THREE YEARS FOR NOTHING

The Desecration

The brownstone on Ashford Street looked wrong from half a block away. Thaddeus slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he took in the wide-open door, the moving truck parked carelessly at the curb. Voices drifted out into the late afternoon air, sharp with orders and the scrape of furniture being dragged across hardwood floors.

His jaw tightened as he climbed the front steps. The small entryway that should have smelled like Elspeth’s lavender soap instead reeked of sweat and cheap cologne. Two burly workers were manhandling his father’s old reading chair toward the door, grunting with the effort. They barely glanced at him as he stepped inside.

The living room had been gutted. The couch where Elspeth liked to sit by the window was gone. The bookshelf his father had built by hand had been overturned, its contents scattered across the floor. And there, face-down on the scuffed floorboards near the fireplace, were the portrait frames.

Thaddeus felt something cold settle in his chest. He moved forward slowly, his footsteps deliberate, and crouched down beside the shattered frames. The glass had spiderwebbed across his mother’s gentle smile. His father’s face was partially obscured by a dirty bootprint that had ground right across the photograph. These were the only pictures he and Elspeth had left after the fire that had taken their parents twelve years ago. The fire that the police had called an accident, despite the questions that had never been answered, despite the smell of accelerant his twelve-year-old self had sworn he’d detected that night.

“Oh, you’re back.” Gwendolyn Bellamy’s voice cut through his thoughts like nails on slate. “Good. You can help load the rest of this junk into the truck.”

Thaddeus looked up slowly. Margot’s mother stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, her expression dripping with disdain. She wore too much jewelry for a Tuesday afternoon, gold bracelets clinking as she gestured dismissively at the carnage around her.

“What are you doing in my home?” His voice came out quieter than he’d intended, but there was something beneath it that made one of the workers pause mid-step.

“Your home?” Gwendolyn laughed, a harsh sound. “This dump is compensation, sweetheart. Compensation for the three years my daughter wasted waiting for a worthless convict.” She stepped fully into the room, her heels grinding against the floorboards. “Consider it payment for ruining Margot’s life. She could have had anyone, but she settled for you, and look where that got her.”

Thaddeus rose to his feet, still holding the portrait frame carefully in both hands. His eyes tracked across the room and stopped on something small and faded near the overturned coffee table. Elspeth’s ragdoll, the one she’d clutched every night since she was five years old, the one that helped her navigate the darkness when her anxiety spiked. The doll was crumpled beneath a boot.

Jasper Bellamy’s boot.

Margot’s younger brother lounged against the wall near the window, smirking as he ground his heel down harder on the toy. “Looking for something, jailbird?” He was twenty-two and dressed like he’d stepped out of a country club, all expensive casual wear and practiced arrogance. “Sorry about the little tramp’s toy. Guess she won’t be needing it where she’s gone.”

The cold in Thaddeus’s chest spread outward. “Where is Elspeth?”

“Oh, that burden?” Gwendolyn waved her hand as though swatting away an insect. “We did you a favor, honestly. Your blind sister was costing money we didn’t have. So we sent her somewhere she could actually be useful. A friend of Dorian Blackwell’s needed some company, and we figured the least that girl could do was earn her keep.”

The implication hung in the air like poison.

Thaddeus’s hands tightened on the frame. “Where is she?”

“Don’t you dare use that tone with me.” Gwendolyn’s face flushed red as she jabbed a finger toward his chest. “You have no right to demand anything. You’re nothing. You’re garbage that crawled out of prison, and you should be grateful we’re even—”

She raised her hand to slap him. Thaddeus caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip firm. Gwendolyn’s eyes went wide, the color draining from her face as she tried and failed to pull away. For a moment, the room went absolutely silent except for the sound of traffic outside.

“Did prison turn you into a real criminal?” Gwendolyn’s voice shook despite the venom in her words.

“Back off, Mom.” Jasper pushed away from the wall, his swagger returning as he approached. “Let me handle this loser.” He rolled his shoulders like a man preparing for a bar fight he’d never actually been in. “Listen carefully, Crane. Dorian Blackwell is backing us now. The Blackwell family. One of the four great families of Millhaven. If you cause problems, we’ll have you back in Riverbend before sunset, and this time you won’t get out in three years.”

Thaddeus released Gwendolyn’s wrist. She stumbled backward, cradling her arm. His gaze shifted to Jasper, and something in his eyes made the younger man’s bravado falter for just a moment.

“Where is my sister?” Each word came out like a chip of ice.

Jasper’s sneer returned, uglier now. “The blind little tramp? She’s probably moaning under some man right now at The Obsidian Lounge. Gregor Ventris wanted some fresh entertainment, and your precious sister fit the bill perfectly.”

The fury that had been building behind Thaddeus’s ribs broke through like a dam giving way. He moved before Jasper could blink, his palm striking out in a motion that looked almost casual. The impact sent Jasper flying backward across the room. He crashed into the far wall hard enough that plaster cracked and rained down in white chunks. Jasper hit the floor in a heap, blood spilling from his mouth as he gasped and wheezed, unable to do more than twitch.

Gwendolyn screamed.

Thaddeus crossed the room in three strides and planted his foot on Jasper’s chest. The younger man’s eyes rolled with pain and terror. Thaddeus leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper.

“If you hide my sister’s whereabouts again, I’ll kill you.”

Jasper’s face had gone gray. Sweat poured down his temples as he stared up at the man he’d been mocking moments before. “The Obsidian Lounge,” he choked out, the words barely audible. “On Harrington Avenue. The most luxurious club in the city. That’s where she is.”

Thaddeus held his gaze for another long moment, then pressed down harder with his boot. Jasper’s eyes fluttered. Thaddeus stepped back, bent down to retrieve his parents’ portrait from where he’d carefully set it aside, and wiped the dust from the frame with his sleeve. He looked at his mother’s face one more time, then walked toward the door without another word.