To Curse the Darkness (26 page)

She shook her head. “You don't need to prove anything to me, darling. I know.”

Chapter Twenty

San Francisco,

Present Day

A heavy silence fell over the study as Conrad finished talking. Marc sat quietly for a moment, still struggling to absorb everything he'd heard. He knew Conrad was likely waiting for a response of some sort, but what was there to say? Julie had been right. He
had
needed to talk to Conrad—or, more to the point, Conrad had needed to talk and Marc had needed to listen to him—in order to understand what was going on, and why his sister had felt it was so important to save Georgia's life.

Now that he had heard him out, it was possible Marc might even have felt the same way in Julie's place. Possible, but unlikely.

“Okay, I get it,” he said at last. He understood why she had done it, and he was satisfied that it really had been her decision. “But I'm still not real happy about it.”

Conrad shook his head. “No. Nor am I.”

“Yeah, I'll bet.” Marc could well believe that. It must have been torture for someone like Conrad—someone so used to taking action—to have to stand by and watch, unable to help either Georgia or Julie. Not that “taking action” would have been an easier choice. Not when the only effective action Conrad could have taken would have been to kill Georgia. And, yeah, that would have stopped Julie from risking her life, but it would have just been another kind of torture. Even Marc could understand that.

He shook his head, still unable to put a name to how he was feeling. Perhaps he should pity Conrad for all he'd been through, a lifetime of pain and regret. But he couldn't. Marc was too much in awe of Conrad, too envious of the strength of will he must have needed to carry on in the face of so much adversity, all that he'd accomplished over the course of his life. Marc doubted he'd have managed half as well.

No, Conrad didn't deserve Marc's pity for all he'd suffered; he deserved his admiration for having survived it.

As a child Marc had idolized his “grandfather”. He'd wanted to be just like him when he grew up. He'd never realized the heavy burden of guilt and responsibility Conrad must have been carrying all that time. He'd never seen any sign of the near-daily battles Conrad must have fought within himself. He certainly had never guessed that one of Conrad's greatest fears might be that Marc would someday grow up to become
too much
like him.

But, then again, how could Marc have known something like that? How could he have understood anything about a subject that had been kept secret for centuries?

Georgia had known, however—not about Marc, of course, but about all the rest. She was one of the few who understood what Conrad had been through, and one of the even fewer whom Conrad trusted, whom he cared about, and whose judgment he didn't fear. To have lost that, to have been that alone in the world… Yes, Marc could see how that would have been truly unbearable.

Although not as unbearable as losing Julie. No matter how much he tried to justify that risk, Marc still could not completely forgive either Conrad or Damian for not having stopped her. They should have realized sooner what was happening with Georgia. They should never have allowed this crisis to occur.

But what could have prevented it, other than Georgia's death? Marc sighed in frustration. He didn't know what the answer should be. It had been a no-win situation—no question about it. But if there was
anything
Conrad should have been used to by now, it was no-win situations. Was this really that much different?

Marc got to his feet, still shaking his head in irritation. “I have to go. Tell Julie I'll stop by again soon to see how she's doing, all right?”

“Of course.” Conrad inclined his head. “Come back any time you like. My door is always open to you. You know that.”

Marc nodded. “I know it is.” He also knew what Conrad hadn't said—
mi casa es su casa
. He'd said that the last time they'd had this discussion, hadn't he? Or something close to it.

This is still your home, Marc, and we are still your family.

Was that still true? Marc wasn't entirely certain. He wasn't even certain how he felt about that fact. Validated? Abandoned? Emancipated? Betrayed? A little of each?

Another long moment passed as they stared at each other, Marc wishing he could find the words to tell Conrad how grateful he was for all the care he and Julie had received over the years, all the sacrifices he knew Conrad had made on their behalf, all the protection they'd been given—things that, for the most part, they hadn't even realized had been extended to them.

In a strange way, Marc was even grateful for all the secrets that had been kept from him. Yeah, it had pissed him off at first to think he hadn't been trusted. And there were definitely some things he would have done differently if he'd known the whole truth from an early age. But, on the whole, it had been a gift to have been allowed to grow up without that burden weighing on his shoulders. He wasn't so blinded by his anger that he couldn't see that.

He was still too angry to talk about it, however. Anything he said at this point would likely come out wrong, would probably end up sounding like some bratty accusation. He didn't imagine that would help their relationship any.

That discussion would have to wait for another day. Luckily, they both had an almost endless supply of those still awaiting them.

“Okay, well…” Marc shot a look at Damian. It wasn't like him not to have anything to add to the discussion, but either he really was asleep, or he was doing a damn good impression. Maybe he was also angry and afraid of saying the wrong thing. Marc would not be at all surprised if that were the case. He knew he hadn't fallen too far from that tree either. He glanced back at Conrad and met his gaze. “Thanks. For telling me all of this. And…I guess I'll see you later.”

Conrad nodded, his lips tight, his eyes unbearably sad, but he said nothing more as Marc turned and left the room. His silence didn't surprise Marc very much. Because, really, what more was there to say?

From downstairs, on the ground floor, came the not-unexpected sound of the front door closing as Marc departed. Conrad sighed. Saying goodbye to one of his loved ones never got any easier. It was strange how that was the case.

He watched as Damian shook himself awake—assuming he'd actually been asleep—which Conrad doubted. There was a trace of grief in Damian's eyes that he was not quite successful at hiding. It had always pained him to be at odds with either one of the twins. Tonight he was out of sorts with both of them.

“I suppose Marc left?” Damian asked just a little too innocently.

“Yes. You were sleeping so peacefully I insisted he not wake you.”

“Did you?” The angry gleam in Damian's eyes, the slight tightening of his lips gave Conrad his answer: not sleeping, then, and thus very much aware that Conrad had done no such thing.

“Indeed, I did.” He stroked his fingers through Damian's hair. “He sends you much love, as always.”

“Ah, well.
Gracias
to you both. Your concern for me is…as touching as it is sincere.”

Conrad fought hard to hide his smile. It struck him how much his relationship with Damian had changed over the years. What they had now was different from what they'd had before, but it was still good and strong, hardy enough to thrive even when faced with such challenges. It reminded him of what he'd been thinking about earlier, before Marc's arrival—all about love and trust and hope. It occurred to him that perhaps those years that he and Damian had spent apart had not been wasted. Maybe they'd both benefited from that time. Perhaps their field had needed to lie fallow, or it would never again have been capable of yielding anything other than weeds or vines or nettles—something that might cling or ramble or sting, but could never stand strong, could never fight its way out of the dirt or dare to raise its head above the earth.

Perhaps there was a lesson in that. Perhaps the same would hold true for his relationship with Marc.

“Whatever are you thinking about now?” Damian asked. “You have the strangest expression upon your face.”

Conrad laughed. What
had
he been thinking about? Oh, yes. “Gardening.”

Damian's brow furrowed. “You wish to start a garden?”

“No, not exactly. I was merely contemplating the idea of it. I was thinking about all the work that one must put into such a venture—the planting of seeds and the cultivating of crops, the tilling of fields and so forth.”

“But why? For what purpose?”

The mystified expression on Damian's face brought the smile back to Conrad's lips. “Never mind,” he said as he wrapped his arm more securely around his lover. “There was no reason, really. It was just a thought.”

* * * * *

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing
. That was the mantra that repeated itself endlessly in Marc's mind as he made his way across the city. It was the same phrase he'd been silently reciting almost daily for at least the last several months, ever since he learned the truth about himself. Ever since he agreed to go along with Conrad's plan and to keep Julie in the dark about her true nature—and the potential danger she faced.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, the kindest, most compassionate thing to do. Now, especially, he could understand why Conrad had pressed for that. For innocence, once lost, could never be regained. However, after the events of the last several days, he had to wonder how much trouble could have been avoided if only he'd immediately shared what he'd learned with his sister. Perhaps it would have been better for them all if he'd chosen to trade her innocence for awareness.
Forewarned is forearmed
—that was another mantra, and no doubt a better one for him to have taken to heart.

The warehouse was quiet when Marc arrived back home. He was relieved to see that for once the door had been locked; it was left open far too often. He was equally relieved by the lack of people hanging about. Much as he enjoyed spending time with his new family, he was too tired at the moment to deal with any more crises, and too eaten up with guilt for conversation.

If only he hadn't left town…

The more rational part of his brain recognized the futility of that idea. It had been important that he go, important that he get to Elise before someone else did, or before she moved again and he lost her trail. But if he'd been here instead…

Then what? What exactly did he imagine
he
could have accomplished when even Conrad, with his centuries of experience, had been taken by surprise? How likely was it that Marc could have guessed what no one else had been able to predict?

For that matter, who was to say things might not have turned out worse if he'd been in town? How likely would he have been to order Hawk to watch out for Julie if that had been the case? Guilt and speculation were a waste of time. Too bad he couldn't stop wallowing in either one.

Marc opened the door to his set of rooms. He smiled when he caught sight of Elise seated behind his desk. She was here, she was safe, she was his. That, at least, was
one thing
he'd managed to do right. He hadn't let
everyone
in his life down—at least not yet. He'd gone after her, he'd brought her back, and now all he had to do was continue to keep her safe. How hard could it be?

The look on her face though—that was not a happy look. It suggested the task before him might be more difficult than he'd thought. He tamped down his growing sense of concern. “Hey. What's going on?”

Elise got slowly to her feet, moving with an excess of caution. For a moment they eyed each other warily. “I don't know. Why don't you tell me?”

Marc sighed. He hated that they were back to this, all the strain and tension he thought they'd overcome, all the fucking distrust. Was it always going to be like this between them? “Not much to tell. I'm just back from checking in with my sister.”

As the words left his mouth, it occurred to Marc that Elise had good reason not to trust him. Not much to tell? No, not much at all…

But what could he tell her that wasn't a lie? He couldn't come clean about Georgia's condition; he couldn't explain how Julie had become involved; he couldn't even recount his own recent conversation with Conrad without an elaborate amount of editing.

“And?” Georgia prompted. “How is she?”

Marc shrugged. “I guess she's fine. I didn't get to see her. I'd heard she'd gotten into a bit of trouble while I was gone, but apparently I was worried for nothing. As far as I can tell, it all worked out.”

He'd have to corner Hawk first thing and make sure he knew to keep his mouth shut about everything that had happened. Assuming it wasn't already too late for that. It was clear that Heather already knew more than Marc would have liked as well. Keeping her quiet would be even harder. And who knew who else he'd have to talk to.

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, me too. So what have you been up to?” Marc winced as he heard the words leave his mouth. He'd tried not to make it sound like a challenge, but he was pretty sure he'd failed.

Elise nodded toward his desk. “You have some interesting reading material here.”

“Do I?” Marc felt a momentary sense of confusion. Then his brain registered the ancient papers scattered across the desktop. He beat down his first panicked reaction—that they'd be damaged. It didn't matter. He'd had copies made and safely stored where no one could access them. But, damn it, this was his private desk. No one was supposed to have access to what was in it either. “Actually, those were Audrey's. I've been studying them, hoping they'd give me a clue as to what she was working on.”

“And have they?”

“Hard to tell.”

“Well, I'd be surprised if they did. There's nothing here but history and fairy tales. I can't imagine either of you would find them useful.”