certainly know them, although the idea Ren comes from an alternate reality is a step up from her first suggestion that he was left behind by aliens.’
Darragh offered Patrick his right hand. ‘Do you want to check it’s real? I am not Ren, Patrick. I am his brother, and my name is Darragh.’
‘I know,’ Patrick said, in a less belligerent tone. ‘And do you know how I know you’re not Ren?’
Darragh didn’t respond, certain it was a rhetorical question.
‘He would never try to spin me such a ridiculous fucking yarn to get himself out of trouble.’ He drained the last of his whiskey and then raised his empty glass to Jack in mocking salute. ‘Explains the generous proportions of the drink, though. Suppose you thought I’d swallow this blarney easier if I was pissed?’
‘The alcohol helps,’ Jack conceded.
Patrick let out a derisive snort as he slammed the glass onto the table. ‘I’m not going to sit here and listen to this nonsense. You may be Ren’s brother, lad, but you’ve taken my Hayley. There’s going to be an accounting for that, let me tell you.’
‘She is being held as a hostage until Ren has been exonerated,’ Sorcha announced from the door.
Darragh looked up in surprise. He didn’t even know she’d come downstairs.
Patrick swung around to stare at the newcomer. Sorcha was still dressed in the jeans and t-shirt they’d borrowed from the accountant’s house. Her long dark hair was dishevelled and she looked pale, but still commanded attention when she spoke, even without her weapons.
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I am the one negotiating Ren’s surrender,’ Sorcha announced, looking at neither Darragh nor Jack. ‘Something I will not permit until the crimes committed by the half-breed mongrel, Trása Ni’Amergin, are attributed to the right perpetrator.’
‘What the fuck is she talking about?’ Patrick asked in confusion.
Darragh was wondering the same thing.
‘I am talking about clearing Ren Kavanaugh’s name,’ Sorcha said, stepping into the room. She was a head shorter than any man present, but acted as if she towered over them. ‘Once we know it is safe for him to return, your daughter will be returned to you unharmed.’
‘That’s extortion.’
‘It is also the only way you are ever going to see your daughter alive again,’ Sorcha informed him with chilling certainty. ‘So you may go, and you may contact whomever you see fit, to ensure the threat to him is removed. Once that is done, Hayley will be returned to you.’
Sorcha was making this up on the spot, Darragh realised with despair. They couldn’t do anything of the kind.
‘And if I don’t? If I walk out of here, call the cops and have the whole frigging lot of you arrested, what then?’
‘I can get a message to the people holding your daughter much faster than you can get the police here,’ Sorcha told him. ‘One hint that you have betrayed us, Patrick Boyle, and you will never see your daughter again.’
CHAPTER 12
The reception Ren got from Kazusa’s brother was in stark contrast to his treatment at the Tanabe compound.
Chishihero of the Tanabe had tried to kill him.
Namito and his sisters put on a banquet for him.
After being offered an opportunity to bathe and change into clean clothes — albeit a yukata much the same as those on offer in Japanese hotels in his own reality — Ren was led to the main house across a raked courtyard, where dinner and the rest of the clan were waiting for him. Despite feeling he was wearing a borrowed dressing gown, the informal, unlined kimono tied with a narrow obi around the waist was a welcome change from the damp filthy jeans and borrowed t-shirt that he’d been wearing when he jumped into this reality.
The house was a little smaller than the main residence of the Tanabe, but it was much older and seemed to belong in the landscape. The people of the Ikushima — especially the servants — looked mostly Caucasian. Kazusa’s claim to her
Darragh offered Patrick his right hand. ‘Do you want to check it’s real? I am not Ren, Patrick. I am his brother, and my name is Darragh.’
‘I know,’ Patrick said, in a less belligerent tone. ‘And do you know how I know you’re not Ren?’
Darragh didn’t respond, certain it was a rhetorical question.
‘He would never try to spin me such a ridiculous fucking yarn to get himself out of trouble.’ He drained the last of his whiskey and then raised his empty glass to Jack in mocking salute. ‘Explains the generous proportions of the drink, though. Suppose you thought I’d swallow this blarney easier if I was pissed?’
‘The alcohol helps,’ Jack conceded.
Patrick let out a derisive snort as he slammed the glass onto the table. ‘I’m not going to sit here and listen to this nonsense. You may be Ren’s brother, lad, but you’ve taken my Hayley. There’s going to be an accounting for that, let me tell you.’
‘She is being held as a hostage until Ren has been exonerated,’ Sorcha announced from the door.
Darragh looked up in surprise. He didn’t even know she’d come downstairs.
Patrick swung around to stare at the newcomer. Sorcha was still dressed in the jeans and t-shirt they’d borrowed from the accountant’s house. Her long dark hair was dishevelled and she looked pale, but still commanded attention when she spoke, even without her weapons.
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I am the one negotiating Ren’s surrender,’ Sorcha announced, looking at neither Darragh nor Jack. ‘Something I will not permit until the crimes committed by the half-breed mongrel, Trása Ni’Amergin, are attributed to the right perpetrator.’
‘What the fuck is she talking about?’ Patrick asked in confusion.
Darragh was wondering the same thing.
‘I am talking about clearing Ren Kavanaugh’s name,’ Sorcha said, stepping into the room. She was a head shorter than any man present, but acted as if she towered over them. ‘Once we know it is safe for him to return, your daughter will be returned to you unharmed.’
‘That’s extortion.’
‘It is also the only way you are ever going to see your daughter alive again,’ Sorcha informed him with chilling certainty. ‘So you may go, and you may contact whomever you see fit, to ensure the threat to him is removed. Once that is done, Hayley will be returned to you.’
Sorcha was making this up on the spot, Darragh realised with despair. They couldn’t do anything of the kind.
‘And if I don’t? If I walk out of here, call the cops and have the whole frigging lot of you arrested, what then?’
‘I can get a message to the people holding your daughter much faster than you can get the police here,’ Sorcha told him. ‘One hint that you have betrayed us, Patrick Boyle, and you will never see your daughter again.’
CHAPTER 12
The reception Ren got from Kazusa’s brother was in stark contrast to his treatment at the Tanabe compound.
Chishihero of the Tanabe had tried to kill him.
Namito and his sisters put on a banquet for him.
After being offered an opportunity to bathe and change into clean clothes — albeit a yukata much the same as those on offer in Japanese hotels in his own reality — Ren was led to the main house across a raked courtyard, where dinner and the rest of the clan were waiting for him. Despite feeling he was wearing a borrowed dressing gown, the informal, unlined kimono tied with a narrow obi around the waist was a welcome change from the damp filthy jeans and borrowed t-shirt that he’d been wearing when he jumped into this reality.
The house was a little smaller than the main residence of the Tanabe, but it was much older and seemed to belong in the landscape. The people of the Ikushima — especially the servants — looked mostly Caucasian. Kazusa’s claim to her
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