Dangerous Thoughts

Chapter 19

When Charles returned home, he made a beeline for his study.

His head was full. His heart was shattered. His world was caving in around him.

His fiancée. His brother. His future.

His life felt worthless. He was worthless. And therefore, he didn't want to be himself anymore.

He locked the door to his study and immediately began to unstrap each and every memory from his shelf. He laid them down in a messy, rolling pile on his desk, running his hands over the vials. He could feel each memory thrumming beneath his fingers through the glass. They wanted to be released; they wanted to be re-lived. He would help them do that.

He found the first one he wanted, a vial with a green glow. He uncorked it, pressed the glass to his lips, and inhaled. He closed his eyes, waiting for the memory to settle into his skin.

It hit him all at once. Suddenly, he was there, in the moment. He was a man—older, larger, but full of unbridled joy. He had just won an election. Other men in the room were cheering for him. They slapped him on his back. They poured champagne into his glass. There was music, a pounding feeling in his chest, and the warmth of success.

But after a few minutes, it faded, becoming nothing more than a memory. Something Charles could access in the back of his head, but never as potent as living it the first time. He needed something else.

Charles started ruffling through his remaining bottles, looking for something, anything, to help him escape. The beach one isn't strong enough, he thought, passing it on. And he skipped over the few that had to do with love—he had no room in his head for that right now.

Finally, he settled for the memory he had obtained from Miss Melissa. He hadn't finished editing it, but he didn't care. He took the pink memory and absorbed it as well.

He closed his eyes, letting it take over, reveling in the touch of skin and the empty pleasure it provided. But just like the other memory, it was over too soon. He wanted more.

He was sorting through his vials, searching for another distraction, when he heard the door to his study click open.

He looked up and saw Lillian and Juliette standing in the doorway.

Charles scowled, his hand clamped around an empty vial. "I locked the door. How did you get in?"

Juliette wiggled her fingers guiltily. "Sorry, Mister Abbot."

"Get out," Charles said, but neither of them moved.

Lillian stood there, tall, with a small frown on her lips. Juliette meanwhile was fidgeting, looking like a child who was caught between two quarreling parents. Then her eyes fell to Charles' desk and the scattered vials of memories. She frowned and pointed. "You're missing two of them. What happened to the green and pink ones?"

When Charles didn't respond, Juliette's jaw dropped. "You absorbed them, didn't you?"

Charles couldn't answer her, so instead, he looked up at Lillian. "What do you want?"

"We saw you rush inside," Lillian said calmly. "We wanted to see if you were okay."

"You wanted to see if you were right," Charles corrected.

Lillian didn't react to Charles' biting tone. Her face was still, like a carved ebony statue.

Charles exhaled. "Well, you were," he mumbled. "Cecilia is a truth void. She admitted it."

"And did you ask her about the cult?"

"No, I did not ask my fiancée if she's a member of a child-sacrificing cult!" Charles shouted, slamming a vial on his desk; it didn't break, but made a loud ting! "Finding out that she had lied to me about being a mage was hard enough today. And then seeing James..." He trailed off suddenly.