Page 28 of Summoner of Sins

Cranston sat in one of the armchairs, gesturing for him to take the other. “It’s good that you came.”

Max’s brows lifted at the marked change in attitude.

Cranston rose again, moving to his desk and pulling out a folder. “My childhood had little joy, as you can imagine. My father insisted that his children live righteously, and he was generous with the whip when we failed.”

Max grimaced. He knew about stern fathers.

“My mother died when I was eight. Banged her head falling down the stairs, they said. I never believed it, not even at eight. I’d heard the arguing right before it happened. I knew the truth.”

Max sat up, his fingers gripping the arm of the chair. It was possible the woman had fallen while trying to escape her husband.

“My little sister was next. Tipped off a balcony.”

Max’s jaw grew granite hard as he thought of little Abigail being in that man’s house.

“And then when I was sixteen, my younger brother fell from his horse. I was already at school, of course, and rarely went home. It ate at me. He was just twelve and I should have been there.” Cranston handed Max the file. “I’ve been a coward, I know it. I’m only alive because I was his heir, but I think…” Cranston tapered off, looking into the fire. “I know the killings were meant to send me a message.”

Or to disguise his son’s murder, or a bid to eliminate the club? Perhaps it was all of the above. “I’m trying to s-stop him. Any advice?”

Cranston nodded. Standing again, he crossed to the desk, pulled a pen from its inkwell, and scratched it across a piece of vellum.

Then, dusting it, he handed it to Max. “The address of his warehouse.”

Max took the paper, not folding it so the ink could dry.

This was the clue he’d been waiting for.

Sophie paced the library, trying to calm her fears. Max had been gone for a long time. He ought to have returned by now. Ironheart had attempted to comfort her multiple times but had given up and now sat by the fire, sipping at a drink.

After making her hundredth pass, he loudly cleared his throat. “Come. Sit.”

“My apologies, my lord. I?—”

“Sophie. It’s Ironheart. Or Caden, if you’d like to get very comfortable.”

“Caden? Unusual name…”

“Yes. It’s a good story, and I’ll tell it to you if you come sit.”

She sighed as she walked over to him, perching on the edge of the chair, her hands clasped.

Ironheart assessed her for a moment and then stood, pouring a second glass of the amber liquid. He returned, handing one to her.

“Oh, thank you, but I don’t…”

“Today you do. Drink.” He sat back down in his chair.

She took a sip of the liquid. It managed to be both sweet and burn her throat at the same time. Choking it down, she made to set her glass aside, but Ironheart held up a hand to stop her.

“More.”

“But, my…Ironheart…it tastes awful.”

He laughed then and she found herself returning a small smile before she covered it by taking another tiny sip. “It will help you relax and endure the waiting.”

“I think I’d rather pace,” she muttered, but she took a tiny bit more, the warmth of it sliding down her throat.

“I’d rather you join me in drinking.” He set his glass aside, rubbing the spot between his eyes.

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