Page 34 of Deadly Lineage
There was a slight pause before Holland answered. “He did. I am unaware what happened to them. Given necromancers’s human lifespans, they are most likely deceased.” Holland’s tone was flat and emotionless. I was familiar with the tactic. This was a painful topic and one he most likely didn’t like to consider given his relationship with his own necromancer son.
“Boone told me that as well. Is there some record of their mothers’s names?”
“There is. Warlocks do not often list the names of their necromancer children, but their mothers are kept on file. No one would want to breed with a human female that produced a necromancer child.”
I inhaled, tamping down my disgust. This was a part of their culture I didn’t understand and, quite frankly, didn’twantto understand.
“Why do you wish to know?”
Why did I?It was a good question, one I wasn’t certain I had an answer to. “I’m not entirely sure. I’ll be honest, I’m searching for leads. Noland’s relatives will most likely be another dead end, but I’d rather exhaust all leads than leave a dangling thread.”
Seconds passed in silence until Holland finally answered. “I will obtain the names, although I am unsure if doing so will lead anywhere. It is doubtful you will understand, but Phineas Noland would not have considered his necromancer siblingsrelatives.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand. Given your acceptance of your own son, I doubt you do either.” It was a bold statement, yet I couldn’t dismiss its truth.
“You are mistaken, Detective O’Hare.” Sadness filled Holland’s words. “I understand all too well. It is simply not a choice I could live with.”
I swallowed hard, struggling for words.
“Your human nature and beliefs place me on a pedestal where Erasmus is concerned. That altar is misplaced. My love for Erasmus is not a measure of my strength, Detective. It is the glaring proof of my weakness.”
Before I could contradict him, Warlock Holland ended the call with, “I will send you the names you seek. Good day.”
I stared at my phone, the screen shifting to black. Holland was right—I didn’t understand. Was it truly my human nature that gave me a different perspective? Maybe. Given that I’d been born human, I had no choice but to view Holland’s actions through my mortal lens.
“How can love ever be viewed as a weakness?” My darkened phone didn’t have an answer. I would have been more disturbed if it did.
“You got a minute, O’Hare?” A note of happy anticipation filled Officer Becks’s voice.
Shaking off the melancholy of my latest discussion with Boone’s father, I answered, “For you, always.”
Becks grinned while shaking her head. “Sweet, but doubtful. Regardless, I’ve got some information I think you’ll be interested in.” Ebony Becks pulled up a nearby chair and slapped a file onto my desk. “I’ll send you a more detailed e-mail later, but I wanted to give you the highlights in person. Bartholomew Livingston is a piece of work. That guy deserves a clothing downgrade. The sooner he’s decked out in orange, the better off the world will be.”
Setting my phone aside, I gave Becks my full attention. “What have you found?”
“Nothing good.” Becks grimaced. “I’m not sure how or why Boone’s involved with this guy, but whatever the reason, he needs to dis-involve himself pronto.”
“Trust me, it’s not a relationship Boone wishes to explore.”
“Good to hear. I’m just sorry he’s got this asshole’s attention.” Becks flipped open the file. “First off, Bartholomew Livingston is shit with money. His mother left him a decent inheritance, but he blew through it in less than two years.”
“His mother is deceased?” I asked. If she was, it would make sense why Livingston was after his grandfather’s money.
“Sarah Livingston Monterey. Sarah’s father was one Antony Livingston—recently deceased. Sarah died seven years before her father. Her mother passed seventeen years ago and her husband, Donald Monterey, passed six years before Sarah. They had three children. Interestingly, Bartholomew is the youngest, but seems to be the most outspoken. None of Sarah’s children are what you’d consider productive members of society. However, Bart appears to be the worst of the lot.”
So far, everything Becks mentioned jived with what little I’d found out from Boone. “How so?” I asked.
Becks shrugged. “The other two are just kind of floating through life, living off their inheritance. It’s not much when you consider the true net worth of the Livingston fortune when Antony passed, but they’ve managed to eke out a life of leisure. There was some squabbling over Antony Livingston’s will, but Bart was the loudest voice and the instigator of all the legal filings I can find. I get the feeling the other two wouldn’t have put up much of a fuss if it weren’t for their baby brother.”
“And how much of a fuss did Bart Livingston instigate?”
Becks waved a hand at the file. “A lot of bark, but not much bite. Antony Livingston used his money to hire a great attorney. There’s no wiggle room. Bart didn’t get the windfall he was expecting when his grandfather died. He’s not going to get it either.” Becks gave me a pointed look. “Trust me, he’s tried.” She grimaced. “Although he didn’t get any of his grandfather’s money, I can tell you that one of the charitable organizations Antony left money to has had two rather suspicious disappearances among their staff, and one confirmed death.”
My blood ran cold. “You suspect Bart Livingston?”
“I can’t find anything solid, but he made threats. Follow-up investigations haven’t been able to pin anything on him.”
“But he’s still a suspect.”
