we’ll do the same for you. But if you keep poking your nose into our business, then next time it won’t end so well for you.”
“But I don’t even know who you are.”
“Good.”
A sharp pain blossomed on the back of my head, and everything went black.
I woke to a bright light in my eyes and shoved it away. It turned out to be David shining the torch app on his cell phone in my face.
“Not your smartest moment,” he told me and helped me sit up.
My stomach heaved, but all that came up was acid. It took me a moment to find the right words to tell him, “I think I have a concussion.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Someone managed to rattle the brain inside that thick skull o’yours?” He helped me stand, and I leaned on him.
“Trust me, it occurred to me that I shouldn’t have rushed in, but at least I got a good close look at the guy. At least I think I did. It’s all fuzzy now.”
“Right, then. We should get you back to your flat. Or to a doctor.”
“No.” I tried to shake my head, but pain lanced through my brain. “Okay, maybe, but not the hospital.”
“There aren’t any clinics open this time of night. I could call the NHS nurse line. See what I should look for or do for you.”
“Take me to the home of Maximilian and Lonna Marconi-Fortuna,” I said. “Max is a physician. Do you mind driving my car? I’ll pay for your cab ride home.”
“I’ll figure out a way back to Laird Hall. Don’t worry.”
He helped me to the car, and every little bump over the cobblestones jarred my brain. I felt like sleeping when we got to the smooth pavement but remembered something about that not being a good idea, so I told David, “Keep me awake until we get there.”
“I canna hit you while I’m driving. I’d put this prissy German car of yours into a tree.”
I laughed. “No, just talk to me about something interesting.”
He snorted. “Like what?”
I hadn’t felt whatever it was—my father, a ghost, something else—since the pub, and as much as it had perturbed me, I wished it would return. Maybe it would have kept me from following the scarred Englishman into the alley. No, I couldn’t blame some phantasmal force for my own mistake.
“Tell me about my father. I was only a boy when he was killed and don’t remember a lot about him.”
In the waning light—the sun set so very late during the summer, which always threw me off when I returned from my travels—I saw his hands tighten and relax on the steering wheel. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything.” I closed my eyes against the perceived movement of the road and trees outside but then opened them again when I got dizzier. “Whatever you remember.”
“He could hold more Scotch than any other lycanthrope I knew,” he said. “He had a laugh that boomed throughout any pub, no matter how small or large. That’s how he and your mum got together—she was a university professor, one of the few female ones, and she was at Marley’s one night with a group of colleagues.”
“I know her story,” I grumbled. “Get back to his.”
“Well, he was also grumpy when he lost a fight,” he said with a smirk. “Couldn’t stand it. Not that it happened often.”
“They caught me from behind.”
He laughed outright then. “He’d take responsibility for his mistakes. That’s how he usually lost the fights—something stupid or showing off. He could never resist an audience.”
“How long did you know him?” We were almost to the house Lonna and Max rented, and I almost asked David to circle around so I could continue to take advantage of his talkative mood.
“I met him in 1800 when he came on as the Council Investigator. I’d just come out of hiding myself. The Order had shifted its attention to the American Colonies and their conflict and got stretched too thin to keep after us effectively.”
“The Order? I remember something about them in Council records, but it’s been a long time.”
I couldn’t tell
Learning to Kill: Stories