“Well, yeah. Since I’m not, I thought I would tell you.” He strolled forward again, onto the rug. Moved towards Sir Michael until the two men were only a few steps apart. Storm wasn’t much shorter than Sophia’s father, but the old man was impressive all the same. And the rage and fear animating those dead, sunken features made him downright formidable. “I’ve got no stake in this,” Storm went on. “Except your daughter. And as far as that goes, you’re just gonna have to live with it. They don’t let you shoot guys for that anymore.”

Sir Michael seemed to grow in his place, seemed to rise up and up, ready to strike Storm to the floor with a single blow. In his pockets, Storm’s hands balled into fists. He wondered whether Sir Michael was armed. The two men stood and faced one another, glared at one another.

“What did you mean about Mother?”

Sophia’s voice came from behind him, cut through him. He’d never heard her sound like that before. He’d never heard anyone sound exactly that way. It was a rasping, feverish, desperate and terrible noise that squeezed his heart. He hadn’t realized things had gone quite this far.

But Sir Michael’s eyes glared into his and his own were locked in that glare, and he couldn’t turn to her.

“You put her up to this, didn’t you?” Sir Michael said.

“What did you mean, Daddy?” said Sophia.

She sounded as if she was going to cry too. And she was coming forward. Storm could see her in the corner of his eye, moving to stand beside them, between them. Stalking to stand there.

“You son of a bitch,” said Sir Michael to Storm.

“Your daughter’s talking to you, pal,” Storm said.

“What did you mean that this is what happened with Mother?” said Sophia. Her voice was ragged with tears now. “What happened with her? What happened?”

Sir Michael didn’t even look at her. His white mouth worked and his white eyes flashed. And the lightning flashed at the window, making the far-off ruin look close and dark. The thunder rolled right over them, right over the top of the house. And Storm thought: Nice effect. A little OTT, but nice.

“Look at me, Daddy,” Sophia pleaded. “Tell me.”

But Sir Michael didn’t. “You’re a dirty, low bastard,” he said to Storm.

“Why don’t you look at her, you jerk,” Storm answered.

“Because you’re the one controlling her.”

Sophia was right beside them, almost directly between them. “Daddy,” she said. “It’s not him. It’s me. Look at me. Tell me what happened to Mother.”

“Using sex. Just like with Ann,” said her father to Storm. “Did you think I was going to let it happen again?”

“You got it wrong, man. Talk to her. She’s begging you.”