“Are you certain this will work… once and for all?” Bram asked.
Uriel squeezed his hand. “Do you trust me?”
Tears prickled at the backs of his eyelids as he nodded. “Yes.”
“It will work, I promise you.”
Bram changed quickly, not bothering to check his appearance, and when he returned to the sitting room, he was offered two soft smiles. Before another word was uttered, Uriel gathered up his bag of shoes, reached for Bram and Armando, and transported them to a woodland clearing.
11
A Ruse & a Goodbye
“Where are we?” Bram asked, glancing around for some sign of familiarity.
“Durham,” Uriel replied. “Since Armando was seen in London yesterday, we’ll send him into the hotel bar after this little jaunt to be seen there. Your last move was made in Cockfosters, so they will assume you’re travelling north. If I send our next package by mail from here, that ought to solidify their assumption.”
“What do I have to do?” Bram asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“I need to make a few adjustments first,” Uriel said, waving his hands over the dress, making it magically dirty. “Nobody will believe you’ve been kidnapped and left to rot in this dress if it is so clean.”
“Clever,” Bram said.
Armando might not enjoy his uncle’s interference, but Bram could only be grateful for Uriel’s handling of the awful situation he found himself in.
“And I need to give you back the hair… just for a few minutes.” Uriel grimaced. “And just on one side given you’ve already sent half your hair to your father.”
His curls bounced back into being on his shoulder. “Now what?”
“Crusty lips,” said Uriel. “These kidnappers have not been looking after you. And some dirt on your cheeks and neck. Maybe some bruises and gashes here and there.”
Marks appeared on Bram’s arms, and his lips tightened as if cuts had formed.
“Lie down and play dead,” Uriel said. “Armando, lay the shoes out… as if several men are standing around him.”
Armando frowned, but did as he was bid. “There’s a camera in the bag.”
“Well, I can change the appearance of many things, Armando,” Uriel said, “but I cannot take photographs with my eyes.”
Bram laughed from his position on the ground. “I’m not sure I look very dead, if that’s what we’re aiming for.”
“You will,” Uriel said. “I’ll take two photographs. There will be blood, and for approximately two minutes, you won’t be able to see.”
Bram took a deep breath and let Lord Hallam’s daughter go.
“Keep as still as you can, and just… allow yourself to look at the clouds.”
Bram’s tears overflowed, not at the loss of his old life, but at the loss of Oliver. He would mourn Oliver for as long as he lived, and it was not a little foolish considering the man was not dead. When he thought of the water jinn, the existence of angels should not have surprised him, but it did. His wrist burned, but he didn’t cry out despite the unexpectedness of it. His eyes clouded over, no longer able to see the bright sky streaked with sunlit silver, only able to see one thing in his mind’s eye. A dear face he knew he would remember for the rest of his life.
Goodbye, Oliver. I’ll love you always.
The following morning, Abaddon announced they had ten minutes to pack.
12
Forever Bram Goodfellow
Bram swayed back and forth in Abaddon’s carriage. He’d never been much of a traveller, long journeys making him tired, grumpy and nauseated. This was no exception.
As carriages went, it was comfortable enough, though it looked like it had sprung from the dark ages. The problem was that he was terrified Abaddon would discover his secret, so he had bound himself tighter than usual beneath his clothes, an act he now regretted as nausea began to swell in his belly. Abaddon was an intelligent man, and he’d been studying Bram, no doubt wondering why he needed to leave London, and why his clothes were so old and ill-fitting.
Bram chuckled to himself when Cecilia piped up. “Are you going to be my daddy now?”
“You need a father?” Abaddon asked.
Based on appearances, Bram would not have presumed Abaddon to be a patient man, and it only served as a reminder that he really oughtn’t judge anyone. Abaddon was proving himself a saint.
“I have Mando. He’s like a father, but he’s not my father. And I have Bram, who is like a brother, but is not my brother.” Her head swayed as she looked at the window, and Bram couldn’t resist a smile. “But we’re going somewhere different now… somewhere new, where nobody knows us, so you could be my father, because everyone would believe it.”
“They would?” Abaddon asked.
“It makes sense that my father would be able to beat pirates in a fight,” she said, as if this were the most logical statement.
“Alas, I cannot tell anyone that tale,” Abaddon told her. “I don’t want more pirates coming after my loot. Besides, I don’t think Armando likes that idea. He looks very much like a put-upon seal.”
