Son of Secrets Read online

  ‘After you left her that Christmas, she was so sad,’ Ylva said. ‘I don’t live in this house, but I am here very early and very late and that child not leave her room; actually, she ban me from entering. She cry and cry so much I say to Mrs Fantz that we call doctor. Her mother even say remove sharp things from Ella’s room and to keep feeding her, but the poor baby didn’t get out of bed. She just hug your sweatshirt, the one you wearing now, and cried into it. You boys are bad, hurting nice girls like her!’

  It took all of Zac’s strength not to explain, to tell the housekeeper how he’d fought to be with her. How much he’d loved Ella and always would. All this had happened before they were last reunited, but he’d never heard someone else’s account of the pain he’d caused.

  ‘Luckily her mother make her leave the house,’ Ylva continued, ‘and she had her hair all cut new and went to New Year’s Eve restaurant launch. I no idea what happen that night, ninety-nine floors high. I wasn’t there, but the next day I turn up for work…yes, New Year’s Day, I like my work…and all hell happen.’ She shook her head from side to side, tendrils of greying blonde hair coming loose from their tie. ‘I’ve been Mr Fantz’s housekeeper for twenty years. I serve his family since his first wife die when he put little Sebastian in boarding school like he wasn’t important. Poor Mr Fantz, such a nice man. A good man. I liked his new wife Felicity; of all the women Mr Fantz date she is the nicest, and I wanted them all to be a happy family at last, but she is…how do you say? Flighty? She wanted to be a new shiny Mrs Fantz, with the glamour and glitz. They marry very fast, and then after New Year party Ella doesn’t come back, huge drama and Felicity goes. No call or email or nothing for one week! Me and my boss were so worried.’

  Ylva had a paper towel in her hand that she’d twisted into a damp rope. Had Richard and Felicity ever realised how publicly they’d been playing out their business? Did Richard know that his housekeeper had been in love with him for all these years? Ylva appeared to be a private woman, but now she was talking non-stop—telling him every last detail about the events of that fateful night. Zac felt a twinge of guilt. It may have been useful to have the ability to extract information from her against her will, but it was morally wrong.

  ‘Ella is a lovely girl. But of course you know that, Zac. She was a bit madam and rude back then, like many teenager, but she was also kind and good. Mr Fantz was all worry when she disappear like that. He adopt, you know, she was a daughter to him. And when her mother finally contact him she just say Ella is safe in Spain and Felicity stay there, too. Mrs Fantz needed to find herself. She say that! Find herself! She was forty last year. How can she find herself when she doesn’t know what she’s looking for? Felicity shouldn’t be searching for herself, she should be searching for her mind because she lost it a long time ago. Mr Fantz is wonderful, a lovely, kind, and very rich man. Who with the right marbles in her head would leave him?’

  A woman who loves another, Zac thought, thinking back to Felicity and Leo, Ella’s parents, reunited in that remote mountain cottage in Spain. Leo was a priest. He wasn’t going to sweep Felicity off her feet any time soon, but when they had been thrown together again three years ago and Ella had finally met her real father, Zac knew Felicity would never go back to her old life. Least of all to the man whose son had attacked her daughter.

  ‘So, Ella is still in Spain, Ylva?’

  Zac was beginning to regret having asked her to explain every detail. He knew all of this already—none of it was helping him find Ella.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know; she never return.’ Ylva dabbed at her eyes with the mangled paper towel. ‘She sent email to Richard saying she didn’t want her belongings anymore; she was starting fresh in Spain. I don’t blame poor child not wanting to return to England. The newspapers are cruel. All silly gossip. I sometimes do the Google on the internet and it is full of lies, people saying they have seen her and know the big secret. There is no secret. She was just sad and went back home to Spain. I think Mr Fantz know Miss Felicity doesn’t love him now. She come back a few times, and I hear them say about marriage counselling. I know she is only trying because he loves her. Stupid men! Her perfect body was here but her mind, her mind she left in Spain. So, Mr Fantz is very sad, so sad that he’s selling the house and moving to St Lucia where he has more hotels.’

  Zac nodded but his own mind was elsewhere. He’d only met Richard once, and as nice as he’d seemed, Zac hadn’t come here to ask after his state of mind. He needed to find Ella, and there was no one at the house that could help him do that.

  ‘Maybe I join Mr Fantz in St Lucia,’ Ylva muttered. ‘I have no husband, no children. My work is all I do. Mr Fantz and I, we have our own history from long ago.’

  She giggled like a schoolgirl, and once again Zac felt the familiar pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have forced the housekeeper to talk. He hadn’t even learned anything new.

  ‘Ylva, do you have any idea how I can find Ella?’

  ‘No. If the bad newspapers and magazines can’t find her, I think you struggle, too. Give me your telephone number and if she calls, I ask Mr Fantz to tell you. You are not the first man asking about her.’

  Zac sat up and leant forward. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Two years ago, a handsome man was here. He ask for you and Ella.’

  Nobody knew Zac was alive. Why would they be looking for him at Ella’s old home? Why would they ask for her too? Did Mikhael suspect he would return?

  ‘Was he very tall with long blond hair?’ Zac asked.

  He could hear the desperation in his voice and tried to steady his breathing.

  ‘No, he was dark man with sexy cheekbones. Like a model. He say his name is…wait…long time ago. Maybe I write it down? Gary? Gabby?’

  ‘Gabriel?’

  ‘Yes! Gabe, he say his name is Gabe. Lovely man, so charming. Had something important to tell you and say you must contact him. Wait, I have the note. I think.’

  Ylva rifled through folders that had been neatly packed away in the moving crates. She took out scraps of paper and receipts, peering at each one before replacing them back in the files.

  Gabriel had been searching for him? But his friend had been there when Zac ended his life, when he’d told the realm the truth about Mikhael being his father. The look on Gabriel’s face had said it all; it wasn’t only Zac that Mikhael had lied to. Gabriel was as shocked and disgusted as the rest of them. Zac’s head swam with a million questions. His friend had seen him die, so why would he be asking for him a year later? Had he worked out Zac’s plan to return? His stomach twisted at the severity of what this could mean. What if Gabriel was now siding with Mikhael and checking if Zac was truly dead? Unlikely, but anything could have happened in the three years he’d been away. Zac couldn’t risk being caught again, not now he was so close to getting back to Ella and discovering who his mother was. He rubbed his eyes. There were too many questions he couldn’t answer.

  ‘Ha! Found it. I never throw anything. Here it is.’

  Ylva handed him a piece of paper with a simple mark drawn on it. It was Zac’s sigil, an ancient sign, and there were words beneath it in beautiful calligraphy. He recognised his friend’s handwriting immediately.

  If you are reading this, then you are free, as I suspected you would be. I’ve been watching her from a distance, keeping her safe for your return, and she is well. I want to help you. Much has happened in your absence. As I can no longer feel you, my friend, I will be waiting for you where heaven meets Earth. Our home from home.

  Zac nodded at Ylva and put the note in the same pocket as the jewellery.

  ‘Thank you, you have been most helpful,’ he said, kissing the housekeeper lightly on the cheek. ‘Please go with Richard to St Lucia. I believe something special may just happen between you both.’

  She smoothed the creases out of her apron and then put her hand up to her pink cheek.

  ‘Oh no, Mr Fantz
not like me like that.’

  ‘Well, he may if I talk to him,’ Zac said with a smile.

  Once he found Ella, he would return to see Richard and repay the housekeeper for her help. He would make sure Richard and Ylva lived a happy, calm life together; it was the least he could do after dragging them into his sticky web of lies. Had Zac never entered Ella’s life, none of these events would have happened—he’d altered Richard’s life forever and for the worse, so it was only fair that he made amends.

  ‘You will forget you ever spoke to me,’ he told the housekeeper, staring into her eyes. ‘You will forget about Gabriel, the man who gave you the note, and you will forget I was here. Is that clear? You are a good woman, Ylva. I promise Mr Fantz will see that one day.’

  She nodded and walked away, humming as if he wasn’t even there. His new mind-control trick both thrilled and scared him.

  • • • • •

  Zac walked toward Highgate Village, a rucksack full of food and spare clothes slung over his shoulder. He sat down on the same bench in Pond Square where he and Ella had talked all those years ago. For the first time in his existence, he had no idea what to do. If he found Gabriel, then maybe his friend could lead him to Ella, but if Gabriel was tricking him, it would lead him back to Mikhael and certain death.

  There were so many unanswered questions. How was he going to find Ella? Was her stepbrother Sebastian still a threat? And what about Zac’s mother—was she alive too?

  Thousands of years had passed since he’d last seen his mother, but his memories remained clear and unwavering. The smell of her neck when she held him after a fall and the way she would wipe away his tears with her long dark braid. In the springtime, she would let him decorate her hair with forest flowers that would stay nestled among her curls all day. She used to carry him everywhere, saying it was safer to be up in the air than on the ground. His spindly legs wrapped around her waist, and he’d lock his dusty feet together and cling to her, so even when she let go of him, he never fell. But in the end, it was she who had fallen and spent centuries searching for her son. Now it was Zac’s turn to search for her, to discover whether his theory was right, and to see if his mother was also walking this earth.

  FINE YELLOW SAND burned Sebastian’s cheek, but no matter how hard he tried to lift his head, he couldn’t find the strength to move. Sweat trickled down his temples and into his eyes, which were cemented shut with blood and sand. He attempted to rub them, but his arms lay useless and limp beside him. Nothing but a low whimper escaped his parched lips. He needed help, but more than that he needed water. Slowly inching his tongue closer to his swollen lips, he tried to wet them, but his tongue was like a bloated corpse squeezed into an arid cave. Even his own blood had long ago dried hard and tight across his mouth and chin.

  How long had he been in the desert?

  The wind, carrying nothing but heat, howled and whipped the dunes, sending sharp pinpricks of sand into his face. His breaths were now coming in shallow fits and starts, his nose and throat burning with every inhalation.

  So, this was how he was going to die.

  • • • • •

  A few days ago, Sebastian had been playing poker in a small village on the outskirts of the Moroccan town of Sidi Ifni; that much he could remember. The bar was a decaying art deco style building painted in blues and whites that overlooked the angry Atlantic Ocean. From the outside, it looked like a normal cafeteria, but once the sun had set, behind closed doors, it was a different place entirely. Those in the know referred to it as The Gin and Pussy Palace, and it didn’t disappoint. At first, the locals had been wary of the foreign white boy with all the money, but he’d soon worked out how to buy himself protection and benefits. Everything was going so well, so why had those men turned on him and dumped him here?

  When he’d left London three years ago—when he had been forced to leave his home by his bitch of a stepsister, Ella, and her wild exaggerations—he’d taken a ferry to France and slowly worked his way south of Europe. He was wanted by London’s Metropolitan Police, and he’d heard his father was also trying to track him down. He had no intention of returning to England to stand trial for the things his spoilt sister had accused him of. No, he would keep travelling overland, avoiding airports and the tourist trail, and settle somewhere remote. Maybe Africa or India, somewhere cheap where people wouldn’t recognise him, and his morals would remain unquestioned. He had access to money in accounts no one knew about. There had been no reason for his plan not to work. Until now.

  Sebastian had spent a year in France and then in Spain, eventually crossing the Strait of Gibraltar. Plenty of locals had been happy to make the short journey from Spain to Morocco on their fishing boats for a fistful of euros, and so from there he worked his way down northern Africa. Over the last year he’d soaked up the delights of Fes, Marrakesh, and Casablanca—drinking the finest coffee and smoking the strongest weed. These cities provided the easiest hideouts if you knew the right people. He had a friend in Algeria who had been willing to get him a fake passport and papers, which meant he’d be free to finally get on with his life and disappear from the public eye forever. Six weeks ago, he’d stopped at an outpost near the Sahara, swayed by its rugged coastline, with the intention to simply stay two nights in a motel before heading further south.

  That was until he’d discovered The Gin and Pussy Palace and its perky perks. Girls. Plenty of them at just the perfect age for the right price. They were hidden at the back of the café in the drinking and poker rooms where they would only be seen by those who would pay, and Sebastian was more than happy to part with his money for the right girl.

  It had been a night like any other. The whisky was flowing, and he’d won the last hand of poker, so the drinks were on him. He was telling a story—the locals liked the stories of his travels and previously pampered life—but this time his words were not being received well.

  ‘You must stop at once!’ Hasim, the bar owner, had pleaded with him. ‘No more talk like that.’

  Sebastian had drunk too much but he was far from incoherent; in fact, he was holding court. The girl sitting on his lap pushed her skinny backside against his crotch, making him stir with desire, while another girl draped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, begging him to tell them the monster story again. He’d had them both before, and tonight he would have them both again. Probably at the same time.

  ‘It’s true.’ Sebastian smiled, his tiny teeth glinting in the half-light of the bar. ‘Demons. Magical beings with wings as big as cars. They can walk through walls and pin a man to the ceiling with one finger. I saw one sprout feathers out of his back and then vanish into thin air.’

  Hasim looked nervously over his shoulder at a group of men in the corner who were cradling a bottle of gin between them. They were taking quick glances at Sebastian while whispering to one another.

  ‘You will bring bad luck upon us,’ the bar owner wailed. ‘There is magic in this desert. You must keep quiet, Mr Sebastian. There is much darkness. You are not to shine a light on it or you will bring it closer.’

  Sebastian hadn’t listened to the frantic bar owner, and now here he was with a mouthful of sand, nothing more than bird food for the vultures circling above him in the pale blue sky.

  A shadow fell upon him, and he relished the relief from the sun’s incessant heat. Through the swollen slits of his eyes, he saw a woman’s bare feet, nails painted a deep red. Wrapped around her slender ankles were dozens of beaded bracelets decorated with tiny silver bells and brightly coloured stones. He closed his eyes again and thanked a god that had deserted him a long time ago. He’d been saved.

  SEBASTIAN’S EYES WERE still heavy but no longer felt scratchy with sand. As he slowly opened them, he was greeted with a kaleidoscope of colours dancing before him. There was something wet and thick dripping into his mouth. He swallowed, feeling a rejuvenating energy gradually seeping into his bones as the liquid ran down his throat. He sucked at the metallic ambro
sia, regaining strength with every mouthful, until he found himself greedily gulping it down, his tongue finally free to lick and lap. He moved his arms up to clasp the source of his salvation, focusing on the sensation of soft skin against his palms and the tinkling sound of glass beads chiming against one another.

  A woman’s voice murmured in his ear.

  ‘That’s right. Drink it. It will heal you.’

  She pushed his head hard against her neck, the source of the liquid, forcing him to run his mouth down her shoulders and past the necklaces at her throat. They clinked again as he moved them, nuzzling further down her wet body until he found her bare breasts. The liquid was trickling slowly from her throat to her chest. He ran his tongue over her nipple to catch the last drop. What was he drinking? It was red and sticky and smelled of old pennies and abattoirs. A different kind of strength was slowly building back up in his arms and legs. He blinked and attempted to focus, but her hand still held his head firmly against her chest.

  ‘Drink!’

  ‘What is this?’ he asked, his voice muffled. He saw a flash of silver as she ran the edge of a knife along her jugular. More liquid ran down her chest and into his mouth. ‘What am I drinking?’

  ‘My blood. It will save you.’

  Thick iron-tasting bile rose in his throat, making him choke. He used the little strength he had to pull his head back, staring into the face of the woman who’d saved him.

  She was beautiful.

  Not simply attractive like a girl from a magazine but ethereal, timeless. Her hair hung long and dark over her shoulders in thick bouncy curls held back by a colourful tasselled scarf. Her lips were full, her skin golden, and her eyes shone a deep green that were now fixed on his, her large pupils dark, round, and catlike. Around her neck were a multitude of glass bead necklaces, covering her bare chest that was now stained red with her blood. She was perched on the edge of a bed, her long gypsy skirt pushed up to accommodate Sebastian who was kneeling on the ground between her parted legs. The blood that he’d been drinking continued to ooze slowly out of a gash in her neck.