AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Fine. Just – fine. Hurry and get in.”
Sterling slipped into the car first, and I followed, ending up sandwiched between him and Bastion. The first thing I noticed were the leather seats. Firm, but somehow luxuriously buttery. The second was the minibar. The third, when the driver climbed back in, was the fact that he was wearing gloves.
“Either you’re planning to murder me somewhere nice and private, or this is the beginning of a very interesting party.”
“Neither.” Bastion leaned forward, and in the calmest, kindest voice I’d ever heard, spoke again. “Remington? Home, please.”
The driver bowed his head of white hair, muttering something that sounded very much like “Yes, sir.”
I eyed Bastion incredulously. “This is like the snazziest rideshare I’ve ever been in. Does the Lorica pay for this?”
Bastion chuckled. “Please. I don’t need the Lorica paying for my shit.”
Realization dawned. I should have figured it out sooner. This was a chauffeured car. My very first impression of Bastion being a brat raised in a mansion by nannies was on the nose after all. His family was super rich. Which meant –
“We’re heading to Brandt Manor, aren’t we?” I felt silly just saying that out loud.
Bastion nodded. Sterling snorted. “Seriously? Brandt Manor? That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”
“If you say so,” Bastion said, sinking back into the seats, sifting through the bar. “Cocktail, anyone?’ He gave Sterling a passably sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, we don’t have plasma, though. Can I offer you a Bloody Mary?”
“Bite me,” Sterling grumbled.
“So Brandt Manor is totally real, right?” It sounded so farfetched. What kind of family had a named estate? Rich people, that’s who. Crazy, rich people.
“Absolutely. It’s where I’ve lived all my life.” He transferred some ice into a glass, then tipped in a can of diet soda. “You’ll have to forgive the mess though. Mother’s having some work done on the helipad.”
Chapter 10
“How do I not know this about you?” I waved around myself, my sneakers looking so utterly pedestrian against the polished cobbles of Brandt Manor’s driveway. “How come none of us have ever heard of your family? Jesus, is that a tennis court?”
Bastion followed my finger, then shook his head. “Badminton, actually. We don’t talk about it much, that’s why.”
I blinked. “You’re the most self-absorbed, conceited human being I’ve ever met. That doesn’t make sense.”
He shrugged. “We keep to ourselves. We don’t display our wealth.” He cleared his throat, perhaps aware of how insincere he sounded with his family’s hedge maze standing just a few dozen feet away. “People have heard of the Brandts, but it’s not because of the money. Besides, sometimes you have to look beyond yourself, Graves. Sometimes, it’s about protecting family.”
He turned away, beckoning us to the mansion that must have had at least twelve bedrooms – and that was just in the front. “Family.” He’d said the word with a curious mix of gravity, and awe, and spite.
It made me want to rear up and poke him in the chest. Who the hell was he to say that I didn’t know anything about family? But I just grumbled to myself, following as he took the first of several steps leading up to the front door.
We’d hardly reached the top landing when one of the double doors creaked open, which was kind of a shame. I was very curious about the brass knockers set into each door,
the ones shaped like the heads of lions. Maybe it’s childish to admit that I kind of wanted to use the knockers myself, but really, when else was I going to get a chance?
“Master Brandt,” the man said, his head bowing slightly. A butler? Had to be. His eyes swept over Sterling, then me, and he smiled in that polite kind of way that said you were welcome, but only if you didn’t put your feet up on the ottomans.
Bastion nodded. “Silas.”
We followed closely as Silas ushered us through the front door. I only just caught a glimpse of how he was also wearing white gloves before he slunk off and disappeared into a side entrance. I couldn’t tell you which of the doors he vanished into, if I’m honest, because there were a lot of them. Far too many.
I’ve infiltrated mansions before. You know that. We’ve been through those places together, the ones owned by wealthy reality TV stars who’d just come into money, or by manic California party people who snorted their inheritance and burned their wealth on huge Roman orgies. None of those compared to the heart-wrenching opulence of Brandt Manor.
I gaped openly at its marble floors, its rich wood-paneled walls, at ceilings that were far too high to dust yet still looked spotless, at the chandeliers dripping with crystal. I followed the curve of the grand, sweeping staircase that connected the already massive first floor to a second level that, beyond my comprehension, looked even more lavishly decorated.
Brandt Manor was a castle, and I was a nose-picking peasant who’d happened to wander in by accident. Even through the soles of my sneakers I could sense the chill emanating from the marble, the cool, refined temperature of old money.
On top of everything bizarre I’d already encountered in the arcane underground, it had to be something so mundane that put the cherry on top. But that’s inaccurate. I don’t know that you could look at Brandt Manor, at the family sigil of a lion that welcomed us at the front gate that was now prominently displayed on a frigging heraldic shield over the fireplace, at anything in this picture of ridiculous grandeur and think that it was anything approaching normal.
