Page 7 of The Tenor's Shadow

“Do you need money, honey?”

“No. I’m doing very well. I promise.”

“Sure, but things change, and you know, capitalism. I know how health insurance is as an artist, one broken bone and you’re thousands of dollars in debt.”

“I don’t need money. Please don’t worry about me breaking a bone.”

“Well, I know you break a leg every night!”

Anthony heard a deep chuckle in the background. “Is that Oliver laughing at your terrible dad joke?”

“When I tell it, it’s an uncle joke.”

Anthony smiled. He really did miss his uncle. Daniel was his only family, and it had been too long since they’d seen each other.

He’d have to book more gigs in London. He couldn’t take time off to visit. At least, he wasn’t willing to take time off. Every empty week in his calendar was a week closer to being forgotten by audiences and by the companies that hired him.

“Is something wrong, hon?”

Anthony wasn’t sure how he’d managed to let himself get sidetracked. It was just nicer catching up with his uncle than thinking about his stalker problem.

“Listen, Uncle Daniel, something a little strange has happened. Someone left a letter in my hotel room.”

“A letter?”

“Written in silver ink. It’s happened a couple of times before.”

Anthony rubbed his eyes. Finding the letter had short-circuited his lust and tamped down his buzz. Now he was just tired. He read the contents out loud, dreading his uncle’s response.

“This was the third letter?” A deep, masculine voice rumbled from the phone. It didn’t belong to Daniel.

“Oliver, is that you?”

“Answer me. This is the third time this has happened?”

Anthony prickled at the demand. He didn’t enjoy being ordered around. Oliver wasn’t even a blood relation. Hell, he and Daniel had only been married a couple of years.

“Yes. The third in as many cities. The first time I thought it was a prank. The second, well…I was just too tired to take it seriously. Three seems like…but it’s not that big a deal. Opera has its fanatics. It’s some old queen with a record player and a lot of free time—”

“And it’s signed by the Azarian Coven?” Oliver’s sharp tone cut through the long distance between London and Chicago. “All of them have been?”

“Sounds like some kind of homegrown cult, right? Guy’s probably a fundie or something.”

“You need to come here,” Oliver said. Anthony bristled at the command.

“What are you talking about?”

“You need to come to London. We can keep you safe here.”

Anthony’s forehead tensed up. What the hell was Oliver talking about?

“I don’t see how you could keep me any safer there than I am here. And the next few months are nuts. First San Francisco, after that Barcelona, and then I’m making my debut in Naples. I can’t disrupt my schedule.”

“I’m not giving you a—”

Daniel cut off his husband, saying something that Anthony couldn’t hear. He closed his eyes and willed his shoulders to relax. He shouldn’t have called in the first place. If the letters hadn’t mentioned his uncle, he wouldn’t have. They deserved to know, but he wasn’t letting them stop him from living his life.

“Anthony, honey?” It was Daniel again.

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