Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  I have to go through half the key ring before I find the key to Andre’s cell. Andre is sitting on the floor, staring glumly at his feet. He hardly looks up as I walk into the room. “You, traitor, stand up,” I command in the guard’s voice.

  Andre does as he’s told, a broken man now from years of disappointment and disillusionment. He says nothing as I charge forward and punch him in the jaw. With little more than a grunt he collapses back to the floor. I tap him with the guard’s boot just to make sure he’s unconscious.

  Then I scoop Andre up and we vanish from the prison.

  ***

  We reappear in front of the gates to my family’s house—which has really been Aggie’s house for the last hundred years. She hasn’t changed much since the last time I saw her, except now her hair is a dull gray that reminds me of Sophie. She’s waiting for me at the front door, probably because of one of her feelings.

  She waits until I set Andre down on the couch before she hugs me, seeing through the illusion. “Oh, Sylvia, you’re back!” She guides me over to a chair, where I sit down. “Would you like some tea? I just put a pot on to boil. There’s some cake too, leftover from yesterday.”

  “I could use a cup of tea,” I say, not having drank anything but Scotch and water in the last three years.

  Aggie brings back a silver tea set that like the rest of the house has survived the looting and rebellions against the gentry throughout the rest of France. She pours two cups of tea; she has a third one for Andre. “Who is this young man?” she asks.

  “The husband of a friend of mine. I had to get them out of Paris. He was going to be executed in the morning.”

  “Oh dear. Did anyone see you use your magic to rescue him?”

  “No. I made sure he was unconscious first. The guard too.”

  Aggie clucks her tongue at me. “Sylvia, you should know better than to get involved with a mortal like this. If Glenda finds out—”

  “What’s she going to charge me with? I didn’t let anyone see me use magic. I didn’t kill any mortals. I didn’t even use magic to knock him out.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, dear.” Aggie leans forward to pat my hand. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine. We’ll keep him unconscious here for a day or two. By then his wife should reach Marseilles.”

  “His wife? Did she—”

  “No, she doesn’t know anything either. Do you think I got stupid in the last century?”

  “Of course not. I’m only trying to look out for you like a big sister.”

  “I don’t need a big sister right now. I just need you to keep him here for a couple of days. Is that too much to ask for?”

  Aggie’s lower lip trembles, but she doesn’t cry. I still feel bad. She’s probably been waiting a hundred years for this reunion and instead of it being a joyous occasion, I come looking like a man, carrying another man over my shoulder, and then snapping at her for being concerned about me. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t worry about it. We can keep him in my old room. I’ll give him a potion to keep him asleep.”

  “Thank you. I—” I suddenly lose my voice, a sob coming out. Aggie is already leaning forward to embrace me.

  “It’s all right. You’re home now,” she whispers as she strokes my hair.

  Home. The word seems odd to me after so long away from here. I don’t really know what “home” means anymore. Everywhere I’ve lived—Edinburgh, Paris, and especially this house—is haunted by ghosts. There isn’t anyplace where I feel safe and secure, not like when I was a child in my bedroom with my dolls and Mama, Aggie, and Sophie down the hall.

  Aggie has kept my bedroom the same, but it feels strange to me. I toss and turn in the bed, unable to get comfortable. I know the problem isn’t the bed, so much as this entire house. I know that as much as Aggie wants me to, I can’t stay here.

  I get out of bed and creep downstairs to the library. Aggie has hardly touched this room either, so Sophie’s books are still where she left them. I find two sheets of parchment, but for the ink I have to search the entire lower floor until I find some in the kitchen, where Aggie was writing a list of household chores that needed done.

  The first sheet of parchment I address to Andre. “I know how much you and Rachel care for this country, but it has turned its back on you. You are both still young enough that you can make a new life for yourselves—a new family if you choose. I will arrange for passage to Louisiana for both of you. Go there and start a new life. Make Rachel happy. She loves you in a way you probably can’t even comprehend. She’s the reason your head is still on your shoulders and not on a pike right now.”

  The second letter I address to Aggie. “I’m sorry that I have to go again so soon. I thought maybe things would be different after all this time, but the ghosts are still here. You’re a stronger person than I am to be able to live with them for all this time. No matter what happens or where I go, you’ll always be my sister.”

  I fold and seal these separately and then leave both on the nightstand in my bedroom, where Aggie will find them when she comes to check on me in the morning. I can see in my mind the heartbroken expression on her face when she sees that empty bed. I would like to be able to stay here and be the sister she wants, but I can’t.

  Instead, I vanish to the stables to saddle up a horse for the trip into Marseilles and to arrange passage for Rachel and Andre to the New World. Maybe there they can find the happiness that eluded all three of us here.

  Chapter 19

  I’m at sea when the Revolution officially ends. Napoleon is swept into power and any illusion of a democracy ends. I hear of the news at a tavern in London, where the sailors there are already talking of another war. It seems that Europe can’t stay out of a war for five minutes these days. Even as someone who profits from these wars, I find it a bit absurd.

  I vanish up to Edinburgh, where a pile of messages await me. Most of these are overtures from European envoys looking to upgrade for the next war. I’m too tired to go through these at the moment. I’ve just spent the last three months away from my home here, arranging a deal in Russia. After that, I think I deserve at least a few minutes to relax.

  There is another message that I read immediately. This is from Rachel in New Orleans. At the time of the letter—about the same time I left for Russia—she gave birth to her second child, a boy they named Robert. They already have a daughter they named Suzette, which prompted me to cry for the first time in years.

  I take the letter up to my bedroom, slipping it into the nightstand with the others I’ve received from them. I have Aggie to thank for this; she gave them my address in Edinburgh so they could thank me for helping them to escape France. From what Aggie said in a letter to me, Andre remembers nothing of how he escaped, only waking up in Aggie’s house, where she gave him my letter.

  I feel on the verge of tears again, but I don’t cry. I should be happy for Rachel and Andre, that they’ve managed to find a new life in Louisiana. And I am happy for them, but I’m also jealous of them. They’ve found happiness while I have nothing. All I have is a job, one that’s ceased to have much meaning for me anymore. I’ve tried to uphold Connor’s principles, but it doesn’t seem to matter. One side or another—what does it really matter?

  I am truly alone now. My only friends are an ocean away. I haven’t loved anyone since Henri nearly three centuries ago. I don’t even have Uncle Bob anymore. All I have is this house, a table at a tavern—and a sister.

  I haven’t seen Aggie since I left Andre in her care. I wrote her a cordial letter to thank her for taking care of him, but that is all. As the years have dragged on, I’ve considered going back, at least for a visit. Then I remember the reasons why I left: the terrible memories lurking there in every corner. The memories of Mama, Sophie, David, and especially Henri.

  I don’t want to go back, but what else is there? I’ve spent five years trying to find something else, but there’s nothing.
There’s nothing that takes away the loneliness. Is this how Aggie feels? Does she wake up every morning wondering what point there is in getting out of bed? At least Aggie still has the Devereaux clan and the coven. I don’t even have that much, only a rotating group of employees.

  As I’m mired in these thoughts, I hear a knock on the front door. Cursing under my breath, I hurry downstairs to answer it. A boy stands there nervously, his cheeks turning red as he sees me clad in only a nightdress. “What do you want?” I hiss at him.

  He holds out an envelope. “Letter for Miss Joubert. I was told to deliver it straightaway.” Before I can take the envelope, he pulls it back. “Are you Miss Joubert? I’m not supposed to give it to anyone but her.”

  “Yes, I’m Miss Joubert,” I say. I don’t have any money nearby, but the boy turns and runs away before I can find anything for a tip.

  I stop at the mirror and see why he was so frightened. Like Rachel, I haven’t aged particularly well since the Revolution. There are swaths of gray in hair that’s become wild and tangled from too long without proper care. Deep wrinkles crease my forehead and the corners of my eyes. The lines around my mouth are even worse, my lips sagging in a perpetual scowl. I turn away from the mirror and sigh. To the boy—and everyone else—I probably look like the crazy spinster aunt or some harsh schoolmistress.

  I could of course change this with just a few magic words. There seems no point to it. I’ve long since passed the need to impress any young men—or women. Let the mortals be frightened of me.

  Without opening the letter I know it’s Aggie. I recognize her neat handwriting with its whimsical curlicues. Mama had the same handwriting. Sophie’s was just as neat, though lacking any sort of fanciful touches. Mine looks as if a chicken has attacked the page with its beak, the strokes sharp and harsh.

  I open Aggie’s letter in the parlor, not sure what I’ll find inside. A plea for me to come home? A catastrophe on the estate? Maybe it’s news of the coven; maybe that bitch Glenda has finally got what she deserves.

  My first guess turns out to be right. “Sylvia, please come home straight away. I have a surprise for you.” That’s all that Aggie writes to me. I stare at the page for a moment, wondering why she didn’t just vanish herself here if there’s something she really wants to tell me. But then she might not know when I was home. Except that her message arrived on the exact day I came back. I shake my head. Aggie and her feelings

  I consider what to do for a moment. Then I remember that I really have nothing to do except more meaningless arms sales. A visit home might not be so bad—so long as it’s a short visit. I’m also curious to know what Aggie’s being so secretive about; such secrecy isn’t in her nature, at least not since Mama died, when she stopped with her flings.

  With a sigh I go upstairs to change and pack.

  ***

  I vanish myself to the front gates so I don’t surprise her. She is of course expecting me, the gates already open. I’m hardly through these gates when I see Aggie running towards me. Except this isn’t the Aggie I left behind nearly five years ago.

  This is the Aggie from before Mama died, the beautiful and somewhat vain young woman capable of breaking any man’s heart. Her milky white skin is perfectly smooth and with a bit of baby fat to it. Her hair is golden, flowing down to her waist. She badly needs me to comb and braid it for her. She’s lost weight everywhere, including her breasts, which no longer sag inside her dress. The dress itself fits snugly to show off her figure, a golden belt circling her tiny waist.

  I can hardly feel anything when she throws herself against me in a hug. After a moment’s hesitation, I pat her back and the silky tresses that would make a great wig. “I’m so glad you came!” she says, her voice full of sunshine again. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my sister.”

  “Because we haven’t seen each other in five years, silly.”

  “So I guess this is your big surprise.”

  “Not entirely. Come inside. I’ve got some tea brewing.”

  She takes my hand, practically skipping up the front drive. I’ve never felt so old before as I do watching her with her suddenly boundless energy. If anyone saw us, they would probably take me for her much-older sister—or more likely her mother.

  I drop my bag by the front door and then follow Aggie into the living room. She claps her hands and the silver tea set appears on a tray on the table. This is the kind of frivolous magic use Mama would scold us for. But Mama has been dead for over a century now and I don’t feel like trying to mother my older sister.

  As she pours the tea, I can see Aggie’s body trembling from the excitement of her news. She hands a cup to me, not bothering to let me take a sip before she blurts out, “I’m in love!”

  It’s good I didn’t get to drink my tea or I would have spit it up all over her. “What?”

  “Love. L-O-V-E.”

  “I know what it is,” I snap, thinking of Henri. “With a mortal?”

  “Of course with a mortal!” Aggie makes a sour face. “You think I would fall in love with someone in the coven? They’re a bunch of boring old biddies.”

  “So were you.”

  “Oh Sylvia, stop being so cynical. It’s no wonder you look so old.”

  “Agnes, you know it’s against the rules to love a mortal.”

  “I don’t care. Alejandro and I are in love.” Her body trembles again and she squeals like a young girl. “We’re getting married!”

  I can’t stand anymore. I get to my feet and grab Aggie by the shoulders. “Are you insane? What about the coven? What about being a witch?”

  “I can still be a witch.”

  “Agnes—”

  Tears bubble up in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I knew you wouldn’t. You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be in love.”

  “Of course I do. I loved Henri. You still remember that, don’t you?”

  “Then can’t you be happy for me? I’ve found my Henri at last.”

  I know I should probably slap Aggie across the face to try and knock some damned sense into her head. She’s not sixteen like I was, even if she might look that way. She’s three hundred eleven years old, far too old for this nonsense. Then I see how happy she is, the same love I saw in Rachel’s eyes—and in my own.

  I sag back onto the couch. “How did you find him?”

  ***

  His name is Alejandro Chiostro. When Aggie first saw him a year ago, she was still a gray-haired crone. As fate would have it, Aggie met him in church of all places. As a witch she never went to Mass, but one of the Devereaux girls had a baby and Aggie out of politeness went to the baptism.

  She sat in the back of the cathedral, where no one would notice that she didn’t sing any hymns or say any prayers. Alejandro sat across the aisle from her. Though she appeared to be in her sixties and was actually much older, she was still instantly smitten by him. She loved his smooth olive-tinged skin, his wavy black hair, his warm brown eyes, and especially his glowing smile. He flashed this to her during the ceremony; she in turn blushed like a teenager and hid her face for the rest of the service behind a fan.

  Alejandro lingered in the cathedral after the baptism—as did Aggie. He waited until he thought everyone was gone to go up to the altar and pray. Aggie used a Hearing Aid spell so she could overhear him praying for good weather so his ship could return safely to Italy.

  God did not answer his prayer, but Aggie did. She hurried out of the cathedral and found a secluded place near the docks. There she cast a Typhoon spell. “Just a little one,” she assures me as she tells the story.

  The storm was enough that Alejandro couldn’t leave port that day. This gave Aggie time to go home and make herself young again. She spent much of the night feverishly updating one of her dresses, the same one she’s wearing now. She didn’t need an Energy Boost potion; her love—or lust—strong enough to keep her going.

  The next morning she returned to the cathedral.
Alejandro was there again, but this time to confess his sins to the priest. Aggie hurried past him without looking to kneel down in the same spot Alejandro did the day before. “Oh Lord,” she said, loud enough so he could overhear, “please give me the strength to endure these trying times.”

  She stopped again to burst into tears. “I’ve felt so alone since you took Mama and Papa and Sophie from me. I know it was all part of your divine plan, but I feel so alone. Please help me so I can feel strong again and do your work. Amen.”

  Alejandro wasn’t the type to make a move right away. He waited until he finished confessing his sins, perhaps preemptively confessing a few more. Aggie waited outside, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Excuse me, mademoiselle,” he said, his Italian accent making his French sound musical. “I couldn’t help overhearing your prayer. I too have asked the Lord to give me strength. I recently lost my dear sister Sonia.”

  “Oh, how terrible for you.”

  “It has been quite trying. I thought perhaps I could help you with your own struggle. If you could forgive me for being so forward, perhaps we could discuss the matter over dinner?”

  Aggie had to resist the urge to squeal with happiness and leap into his arms with joy. Instead she summoned all her strength to say evenly, “That sounds delightful.”

  Their courtship proceeded along formal lines. Alejandro was a gentleman, not even kissing Aggie on the cheek until the third time they met. Their dates were separated by weeks apart as Alejandro had a vineyard of his own back in Italy, outside of Tuscany. It’s not as large as our vineyard, but Alejandro runs the entire place himself since his father died. When Aggie showed him our estate, he insisted on meeting the latest head of the Devereaux family to share ideas on growing grapes and making wine from them.