The Memory Painter

She got out of the car and went to the front door, using her key to enter. Conrad’s car was in the driveway, and she saw that the light was on in his study. Her father was home and likely to be alone. The housekeeper left every day at six.

Linz walked through the foyer, past the living room, and entered the antique gallery. She stood there for a moment and took in the room—so many of Conrad’s mementos were now her own.

She toured the showroom like a stranger in a museum, noting the samurai swords, the Persian armor, the ancient manuscripts, a coronation ring, and countless other priceless artifacts.

“History isn’t so grand when you’ve lived it.” Conrad’s voice came from the next room. Linz reached up and took down a samurai sword she recognized and moved toward his office.

She stood in the doorway. Conrad sat in his favorite leather chair. A sword lay on his desk, along with Michael’s journals.

“You re-created the formula,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“I had to know the truth.”

He stared at her for a long time. “Where’s Bryan?”

“Safe. Far away from you.”

“I was trying to protect him.”

“By kidnapping him and putting him in an asylum?”

Conrad leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It was the safest place.”

“From who?”

“From the people who would do anything to know what’s in his mind. They were about to make a move. I was trying to protect you both,” he said.

“How convenient. Who are these people?” she demanded.

“Put down the sword and I’ll tell you everything. I should have done so sooner and that was my mistake. Please,” he added.

Linz hesitated. Her father was the master of manipulation and she refused to be swayed. She studied the weapon in her hands.

“This was the most treasured sword in Lord Asano’s collection. There’s an engraving inside the handle.” She took the sword from its sheath and examined the blade. It had rusted and grown brittle with age, but it was so expertly crafted that she thought it could still withstand a fight.

She gestured toward the door with it. “Origenes wrote the Commentary on St. John while he taught with Theoctistus. You signed the order for his death, and yet his book sits outside your door like a prize.”

Conrad banged his hand on the table. “I was not Septimus!”

“Just like you weren’t Lord Kira? You caused Lord Asano’s death and the fall of his entire clan.”

Conrad’s lips formed a thin line of anger.

“You don’t deny it, then?” Linz challenged. “You even bought the painting at the gallery. Penelope told me.”

He spoke in Japanese. “Yes, I was in that painting. But I wasn’t Kira. I was the Shogun! Tsunayoshi!”

Linz shook her head in disbelief. “That’s not possible. You were Kira.”

“Why? Because Finn told you?”

Linz couldn’t answer.

“Look at me! See for yourself!” Conrad stood up, pinning her with his gaze. “I will show you.”

Linz locked eyes with him and gasped when she saw what he was trying to show her so clearly—he was the Shogun. She struggled to come to terms with what that meant.

“You sentenced Lord Asano to death,” she retaliated.

“He broke the law. I had no choice. But I let him die with honor. Who were you?” Conrad demanded with the tone of a ruler.

Linz bowed in spite of herself. “Oishi Kuranosuke Yoshio, his kerai.” She stood up straight again and looked him in the eye without flinching. Here was the Shogun, whom she had defied, and who had sentenced them all to death. But it was true his mercy had allowed them an immortal place in history. She spoke once more in Japanese. “Thank you for allowing my men to die with honor.”

Conrad gave a gruff nod of acceptance. “That lifetime was a chain of unfortunate events best forgotten.”

Linz looked away, beginning to feel confused. Her rage toward Lord Kira could no longer be directed at him. Her eyes focused on the journals and they strengthened her resolve. “You found those at Bryan’s after you destroyed all of his paintings.”

Conrad shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. These were delivered to me today.”

Linz’s voice seethed with Diana’s rage. “You’ll say anything to convince me otherwise. But nothing changes the fact that you locked the door and let us burn.”

Conrad slammed his fist on the table again. “I didn’t know anything about the explosion! I was trying to get Michael to remember a life! If he had just remembered then everything would have fallen into place. I didn’t know what else to do. You were all going mad.”

“You were taking more Renovo than any of us,” she accused him.

“Because in the beginning I couldn’t have a recall!” he shouted. “You all thought I was a monster!” He waved one of Michael’s journals around and threw it back down in disgust, as if he couldn’t bear to touch the pages. “I had to know what was causing everyone to turn against me, to look at me in fear. I began to up the dosage. I didn’t care about the consequences.”