Page 2 of All My Broken Dreams

“No, that can’t be right.” She shook her head. “Nevermind, I’ll figure it out. I’m sure there’s an explanation. Could you tell me how to get there?”

The shop owner issued a flurry of directions that she couldn’t follow even if she could understand a word he was saying.

“I’m sorry, but could you draw me a map? I can’t get the GPS on my phone working.”

The guy in the armchair looked up from his book and was now openly staring at her. She was obviously disturbing his concentration. He was looking at her like there was something wrong with her, all because she couldn’t get the GPS to work.

The bookseller glanced at the clock on the wall, sighed and scrawled a rough map on the back of an envelope.

“That’ll take you there right enough. Now, will you be needing anything else?”

His look and tone suggested that if she did, he was not in the mood to accommodate her any further.

“No, thank you. This is very helpful.” Robbie waved the map in an attempt to appear competent and plunged out into the rainstorm, banging the door with her suitcase. “You can’thave a panic attack every time you encounter an obstacle,” she chastised herself, “or you will never survive this journey.”

Her apartment in New York was three thousand miles away. This was the real world and she was going to have to deal with it. No going back. Not without Harry.

Deacon Wake closed the poetry book he had been trying to understand and reached for his phone. Text messages leave a trail. His instructions were to always call. Alastair picked up immediately.

“There’s a girl here looking for Dugald Croft. She says her brother lives there. It can’t be a coincidence. I thought Harry didn’t have a family.”

“That’s what he told us. Where ishere, Deacon? Where are you?”

“The bookstore. I’m on my way home. I got caught in the rain and came in here to dry off. What do you want to do about the girl?”

“I want you to fucking intercept her, find out who she is and what she wants. If she’s related to our friend, she has to be stopped. You’ll have to think of something to keep her away from the Croft.”

“She flew in from New York. If Harry is her brother, nothing is going to keep her from asking questions. Someone on campus is going to talk—a classmate or one of his professors.”

“Don’t worry about the faculty. They know what to say. Everyone is on script. Harry kept himself to himself. I doubt his classmates even remember him.”

“Alastair, it’s not too late. Fuil Bratach can survive whatever Harry Listowel has in mind. It’s been almost a month. Don’t you think if he was going to go to the police, he would’ve done it by now?”

Icy silence on the other end. Deacon was crossing the line questioning Alastair Manderville’s directions, but it had to be said. He was going to doom them all if this got out.

“What you know about Fuil Bratach is not worth shit, boy. You are a Wake, not a Manderville. My sister made her choice. You’ll not carry the banner for the Manderville family and never will.”

His neck stiffened.This again.He held the phone closer to his ear so the bookseller couldn’t hear the rest of his uncle’s diatribe.

“Fuil Bratach,Blood Banner, has survived at Locksley Hall Academy for over four hundred years and I’ll be damned if it goes down on my watch. Our families are the originals, descended from royalty, forming the backbone of the United Kingdom. Some of the most powerful people in the world are in our pocket.”

“Harry Listowel is Fuil Bratach,” Deacon said, controlling his tone.

“I know that,” Alastair barked in a tight emotional voice. “I know who he was better than most! Do you imagine I wanted this for him? The damage is done. I love you, Deacon, like a son but don’t lecture me on the cost of losing Harry when I’m the one paying the price.”

There was another silence while Deacon rearranged his thoughts. His uncle was talking like Harry was dead. Harry wasn’t dead but he might as well be. Fuil Bratach took the threat of betrayal very seriously.

“I’m sorry, sir. What do you need me to do?”

Alastair cleared his throat. “What you do best. Make this threat go away. Find the girl. If she’s his sister, stop her before she reaches Dugald Croft and keep her away for a couple of days. That should give us enough time to formulate a strategy. There is no one else I can trust, Deacon. You’re all I have left.”

Chapter Two

Deacon hung up and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

That wasn’t true. Alastair had a son he could call on to clean up this mess, but he’d never put his flesh and blood in the line of fire. Deacon had Alastair, and only Alastair, from the time he was nine years old. His uncle was a hard man, but he loved him. He knew there were some who pitied him for that love; he didn’t care. Alastair could’ve abandoned him when his mother died but he didn’t. He fed him, clothed him and provided for him when no one else would. Deacon loved the man and it wounded him to grieve him.

Nevertheless, he gazed at the book of poetry with a pang. His plan to better himself seemed daft now. Rain lashed against the windows. A cold, miserable night to be roaming the streets but he had a duty to the Order even if he wasn’t one of them. Duty and loyalty were concepts that Harry Listowel failed to grasp. For a smart guy, he sure was dumb.

---