Chapter 12 - Saint
Three days after theritual, I returned to Winthrop Castle following a business trip for my father combined with a head-clearing analysis to Switzerland. Yet no amount of skiing in the Alps could bring me the clarity I sought. Why couldn’t I get that damn girl and her mortified face, out of my head. She was just a child and I’d hurt her, probably broken her spirit in the process. I’d done this ritual a few times now and it had always ended the same way. With nothing. No reaction. No remorse. No repeat. Well, on my part at least, I couldn’t vouch for the ladies.
This time, though, I’d felt something. What exactly, I had no idea. Still, it hovered just out of reach. Strange and at the same time, disconcerting. A first. I was guarded by nature—a consequence that came with my family name. Naturally, I’d be concerned. Perhaps if I shoved it to the back of mind, it might shrivel into a mere coincidence, nothing more.
Fate, it seemed didn’t believe in fair play. The second I walked through the large wooden doors of my home, memories of that night quickly flooded my head. I did what I do best. Ignored it.
“Good evening, Mr Sinclair. I trust you had a good trip.” Our butler held out his hand to take my coat.
“Mr Sinclair?” I arched a brow. “I’ve been gone a few days and you’ve already forgotten my name, John? Have I missed some spectacular mind-altering event?” I handed over my gloves and overcoat with a light laugh.
Five years younger than my father, John had been in our employ since the day I turned six and now practically family. After numerous requests to call me by my name, he finally relented about three months ago.
He chuckled. “Old age, Saint.”
“You’re sixty, John, still a spring chicken in my books.” I laughed and he joined me. “Has my father retired for the night?” Heading for the study, I unbuttoned my suit jacket nearing the entrance.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, following me. “Shall I fetch you something to eat?”
“Thank you, but all I want is a nightcap and the bed.”
“Then I’ll bid you good night.” After my nod, he tipped his head and left.
Dragging both hands through my hair, I stifled a yawn and walked over to the drink’s cabinet. If I didn’t get some much-needed sleep soon, I was sure to become a walking zombie.
“You sent her away?”
I turned at the sound of my father’s quiet voice. He sat in his usual spot—a Gregorian 19th Century wingback handed down from fathers to sons. He allowed no one to touch the family heirloom, even when my mother suggested we have the faded leather re-covered. But he was having none of that.
Without asking, I knew he was referring to the girl I’d sent away the night of the ritual. “Yes,” I replied, pouring two glasses of whiskey.
As I neared him, he leaned forward and took the glass from my hand. “Was she not to your liking?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink.
I stared at him momentarily. Orange flames from the fire a shiny reflection on his salt and pepper hair and a face matured with experience. Apart from the eye color, anyone looking at the two of us, would know we were father and son. A clear indication of what I’d look like in my old age. As his blue eyes searched my face, I noticed the fine crow lines around his eyes and mouth seemed more pronounced tonight. Only now did I realize how the weight of our family secrets burdened him. Did I do that to him?
“She was perfect, Father.”
“Perhaps too young then?” I picked up on the confusion in his voice.
Lowering myself to the armchair opposite him, I eyed the amber liquid in my glass. “Strangely, I couldn’t bring myself to take from her.”
“And not because of the age?” he asked referring to my rule.
Years ago, I made it clear that while I would participate in the family ritual, I was against taking women below the age of twenty. The brotherhood respected my rule. This time, though, I’d felt something I couldn’t explain. The second she took off that mask, it spiralled me back to the first day I saw her in the castle when she’d snuck away from her school tour. Even then, I hadn’t understood that odd familiarity in my chest. Against coming across like a stalking paedophile, I hadn’t gone after her and now it seemed I let her walk away from me, once more.
“Regardless of the age, there was just something about her I can’t quite fathom,” I verbalized my thoughts, knowing he was just as curious.
