Wuthering Frights (10 page)

"I really was meaning to come tell you," I said in as sincere a voice as I could. "I feel really terrible about it, I mean it."

"I see," he grumbled but I could tell his mood was lightening.
Note to self: apparently Bram likes panderers.

"How did you find out that I was back, anyway?" I asked, trying to change the subject because there was only so much ass-kissing I was
prepared
to do. And where Bram was concerned, I'd already reached my limit.

"I make the goings on in Splendor my business, sweet," he answered and when he called me by my pet name, I guessed he was well on his way to forgiving me. Forgiving me was important because I wanted to keep Bram on my good side. He wasn't the type of person to have as an enemy. Nope, he was powerful. Just how powerful, though, I wasn't sure, but that's exactly what I intended to find out.

"And I was quite concerned with your whereabouts," he continued, inspecting his fingernails as he spoke. "It has been the only subject to occupy my mind."

"I'm sorry," I said again, trying to belabor the point. "I really am, Bram."

He said nothing for a few seconds, just watched me as if to gauge how sincere I was. And the truth of the matter was that I was sincere—I did feel bad about it.

Finally, he dropped his stern expression and smiled handsomely. "Apology accepted."

And now it was time to move on to more important topics. It was time to learn just how involved Bram was with the Netherworld. I cleared my throat and thought about the best way to approach him, as well as what my chances were of getting some straight answers out of him. Figuring there really was no "right" approach, I just opted for friendly. "Have a seat," I said, motioning to my couch.

Bram looked surprised at first, but quickly acquiesced and seated himself on the far end of the sofa. He eyed me curiously, as if wondering why I'd invited him to stay. Well, he was about to find out.

"Bram, I have questions for you," I started and sat down in a chair beside him. I pulled it out so we were facing one another.

"As I have questions for you, sweet."

It didn't surprise me to know he'd have questions for me. Bram was always nosy. "I know you're curious as to how I got home," I began, searching for a plausible excuse. Remembering that I'd nearly blown my cover with Knight regarding my story about Caressa and the portal, I decided to learn from past mistakes.

"Quite so," the vampire replied; and when I didn't respond immediately, he prodded. "Go on."

"I escaped," I said simply.

"Escaped?" he repeated dubiously.

"I overpowered Caressa and tried to talk Judge Thorne into taking me back into custody in exchange for Knight's life," I spewed out, nearly tripping over the lie.

Bram said nothing, but eyed me suspiciously as if he found it hard to believe. "And yet the Loki has returned, as have you."

I nodded, reminding myself to stick to my story. "Judge Thorne wouldn't listen to me and decreed that I be escorted to the portal by one of his guards." I took a deep breath. "As to why Knight was released, I don't know."

"I see."

I shrugged, thinking I needed to play up my surprise a bit more. "I mean, I thought for sure he was never going to get out."

"It is quite the riddle, is it not?" Bram asked and then smiled in an off-putting sort of way.

"It is," I agreed and even nodded to reaffirm my words.

"And you have been reinstated in your position at the ANC?" he continued. Bram was definitely at the top of the gossip totem pole. He always had been, though, which was why I found him so useful in my position as Regulator. He got the inside scoops before anyone else did.

"You're impressive, I'll give you that," I said softly and then smiled at him.

"Why did you insist on becoming a Regulator again?" he asked, his tone slightly more casual, but I knew his indifference was merely an act—Bram wanted to know what was going on. He made it his business to know the ins and outs of ANC business.

"I missed it," I answered nonchalantly before turning to the subject of my own questions. "How high do you rank in the Netherworld pecking order?"

Bram smiled, revealing his fangs, clearly appreciative of the question and even more clearly impressed with himself. "High." He narrowed his eyes on me. "Why was the Loki truly released?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know," I bluffed. "Are you familiar with the head of the Netherworld?"

Bram's smile dropped. "Yes."

I felt my heartbeat quicken. "How familiar?"

"Familiar enough." He paused a moment or two before that debonair smile was back in full effect. "Are you familiar with the head of the Netherworld?"

"No." I paused to catch my breath, completely aware that he was testing me, that he knew more than he was letting on. "Are you involved with his affairs?"

"No," he answered quickly. Maybe too quickly. "Are
you
involved with his affairs?"

My heart thundered through my ears, sounding like waves crashing against rocks. I almost felt like I was going to pass out. "No."

"Are you aware that he shares the same last name with you?" Bram asked in a casual, bored tone.

I swallowed hard. "There are many people with the last name O'Neil," I said simply, even adding a shrug, trying to portray the image of someone bored, apathetic and uninterested. 

"Very true," he answered noncommittally. 

"Why were the prison guards so frightened of you, Bram, and why do you have your own portal entrance to the Netherworld?"

He smiled, long and languidly. "Why do you share the same last name as the Head of the Netherworld? And why was the Loki returned when Melchior had him exactly where he wanted him?"

I didn't say anything for four seconds and I'm sure I was wearing my anxiety. Bram smiled even more broadly.

"It seems we are at a standstill, Dulcie, sweet."

Six

Somehow Bram knew Melchior was related to me and I was pretty sure it wasn't just a guess based on the similarity of our last names. Since Bram hadn't said anything for the last few seconds, he was right—we were at a standstill.

"How did you know?" I asked finally. My voice sounded hoarse as I realized I'd been first to show my hand.

Bram smiled slightly, like he was pleased I'd finally acknowledged my familial relationship to Melchior. I watched as he relaxed against my couch and sighed dramatically. "I assumed from the moment I met you, sweet."

The word "assumed" held a lot of weight because it implied that Bram didn't
know
I was related to Melchior. And I must say I was relieved he hadn't been in the know—I mean, it's not exactly a good feeling when you realize everyone around you knows more about your life than you do.

"Well, he's my father," I finished, my jaw tight and my tone betraying the fact that I wasn't happy about it.

"Ah, I see," Bram said, nodding thoughtfully. "And it seems you just learned this?"

It was my turn to nod. "Yep."

"And your story regarding the escape from Caressa?" he pried, eyeing me with a drawn brow as if he knew I hadn't exactly been telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled just as deeply. "It wasn't true."

Bram's left brow continued to reach for the ceiling but, otherwise, his countenance remained unchanged—the same expectant, yet unconcerned look he tried so hard to achieve. "And what is the truth?"

"Before we get into this dog and pony show," I started, my voice suddenly sounding bossy and harsh, "this has to be a quid pro quo, Bram. If I'm going to spill the contents of my diary to you, I expect the same in return."

Bram threw his head back, laughing heartily before his merriment died on his lips and he faced me with a wide smile and shook his head in wonder—like he seemed to approve of my sense of humor. "Of course, sweet, of course."

I nodded and continued. "The truth is that I broke into the Head of the Netherworld's office with the express purpose of holding a gun to his head and forcing him to release Knight." Bram's eyes went wide, but he said nothing while I merely shook my head, admitting that my plan
had
gone off with a major hitch. "The joke ended up being on me when I found out Melchior was my
father
."

"Quite the sobering joke," Bram said in an aristocratic tone, his English accent dripping. Sometimes I wondered about how, after living in California for a hundred years, his accent still sounded like he'd just jumped off a plane from Heathrow airport. Yep, Bram was one of those people who impressed himself often and it wouldn't have surprised me in the least to learn that Bram talked to himself just to hear the sound of his own voice.

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly laughing," I admitted.

"Then you negotiated the Loki's release with the Head of the Netherworld?"

"Yes," I replied, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. The matter of what those negotiations with my father entailed was now just a matter of connecting A with B to arrive at C.

"And what did your father gain in return for releasing the Loki?"

"A daughter," I said simply, not wanting to delve much deeper than that. I already felt as if my business was now standing in front of us, completely naked and embarrassed.

"You have sold your soul to the devil, it appears?" Bram deduced aptly and I felt my stomach drop. Sometimes he just had this uncanny ability to see right through me. It was almost as if I were a book and he'd merely opened me to the chapter where my innermost thoughts and feelings lay.

"Then you're aware of my father's ... business dealings?" I asked, eyeing him pointedly.

Bram was quiet for a few seconds and then simply nodded, saying nothing. But I wasn't about to put up with his silence. Not after I'd just spilled my proverbial blood. Now it was his turn to do a little bleeding. "How long have you been aware of it?" I asked, finding it somewhat ironic that I couldn't put a word to my father's underhanded ways, that I couldn't refer to them as what they were—illegal.

"The entire time I have lived in Splendor," he said softly, pursing his lips together in something that most resembled a frown.

That was when I remembered Bram telling me, upon our entrance to the Netherworld, that he hadn't stepped foot on Netherworld soil in one hundred years. Jeez, that had to mean good ol' Pop was older than I'd imagined. I
mean, I knew elves could live a very long time—the oldest on record having lived to see her four hundred and twelfth birthday—but this was still a surprise. "How old is my father?"

Bram cocked his head to the side as if my question had given him cause for pause. "Perhaps one hundred fifty," he finished.

I couldn't help the astonishment that overtook me. I just hadn't figured Melchior was so old—he didn't look a day over fifty. "And how long has he been the Head of the Netherworld?"

Bram didn't hesitate. "A century."

"Then you came here to Splendor to get away from him?"

Bram cocked his head again, this time to the other side. I was convinced he encouraged these long pauses just because he liked to build up anticipation. If nothing else, Bram was a drama queen.