The Paladins (5 page)

I glanced over at Stewmeat hovering in the doorway. He never spoke, but his expression softened to what I believe was genuine pity.

Pity. Something a true Wynter abhors, and yet the emotion sat on my chest like a hundred-pound weight.

An owl screams in the forest behind our home, drawing me from bad memories. It’s just a bird, but the cry falls like an accusation. A flash of wings against the night and the owl is gone. Only the moon remains, enduring, strong. Faithful to pull the tide, first to light the way …

I’ve been fighting the truth, but I can’t deny what’s happening anymore. Once, I hurt someone just to impress my friends, then sat by and did nothing to please my father.

The guilt almost killed me.

If I fly to South Carolina, Gideon may refuse to help me … or call the cops. He might grin as he socks me in the nose. Yet, in this moment, I lean on the balcony rail, pressing numbers on my cell phone to buy a plane ticket.

Rosamond’s freedom is worth the risk.

Gideon

Maddox Industries occupies an entire floor at 32 Old Slip in Manhattan’s financial district. My father’s expensive leather chair squeaks as I redistribute my weight and stare out the wall of windows. To me, sunset makes the hard edges of New York’s uneven horizon appear more like an erratic EKG tape than a big city skyline. My view is crystal clear, yet I can barely function inside the cloud of shock suffocating my brain.

My gaze shifts to the grandfather clock in the corner, to the walls covered with paintings depicting my father’s favorite generals and historical battle scenes … and down again, to the stark paperwork awaiting my signature. How many Maddox men have worked at this ancient desk? My great-grandfather first, and then my grandfather, my father, and finally, me. All gone.

Who could have guessed that when the executive board called an emergency meeting, which happens from time to time, they’d have an ambush waiting? I’m out on my ass, thank you very much.

I got lazy. Distracted. Soft. Apparently, our tax attorneys had embezzled obscene amounts of money before disappearing last week. The board found out, took a look at our holdings, and panicked before our stockholders could. Restructuring to save what’s left of the institution my ancestors built was swift, and lethal. Also, it does not include me.

So be it.

A year ago, I was just as ruthless. Their decision is exactly what I would have done in their place. Feeling altruistic, the board left me the mansion, and the country house in Grey Horse, but no cash, stock, art, jewelry or any other real estate holdings my family had acquired. Art Windsor, my father’s most trusted advisor, was the only one to stand with me in today’s meeting and contest the board’s decision. Afterward, he told me not to give up as he took my company credit cards and promised to investigate the matter. He means well, but I know there’s nothing he can do.

In front of me sits a document. The board’s offering to pay a small annuity for the right to retain the name of Maddox Industries. The name is prestigious and well known globally. As much as I’d like to tell them where to shove their offer, I can’t refuse. The money covers upkeep on the mansion and will pay the salaries of Jamis and Jenny until their deaths.

Nothing more.

No meetings, decisions, responsibilities, or business trips for a job I don’t have. Jetting to glamorous cities for concerts, dinner, or just for the hell of it is a thing of the past. Gone are the luxury cars, clothes, and toys. A Maddox without money? My father is probably rolling over in his grave. Once again, I am the weak link in our family chain bringing the company to ruin because I was too distracted to notice we were being robbed blind.

Raven
…

The thought of her slams into me like a cannonball. Well, not the thought of her, but
about
her. Without money, how will I make her dream of becoming a world famous designer a reality? All I promised, all I hoped to give her is gone. My hands fist on the desk. Thankfully, her college tuition is in an account in her name—a scholarship the board can’t access. Too bad I didn’t do the same for myself. I never thought I’d have to.

Our joint clothing venture Raedoxx Apparel dodged a bullet, as well. I developed the company last year when I blackmailed Raven to work for me. Before I fell in love. Now the company’s safe, but not because of any strategic move on my part, and not because the board didn’t try to include her designs in the takeover. Saving Raedoxx was a lucky, sentimental accident. I put the company in her name with me as acting CEO thinking I’d present it to her as a wedding present or some other ridiculous display of affection someday. That desire inadvertently protected the newly formed LLC from the board. The parent company absorbed the initial costs of production—and the profits. We planned to grow the company together, so while the money’s gone, at least her designs are safe.

With a roar, I grab the expensive vase on the corner of my desk and hurl it against the wall.

My attempt to blow off steam doesn’t help. Instead, it leaves a pile of shattered glass on the carpet in a million irreparable shards that someone else will have to clean up.

I’m nothing. And tomorrow, I’ll have to fly home and tell the girl I love.

How could I have been so stupid?

As I move along a darkened hallway, the fishbowl echo and blurry edges of memory let me know I’m dreaming. At eight years old, everything looks bigger, but our lake house in Grey Horse is vast by anyone’s standards.

The rubber soles of my new shoes squeak against the highly polished wood floors. I pause, wait a beat in case I’m discovered, but no one appears to condemn me. Creeping closer to the forbidden room, I nudge the mahogany doors open and peer inside my father’s study.

One sharp breath and I hold it in. Consequences for appearing in this room uninvited may be severe, but I want to be near him so badly, I ignore any possible repercussions. The smell of earthy, wood spice and tobacco tell me he’s close. I exhale, then breathe more deeply of him. Confident. Powerful. A scent all his own and my favorite in the universe.

A great man, perfect in ways I will never be, my father stands before an enormous, gilded mirror, taller than a giant, and wide as ten windows. He stares into the glass, eyes moving back and forth as though he’s watching a soccer game on TV.

“Come here, Gideon.”

Caught spying, my young heart hammers away. “Father?”

“Come, boy. Look here with me. Tell me what you see.”

See? I’m not sure what he means. Historically, my father’s questions involve some trick or riddle assuring both my failure and his wrath.

As I draw near, I study the reflection of my father. Tall. Athletic. His dark hair is pulled into the neat ponytail he wears for work. The silver streaks at his temples are thickening of late. Firm chin, straight nose, lips pinned together in impatient anticipation. My father’s green eyes miss nothing. The orbs glitter, deep and penetrating as the facets of an emerald.

I glance at my image in comparison.

My body is frail. Crooked. One blue eye stares back. My hair hangs in messy curls over my forehead hiding my green eye. The one I got from him.

“Observe closely.” Father’s fingers clutch my shoulder. He squeezes to the point of pain, lessening his grip with my flinch. “Look past the obvious, son. Past this crude flesh,” he says, pressing my arm. “What do you see?”

Instinctively, I know he’s not referring to the ordinary items surrounding us. Rich, leather chairs I’m not allowed to sit on. Heavy, cherry desk with drawers I mustn’t open. Persian rugs I dare not tread upon. Tension electrifies the silence as I hesitate. My mind casts about desperately hoping to grasp his meaning. Earn his approval.

“Look, damn you!” he says. “
Inside
the glass. Magic is elemental. It’s in the earth, the water, even in the air we breathe. Magic is in the fire of a man’s will. Understand?”

I jump at his hardened speech. Breathe in. Breathe out. My lids lower by half, as I squint at the mirror. Slowly, the shiny surface dims, replaced by a swirl of gray clouds. Shadows deepen while lighter fog clusters and takes shape. There! I see
…
what are those
…
trees? Yes, and hedges. Tall as the mirror itself, forming what appears to be an endless maze. Color bleeds through the black and gray scene. A stone footpath lies at my feet, disappearing into the maze running left to right. Blue leaks into the sky. I lean forward as the space in the center of the shrub before me rustles. The temperature drops. I breathe out a fine, white mist, but my eyes continue tracking the quivering leaves.

Something draws nearer. Twigs snap. Leaves shake more and more vigorously. I gulp my breath as the hedge parts, and two pale horns push from the maze like a birth. I stiffen, terrified of what’s on the other side.

Does my father see? If so, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react in the least.

But I do. Fear ticks down my spine as the horns extend through the leaves followed by a broad forehead. Golden eyes glint in the darkness, hard as two unseeing buttons. Above us, a crow screams. I spring back, and the horned creature withdraws. In an instant, the hedge is gone. The maze is no more. Only a pair of reflections are left in view—mine and my father’s.

“What did you see?” His tone is insistent, almost desperate.

I crane my neck. My father’s stern glance beats down on me, harder than a strong wind, unforgiving as the desert sun. He knows I saw something, yet I doubt my senses, and when I do, truth withers on my tongue. I can’t tell my practical, no-nonsense father that a goat with scary eyes came out of a bush and tried to get me. He’ll hit me; call me a stupid boy, or worse, he’ll laugh.

Maybe there really is a horned demon hiding in the mirror, but my father will never believe it, so I panic. Play it safe. I lie. “Nothing?”

A muscle in his jaw jumps.

I squirm, toes bunching inside the ends of my tennis shoes. “I’m sorry. I tried, but—”

“Worthless,” he says.

My chest depresses with the realization that I failed him again. “Father?”

No reply. His heels click on the hardwood floor as he exits, leaving me alone in his study. I face the mirror, wish, will, and try again and again, but my long wait is in vain.

The only one who looks back is me.

I wake with a violent twist, jerking a knot in my neck. As I rub the painful kink, my mind ruminates on my dream. I haven’t thought of the lake house in years. The mention of it in my severance package probably provoked my nightmare. I’ll find a realtor and get the house listed. The money will help, and I have no love for the place, that’s for sure.

My bedside clock reads 3:17 a.m. I’m more wired than sleepy, so I walk to the window and stare at the lights of New York. There’s no way to look at this scene without remembering my trip with Raven. We flew up for a fashion show and spent the first night sightseeing on the deck of the Empire State Building. She was so beautiful under the city-lit sky, dark hair flying in the breeze, talking about life and the possibilities ahead. The sight of her stole my breath. Still does. Every single time.

What are the possibilities now? She needs revenue—a lot of it—and the connections to reach her true potential, not to be shackled to a penniless, crippled, recluse with nothing left to offer.

I run a hand through my hair, pressure building in my chest like an overheating boiler. All my life, I’ve strived for two things: to become a fully functioning Artisan, and successfully run my father’s company. Once Raven helped me understand the harm my Artisan legacy caused, I gave it up willingly. I let that part of me die and became the whole of the other—steward of the family business. Now that’s gone, too. So, if I’m not an Artisan, and not a businessman, then who the hell am I?

Light flickers from the bathroom doorway. I don’t remember leaving any lights on, but something’s off and I decide to check. As strange as my childhood was, you’d think I’d have been afraid at night, but the opposite was true. I still need full dark to fall asleep.