“I killed,” Quentin said hollowly, making it a question.
“No. But you created enough havoc to prove that you had what we required. Each time you moved on, losing yourself in drink, as if you could escape what you knew you were destined to be. Each time, the warrior within you could not be restrained. All it needed was discipline, and a master to temper your violence. I will be the one to complete what your grandfather began.”
Slowly Quentin’s expression relaxed, and he looked at Johanna with full comprehension. It was as if everything he had wrestled with became clear in an instant. Just as it had for Johanna. Her heart ached for him.
“Why did you involve Johanna and May?” he asked.
“When I first followed you to San Francisco, I was prepared to seek you out. But you proved surprisingly elusive, until I was able to track you to the Napa Valley. There, I learned of Doctor Schell’s new patient, and obtained informants who could give me the information I needed—most notably Irene DuBois. From her, I learned of Johanna’s other patients, including May.
“It soon became clear to me that you had indeed located a haven, a place where you might find the help you sought, the support that would make it easier for you to resist. I had to pry you loose. Miss Ingram’s situation presented the ideal opportunity to disrupt your life at the Haven, and pull Johanna’s attention from you. I had Irene look through Dr. Schell’s notes, and she told me that May was essentially in hiding from her father, a wealthy businessman in San Francisco.”
“You forced Irene to obey you?” Johanna demanded.
“He could do it, Johanna,” Quentin said, his voice betraying no trace of emotion. “Our kind have mental abilities humans do not. He could make her do as he chose, and erase her memory of the events.”
“Indeed, but force was hardly necessary,” Boroskov said. “I merely turned her thoughts from certain subjects, and encouraged her in others.”
Johanna filed that astonishing fact aside for further examination, one more among a hundred others. “So you used May to get at Quentin,” she addressed Boroskov.
“I approached May’s father in San Francisco and told him that I knew of his daughter’s whereabouts, if he wished her back. He did. He trusted me as a learned doctor, who could restore his daughter to him without inconvenient fuss or awkwardness.”
“It didn’t quite work out that way,” Quentin said.
“No, but it doesn’t matter. I achieved what I intended. I diverted Johanna from her work with you, kept both of you off balance and worried about May while I perfected my plans. Irene DuBois was most useful in reporting on your actions, with very little persuasion from me—she was quick enough to believe me smitten. She also had scant love for either of you.” He sighed. “But you, apparently, had become quite enamored of each other—an annoyance at first, but it proved to be a factor in my favor.” He cocked a brow. “Did you really believe, Quentin, that Johanna could save you?”
“I always believed in her.”
“But that wasn’t enough, was it?” He turned to Johanna. “When it was obvious that you would not let May go, and Quentin was no further along in being detached from you and the Haven, I arranged for the death of the mine owner, and saw it blamed on Quentin. A simple thing to manipulate the ignorant humans in Silverado Springs.”
“I didn’t kill…” Quentin began.
“No. You may take credit for Ingram’s beating, but not Ketchum’s death. While the mob came to the Haven, I had one of my men abduct May. I knew, from Irene’s reports, that you would inevitably follow to rescue her, and once you were out of Johanna’s sphere of influence it would be easy enough to trap you. Though my man failed, you are here. You took May, and I followed.” He addressed Johanna. “A pity you had to involve yourself further. I rather liked you, dear doctor.”
“You won’t hurt her,” Quentin said. “Not her, or May, or anyone else.” The change in him was subtle, but Johanna recognized it. He seemed to grow, gathering his strength, preparing for bedlam.