by Aiden James
“There’s nothing ‘supposed’ about it,” said Mom, correcting my silent musing as she stepped into the living room with Dad, who looked on worriedly.
Meanwhile, I heard Grandma set her purse down loudly on the kitchen table, followed by angry high heels on the way to the foyer.
All four would be converging on me at any moment, and my only saving grace was having to only defend my thoughts from Mom and Grandma. Not that Dad or Grandpa would come to my defense. Both have learned over the years that it’s better to hear their psychic partners’ conclusions about a matter before commenting, although Grandpa tends to be ornerier in that regard than Dad.
Thank God, Ali’s not here at the moment!
“But Sorin Gabon being dead, or alive, is not the worst concern!” Grandma advised as she and Mom came up to where I sat on the sofa, holding our timid Griffonshire who clung tightly to my shoulder, as if Lucian was alarmed by the rising voices and excitement. “Alisia told us everything that happened this morning, son. For Wizard von Stroheim to carelessly assert that Toma Matei may also be alive... well it’s just pure cruelty! Nonsense, really, and I have a mind to contact the EEC about the matter. In the very least, I intend to discuss this in person with our head constable and get to the bottom of it all!”
“I agree, Grandma... there’s no tangible proof that Toma is alive,” I said. “But, in regard to Sorin Gabon, I wish you’d take a look at the painting and photographs Wizard von Stroheim shared with Alisia and me before contacting the EEC. I mean, if you and Mom could picture what that vile old warlock looked like as a young man, then I think you’ll know if it’s Sorin or not. What would it hurt to look?”
“Humph!” Grandma shook her head vehemently. “Even if it is him, I could never believe that degenerate warlock is a wizard of any kind—much less one of the very rare master wizards, like Gregorius Ninnius!”
I traded silent looks with my father and grandfather, who both shrugged, before returning my gaze to face Grandma’s disgust and Mom’s similar irritation.
“What about, Adrian?” I persisted, remembering what Wizard von Stroheim had mentioned about him. “Attila said that he and Adrian had both served as apprentices to Ninnius, and that Adrian knows the truth about Sorin Gabon—including his real identity and the history of the Vulpe/Sorin’s double-ring.”
“Double ring?” my father asked, raising an eyebrow while also shooting a glance to Grandpa. “So, what you mentioned a few weeks ago, Dad, might be true after all?”
“So it seems,” Grandpa agreed, eyeing me thoughtfully while preparing his pipe for a light. “Adrian said it was a two-finger ring last winter. Guess he was right.” An elfin grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he pointed the pipe’s tip at Grandma.
“Don’t point that vile thing at me, Georghe Radu!”
“Ahh, Florina, even you considered the possibility of two ‘rings joined as one’—the way our boy described it to us sitting in this very room this past January.”
“I don’t recall that. Not at all!” she huffed, turning her back on us as she returned to the foyer. “If Adrian were here, he’d straighten this out—and put to rest this dangerous nonsense about Sorin Gabon and that damned ring!”
As if on cue, the doorbell chimes resounded, followed by a light rap upon the front door. Lucian jumped out of my arms and headed for the foyer, launching into his barking happy dance routine as my uncles, Manuel and Adrian, stepped inside.
“You rang?” said Manuel, giving his best ‘Lurch’ imitation as he and my wizard uncle stepped into the living room.
Adrian scooped up Alisis’a pup and cradled Lucian lovingly against his shoulder. I smiled at the thought that his coddling of our little buddy was as much ‘political protection’ as it was motivated by Adrian’s genuine affection for the dog.
“You two should try harder to adhere to the EEC’s guidelines!” scolded Grandma. “Would it hurt to simply walk over here, instead of using your wizardry skills to arrive the instant you hear your name mentioned, Adrian?”
“It actually took about five seconds, since I had to rescue Manuel from a tiff with his lovely bride first,” Adrian deadpanned. “But, getting here ASAP seems appropriate, based on the emotional temperature here in the living room.... Hey, Bas. Thanks for dragging me into this mess!”
“Sorry,” I said, unapologetically. “It was just a matter of time, dear uncle.”
Yes, admittedly, this moment carried some sweetness after what happened to me this past Wednesday morning, upon my release from Purgatory.
“Hmmm... so you say.” He eyed me sullenly for a moment before catching the same perturbed glare from Grandma. “So, what do you wanna know, Ma?”
“Is it true that Sorin Gabon is alive?” she asked.
“And, is he a wizard?” added Mom.
Adrian released a low sigh before sadly shaking his head.
“I take it these questions are in response to Sebastian’s and Alisia’s meeting with our downtown twerp and his mute cousins. Correct?”
“Are they really mutes?” I interjected, realizing they hadn’t said a thing during my sister’s and my visit.
“No, but they might as well be.”
“Damn it, Adrian, just answer Silvia’s and my questions!”
“Okay, Ma. Yes, and yes,” he said, bending down to set Lucian on the floor. “Are you happy now? If so, Manuel and I have more pressing things to address—”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mom blurted out. “When did you find out?”
Another sigh. “I’ve known about Wizard Gabon for about two years now, Sil,” said Adrian, cringing slightly. “I get how you and Mother might think it would’ve made a difference in light of what’s happened since, between us and the Mateis, but you’re wrong.”
“You should’ve let us be the judge of that!” rebuked Grandma. “At least Georghe and me!”
“Honestly, Ma, the situation is incredibly complex, and half the stuff I’ve learned about the real Sorin Gabon is still considered classified information, held in the strictest confidence by the EEC. I guarantee you what Attila von Stroheim shared this morning didn’t even touch the craziest stories surrounding Gabon. The guy is worlds away from what we believed him to be when the shit with Toma Matei went down.”
“I’m with Sil and Mom on this, Adrian... how could you not tell us anything?”
As angry and irritated as Mom and Grandma were, Dad seemed genuinely hurt. And, I could tell it affected Adrian—much more than the verbal smacks he had just endured from the ladies in our home that night.
“I was just trying to protect everyone, Gabe,” he said. “The Mateis would still hate us just the same—even if Wizard Gabon suddenly showed up in Denmark and confessed to his ruse from long ago. They will always hate us for what happened to Toma.”
“Hmmm, apparently Toma is still alive,” said Grandpa, pausing to keep the flame vibrant in his freshly lit pipe as a fresh round of cherry almond defused into the air around us.
“What?” Manuel’s eyes grew wide, and he shared bewildered looks with Adrian.
“Wh... what in the hell, Dad?” said Adrian, turning his attention to Grandpa. “Says who?”
“Says Wizard von Stroheim,” I said. “Frankly, I’m shocked that you, Mom, and Grandma didn’t already know this immediately once he told Alisia and I about it this morning.”
“Wizards are granted privacy measures not afforded anyone else, Bas, other than members of the EEC’s governing board in Paris,” Adrian advised. “That said, I’ve never heard anything about Toma surviving what happened to him. And, so help me God—if von Stroheim is yanking anyone’s chain in this household over this, I swear to Christ I will send the little bastard on a permanent vacation to the frigging moon!”
“Sounds like he’s already succeeded in yanking your chain, Adrian,” said Mom, shaking her head sadly. “But, if it turns out to be true that Toma is alive.... Oh, dear Lord... to think of all the hate, murders of the innocent by the Matei
s, along with threats of harm on both sides. Shit!”
Indeed.
Surprisingly, my mother’s observation kind of put a cap on the entire conversation. Simmering embers from various ‘spinoffs’ between my uncles and Dad gave the subject a brief renewal as the three men converged on Mom and Grandma in the kitchen.
“You know, Bas... this could be a great time to resume a serious search for the ring—focused on the double-version you’ve spoken of tonight,” suggested Grandpa, sitting with me in the living room. He paused to lightly puff on his pipe while regarding me thoughtfully. “You got any plans tomorrow morning?”
I shook my head, partly at the irony of me having meaningful plans to do anything at this point. A shattered heart, restrictive guidelines from our constables, and a stealthy disease impacting mortal contact were all Debbie-downers for sure. And, unless a sudden urge to dive back into my newest video game-world broadsided me tomorrow, I was free as a recently liberated jailbird could be.
“Meet me on the front porch at dawn... and try to keep this on the ‘down low.’ I want this to be an adventure for just the two of us.”
He chuckled and I joined him, always finding amusement in the old man’s fondness for modern slang.
“All right, sounds good, Grandpa.”
Even if nothing came of it, I looked forward to spending time with the most irreverent warlock this side of the Seine River. Considering the few pleasant surprises from earlier that day, maybe tomorrow could bring even more?
It left a smile on my face as I slipped under the covers later that night. Retiring earlier than usual, I thought about the tell-tale golden haze that Wizard von Stroheim had concurred was likely linked to the mysterious Vulpe/ Soren’s ring.
Maybe, just maybe, we’d finally make solid headway on finding the damned thing.
One could hope.
Chapter Eleven
Sunday morning.
I overslept a wee bit, waking to a petulant rooster screech from across the street.
Actually, Mad Max saved me from completely ruining the opportunity to join Grandpa for our dawn rendezvous on the front porch. Admittedly, since I was running about twenty minutes late, I did cut a few corners with what would’ve been forbidden use of magic in the past, in order to come as close as possible to making it out the front door in forgivable time. A few grooming spells whispered in haste helped transform my skimpy bed attire into my preferred jeans and t-shirt ensemble. After a quick visit to the bathroom, I was ready. Knowing it would likely be somewhat chilly outside, I donned my favorite biker jacket, grabbed my wallet, house keys, and beloved Ray Bans.
I doubt my feet touched any of the stairs as I raced down to the foyer, praying that no one noticed me calling a ‘Pop Tart’ package and one of Ali’s ‘Atkins shakes’ from the kitchen. They arrived as I slid out the front door, and I grabbed them out of the air as I silently cursed our computerized British ‘security gal’ announcing my exit.
But finding the porch empty immediately overrode all else.
Dammit! Grandpa’s already gone!
Angry at myself, I prepared to return inside... until I remembered something he had mentioned the day before.
Quickly and quietly, I headed for the eastern side of the house, peering up at the Beauregards’ roof. I caught a glimpse of long white hair being raised by a soft breeze.
Oh, thank God—it’s not too late!
“Well, good morning, Bas!” Grandpa called merrily from our next-door neighbors’ chimney top. “You’re just in time to check out my favorite view of Denmark.”
“What? You want me to join you up there?”
For the uninformed, the Beauregards’ four-story roof’s apex is damn near sixty feet above the ground.
“No, I want you to simply pretend—yes, of course I’m asking you to join me up here!”
He laughed heartily, and I worried about him drawing the unwanted attention Grandma and Mom often worried about. Then again, if things had loosened up some during my year-long absence, maybe his shenanigans were now fully overlooked.
But that would only count for him, as Alisia had astutely observed yesterday at breakfast. I doubted I’d be spared the constables’ ire—or even the rest of my family’s disdain—for joining the old man in his brash revelry.
Of course, it didn’t stop me. Not after he entreated me again to join him—this time with a slight barb to “grow a couple, and come on up!”
I cast a cautionary glance around me and floated up to the roof.
“There! Now you can bear witness to everyone else in our obstinate clan about the virtues of the amazing views provided by this wonderful vantage point!” he enthused, motioning around us in all directions.
“Wow.”
My response sounded subdued, I’m sure. But Grandpa could tell from my gaping mouth and wide-eyed enthrallment that I was sorely impressed. He was right. I planned to give a five-star review at dinner that night—just on the views of downtown and beyond the art school sitting near the rear edge of our property. Hell, even the historic district to the east of our neighborhood, and the crumbling slum toward the west—just a few blocks from our home—seemed free of obstructions to clearly detect details unattainable from a much closer, ground level perspective.
“It’s like seeing four little towns—one in each direction, eh?” said Grandpa. “Of course, if I want to keep a mellow mood, I focus mostly on downtown.... It reminds me of how cities like Boston and Charleston once looked, back in the old days.”
“Really?”
He nodded and smiled, directing my attention to downtown.
“The courthouse and post office employees are always among the first to arrive in the square. But since it is Sunday, it’s the early birds to the Episcopal and Baptist churches milling about. Look... most are headed to Big Moe’s Diner.” He pointed to the corner closest to the churches, as a brisk breeze greeted us. I zipped up my jacket and he chuckled. “We’ll be on the move soon enough, Bas. I just wanted to give you some perspective. And, unlike yesterday, the weather looks like it will cooperate today.”
Although the sun hadn’t fully risen above the eastern horizon, the sky was dotted with white clouds glistening with orange halos. A happy version, as compared to the angry dark clouds that had crowded the Denmark sky yesterday morning.
“Now... if I was an ornery wizard wanting to play ‘Treasure Hunt’ with a pair of warlocks—one seasoned and the other possessing the unsullied perspective of youth—where would I hide my prize?” Grandpa mused quietly.
Like an eighteenth-century sea captain manning an old British schooner, he produced a spyglass from inside the light jacket he wore, extending it as he focused on the town square. Up until then, we could see the buildings, cars, and people in the distance, but not much else in detail.
“I’m often drawn to the courthouse park, for some reason... but to date, that hunch hasn’t produced anything. Maybe you can bring us some better luck, Sebastian. How about we begin our investigation by exploring the alleyways surrounding the square?”
“Won’t visiting downtown without a pass from the Albrights get us in trouble?” I asked. “I thought we had to get special permission from a constable to enter the square and the adjoining areas.”
“Meh... well maybe,” he replied, his tone as irreverent as ever. “But, what’s to lose by giving it a try? Worse they can say is ‘Go home!’”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not. Gotta live a little, Bas!”
His green eyes took on an emerald sheen, revealing the old warlock’s elfin fervor.
“I’m pretty sure the penalties would be a bit more severe than sending us back here,” I countered. “I’m not chickening out. Just want to make sure that if Wizard von Stroheim throws us into his downtown brig, you’ll have a good answer for Mom—and especially Grandma—if they have to come bail us out.”
He laughed. “Leave the Radu ladies’ ire to me, my boy—and your dad and uncles, too. You
just make sure you keep your eyes and ears open for Wizard Gabon’s ‘call’ to you.”
“You really think he’ll do that?”
Honestly, his assumption caught me by surprise. Yet, at the same time, I half expected the same thing to happen at some point. Only not so soon... but was I being just as foolish to think it couldn’t happen that morning?
“Just following logic, son.,” Grandpa advised, while motioning for me to get ready to descend to the ground with him. “You came home on Wednesday, and by Thursday night Wizard Sorin Gabon reached out to you with a message. And yes, Bas, let’s cut the BS and just call the introduction for what it is: Sorin’s calling card to you. Okay?”
“All right,” I agreed.
“I’d say, given the quick initial response, it’s reasonable to believe it’s high-time for a follow-up correspondence to show up sometime today,” he continued. “Hell, it could’ve happened yesterday had the weather cooperated. All I’m doing is making it easy-peasy for him to reach out to you.”
“What? You’re using me as bait?” I laughed.
“Why, of course!”
We chuckled together as we drifted down from the roof, touching down lightly near the Beauregards’ side porch. Luckily, it appeared that nobody in our immediate neighborhood was watching. Although, if anyone did see us, it would likely be Julien or Meredith Mays from across the street, since their home provided the best vantage point, given the massive pin oaks and maples in the Beauregards’ front yard.
Following Grandpa’s lead, we nonchalantly walked out of the neighborhood, ignoring boundary warning signs invisible to mortal eyes as we navigated the few blocks separating Twin Magnolias from Denmark’s downtown square. It took some effort on my part to keep my heartrate steady. I fully expected for one of our guardians to pop out from hiding with a classic “Gotcha!” response.