Chapter 8: The Night I Was Born

Elias told Hollis to drive anywhere but the mansion, and he refused to tell me why until we were safely behind a locked door.

The place he chose was a narrow townhouse in an old part of the city, with ivy on the walls and a brass lamp burning in the front window. Elias unlocked it with a key from his pocket and switched on the hall light, and I stood on the doorstep staring at the worn rug and the wooden coat stand. It smelled faintly of cedar and old books, and I knew at once whose home it was.

"Your grandfather lived here for the last year of his life," Elias said. "Your father never visited. He thought the neighborhood beneath him."

"Is it safe?"

"The mansion isn't, not tonight. This is the one place in the city that belongs only to you." He pressed the key into my palm. "It has been yours since nine o'clock."

Hollis checked every room, every window, and the back door before he allowed me to sit down. The study was small and warm, lined with books, with a worn leather chair that still seemed to hold the shape of an old man. I curled into it with my grandfather's coat over my knees while Elias poured three cups of tea from a kettle that had clearly been kept ready.

"You said you would tell me the truth," I said. "About why they sent me away."

Elias sat down across from me and was quiet for a moment. "Your grandfather asked me to wait until you were eighteen. He thought it would be unfair to give a child a burden like this. But I think tonight you've earned it."

I wrapped both hands around the cup. "Tell me."

"You were born on a night of storms," he said. "Eighteen years ago, your father's company was about to collapse. A large partner had pulled out of a deal at the last minute, and your father had borrowed heavily against the future. When your mother went into labor, he was at the office until past midnight, trying to save it."

"And then I was born."

"And then you were born." A faint smile touched his mouth. "Your grandfather said you came into the world furious, with a cry that made the nurses laugh. He held you first, before either of your parents. He said you looked at him as if you already knew exactly who you were."

I blinked hard and stared into my tea.

"Two days later, your father's business partner, a man named Crowell, brought a fortune-teller to the hospital. Your father was desperate, and desperate men listen to anyone. She looked at you for a long time and said something your grandfather never forgot. She said this child would be the luckiest and the most dangerous thing that ever happened to the family. That by the time she was eighteen, she would own more than her father ever did."

A cold shiver ran down my arms. "She said that? About me?"

"She did. And your father heard only the second half." Elias set down his cup. "Gregory had wanted a son. He was already ashamed of his luck, and a prophecy that his daughter would outgrow him was more than his pride could take. When his company wobbled again the next month, he blamed you, and the fortune-teller's words became his excuse. A bad omen. A curse. A girl who could never carry the family name."

"And my mother?"

"Your mother had just given birth, exhausted and frightened and told by every person around her that her baby was cursed. Your grandfather says she held you for one hour. She cried the whole time, but when Gregory said you had to be sent away for the family's sake, she did not argue." His voice softened. "I don't think she has ever forgiven herself for that. I think that is why she cannot look at you."

I thought of the way my mother had turned away on the roof, and something in my chest twisted. It did not make it hurt less. But it made it make a terrible kind of sense.

"What did Grandpa do?"

"He fought. Your grandfather held the controlling shares in those days, and he told your father that sending a baby away was monstrous. Gregory threatened to take the whole board against him and drag the company into a war that would destroy it. In the end, your grandfather made a choice he regretted for the rest of his life. He agreed to let you go, but only to a place of his choosing, with a nurse he trusted, and with a promise that he would see you every summer." Elias looked at me directly. "He kept his controlling shares quietly, and he wrote his will the week you left. He told me he wasn't giving up on you. He was only waiting until you were old enough to fight."

I pressed my fingers against my eyes, and for a moment the study blurred. All those summers, all those letters, the oranges and the dusty punching lessons. I had thought they were small kindnesses, and they had been an entire war fought quietly on my behalf.

"He should have brought me home," I whispered.

"He thought about it every day." Elias's voice cracked slightly. "But the home that your father had built had no room for you. He did not want you to grow up in a house where you would be hurt. And then Lydia came."

At the mention of her name, Hollis, who had been standing silently by the window, turned his head.

"My lady," he said quietly. "There is a car outside."

I went still. "Whose?"

"I don't know. It has been parked at the corner for ten minutes with its lights off." He had already drawn the curtain a fraction wider. "Mr. Brandt, who else knows about this house?"

"No one. Not even your father."

Hollis was still looking at the street when someone knocked on the front door.

Three quick, frantic knocks, and then a fourth, weaker. Hollis had moved before I could breathe, crossing the hall in three strides and pressing himself against the wall beside the door. Elias rose slowly, and I stood with the cold tea still in my hand.

"Who is it?" Hollis called.

There was a long silence, and then a voice, so ragged and hoarse that I almost didn't recognize it.

"Miss Tessa... please. It's Walton."

I knew the name at once. The family driver. The man who had sworn he had checked the brakes.

Hollis looked at me, and I nodded. He opened the door a few inches, then pulled it wide, and Mr. Walton fell through it onto the hall rug, soaked from the rain, his gray hair plastered to his forehead. One hand was pressed against his side. When he lifted it, his fingers were dark and slick with blood.

"They found out I came here," he gasped, staring at me with wild, terrified eyes. "Miss Tessa, I'm so sorry. I had no choice. They have my daughter. I know who cut the brakes, and they're coming for you tonight."

He tried to say more, but his eyes rolled back, and his head hit the rug with a dull, sickening thud.