Riled (The Invincibles 4)

“What do you mean?”

“You know, can we go into town, have lunch or something?”

Again, Casper looked from me to Teagon, who shrugged.

“Rile was going to take you, so I guess we can,” said the woman who had been my best friend for years.

“That isn’t what he told me,” said Casper.

I could feel the muscles in my shoulders tightening. “I would love to hear what he told you, since he didn’t tell me a bloody thing.”

10

Rile

I felt the muscles in my shoulders tightening and brushed my lower lip with my finger. Kensington was angry.

“What is it, Cortez?” my mother asked, joining me in the sitting room.

“Trouble on Mallorca, I fear.”

“Hmm.”

“Say it, Duchess.”

She stood and walked out to the Christmas tree that was tall enough to reach the second landing of the vestibule.

I followed. “Mother?”

“Why are you here, Cortez, instead of there?”

“I answered that question two days ago when I arrived.”

“Remember this?” she asked, taking an ornament from the tree. “You made this when you were in year one.”

I remembered it well. There were many things I recalled from that year, including my first premonition.

“You came racing into the room, insisting that there was something amiss in the garage,” said my mother, reading my thoughts. “Your father couldn’t get past the notion that you’d been out there in your pajamas, but I knew straight away.”

“You told him to check, and when he heard it from you, he raced outside.”

“One of the chauffeurs was pinned beneath a car. He’d been changing a flat and the jack slipped. You saved his life that night. That’s when I knew.”

To this day, my sixth sense, ESP, clairvoyance, whatever one preferred calling it, was often as much of a curse as a blessing. When I was younger, the second sight, as my mother referred to it, often resulted in debilitating migraines that could last for days.

“Why are you fighting so hard against this, Cortez?”

I left my mother by the tree and walked over to where I knew my father kept the brandy. I poured myself three fingers and downed it.

When she came and stood in front of me, my eyes bored into hers. “You know why.”

“Glare at me all you want. You don’t intimidate me.”

I never had, because my mother had the ability to look straight into my soul and know exactly what I was thinking and feeling. What angered me was that, even knowing, she’d asked why.

“She wouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” I spat. “You may know me, but you don’t know what she would or wouldn’t want.” I poured another glass and drank it down.