Private Dicks (42 page)

No, Quinn had to focus. Sebastian knew who had killed Lawrence and it for about that which he should be trying to get answers. Hell, Sebastian himself might be the killer. Still, Quinn was curious. "Is it so strange that someone would not fear you?"

"Not strange, but certainly not common." Sebastian looked intrigued. He leaned in again and Quinn watched as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He wanted to badly to kiss him—even though he was waiting for Oz. Although, if Quinn was honest to himself, what Sebastian had stated earlier was true: his love was only one-sided, as much as it hurt to admit it. He was fooling himself into believing that there was any chance that Oz might return his feelings.

"What?" Quinn asked after a moment, his voice hoarse.

"Nothing; simply wondering whether it is bravery or stupidity that drives you. One has elements of the other, though, I suppose." He leaned closer and Quinn's eyes fluttered shut. When no kiss was forthcoming, however, he opened his eyes again to see Sebastian simply hovering over him.

"I want to taste you," Sebastian stated simply.

Hearing the words spoken aloud made Quinn blush, and he started to pull back. "What?" But before Quinn could even object, Sebastian had hooked one gloved hand behind his head and pulled him in. Quinn wasn't sure what he expected of the kiss, but it was certainly not the calm confidence with which Sebastian took his mouth, using his hands to position Quinn's head so that he could plunder his mouth. Quinn felt aroused and violated in the best of ways, and rather than moving away, he arched himself closer, until he could feel Sebastian's warmth flush against the front of his body. One kiss faded into another, until he felt dazed and short of breath.

When Sebastian finally drew back, Quinn could only lie on the seat, still panting for breath and embarrassingly hard. Had he any energy, he might have attempted to cover his erection for modesty's sake. As it was, however, he simply lay there as Sebastian's hand drifted down his threadbare shirt, the silk cool through the fabric.

"Was that your first kiss?" Sebastian asked, and Quinn flushed. "I believe it was." Quinn opened his mouth to lie and save his pride at least, but Sebastian leaned into to kiss him again. Sebastian's hand never brushed below his waistline, but still Quinn felt nearly ready to burst. Every touch sent another spark through his body, until he was panting, chasing Sebastian's lips when he pulled back. "You should be wary, Quinton. The darkness seeks innocent souls such as yourself."

"What?" Quinn was dazed, his mind still focused more on the feeling of Sebastian's hand against him than his words. He was shocked into awareness, however, when Sebastian pulled back completely, keeping Quinton from following him with a palm on his chest.

"Do not come back to the estate." The rejection stung, and Quinn pulled back from him to sit in the opposite corner of the carriage, quickly putting his clothes back together. He was so embarrassed, he could hardly form words.

"I apologize." His words were stiff with propriety as he tried his hardest to gather the tattered pieces of his pride.

Sebastian had the audacity to laugh at him. "So innocent. Trust me, Quinn, my request has nothing to do with how much I would like to see how many more of those sweet moans I can draw from your lips." Quinn blushed and pulled back further. Had he really been making that much noise? "However, you should be more concerned with yourself than your friend. He is already dead; nothing you do right now will change that fact."

"His mother deserves answers as to why he is dead," Quinn stated. Because he truly did believe that. But the truth was, Quinn could not live with himself thinking that Lawrence had died because of him. Because of something he had done.

"Perhaps. But Lady Covington is not what you suspect."

"What do you mean?" It was the second time he had asked that.

"We all have a darkness inside of us, Quinton." Sebastian leaned back and moved the curtain aside. "We've arrived."

"I have questions!"

Sebastian shook his head. "Unfortunately, this is not quite the neighborhood to ask them. I would hate for some thief to happen by. So long, Quinton."

Quinn met Sebastian's eyes for a long minute, before he nodded and hurried from the carriage. Sebastian had dropped him off at the town square. The walk to his home would not be far from there and it would give him time to think away from the overwhelming presence that was Sebastian. Lady Covington was not as she had appeared? What did he mean by that? Did Sebastian believe that Lady Covington had killed Lawrence? Quinn was not at all sure how that might be possible. After all, it would take quite a bit of strength to behead a person. Not to mention carrying the body to the stoop.

The street was dark and he nearly missed the human-shaped shadow. It startled him enough that he yelped and jumped sideways. Then he realized he recognized the shadow. "Francis? From the store."

Francis did not look any less mean in the lack of light. In fact, Quinn would have been inclined to believe that he looked even more so. He loomed over Quinn, the low light making his shadow stretch until Quinn felt covered in darkness. "Rather late to be out, is it not, Quinton?"

How had Francis learned his name? "I suppose. I am just arriving home from work."

"Work, huh?" Francis gave him such a thorough study, that Quinn became paranoid that Sebastian had left some permanent mark on him. "Do you know what I am, Quinton?"

It seemed an odd question, but followed with the theme of the night. "I'm afraid not."

"Have you heard of the Hunters, Quinton?"

Quinn wished Francis would stop repeating his name like that. Every person knew of the Hunters, if for no other reason than to learn how to avoid them. "Hunters are a sect of the Church, correct?"

Francis smiled. "Ah yes, I forgot you went to school. Yes. They are a sect charged with ensuring that the supernatural do not one day turn us all into their playthings."

The problem was that in the execution of that mission, hundreds of innocent people had been decried as witches and killed. The way Francis took so much seeming pride in his work made Quinn want to get away from him faster. "Yes, well, thank you very much for the lesson." Quinn made to step around him and continue on his way, but Francis moved quickly in front of him.

"I have not finished yet, Quinton. Do you not wonder why I have come here?"

Quinn took a cautious step back. "I suppose not to minister to the poor and needy?"

Francis looked disgusted. "No, I leave tasks such as that to neophytes like Oswald."

Despite his recent realization, Quinn still refused to let any insult to Oz slide. "Oz is not a neophyte!"

Francis snorted. "What do you know of it, boy? What do you know of him?"

"Enough. Oz has helped my father since the beginning and I will not allow you to besmirch his name."

Francis looked taken aback by his vehemence, then simply annoyed. "You should be more worried about yourself, boy."

Yet again, the second time that night. "Why is that?"

"Because I am coming for you. No matter how much your father tries to hide you, or Oswald tries to protect you, I am coming for you."

Quinn was startled. "Why would you do that?" What had he done to offend this man?

Francis's grin was feral. "Perhaps you should ask yourself that." And the pain came back again sharper than before, a beast struggling to be freed. Quinn nearly blacked out for a few moments, and when he finally managed to fight it back, he looked up to see that Francis was gone. Still reeling from the odd encounter and the revelations, Quinn made his way back home.

The next morning, Matthew was incensed to realize that Quinn had gone out against his orders, confining Quinn to his room and seating Oz outside as a guard. With a small apology toward the door, Quinn swung easily out of the window once again and scaled his way down the back of the house. After dropping into the alleyway, he walked back to Lady Covington's estate. The walk was a good distance, but he had spent most of his money the night before on the hackney to her estate. When he arrived, Mary made sure to stuff him full of food, before setting him to dusting the library shelves until dinner was ready to be served.

Quinn found he did not mind dusting. It was mindless work, and beside that, he could look through the books Lady Covington had in her collection. He had just begun browsing an unfamiliar volume of poetry, when she asked from behind him, "Do you enjoy books as well?"

Quinn jumped and quickly set the book back onto the shelf, murmuring excuses which she waved away. "Books are meant for reading, Quinton. It hardly matters to me if you take a few minutes to read a poem." She looked at the book that he had put away. "Do you read Italian?"

"No, but it looked so interesting." Quinn blushed when Lady Covington gave him a knowing smile.

"How fortuitous, then, that you would pick up a book on love poetry." She laughed when his blush deepened, the sound sweet and innocent. Quinn thought of the warning Sebastian had given him the night before—the warning he had blatantly ignored. She seemed so kind, but evil could take many forms.

"I apologize if I have interrupted your reading time," Quinn said, noticing the book in her hand.

Lady Covington followed his gaze down and brought the book up. "No, not at all. I had hoped to find you here, truthfully. I wondered if you were all right. Sebastian said you were fine, but men simply do not understand these things." She gave him a conspiring smile and Quinn wondered abstractly if she was counting him among the women that would understand
these things
.

"I am fine, milady."

She blushed. "You must think I am such a bother. The truth is I had a son. He would have been about your age." Her last few words were said as if the loss of her son was a wound that had only just begun to heal.

"About my age?" Quinn studied Lady Covington critically. "You look to be about my age." And his intent was not to flatter; Lady Covington did not look old enough to have a son his age.

Lady Covington simply giggled. "That is very kind of you to say."

"What happened to him?" She looked confused. "Your son I mean."

"Oh." Profound sadness crossed her face. "He died in birth." Quinn had heard of that before; it was said that the child's soul had simply never developed. Some said that they were children destined for the Devil, but Quinn did not believe that. "You must think me terribly familiar. I apologize for telling you all of this. I simply hoped you might understand."

Quinn tried to keep Sebastian's warning in mind, but it was difficult, especially when Lady Covington was so likeable. "You may feel free to mother me as much as you want."

"What of your own mother, Quinton?"

"She died before I had a chance to know her." Lady Covington's eyes were filled with pity. "I never knew her, so it was hard to miss her. And I have my father." His father who was likely even now worrying over him. Quinn felt a pang of guilt.

"My mother died when I was young, as well. And my father … " A look of pain passed through her eyes. "He did not handle it well."

She looked so sad that Quinn apologized. "I did not mean to depress you, milady."

Lady Covington gave him a weak smile, and then shook her head. "Well, perhaps you will allow me to keep you company until dinner, then." And she sat and chatted with him about books while he dusted. Quinn was surprised by how knowledgeable she proved to be about literature, since reading was not often a pastime of ladies of her stature. Still, he found himself making notes of some of her recommendations and thoroughly enjoying her interpretation of the novels they discussed. When dinnertime came, Quinn was surprised to realize that he was legitimately sad at the idea of ending their conversation.

Sebastian did not look too happy to see him when he came down, and while he responded to all of Lady Covington's remarks, he continued to shoot Quinn irritated glares. Quinn ignored him, while wishing desperately that he could forget the night before.

Quinn was thankful to escape after helping Mary with the dishes once again. He tried asking her more about Lawrence, but she had decided that she no longer wished to speak of it. She had a love for telling stories, however, and Quinn took the little bit of information he could glean from her stories about Lawrence's work in Lady Covington's estate. By the time he left to return home, he felt no closer to the answer of who had killed Lawrence than he had been at the beginning of the night. He declined the offer of a ride back and set in to walk.

As he walked, Quinn realized that he had not heard the odd voice that night. He walked back toward the center of town more confused than ever, where he was once again accosted on the way to his neighborhood. "Ah, the boy with no fear of the future." Quinn turned to see the gypsy approaching him slowly, her many scarves bright in the scant light from the moon.

"I fear the future," Quinn confessed to her. "But is there a point to worrying over what has yet to happen?"

"I suppose not," she replied. "Would you like another question?"

He thought of her last answer to him: a warning. "I may not like the answer."

"Honesty will suit you well through life. If not a question, then a warning. Death, darkness, and light follow you. I wonder which shall claim you first."

"I am not afraid." If Quinn said it enough times, perhaps it might come true.

"You are," the gypsy responded, "but that is good. Fear is healthy. Sleep well, dear Quinton."

Quinn blinked and she was gone, leaving him wondering for a moment if she had ever truly been there. Perhaps she was simply another symptom of his growing paranoia. Maybe Sebastian was right about Quinn being in over his head. He mourned Lawrence's death and still wanted to find his killer, but between the gypsy and Sebastian's warnings, and Francis's threat, Quinn had begun to worry that he was digging into matters he would not be able to handle.

Disheartened by his lack of progress and his lack of faith, Quinn walked home and up the stairs to his room. There sat Oz, nearly asleep and still standing guard at his door. Quinn thought of Francis's words as he approached Oz. Despite his actions the night before, seeing Oz like this, asleep and defenseless, tugged at Quinn's heart. Perhaps there would always be a part of him that loved Oz this fiercely. Leaning in close, Quinn wondered what it might be like to kiss Oz. Would it be a quick burn, like he had felt when he kissed Sebastian, or would it be a slow fire that consumed him bit by bit? He had spent quite a few years imagining it. Did Oz see him as a little brother? Quinn thought that might be the worst possibility. Oz certainly treated him with the fond distance of an older brother—except for that day in the shop when Quinn had been almost sure that Oz had been about to confess.