I turn my back on the girl and walk out of the chapel. I should have known not to come here. Known I wouldn’t find solace even in the chapel. Not while any Bishop lives and breathes.
Half-Bishop, my brain clarifies.
Bishop all the same, I tell it.
I adjust my mask as I step into the courtyard. The drizzle has turned to rain. Her ridiculous feather dress will be ruined. Carlton Bishop will be pissed. I turn in the direction of the darker building. Set apart from the main part of the compound, it’s unlit except for one window. But before I’ve taken half a dozen steps, the phone in my pocket vibrates with a message.
I dig it out, glance at the screen. Open the message because it’s my mother.
Come home.
Something twists inside me at the words, and I pause. She knows not to message me unless it’s important. And I know it is when her next text comes through.
She needs you.
I don’t hesitate. I change direction, heading back toward the courtyard as I type out my reply.
On my way.
Then, to Councilor Hildebrand, the man sitting inside that single lit room in the Tribunal building, I type another.
Change of plans. Meeting is at my house.
I hit send then do something I hadn’t planned. I type out a second message to Hildebrand.
Bring the girl. I will take possession tonight.
I switch off the phone before Hildebrand can reply, not quite sure why I sent that last part. It will upend the plans set in place. Plans I have been working on for too long.
Voices quiet as I pass through the courtyard, my cloak billowing in my wake. I don’t care. I stand tall, walk through the center, the sea of people parting at my approach. They’re afraid of me. Intrigued too, but more afraid.
They should be. Because the rumors are true. Jericho St. James is back. Returned home from self-imposed exile.
Let them know.
Let word get to Carlton Bishop if it hasn’t already. I want him trembling.
For five years he’s lived his life while I’ve been in hiding. Not for myself. No. If it was only me, I’d have returned. Taken my revenge. Killed him. Even if I died doing it.
No, my disappearance from life was to keep something—someone—much more precious safe. My daughter.
But it’s not her I’m thinking about now. It’s the woman I left behind in that chapel. Her small hand in mine. The strange feel of it.
What would she have done if I’d not been there? What would those men have done?
Men. No, not men. Boys. Entitled idiots. The future of The Society, for fuck’s sake. But what would she have done? How would she have defended herself? She’s small. Half my size. How will she defend herself against me?
As soon as I set foot out of the gates of the compound, the valet rounds the corner with my Lamborghini. He comes to a stop inches from me. I rip off my mask and toss it to the ground as the kid steps out of the vehicle looking awestruck as if I’m some god. Although it’s love for my car, not me.
“You took good care of it?” I ask as I reach into my pocket for my wallet.
He nods enthusiastically. “Didn’t let it out of my sight, sir.”
I slip him a hundred-dollar-bill. “Good job,” I say, patting his shoulder before sliding into the driver’s seat.
The kid closes the door and I drive onto the rainy street. I’m weaving through traffic to return to the house, to what should be my home. The place I love. The place I’ve stayed away from for too long.
All because of them.