ChapterTwenty-One
Lenora "Nora" Yates came by to check on the fae witch after hearing about her brother storming out the night before. When she opened the door a crack and saw Leo and her together, she watched a second before leaving as quietly as she'd arrived and smiled.
The sight of the fae witch sitting on Leo's lap, her head on his chest, as Leo had stroked her back told Nora that her brother was that much closer to finding happiness. He'd done so much for her, and Ambrose, and Laurie, but it was high time he found a piece of it for himself. She'd only had to nudge a little, thankfully, to get him to stop ignoring his bride.
As Nora turned toward the staircase to go discuss the evening's supper menu with the cook, Leo's man of operations, John Sakamoto, walked toward her, wearing a frown. She'd known him since he was a teenage boy, and he was one of the few males she didn't fear. He would never hurt her, nor was he her fated lord, both things she did everything to avoid. "What is it, John?"
He stopped right in front of her. "There's a boy at the back door who has a package for you, Nora. One of the servants tried to take it to deliver later, but the boy refuses to hand it over to anyone but you."
She frowned. Nora wasn't expecting parcels from anyone, not even the few friends she'd made through letters alone over the years, or even the matron of the safe haven house she helped manage from afar. "Unusual, to be sure, about how he won't hand it over. Still, it's easy enough to remedy."
He grunted. "I still don't like it. You should let me open the thing once he hands it over, just in case it's dangerous."
John wasn't quite as tall or broad of shoulder as her brothers—due to his Japanese vampire father, most likely—but he was just as fiercely protective of females in his life as Leo and Laurie, Nora included.
She smiled at him. "First, let's see what this boy has for me. Then we'll see if you need to play the chivalrous hero."
No doubt John shook his head at her teasing—she'd been in better spirits lately and sometimes even surprised herself—but she was impatient to see who the boy asking for her was. She quickly descended the stairs and headed toward the rear entrance. Since no patrons were allowed inside at this time of day, she didn't need to be cautious or look around to avoid unwanted male attention.
Soon enough, Nora nodded her greeting to the half-vampire and half-shifter rear guard named Stone. The male grunted. "I don't like the look of him, Miss Yates. You should let me tell him to bugger off and leave you alone."
"He's merely a boy, yes?" Stone nodded and she added, "Then I'll be fine."
Since the rear door had an overhead covering to shield against unwanted sunlight, she opened it a fraction and spotted a lad of about ten, thin and dirty, holding a brown paper package in his hands.
Her first thought was the boy needed a good meal, followed by a bath. However, she didn't get to think more than that before he said, "You Nora Yates?"
"Yes."
"Here. This for you."
He thrust out the package. The movement sent a faint scent of blood toward her nose, and she hesitated. There was something familiar about the smell, as if she knew it but couldn't quite place it.
Gingerly taking it from him, the boy raced off before she could say a word. John quickly took the parcel out of her hands and shut the door. "I smell it too. If there's blood inside, there's no bloody way I'm letting you open it, Nora."
John quickly untied the string and unwrapped the package, revealing a simple, unadorned wooden box. He opened the lid and cursed. She tried to peer inside, but he moved it away. She narrowed her eyes. "Let me see what's inside, John."
After a beat, he finally moved it into her line of sight, and she sucked in a breath.
Inside the small box was her son Ambrose's pocket watch, the one she'd given him for his eighteenth birthday, covered in blood.
No, no, no.
As her heart raced, all she could think about was how Ambrose always carried the watch, always. If it was here, something must've happened to him. And because of the blood—his blood, she was nearly positive—Ambrose must be injured, or slowly being tortured in the sunlight, or any number of things that could end up killing him. He might be in his frozen state, but he wasn't immortal.
While she knew he was prodigiously clever, Ambrose still had his limitations. If they broke his hands, he couldn't write anything to communicate at all.
He'd be alone, silent, and no one would believe it was by choice. Like every other stranger for nearly six decades, they thought Ambrose was silent out of defiance or stupidity rather than because he was born without the ability to speak.
At the thought of Ambrose silently screaming as someone tortured her son, thinking he might talk with enough pain, emotion closed her throat as her stomach churned.
No. Calm down, Nora. Your dearest boy needs you now.After all, Nora had survived a decade of hell, just barely, and was still alive. Her son was just as stubborn as she and his uncles. She had to believe he'd hold out long enough to either escape or be rescued.
Right here, right now, though, she needed to gather her wits and focus on what was most important: Ambrose.
As she took a few deep breaths to try and make her mind work again, John plucked a note from under the watch and handed the box to Stone. John frowned as he read it and Nora couldn't wait any longer. "Tell me what it says, John. Please."
He handed it over to her and Nora read it: