He stirred slowly. With no alarm, and no warm body by his side, the freedom to wake at his leisure was one he hadn’t had in a long time, and as he stretched and yawned, he made out flecks of light around the window shutters and the door.

Laurence sat up and scratched his jaw through the beard and took a moment to assess whether or not he needed a bathroom.

He didn’t remember ever needing to pee in Otherworld. Through his long journey with Herne last time, and here on Avalon now, he’d eaten and drunk, but still no pressure from his abdomen, and he wondered whether or not his body was idly defecating itself without the pilot around to stop it.

The idea of it amused him, and he smirked at the thought of Mikey or Freddy having to either live with the smell or keep their prisoner clean.

He looked around and noticed Emma still asleep on her cot, so Laurence moved silently to the door and slipped outside to let her sleep uninterrupted.

There were a few people up and about when he stepped outside, and he gave a friendly wave. Some waved back, and a couple laughed warmly at his nudity, but that was it. Nobody rushed over to cover him up or punish him for being naked. Just like last time, few people seemed to give a damn that his meat and potatoes were flapping in the breeze.

He didn’t want to think too hard about that, but it did make him feel safer than he already was to know that nobody here wanted to punish him for something he had no control over.

Laurence set off for a stroll around the perimeter of the village. So far the only other part of the island he had visited was Morgan’s home further uphill, but he didn’t think it was right to just go off to explore on his own, so he stayed well within range of the buildings while he stretched his legs and took in the fresh, apple-scented air.

Emma and Morgan were right, and he was glad he’d listened to their advice. It was like he’d needed to catch up on a week’s sleep, and now that he had, his head was clear, and he felt like he was firing on all cylinders again.

If he was here a while, he could use his time wisely. He needed information. If he could reach Windsor from here, he could find out whether Rufus had found the spell he’d asked for yet, but he could also ask the guy to contact Quentin and let him know that Laurence was okay. Maybe between them all they could co-ordinate, relay messages back and forth, and figure out how to beat Freddy.

Hope lifted his spirits. He sauntered back toward Emma’s house and, as her door was still closed, he swept some of the ground outside clean enough to sit on, then he crossed his legs and settled his hands on his knees.

He closed his eyes and reached for Windsor.

Hello!

Laurence smiled softly and tried to reply without moving his lips. Hello! How are you?

Great! Awake!

Laurence chuckled. Is Rufus there?

No. Asleep!

Ah. I guess it’s late there? Laurence had no grasp of time any more. Was Avalon’s sunrise tied to British time, or was it its own thing? Has he found the spell?

No. Found Quentin! Windsor seemed proud of this.

Laurence’s throat tightened. Is he okay?

Yes. No. The two responses overlapped in a way Laurence understood to mean maybe.

He tried a different question. Is he safe?

Yes! Windsor was much more sure of this one.

Okay. That’s good. He sighed to himself. I’ll check back when I can, okay?

Yes!

Laurence withdrew reluctantly. Being able to communicate with anyone back home, even through the medium of bird, was of tremendous comfort. He had no idea how anyone could get through being incarcerated without it, let alone tortured.

He was damn lucky, and he knew it.

There was no point sitting around congratulating himself on his fortune, though. Who knew how long he’d have this freedom for? He needed to put it to good use while he still had it, and nothing seemed like a better use than trying to work out exactly what Freddy was up to.

And why.

Laurence rolled his neck slowly to loosen it, then immersed himself in the river of time, seeking answers.

* * *

He dipped in and out of the river with growing horror. How long had Frederick been tampering with Laurence’s mind? Or had Laurence really been so oblivious during the whole mess with Kane?

He knew Freddy had taken Quentin’s shirt. He’d seen that before.

But he hadn’t known that Freddy tracked Mikey down and basically kidnapped the guy right out of his own life.

Laurence watched as Freddy told Mikey several times that Mikey was little more to him than a toy, a plaything, some silly putty to mold and shape however he pleased. He watched as Mikey wrestled with the idea of giving himself over to be a rich dude’s toy.

In the end, Laurence wasn’t any wiser as to whether Freddy loved Mikey, or whether he was just entertaining himself by overturning someone’s whole life. There would be patches where Freddy and Mikey said nothing, yet suddenly when they did speak it seemed as though Laurence had missed most of a conversation.

He thought back to Freddy’s illusion of Japan. That had all been in Laurence’s mind.

Was that what Freddy did? To ensure the ultimate privacy, did he take most of his work out of the real world altogether and do these mindscape things? Or was it something he had started to do once he found out what Laurence could do?

Laurence bit his lip.

Had Frederick known months ago that they would come to this? Had he effectively future-proofed himself as much as he could by keeping his most intimate conversations unspoken?

If so, that was some next-level planning. Laurence couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of Machiavellian mind it might take to think so far ahead.

And yet Freddy seemed so genuine in his care of Quentin when Quentin had spent those two weeks in bed after the wildfire. He came over every day so that Laurence could walk the dogs, and he kept Quentin company even when Quentin was unconscious. He forbade Quentin from getting out of bed to tinker with his piano even though Quentin tried his best to wheedle Freddy into a position of conspiracy.

He’d been the consummate nurse in Laurence’s absence.

So why would he do this now?

Laurence stretched slowly. He’d been here so long that his ass was numb, but he wasn’t ready to give in.

There was more. He knew it. There was a piece missing from the puzzle, so he went back in, searching for Freddy.

Freddy entered the duke’s office. Laurence recognized it without hesitation or doubt. This place haunted him, and it seemed it hadn’t changed in the past twenty years.

“Father. You called for me?” Frederick closed the door.

“Sit.” The duke was older now. Older even than from Laurence’s vision of the funeral.

Frederick sauntered to the chair the duke indicated and sat, then leaned back and crossed his legs. “How may I be of service?”

“Quite an interesting creature you have imported.” The duke turned just a little to open a drawer in his desk, then he tossed a folder to Frederick’s side of the expanse of wood. It landed with a smack.

Frederick opened the folder like it meant nothing to him, and idly picked through the contents. Laurence peered over his shoulder and caught sight of so many photos of Mikey that he couldn’t even start to count them.

Some of the pictures were from San Diego, but most seemed to be from England. London, Laurence guessed.

“What of it?” Freddy drawled as he let the folder fall closed.

“A drug dealer?” The duke creased his nose in disgust. “Where do you find these playthings of yours? No,” he added, “I don’t care. It so happens that, for once, you have done something worthwhile with your time.”

“I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

The duke gave a faint little snort. “I tire of playing games with the pair of you, Frederick. This situation has gone on long enough. I want you to bring Quentin home.”

“Really?” Frederick squinted. “This old chestnut? Father, it isn’t as though I haven’t tried. Several times! Do you ever think that he just doesn’t bloody want to come home?”

Laurence couldn’t help but feel surprise. Even now Freddy seemed to be trying to protect Quentin.

Had all his previous efforts to bring Quentin home failed intentionally?

“What he wants is hardly relevant.” The duke pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. He wandered toward the windows which overlooked the grounds, and clasped his hands together behind his back. “Perhaps I should make a few things clear for you.”

Freddy opened his mouth, then looked alarmed as he struggled for breath.

Laurence grit his teeth. He’d seen telekinesis enough now to figure out what was going on.

The duke was suffocating his own son.

The duke glanced over at him. “I married Elizabeth for her telepathy. If you think that I don’t know you inherited it, think again, boy. You have had more than enough time to apply yourself to the problem, but you have chosen not to. You lack motivation.”

Freddy’s expression evened out. Laurence could see the quick flutter of his gut as he fought for air.

“But your new toy has ties to Quentin’s bit of fluff, doesn’t he?” The duke looked to the window again. “You are both staggeringly naive to think that I wouldn’t find him. I hate to resort to threats, but you leave me no choice. You are going to use every tool in your arsenal to separate Quentin from this American he is bedding. Control his mind, use your own American, do everything that you can to tear them apart. Destroy Riley, and you will destroy Quentin’s will. You must sever his ties to that dreadful country and give him no reason to remain.”

Freddy blinked sluggishly.

“Bring him home, Frederick, or I will do to you what I am instructing you to do to Quentin. I will ruin Brennan. I will wreck his mind and his body. I will devastate him until he is nothing but a shell, and then I will move on to you, because if you fail me again then it is clear that you will never succeed at this task, and there will be no further need to keep you around.”

Freddy gasped for air and sagged in the seat as breath came to him at last.

“The choice is yours.” The duke returned to his seat as though he hadn’t just threatened to kill his own boy. “Break Quentin, or I will break you.”

Freddy’s look of horror was all the worse for the crack in his composure. “Why? Why go to all this trouble? Why would you kill one of your own children over this?” He sucked down air. “Why is he worth more than me?”

The duke placed his hands on his blotter and looked Frederick right in the eye.

“Because he can learn magic,” he said simply, “and you cannot.”

Freddy’s horror transformed slowly into something else. Laurence could see it.

Defeat.

Freddy had finally lost this battle.

Laurence’s eyes snapped open and he drew a breath almost as deep as Freddy’s had been.

Everything he’d been through, everything Freddy had done to him, seemed to take on new light. It snapped into place like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, and in the space of a single breath Laurence saw a much bigger picture.

Freddy loved Mikey, and was doing all this to save him.

Would Laurence do anything differently in Freddy’s shoes? Sure, he didn’t have the same gifts, but if he was forced to ruin someone to save Quentin’s life, he could do it.

No, scratch that.

He would do it.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his ass to get some feeling back in it as he took deep breaths to make the blood flow. As he looked around the village, he saw a few people going about their business, washing clothes or preparing dinner out in the cool evening air, and he cracked a smile.

He had the information. Now all he needed was a plan.