Each of the Benedict brothers were questioned separately. They had (allegedly) committed an offence to one of the highest in the land, they needed the best interrogators and translators in the business. They just weren't expecting the two teenagers who walked through the door. The boy, Trace Benedict thought, was around fifteen-years-old. He was as tall as Will, but was lithe where Will was built. His hair was blond and hung past his ears like Xav's. His handsome face was impassive, blue eyes cool. The girl, a striking redhead with jewel-bright, green eyes, was a year or two older than him, she wore a figure-hugging sweater, high-heeled boots that laced all the way up to her thighs and a skirt too short for the season. Her expression was just as calculating, just as composed. The same could not be said however, for the man across from her.
His hair was wavy from running his fingers through it all night. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and a five o'clock shadow was haunting his jaw. Trace Benedict had learned to cope with many things that you would see being a cop. But the dead look in Diamond's eyes when she saw him was one he never wanted to see again. When Victor had put Phoenix into an enchanted sleep, she had observed him with anger, hurt and betrayal, but most of all confusion. She didn't have a clue who he was. She didn't understand what he would want with her and her companions. Diamond, the woman he had known for a month at most, but loved as if for a lifetime, couldn't grasp how important she was to him, all because of a wicked old lady and her revenge for her son.
They slid into the seats across the steel table from Trace, the boy set down an ash tray and a packet of cigarettes. The girl crossed her long legs and asked monotonously, "Why don't you start off by telling me what you were doing the previous evening at eight-thirty, Mr Benedict?"
Her accent wasn't Italian, nor was it Spanish, French or German, it wasn't from eastern Europe either. Trace might have said it was British, but there was an inflection of American in the way she phrased the time, and there was something else that he couldn't quite place. The accent was one of a world class traveller, but she looked far too well dressed for an explorer.
"Don't worry, Mr Benedict, we have somebody translating for the officers listening." The boy said, he sounded more European, French maybe.
So he told them. He told them everything. Save for the part about being a savant. He paused at the part about Crystal and his father returning empty handed, his eyes lingering on the cigarettes, an addict forced to go cold turkey in more ways than one.
The boy leaned his elbows on the table and arched one elegant eyebrow.
"So Contessa Nicoletta is the evil step-mother, so to speak, and she's hypnotised your princesses so not to remember a member of their own family or the men they were in love with the night before? This sounds like an awfully depressing fairytale. When does the good-fairy come in?"
His voice deadpan and face detached.
The girl rolled her eyes and gave a soft little laugh, "Oh, of course, we're forgetting that you and the rest of the Frat boys fancied yourselves as the handsome princes. Riding in to save the day. With a helicopter, a pro skier and Steve Hughes to boot. I have to give it to you, if this was put on the big screen, I'd go to see the film."
"Yes, please don't stop, do let us know what happens next."
They let him finish the story.
The girl looked at him shrewdly. "Why am I getting the impression that you aren't giving me the full story here?"
Well trained in interrogation from years at the PD, and carrying years of experience in deflecting questions from his parents, Trace answered, "What makes you say that, ma'am?"
"Oh," She crossed her arms on the table, looking him straight in the eye as she smiled, "it's a gift."
Something flickered in his tired eyes.
"Contessa Nicoletta is a woman who is losing money, time and friends." She said seriously. "However, the idea that she'd steal some companions for however many years she has left is truly astounding."
"So you think I'm lying."
"I know a liar when I hear one, Mr Benedict. And you aren't one of them. It's astounding, but it isn't impossible. And once we rule out what is impossible, we can see what is possible. Possible, Mr Benedict, however diverse and crazy, is always where the answers lie."
She got up to leave, the boy gave an almost apologetic smile and followed her out of the room.
Once the information had been relayed to the italian officers, they had been convinced of the Benedicts's innocence and bail had been settled, the seven of them were released into the cold. Outside the police station, the sky was overcast and the air was cool, the two teenagers stood, wrapped in winter coats and scarves, next to a man in his late twenties with curly blond hair and dark brown eyes.
"Victor." The man said, a smile spreading across his face.
Victor turned and gave a sharp laugh, grinning back at him. "Syd? You got us out of there?"
Sydney arched his eyebrows, "Why the tone of surprise?"
"I thought you were in South America?"
"I was. But then my sister got a premonition of seven idiots breaking into a castle in Italy, one getting shot and the others arrested. I figured that I could be of assistance."
Victor's gaze drifted to the two teenagers shivering slightly in the cold, who had started up a game of rock-paper-scissors. "You recruit them pretty young in Europe, don't you?"
The two of them looked up sharply as if they'd been called by name. Sydney shook his head, "No, these two aren't interns. They're my little brother and sister. Belle and Paris."
"Nice to meet you." Belle smiled.
Paris, however, frowned, "You said this was business, Syd. It seems personal to me."
"Think of it more as a favour. I may need your help getting somebody else out of prison, in the future."
"Sure thing." Victor nodded.
Uriel pulled the SUV around from the police lock up and the brothers began to climb in.
"I guess I'll see you around." Victor said. The two of them shook hands and parted ways.
"Hey, Victor!" He glanced over his shoulder and saw the two teenagers crawling into the back of black a limousine. Sydney however, had paused. "Good luck with… whatever it is you're doing."
Victor nodded and Sydney slid into the back of the limousine. He slammed the door and it pulled away smoothly, driving them to the airport so they could return to the sunshine of South America.