Red

by Richard P Rigoli

  Wanting to know more about the “something supernatural” drove Emma to scroll through several more articles on the subject. On the bottom of a blog, the author referred to the building as Mansión de Magia and stated that the locals thought the building was haunted and protected by spirits. Emma ran a quick translation in Google which produced the title, Magic Mansion. A haunted mansion seemed like something interesting to explore while she was visiting and hoped there would be time to take a tour.

  Emma was looking forward to reconnecting with her uncle and seeing the sites of Galveston. It was going to have to wait another day, though. She and her mom didn’t make it into the city until late, and they checked-into a hotel near the seawall.

  ***

  “Good morning!” Cassandra announced as she leaned over her daughter and pulled the covers down, “Time to get going.” Emma pulled them back up with a yelp. She had been awake for nearly an hour since her mom had gotten a call and rushed into the shower. The room was freezing so Emma was determined to stay huddled under the blankets for as long as she could. Cassandra wore a bright blue business suit with a soft gray blouse. That meant her mom would be working instead of going shopping with her—disappointing but not surprising.

  “Unfortunately, I’ve got to go to the harbor and pick up something for a colleague and then meet with a client. You’re going to visit your uncle today, but I should be back in time for dinner.” It was the holiday season, and her mom was still working? Someone alert the media.

  “Okay, okay, I’m up. Tone down the cheeriness. It’s offensive to people that haven’t had their coffee yet!” Emma crawled out of the warm hotel bed and zombie-walked to the steamy sanctuary of the bathroom.

  It was cloudy and overcast as they rolled out of the parking garage into the early morning traffic. Broadway was one of the major streets that crossed the expanse of Galveston Island. As Cassandra drove into the historic area, they passed many old, large homes, the visitor center, and a small township. Many of the buildings seemed older than Emma’s entire town, and she couldn’t imagine people living so close to the Gulf during unpredictable seasonal weather.

  Strings of holiday lights were arched across both directions of the streets as they passed by, and Emma looked forward to seeing the place lit up later with all the festive colors.

  Cassandra made a U-turn on fourteenth and pulled up in front of a large manor that Emma immediately recognized from her sightseeing searches yesterday.

  “Wait, this place? We’re stopping here?” Emma asked.

  “Yes,” her mom answered as Emma got out of the car. “Your uncle always calls it Maggie’s Mansion.”

  “You knew I was looking at this cool place and didn’t tell me on purpose!” Emma accused.

  “Maybe!” her mother laughed. “See you tonight,” she said and then drove away.

  Emma stood at the bottom stoop of the twenty or so stone steps that led up to the massive, wooden double doors. She tilted her head back and marveled at the huge place. All the planters along the walk and porch were filled with bright red poinsettias and hundreds of LED lights woven through the black, iron, filigree support posts along the curved verandah.

  Emma made her way to the doors and not seeing a buzzer, knocked loudly. The door cracked open. An older man with snowy white hair pulled back into a long ponytail, greeted her.

  “Emma! It’s been too long,” Arthur called to her. The man warmly took her hand and showed her inside. The entry led into a grand, cherry wood foyer that showed off a ten-foot-tall, fully decorated Christmas tree. “Are you hungry?” he asked. When she nodded, Arthur took a left through the hall and led her around to a kitchen on the same floor. “How was the drive?”

  “Long,” she replied honestly.

  Arthur laughed— a thing of joy that touched his eyes. “Yes, very true. You can drive for a long, long time and never leave Texas.”

  The large kitchen was a spread of hanging flora and spices. The ovens were made of brick and tile and stood against the far wall. Emma imagined that a kitchen this size would typically house a large staff. In the center of the room was a long counter with a working area on one side and tall stools on the other. Emma scooted out a stool and made herself at home at the bar.

  “Do they host banquets here or something?” She asked, looking around.

  “Oh, nothing public. But sometimes we have events,” he answered cryptically. She barely remembered him, but his visits from Christmases long ago were starting to come back to her as she watched him set out bowls and plates.

  “Is this where you live now, Uncle Arthur?”

  Arthur pulled open the stainless-steel refrigerator and piled vegetables and eggs on the counter. “Here? Oh, no. But I am staying on right now as a sort of caretaker since everyone is out.”

  He expertly chopped the items into small parts, grabbing a handful of sprigs and leaves from an immaculate herb garden on a large window sill. Arthur combined the parts together in a pan, sautéing them in butter and olive oil. He hummed merrily, a hauntingly familiar tune that made Emma’s skin tingle. Pouring the sauté into another pan, he cracked eggs one-handed into the mix, stirred, and cooked them. In a couple of short minutes, Arthur served up the omelets. She hadn’t realized how famished she was until breakfast sat in front of her, and she eagerly dove into the delicious meal.

  “So, what is this place? There was a lot of history online about it but not much on what it’s used for these days.” Emma asked casually between bites. The omelet left her feeling remarkably refreshed and energized.

  Arthur’s eyes twinkled as he grinned at her. Even though he had white hair and was much older than her dad, he seemed very fit and healthy. If this was the quality of all his meals, it didn’t surprise her. “When we’re done, I’ll show you around. Your dad and I spent a lot of time here. It’s a school now.”

  ***

  The first level consisted of the kitchen, dining, and formal sitting rooms. They were pristine and clean, the furniture cared for but comfortably worn from years of use. Arthur explained that the first floor of the house was mostly set aside for public tours and for history buffs. The second floor had sleeping rooms decorated in era-appropriate furniture as well as an immense library with tables, chairs, and lamps for reading and studying.

  When they reached the third floor, Arthur opened the door to a large, circular office located in the turret. It may have been a trick of architecture, but the room appeared vastly bigger than it should be. Emma took a step back and scanned up and down the hall to gauge the chamber before going inside. Cherry wood shelves crammed with books and knick-knacks bordered the two sides where the door was, and the rest of the room contained tables and glass cases filled with antiques, specimen jars, and numerous curiosities.

  “This looks like the deluxe version of dad’s office at home,” Emma mused aloud. She drew her fingers across the top of a case that housed various styles of ancient flutes before making her way to a shelf that displayed framed photos.

  “Your dad went around the globe to find antiquities and knowledge,” Arthur said as he settled back into the large armchair behind a research desk.

  Emma bent down and perused the photos, noticing that they were in a series. Many depicted groups of people dressed in khaki shirts and shorts. The man in the center was her dad when he was barely older than she. He gleefully pointed to a slightly unearthed vase in the mound at his feet. “That’s Dad,” she said, “at one of his dig sites.”

  “Yes,” Arthur responded. “All of the photos over there are of his digs with graduates from this school.”

  Emma turned to regard her uncle. “It’s a private college then?”

  “You didn’t read the plaque in the main lobby? Oh, never mind, there’s a tree there now,” Arthur laughed as he got up and moved to the last photo. “Southern College of the Arts,” he pointed out.

  “Is this the main campus?” Emma was intrigued. “It doesn’t look very large for a college.”

 
“We only take a few students at a time. This is true.” Arthur nodded.

  “Very exclusive,” Emma added, “that sounds expensive for an Arts degree.”

  “We focus more on nurturing talented and gifted individuals here. I am happy to say.” Arthur gushed. “The application process is rather involved and includes grants and scholarship programs through the League of Saint Michael.”

  Emma blinked. “Are you saying this place, and these expeditions, are a part of the LoSM? I thought the League was a disaster relief charity.”

  “Oh, they certainly are that,” Arthur explained. “But as a charitable organization, they partner with other nonprofit groups to support much more than aid projects for crisis victims. Technically, this school used to belong to them completely,” he mused, “But with my help, it’s evolved into something much more important and independent. The League of Saint Michael has gotten their fingers into a few too many pies over the years—in my opinion. That’s where your father and I differ greatly,” he lamented.

  “So, you supported Dad’s work, too?” Emma questioned, referring to the photos, and Arthur nodded. “What about the last one? Mom said the funding ran out or something.”

  “Michael,” Arthur replied and massaged the furrow between his brows with two fingers. “Your father is a brilliant man, but very focused and stubborn. We couldn’t keep funding him and not all the other grants that ran over budget. It would show favoritism and empty our budgets. So, Michael stayed on his own dime.”

  Emma’s mother had worked hard to keep the house and food on the table, and now she understood why. “What was so important that he did that?”

  “Your dad unearthed a relic that he was very excited about. He traced its history back to a series of frescos and three Gregorian books located in a castle library. One of the books turned up missing. He said he had a line on tracking it down.”

  “Exactly where is he now?”

  Arthur picked up the last photo and gazed at it for a long while before handing it to Emma. “Michael was in Europe the last I heard.”

  “So, you and Dad aren’t getting along either?” Emma frowned. “Don’t feel bad, I haven’t heard from him in like two years.”

  “I won’t speak ill of your father to you, my dear, but I will say that his decision to leave you and your mother was something I could not and would not support. I said as much at the time and have not communicated with him directly since.”

  Her eyes passed over the most recent image of her father smiling up at the camera with his arms outstretched at a long Lucite table. Several metal objects were in various stages of cleansing, but Emma immediately recognized the circular one. “Hey, I know that one. It was in a box in dad’s study. It sounds like a clock or something but doesn’t keep time. Do you know what it is?” She handed the photo back to her uncle.

  “No idea,” Arthur answered as he perused the piece in the image. Emma’s uncle replaced the photo and looked at her with an arched brow. “But you say it is making noises like a clock?”

  “Honest, I didn’t do anything to it. It looked interesting and reminded me of Dad, so I took it.”

  “Did it start working before or after you touched it?” Arthur asked curiously.

  “I swear that I didn’t shake it or anything. The dials inside started turning on their own,” Emma explained. “I looked for a knob or switch to turn it off, but I couldn’t even open it.”

  “So, after you touched it,” Arthur mused while rubbing a finger thoughtfully over his chin. “That is very interesting, indeed. Keep it safe, my dear.”

  The rest of the day was spent exploring the remainder of the mansion. After the extended tours through all the old research rooms that were filled with books and art, Arthur showed her a hidden staircase that led down to the basement. The cellar itself was plain and filled with old crates and cardboard boxes, but the above ground windows were hand-crafted stained glass. She could have spent another week exploring the house and greenhouse, reading books in the library, or sitting on the top floor balcony gazing out toward the Gulf. She felt very comfortable here. It was like the large house had a soothing vibration to it. Although her uncle visited every floor, Emma had an odd feeling there was more to the place that she hadn’t seen. Arthur said he would be leaving the states to check on some of his investments but looked forward to seeing her again soon.

  Later that week, Emma and her mom packed to head home to Wimberley. Cassandra asked Emma to load the bags in the car while she closed out the hotel stay. Opening up the rear hatch, Emma saw a large black case that suspiciously resembled a hard-shell musical instrument case.

  “Another instrument case?” Emma mused. Was this the “Package” Jason Jones had strong-armed her into coming to collect? Emma tried the latches. It was locked, and so she inspected the tag dangling from the handle. It read, “Icarus Freight.” That was the same shipping company that the Aois used.

  Cassandra walked up then with a smile. “Ready, kiddo?”

  Emma nodded. As they drove back to Wimberley, Emma realized that she had forgotten to ask Uncle Arthur about his fortune.

  ***

  The mysterious case her mother had brought back from Galveston disappeared as soon as they got to Wimberley. Emma had every intention of seeing what was in it at the first opportunity, but Cassandra left to deliver it immediately after dropping Emma at their door. Emma got the distinct impression that her mother was anxious to get whatever was in the case unloaded as soon as possible. More secrets.

  27

  THE RATING GAME

  Returning to school after the Winter break in January, Emma felt ready to tackle anything. True to her word, she kept her promise, and Rai’s secret was safe. But, that didn’t stop the many questions she had, such as the very nature of the world and who were these people with paranormal abilities? To her, an even bigger question was about how any of these people got powers.

  Rai mentioned that paranormal people could recognize each other. As a regular person, Emma wondered if she could find other ways to identify who might have powers. She scanned the halls as she walked to her classes, using the differences she noticed in Rai and applying them to others. He never mentioned whether they were students, teachers, staff, or parents, but she kept looking.

  Though she was interested in solving the mystery of the missing sword, she hadn’t seen or heard from Jade today, so her focus changed. Emma spent the morning —and her first two periods— scouring the internet for other people who claimed to have special powers.

  Her digging eventually uncovered a network of real-life heroes. The police referred to them as “vigilantes,” though that was not how they saw themselves. They ranged from obvious kooks to people simply trying to keep the streets safe from rampant crimes. However, what Emma looked for among them were any signs of supernatural abilities. Reflecting on superhero talks with Rai over the years, a thought flashed through her mind. In a world where superheroes existed, wouldn’t supervillains too? A terrifying thought, and one she meant to address at Rai.

  Emma carefully scanned the students as they passed between classes. If someone with extraordinary abilities were there, she'd likely be able to figure them out. She was on to them now. There was also Jordan. Emma didn’t know what to do with him and her suspicions of him having superhuman abilities. He was gorgeous enough for that to qualify as a superpower alone. In his case, she really only had one choice, be patient and wait for him to talk to her about it. She’d occupy her mind speculating about who else might have paranormal abilities. So far, her prime suspect, other than Rai and Jordan was Kendra Radcliff.

  When lunch period arrived, Olivia showed up at the table to find Emma with her head down, buried under her hair. “What’re you doing, Em?”

  “Wondering,” Emma said.

  Olivia took a sip from something in a plastic bottle. “Wondering about?”

  Emma sat up and scooted her chair closer to her friend. “If you were to look around this room—” she whisp
ered “—and had to identify which people had superpowers, who’d you pick?”

  Olivia put down her tea bottle and opened a bag of chips. “Is this another Rai challenge or something, Em?”

  The two friends sat at the “replacement” lunch table the school put in the space their old table had occupied. It was a miserable piece of furniture, completely etched in graffiti phrases on the surface with an uneven leg that caused it to teeter annoyingly and it smelled like hotdog water. The only reason the table existed was that it was “not quite broken enough to get rid of it.” Emma’s eyes trailed out toward the students inside the lunchroom and the ones through the window. Students had started filing in from outside early, and she wondered what was going on until she glimpsed the sky. In the traditional Texas fashion, it was sunny one minute and the next threatened rain.

  “No, it’s not a Rai challenge,” Emma answered finally. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. Pretend they are incognito, but you knew people with powers were at our school. How could you tell?”

  Olivia settled into her chair, got a Frito out of the bag, and took her time eating it as she glanced around the rest of the room. “Hmm, let’s see.” Her dark eyes carefully scrutinized the other students.

  Kendra and some of her entourage were seated about four tables over. She was speaking to the perky blonde next to her with excited exaggerated mannerisms. It caused her to look more wide-eyed than usual.

  “Definitely Kendra,” Olivia said with an emphatic nod. “Without a doubt.”

  “Really?” Emma turned her head and looked over at the table again. If there were any signs or indications as to the girl having powers, she wasn’t able to see it just by looking at her. “Why did you pick her?” Emma asked, narrowing her eyes as if to see something that wasn’t visible.

  “If I had to write it out, like for a test or something,” Olivia commented after taking a sip from her bottle, “Number one, I’d say it has to do with her hair and eyes. No one with that hair color should have eyes that match. Think about it.” Emma had to agree that she picked something that was at least interesting.