Eternal

bargain, and now it was up to her to reestablish the Tribunal. She could get along without him just fine for a couple of weeks, he’d insisted.

And Matthew, in turn, had maintained that he couldn’t possibly let me go to England without him, not when he wasn’t one hundred percent certain that there was no longer a threat.

So we’d agreed that he should come. He wasn’t going to stay at Brompton Park with us—that would have been too weird, a teacher crashing his students’ grad trip. Instead, Matthew had booked a room in the nearest inn. The Cock’s Crow, or something silly sounding like that, an old coaching inn above a tavern a couple of kilometers from the estate. Far enough away to give us our privacy, but close enough if a threat presented itself.

And now, the day before we were set to leave, he decided he wasn’t going? It didn’t make sense—not at all. There had to be more, some explanation—

“Your vision,” I said. Aha. “The one you wanted to replay, that you didn’t want to talk about. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You think something bad is going to happen if you come with us.”

He nodded. “Something like that.”

“Well, isn’t there anything else we can do to prevent it? What exactly did you see?”

His gaze met mine, his expression guarded. “It’s better if I don’t tell you, Violet. I know I say this way too often, but you’ve just got to trust me on this, okay? It’s going to be fine. I want you to go and have a good time. You’ll be safe. I promise you.”

I shook my head, an uncomfortable feeling niggling at my brain. “I don’t like this. Should we cancel the trip?”

“No, definitely not.” He rubbed his jaw with the palm of one hand, his eyes suddenly damp.

What the hell was going on? Without really thinking about it, I started to reach out to him psychically, hoping to better understand what was going on.

“Don’t, Violet. I won’t let you. Just . . . come here.” Abruptly, he held out his arms to me, and I allowed him to gather me in his embrace, his chin resting on the top of my head. “Go to England and have a great time with your friends, okay?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Just . . . be happy.”

“I’d be happier with you there,” I said, surprised to realize that it was the truth. The days we’d spent together in Paris—me, Matthew, Aidan, and my friends—had felt strangely perfect, despite any initial awkwardness. So much so that I’d actually considered asking Aidan if Matthew could rent a room from us, come fall.

Because I had to admit that I felt complete with the two of them on either side of me—boyfriend and big brother, lover and protector. “You won’t change your mind?” I pleaded.

“Do me a favor and don’t make this any harder on me than it already is, okay, Violet? This is the way it’s got to be.”

I nodded. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Charlie, does it?”

“Nope.” He took a deep breath and then pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead before releasing me. “Okay, one last thing. I need to talk to Aidan.”

“Uh-oh. Why?” I eyed him suspiciously, imagining some super embarrassing talk about being “safe” and “using protection” while staying at Brompton Park.

“Clearly not for the reasons you’re thinking. It’s just something between him and me, Violet. I’d really appreciate it if you’d respect that.”

“You’re making this awfully difficult, you know that?” I let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go get him. You want to wait in the living room? I’ve got to run over to Patsy’s apartment to pick up some stuff anyway. I’ll give you guys some privacy.”

“Thanks,” he said, lifting the messenger bag’s strap over his head.

“Okay, I’ll see you later, then.” I paused at the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting on the end of the curved banister. Something was keeping me there, watching him, as if I were trying to solve a riddle.

But it was no use. His consciousness was closed off to me, his face entirely unreadable. I turned and started up the stairs.

“Hey, Violet?” he called out, and I stopped short, turning toward him expectantly. There was a pregnant pause, our gazes locked. “You’re a remarkable Sabbat,” he said at last. “And an even more remarkable young woman. You’re everything I hoped you’d be. Thank you.”

My heart soared at the compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I said with a smile. “Go on. I’ll send Aidan right down.”

32 ~ Prodigal Son

I glanced up at the portrait on the wall and then back to Aidan, who was standing beside me. The boy in the portrait was wearing tight beige pants with a ruffly shirt and a cravat, a striped vest, and a dark blue coat. Tall, shiny boots came up to his knees. The boy beside me wore only faded jeans and a simple white T-shirt, his feet bare.

Their wildly different attire hinted at the centuries that separated them. And yet somehow, inexplicably, they were one and the same.

“This is so surreal,” I said, shaking my head. “You know that, right?”

He shrugged. “Imagine how it feels for me. I still can’t believe you’re here. It’s like . . . my two existences have merged or something.”

“In a good way?” I asked hopefully.

“Of course. Though I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t have liked me very much if you’d known me then. I was an arrogant ass.”

I took a step toward the portrait, studying his likeness more closely now. “You look pretty cocky, don’t you? Like you owned the world. Like you were too good for everything and everyone.”

“I think you pretty much nailed it. I sat for this one on my seventeenth birthday. I vaguely remember being annoyed.”

“I like the outfit, though. What are those, breeches?”

“God, no,” he said, sniffing derisively. “They’re pantaloons. Far more fashionable than breeches.”

“Well, maybe you could put on your pantaloons later and parade around a bit.” I waggled my brows suggestively. “Who knows? You might get lucky. Dressed like that, who could resist you?”

“I do miss having a valet,” he said, sounding wistful.

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“No,” he answered with a laugh. “I’m kidding. But you should feel free to help me dress for bed, if you’d like. You know, to make your visit to Brompton Park more authentic.”

“Yeah, because a girl valet is so authentic. Nice try, though.”

“Hey,” Tyler called out from the bottom of the stairs. “Will you two stop gawking at the pictures of his lordship and get your asses down here? Max and Joshua are back with the beer and chips!”

“Beer and chips in the dining room at Brompton Park?” Aidan asked, shaking his head. “What has this world come to? Old Chiffers must be rolling over in his grave.”

“Chiffers?”

“He was our butler, a fine old chap. Come. Let’s go raise a glass of ale with our peers.”

Laughing, I grabbed his hand and pulled him along beside me, down the wide, marble staircase and across the enormous great hall.

“I’ll go see if they need any help in the kitchen,” Aidan said, releasing my hand. “I don’t want them breaking anything.”

Cece looked up when I walked into the dining room. “Hey, where were you and Aidan?”

“Up in the minstrels’ gallery,” I said, pulling out a heavy chair and taking a seat. “There’re some portraits of Aidan up there. You should go see them.”

“You mean besides the one we saw online? The one with his sisters?”

“Yeah, a few more. There’s one from his seventeenth birthday where he looks exactly the same as now.