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“Father.” Eric tried to control the rise of bile in his throat.
Without an invitation, Vincent strutted through the door.
The dingy room now held a small wooden table with two slatted chairs. Each man took a seat and faced each other, sizing up their opponent.
Tired of the staring contest, Eric started off with, “Why the hell are you here, and what is Sorrel to you?”
Vincent slapped his hand against his chest, the place where his heart should have been, but Eric had never seen any evidence that he had one. “I’m hurt, son. I came here to tell you how proud I am of you.”
“That’s a first,” Eric scoffed.
“Well, you’ve finally done something befitting our family,” Vincent replied, unabashedly. “I’ve been following your work at the paper. You stole power from the unworthy—those who would gain it on the backs of others. People just like the Aelius family,” he spewed.
Eric clenched his fists, hating himself and the book. He’d thought he’d protected Sorrel by writing the article about Clayton Palmer. Instead it looked like he’d thrown her in the path of someone much more dangerous than his boss. What depraved game was the book playing with him, and, it would seem, with Sorrel?
His father began to ramble about the Aelius family. “Those mortal-loving children of the sun ruined our lives. And those cowards, the Tellus family . . . if only they’d done their job and assassinated the Aelius queen before she sacrificed herself to curse us all, we would be living like royalty now, like we were meant to.”
Eric mostly tuned him out; he was well aware of all the tales passed down from generation to generation, meant to breed hatred for a people he had never met and wasn’t really sure existed. He despised hearing about his own bloodthirsty relatives who were willing to step in and kill the Aelius queen, though they were too late. Eric only cared to hear one thing from his father tonight. “What is your concern with Sorrel?”
A wicked grin filled his father’s face. “Like I said, I’ve been following your work. I find it entertaining that my son can take down large corporations yet still write sappy drivel. Albeit interesting drivel.”
Eric tilted his head. “Interesting how?”
Vincent leaned forward, his clasped hands resting on the table. “Tell me about Sorrel.”
That was the last thing Eric wanted to do. “You obviously read the article. There’s nothing else to know.”
“Except you have feelings for her. I read between the lines, and I hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes.” Vincent drummed his fingers against the table. “What is the book saying nowadays?”
“Nothing of consequence.” Eric tried to keep a straight face and his voice steady. His father was a human lie detector. A man who lived his life in the dark and shadows, a liar himself.
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “Is it still speaking in riddles?”
Eric shrugged. Riddles were one way to put it. It was odd that the book was so elusive with him at times yet had always been so direct with the previous heirs.
“Why did you write the article about the bakery?” Vincent wasn’t going to let it go.
“I was assigned to,” Eric responded dryly.
Vincent leaned back with a knowing smile. “There’s more to the story. Tell your father,” he demanded.
Eric’s pulse raced. His father was a master at instilling fear in people, at pushing just the right button to make them panic. Sorrel was his button, and Eric feared for her. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Vincent folded his arms. “I see . . . obviously I still need to teach you a lesson. There are no coincidences in the life of a Selene.”
Eric swallowed hard thinking about how the book had sent him to Sorrel.
“Are you not at all suspicious about the cake lady?”
Eric had his suspicions, but nothing that would be of interest to his father. “Why would I be?”
Vincent shook his head in disgust. “I’ve raised a fool. Did my training over the years teach you nothing?”
“Other than to be a sadistic bastard? No.”
His father laughed maniacally. “You flatter me.” He paused. His laughter ceased, and his eyes bored into Eric’s. “Let me give you another lesson. The cake lady might be who we’ve been looking for all these years.”
It was Eric’s turn to laugh. “You think she’s part of the Tellus family? You’ve gone crazy, old man.”
“Have I? You yourself described her as magical.”
“It was a metaphor.” Though Eric agreed every part of her was magical.
“You don’t find it odd that she makes teas to heal people? Or how she’s getting her customers to reveal their secrets?”
“She studied Eastern medicine and she’s kind. Something you would know nothing about.”
“Kindness will get you nowhere. Remember that. And you would do well to remember what I told you about the Tellus family. They can use almost anything grown in the earth to heal or to extract the truth. To deceive.”
