he wept.

Chapter 22

Daniel Wickman passed a hand over his eyes and yawned. He stretched as he stood up from the armchair in Quinn’s lounge. The shadow of a cat moved along the dimly lit picture window and Daniel moved over to the window to let him in. Marco Polo glided softly into the room, his tail held erect as he meowed and jumped down from the windowsill. Daniel sighed heavily. The cat had been at odds with itself ever since the night three weeks ago when Cade had been taken by Sprites. At least the cat was still out and about, which was more than could be said for its current owner.

His phone trilled quietly in his pocket and Daniel answered it.

“Percy. How are things?” He kept his voice low not wanting to disturb Quinn. He’d hardly been sleeping and had fallen asleep on the couch only about an hour ago.

“Not good. What with Quinn refusing to attend the Consortium meetings, that bastard Barton Sinclair is on a right rampage, stirring things up. The whole ‘unfit for duty’ crap all over again. I need Quinn.”

Daniel sighed heavily. “He’s a bloody mess, Percy. He hardly leaves the house, is drinking far too much, he’s lost weight because he won’t eat and even Jomo can’t bring him around. I think that poor man has given up trying to make Quinn see sense. Jomo is also singlehandedly looking after QuinnCo.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. “He won’t speak to me either.” Percy’s voice was filled with pain. “He faults me for what happens and I can’t really blame him.”

“You tried to save a man’s life, Percy, and get Quinn to do the right thing. None of us had any idea that Kirkpatrick was so bloody unstable.”

“Still. Cade has gone and Quinn is falling apart. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“He’s never been in love before like he is with Cade,” Daniel commented quietly. “I know how he feels.”

Percy cleared his throat. “I’ve told everyone he’s taking some bereavement leave. But he needs to get back before it all goes to hell.”

Daniel gazed with unseeing eyes into the dark night. “He’s having nightmares, Percy. I have a key to his place so I can stay over some nights. The man screams like a bloody banshee and nothing I can do is helping him. I just need to be here for him.” His voice grew hopeful. “Cade will come back, won’t he?”

Percy drew a deep breath. “I don’t know for sure, Daniel. I hope so.”

Daniel heard a noise behind him. “I’d better go, Percy. I think he’s awake. If he finds me talking to you, he’ll be pissed and think we’re all going to try have an intervention or whatever it’s called. I’ll speak to you later.”

“No problem. Just try telling him we’re thinking of him this side. And please try get him to talk to me.” Percy rang off.

He put his phone in his pocket and turned as Quinn came into the room behind him, dressed in just a pair of jeans, no top and a cup of coffee in his hand. His face was pale and the three week’s worth of blond stubble on his face was starting to look more like a beard. Daniel wondered worriedly whether the coffee was laced with whisky. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“You’re up. You should have tried more sleep.”

Quinn shook his head. “I’m fine. You should stop worrying and go home. I don’t need a damn babysitter.” He moved over to the couch, sitting down with his coffee in his hand as he gazed at the cat with blank eyes.

Daniel sighed, knowing he was probably going to get a bollocking but thought he’d try anyway. “The Consortium Council is worried about you. I heard that smarmy bastard Barton Sinclair is still trying to get a motion signed to have you declared unfit for office due to your ‘personal tragedy’ and has very kindly offered to take up the mantle of Grand Master in your place if the motion goes ahead.”

Quinn shrugged. “So what? Let them do it. Maybe that’s the right thing to do.” He sipped his coffee in apparent disregard.

Daniel felt the slow burn of anger in his chest. “For God’s sake, that’s no bloody answer! You’ve only just got the witch-Warlock Alliance going and you’re going to throw away all your hard work? Valensia is worried about you too. She’s been trying to get hold of you. As has Misty. Neither of them wants to see all your hard work together going to pieces. And Jomo is carrying QuinnCo on his own. You’re lucky to have a friend like that. But he can’t do it indefinitely. He needs you. God, man, you worked your arse off to get where you are and you’re going to let some tosser like Barton Sinclair take that away from you?”

Quinn finally showed a spark of emotion in his eyes and voice when he replied. “Yes, look where it got me. Dead parents, a dead fiancé, who everyone outside of the Consortium thinks has left me and is off on an anthropological study in the south of France, no family but you to speak of, multiple near-death experiences, a lot of pain and deaths on my conscience that keep me awake at night. I’m truly a lucky man.” His voice was bitter. “God knows what I’ll tell people if he never comes back.”

“Cade is not dead,” said Daniel quietly.

Quinn snorted and looked at him with unbelieving eyes. “And you know this how? I don’t. Shouldn’t he be back by now if his Sprite friends healed him? I let the man I love sink into a fucking pond and for all I know he’s fish food at the bottom of the water by now.”

Daniel swallowed at the anguish in Quinn’s voice, feeling a lump in his throat at the man’s obvious distress. “You must know that’s not true. You better than anyone know the legends and we both saw those hands take him down. You have to believe he’ll come back, son.”

“I don’t believe in anything anymore,” Quinn’s voice was dead. “It does no good.”

Daniel exploded then with a rare fury. “Stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself. I’ve never seen you this pathetic.” He didn’t miss the sudden spark of anger in his foster son’s eyes at his words. “You mooch around this bloody house like some sort of recluse, refuse to deliver on your responsibilities, look like some sort of hobo, don’t give a damn about anyone else that cares for you and did I mention, you’re not the only person ever to lose someone you love. You need to get a goddamn grip. Percy needs you too; you need to bloody talk to him. The Consortium is going to hell in a hand basket.”

Quinn regarded Daniel flatly. “Are you finished now? Because I have nowhere I need to be but I’m sure you do.” He stood up and walked out of the lounge.

Daniel ran a hand through his cropped hair in frustration. Quinn had to be the most exasperating man he’d ever known. His shell was so hard it would have taken a bulldozer to crack it. He left the house, slamming the door and feeling a slight sense of satisfaction. Let the bastard stew in his own juice. He’d tried and failed and if Quinn didn’t want to be helped, nothing would change his mind. All Daniel could hope for was some sort of breakthrough and that Quinn would come to his senses before it was too late.

Chapter 23

Quinn watched the angry form of Daniel stride down the garden path away from the house and heaved a juddering sigh. As much as he loved the man, he was in no mood for his speeches about honour and duty. He’d had his fill of that. It had cost him everything and had contributed to what he’d become. He went down to the basement and was soon in his library. He’d been researching everything he could about Sprite healing powers and the time it took, but there was nothing definitive about any of it. He had over five thousand books in his collection yet not one of them told him what he wanted to know: how he could get Cade back. Despite his words to Daniel upstairs, Quinn did harbour a desperate faint hope that he’d return. If he didn’t believe that, he’d never make it through the next day.

He read through his old texts and his gilt-edged and leather-bound books until his eyes hurt. Still he could find nothing that told him what he could do to bring his lover back. Quinn wasn’t a patient man and the waiting was eating away at him. He glanced at the gold ring on his left ring finger, the one Cade had bought for him recently. They’d visited a jeweller in the town of Glastonbury when they’d gone for a weekend away. Quinn had chosen his own engagement ring, a Celtic whorl of eighteen carat gold, simple but classic. Seeing it now made his heart ache even more.

He was putting an old book back on one of the higher shelves when a sudden surge of sheer frustration and anger washed over his body. He swore angrily and violently swept the row of books on the shelf onto the floor, knocking the ones that still remained one by one until he was surrounded by a ménage of open manuscripts and books, all huddled around his feet. He sank down against the wall in despair, laying his head back against the coolness of the wall and closing his eyes.

Quinn, your temper will do you no good. The nosebleeds will begin again.

“I don’t give a damn,” he said, tiredly rubbing his eyes. “Let them start.”

Your self-pity is also saddening. Where is the man I once knew, the one who could take on anything and get through it?

“Fuck you, Withinner!” Quinn spat in fury. “Just let me be. Between you and Daniel, it’s like having two nagging wives.”

Taliesin was relentless.

You know Daniel was right. Your position as Grand Master is under threat. Will you do nothing to secure it? The old Quinn would have been fighting for his very survival had he been threatened thus.

“Taliesin, shut the fuck up, you bastard. Leave me the hell alone.”

Quinn stood up and began picking up the books he’d swept onto the floor.

Cade would despair if he saw you like this. It would not be what he wanted.

“Cade isn’t here.” Quinn’s voice was dead. “And don’t presume to know what he would or wouldn’t have wanted. He was mine, not yours.”

I will leave you in peace for a while, to drown in your mire of self-loathing and pity. I hope you come to your senses soon. I cannot bear more of this.

Quinn scowled at Taliesin’s words as he picked up a large red leather book and opened it to find a hollowed-out centre and what looked like a stash of letters tucked inside. The bundle was bound with a silver tasselled cord. He frowned as he pulled the letters out of their hiding place and turned them over in his hand. He didn’t recognise the writing.

He sat down at his desk and slowly pulled the silver cord holding the bunch of letters together, freeing them. The paper was a pale blue colour, quite thick and creamy, with distinct gilt edging on the outside. It looked like very expensive writing paper and had a small symbol of an eagle with outstretched wings in the top right corner. Quinn slowly unfolded the top letter and looked at the date. Eighteenth July 1981. A slow chill crept up his spine. Just two months before his parents had been killed. They had died in September of the same year, the month after his sixth birthday. The writer’s handwriting was florid and it looked as if there had been a lot of emotion in their words as they wrote, so deep was the ink etched into the paper.

Darling Angela,

Quinn frowned. These were letters to his mother.

You have still not given me an answer and I’m afraid I need to insist. I can wait no longer. I have told you how I feel about and I have every expectation that you should do the same. Christopher will never know about us, I will make sure of that. He is so busy with his Consortium work that he will scarcely know you are gone. Quinn is more than able to look after himself—he is a bright boy and has Rolly to care for him.