Going Down In Flames: Bridges Burned Part 27

"This isn't open to debate," her grandfather said in his "I am G.o.d" voice.

"Your house was attacked during the Directorate meeting. Your guests were kidnapped and almost killed. Does that mean you're weak?"

Her grandfather's posture stiffened. His expression went hard and flat.

Time to backpedal before they shipped her belongings to a dark corner of the bas.e.m.e.nt. "I'm not saying you're weak. I'm saying your logic of blaming the victim is wrong. The fact that this house was attacked shouldn't reflect badly upon you."

"But it does," her grandfather said. "And I have taken precautions so I won't appear weak ever again."

Wow. Logic didn't have much effect on this guy.

"Maybe we should agree to disagree," Bryn said.

"You're the one who wanted to talk in the first place." Her grandfather went back to eating his meal.

True. Maybe silence was better.

After dinner Bryn returned to her room just to get away from the possibility of any more annoying conversations with her grandfather. His "cull the herd" mentality was total c.r.a.p. What she needed was a good book to take her mind off all this insanity, so she wandered down to the library. Thinking about going into the library was one thing; actually stepping foot in the room where a month or so ago she'd nearly died proved a bit more difficult.

The room looked different than she remembered it. There was still a sitting area in front of the fireplace, but the large mahogany table that occupied the back half of the room had been replaced by a desk. Palms sweating, she crossed the threshold and ignored the uptick in her heartbeat. Nothing would happen to her here. It was just a room.

The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves held an a.s.sortment of books. Some looked stiff and new, like they'd never been opened. Others had cracked leather bindings and were huge tomes like the books from the school library. A book with a golden spine and "Tales of Time" written in silver lettering caught her attention. She grabbed the book and leafed through it. Short stories about different dragons filled the pages. Interesting.

She laid it on the desk and searched for more books about historical dragons that might hold some information about hybrids. Her grandfather wouldn't allow any anti-Directorate books in his library, but she might find some references to hybrids.

"What are you doing in here?" her grandfather's voice boomed through the room.

Don't panic. Don't show fear. Don't give a smart-a.s.s answer. She closed the book she'd been reading and turned to face him. "I thought I'd find something to read."

He stalked toward her. "In my office?"

Well, c.r.a.p. "The last time I was here, this was a library. I didn't realize you'd turned it into your office." Sure, there were folders stacked on the desk and an ashtray, but the room certainly didn't look lived in.

"It's one of my offices." His eyes narrowed as he picked up Tales of Time. "Why did you choose this?"

No way would she utter the term "hybrid" in his presence. "I have to write three five-page term papers on the history of dragons. The history text is dry. I thought there might be something interesting in here to inspire me."

"If you're looking for inspiration"-he walked to the shelves and selected a brown leather book from the top shelf-"try this."

The book was easily eight inches thick. Bryn grabbed it and read the t.i.tle, Directorate Law, Volume I. If it was written in legal terminology, she'd have to pa.s.s. Flipping to the first text-covered page, she read an account of a trial. A Black dragon had been accused of stealing artwork from a Blue's office. Testimonies were given. The art was never found, but the Black dragon was given the choice of creating a series of portraits for the Blue or being incarcerated for a month. He chose incarceration. That was strange.

"Are you confused by his choice?" her grandfather asked.

Geez, did he have these cases memorized? "Yes."

"Later, it was found that one of the maids had taken the paintings. For lying and stealing from her employer, she was sentenced to five years in jail. The Black dragon who had been wronged was given a new studio stocked with art supplies."

"If the Black dragon didn't do it, why did they put him in jail in the first place?"

"He seemed the most likely suspect, but you're missing the most important part. The Black dragon could have taken the blame for stealing the paintings, done the commissioned work without pay, and gone on with his life. Instead, he told the truth, maintained his innocence, and proved himself honorable by not taking the liar's way out."

The twisted logic made her head hurt. "So he was rewarded for choosing jail time he didn't deserve rather than lying and essentially paying a fine of free portraits."

"Yes," her grandfather said. "Loyalty and honor are more important than taking the easy way out."

He seemed to expect some sort of response. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything. I want you to understand our belief system and act accordingly."

The phone on his desk rang, saving her from coming up with some sort of response. She used that chance to escape, opting to leave the books behind, afraid he might quiz her on the court cases later.

The next morning, Bryn woke late. It was the first time since coming to school that the d.a.m.n stress-inducing alarm clock hadn't woken her. Talk about a bonus. Of course, after Christmas break, she'd have to return to school and deal with it again. But this was a nice sabbatical.

Okay, she was awake. Now what? Would her grandmother call and ask her to come down to breakfast? Could she go have breakfast by herself somewhere? That sounded nice. In this ginormous house there had to be a quiet room with a normal-sized kitchen table somewhere.

Rather than wander for hours, she decided to ask Rindy, the all-knowing phone fairy. After dialing and waiting for the call back, she learned there were tables in a sunroom on the third floor. Abigail would have breakfast waiting for her in thirty minutes. Having money didn't necessarily make you happy, but it certainly made life easier.

After a quick shower, she dressed in jeans and a nice blouse (as a concession to her grandmother). Until she was told there was a formal dress code in the house, she would continue to wear tennis shoes and jeans.

Silence met her when she walked down the hallway. Her tennis shoes made no sound. Why have such a giant house for two people? From her conversations with her grandparents yesterday, everything seemed to be about keeping up appearances.

Living your entire life that way would be exhausting. She'd do her best to keep her grandparents happy, but there were limits. People could think what they wanted. She didn't give a rat's a.s.s.

Almost every room she pa.s.sed had a closed door. Was there a living room somewhere, a place to sit and watch TV or listen to music? There were five freaking stories in this mansion. There had to be a television somewhere.

When she came to the stairs, she looked up and down to see if anyone else was around. Nope. She was by herself. Wanting to burn off some anxiety, she jogged up the stairs to the third-floor landing. The back wall of the landing was floor-to-ceiling windows. Trees and manicured greenery went on for as far as she could see. If she were in charge, she'd put a table and chairs right here to enjoy the view. How isolated were they out here? Maybe she'd ask Valmont to bring her a map.

Rindy had said the sunroom was the second door on the left after the landing. When she entered the room, she spotted Abigail collapsed on the floor next to the food cart.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Bryn scanned the area for someone who might jump out at her as she ran to kneel next to the maid.

"Abigail?" She turned the woman's body over. Her eyes were wide open, her pupils dilated. Should she try to heal her or find a phone and call for help?

What if time was of the essence? She focused on her life force, imagining it as a small sun glowing in her chest. Once it burned brightly enough, she placed her hand on Abigail's forehead and pushed her life force into Abigail's body like Medic Williams had taught her to do with Jaxon. The familiar claustrophobic feeling hit as she channeled Quintessence into Abigail's veins, feeling for what was wrong.

There was no head trauma. The plush carpet must've cushioned the woman's fall. She pushed deeper. What was that sickening sweet scent? G.o.d, it was awful, like rotten meat. Where was it coming from? And then she saw it, an odd grayish substance in Abigail's blood. That had to be poison.

She directed her Quintessence in the form of fire to burn the disgusting substance. In a few minutes the gray was gone, and the rotten meat smell went with it. Bryn withdrew her life force from Abigail's body. Nervous, she watched as Abigail came to, blinked, and looked around.

"What happened?"

Bryn helped her sit up. "I came in here and found you pa.s.sed out on the floor. Do you feel okay now?"

"I think so." She tried to stand and wobbled a bit.

"You should sit." Bryn pulled a chair over. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Abigail sank into the chair. "I came in, opened the curtains, and set the table." She pointed at the table set for one. Then I checked the food to make sure it was hot." Abigail blushed. "Don't tell your grandmother, but I ate a few strawberries. I've been up since five and..."

"You don't have to justify why you were hungry." Bryn walked over to the dish of strawberries set on the table. "Are these the strawberries you ate?"

"No. I filled your dish, and then ate the extras before I put the plate back on the cart."

Bryn stabbed a berry with a fork and sniffed it. The faint odor of rotten meat made her gag. "These are drugged or poisoned. We'll explain what happened, and then my grandmother can have them tested."

Abigail wrung her hands. "Please. I've worked here for years. I don't want to be fired."

Seriously? Her grandmother would fire someone over eating extra food? Abigail would know better than she did. "Fine. Let's say I came in while you were dishing out the strawberries. I said it would be a shame for the extras to go to waste and suggested you eat them. Does that work?"

"Your grandmother will yell at you for fraternizing with the staff."

"I think my grandma is going to be yelling at me about a lot of things. I don't mind. Now, as soon as you fell, I used Quintessence to help you. Okay?"

Abigail nodded. "Thank you."

Bryn walked over to a phone set on a side table. "Here we go." She spoke to Rindy, and her grandparents swooped into the sun room five minutes later, looking beyond p.i.s.sed off.

"Tell me everything," her grandfather said.

Bryn shared the story she and Abigail had set up. Her grandfather grilled Abigail on who prepared the food.

"The new chef prepared everything," Abigail said.

"We didn't hire a new chef." Her grandfather pulled a cell phone from his pocket and stomped from the room shouting orders. Her grandmother headed for the door, signaling that Bryn and Abigail should follow.

In the kitchen, the staff gave a description of the new chef. He'd shown up that morning claiming to be subst.i.tuting for the normal chef, who was out due to the birth of his son.

"Call his house, make sure he's okay," Bryn said, to no one in particular.

Her grandmother looked at her like this was an odd request.

"The last time someone tried to kill me, they killed the plumber to take his place." How could her grandparents have forgotten that?

"Maybe this is just food poisoning?" Abigail said like she wished it were true.

"No. I'm sure it's people trying to kill me, again." Bam. Bam. Bam. Her head pounded like a mariachi band was playing inside it. "Funny that I'm getting used to this."

"I am not." Her grandmother spit the words out.

A man cleared his throat. "Pierre is at home. His wife had a baby boy. They're all okay."

"He's fired," her grandfather roared.

"You can't fire him because the temp agency sent a bad guy in his place. Fire the temp agency, not the man who has a wife and child to support," Bryn shouted.

"Don't tell me how to handle my staff." Her grandfather spoke through clenched teeth.

"They're not just your staff. They're people with lives and families. They matter. You can't just move them around like they're pieces on a chessboard."

The only sound in the room was the clock ticking on the wall. Everyone looked ready to duck and cover, even her grandmother.

"You are an ungrateful brat," her grandfather said.

"You're inconsiderate and narrow-minded," Bryn spat back.

Her grandmother looked ready to burst a blood vessel. "That's enough. Both of you need to learn to control your tongues and your tempers. The problem here is that someone made an attempt on your granddaughter's life under your roof. Again. Focus on that. You can work out your personality differences later."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it wasn't her personality that was the problem, but since she didn't want to be kicked out, she offered him an olive branch.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be disrespectful. It's just... I thought I was safe. It's unsettling to find out these people are organized enough to come after me so quickly. It's only my second day here. How did they even know where to find me?"

"I imagine news of your parents' pa.s.sing has made its way through the social network," her grandmother said. "People would have heard you left campus with us. It was only logical to surmise that you'd stay here."

Bryn kept her gaze on her grandfather. Waiting for some acknowledgment that she'd apologized. He didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow in her direction. What had she expected? Common civility? She could hear her grandfather claiming that he wasn't common. The idea made her laugh.

"What about this situation do you find amusing?" her grandfather asked.

"Sometimes you have to laugh or cry. I'm choosing to laugh."

"None of this is funny." Her grandmother stalked over to the refrigerator and yanked the door open. "I want all this food removed and the entire kitchen sanitized." She pointed at Abigail. "Give the guards a description of the culprit and then go see a medic to make sure you're okay."

Abigail scurried from the room.

Her grandmother gave orders and handed out a.s.signments to the staff. After everyone had a task to carry out, her grandmother turned to her husband. "I presume you will speak with the guard and the Directorate about this."

"Of course."

Bryn's stomach growled loudly enough for her grandparents to hear. They both regarded her with distaste.

"I didn't eat yet this morning. Since you're getting rid of all the food here, maybe I'll fly into Dragon's Bluff for breakfast."

She expected an argument. Her grandmother surprised her by saying, "Let's take the car instead."

"Okay."

"First you need to change into something more suitable."