Oh, you can’t be mine and someone else’s, too
No, you can’t be mine and someone else’s, too
Upon second glance, Max saw that the third singer did indeed resemble Mum but was bigger by a foot in every direction. Five feet tall with patchy gray skin, this hag boasted a belly so taut and swollen she was reduced to wearing her apron like a smock, its untied strings wagging at her sides as she shook her formidable bottom in time to the music. Adding the oregano to the sauce, she clapped her hands as the song came to a close.
“Ah, that’s the good stuff,” said the hag. “Ella was brimmin’ with soul, she was! Oi! Bob, you handsome devil, put this old girl to work—what’s next on the menu for the young lovelies? Soufflé? Or how ’bout I whip up my triple chocolate layer cake?”
“You can make soufflé?” asked Bob, impressed. “Mum tries, but she peeks too soon.”
“I do not!” cried Mum’s voice, screeching from a side pantry. A potato came hurtling from beyond Max’s view to thud dully against Bob’s chest. The ogre sighed and reached for a clove of garlic, spying Max in the process.
“Max,” croaked the ogre as another song crackled from the radio, “come in and taste the sauce.”
Max’s father spooned some of the bubbling red sauce onto a small slice of sourdough and Max nibbled at it. It was far and away the best sauce Max had ever tasted: rich with tomatoes and a dash of wine, and deliciously peppery.
“That’s good,” he concluded, his stomach rumbling once again. “That’s, like, incredibly good!”
“Hooray, hooray!” The enormous hag clapped. “You’ve got good taste, my boy—no doubt a gentleman and scholar, too.”
“Max,” said Mr. McDaniels, “I’d like you to meet Mum’s sister, Bellagrog—she arrived this morning. Bellagrog, this is my son, Max.”
The hag’s little red eyes peered intently at Max before she scuttled forward to seize him by both hands. Like Mum, her grip was soft and clammy but tight as a vise.
“Bellagrog Shrope at your service, my love—but call me Auntie Mum!” she crowed, looking him up and down. “Well, you’re a handsome lad, ain’t ya?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Max, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle out of her grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The hag patted Max’s hand as she glanced sideways at Mr. McDaniels.
“Father and son as good-lookin’ a pair as I’ve set eyes on this past age,” she said. “And, eh, where’s the missus, if I might be so bold?”
Max looked with interest at his father to see how he would answer. Bryn McDaniels had been missing for more than three years and Mr. McDaniels refused to acknowledge that she was probably dead. Mr. McDaniels cleared his throat.
“Can’t find her,” he said with a sad shrug and a crooked smile. “If you see her, you be sure to let me know.”
“Not on your life!” said Bellagrog with a bawdy laugh, smacking Mr. McDaniels on the behind with a wooden spoon. “You’re on the market again, honey.”
Max grinned as Mr. McDaniels flushed pink and managed a chuckle.
Mum came hurtling out of the side pantry, looking panicked.
Hurrying over, Mum wedged herself between Mr. McDaniels and Bellagrog, standing on her tiptoes in a futile attempt to look the larger hag in the eye.
“You’ve had a long trip, Bel,” panted Mum. “Very long, and you must be tired. Take a nap in my cupboard, why don’t you?”
“Aren’t you a sweet one, Bea?” said Bellagrog, pinching Mum’s cheek. “I don’t reckon I could fit, love. Imagine this great big place, and you’re holed up in a little cupboard! Bwahahahaha! I wish Nan were still alive to see it!”
“What’s wrong with my cupboard?” sniffed Mum, sinking back on her heels.
“Nothing, Bea,” chortled Bellagrog. “Fits your personality, it does. Had no idea my baby sis was livin’ so high this side of the pond or I’d have looked her up a long time ago!”
“So you had no trouble finding Rowan?” asked Max, mindful of David’s concerns.
“Nah,” said Bellagrog with a dismissive wave. “Jumped ship in Boston and made my way up. Had to nose around the woods a bit, but I found the place sure as Sunday.”
“What brought you here?” asked Bob as he rummaged through a freezer.
“Things gettin’ awful bleak out in the wild, Bob,” said the hag with a sober nod. “Right smart of you to get out when you did! Humans just don’t let their wee ones wander about and play the way they used to, and, well . . . a girl’s got to eat!”
The bloated hag gnashed her teeth and gave a mischievous chuckle. Mr. McDaniels turned green and placed a protective arm around Max, causing the hag to roar with laughter.
“Aw, a good father you are, Scott, but not to worry, love. I know these young ones ain’t for eating. Wouldn’t dream of insulting me hosts! I’ll catch my dinner in that cute little town outside the gates—lots of tourists, by the looks of it!”
Mr. McDaniels groaned.
“Perhaps we can have a second sniffing ceremony,” volunteered Bob. “I’ll ask the Director.”
“What the blazes is a ‘sniffing ceremony’?” asked Bellagrog, glancing at Mum.
“It’s so we . . . don’t bother anyone here,” mumbled Mum, failing to meet her sister’s eye.
“And you do this, do you?” asked Bellagrog.
“Yes,” said Mum meekly.
“Should be ashamed of yourself, you should!” scolded Bellagrog, wagging a sharp, stubby finger under Mum’s nose. “Imagine a Shrope submittin’ to something like that!”
“If you want to stay, you’ll have to do it, too,” said Mum quietly.
“Pshaw!” said Bellagrog, stalking away to shake the radio, which now issued only static. She squinted at the dial and adjusted it, but no stations came through. “Well,” she said, “that’s it for Ella, I guess. So, Bob, how ’bout I get cracking on those soufflés?”
“That would be very nice,” said Bob, directing Bellagrog to a refrigerator stocked with eggs, milk, and cream. Bellagrog immediately set to laying out bowls and pans, whisks and spoons in an efficient array.
“But I can make a soufflé,” protested Mum, tilting a tear-streaked face up toward Bob.
“I know,” said Bob gently. “But I need you on the roasts. Nothing’s more important than the main course, Mum.”
“Yes,” said Mum, practically shouting in the direction of her sister. “The main course is terribly important! Much more vital than dessert! Children never forget a good roast!”
Mum snatched up a cleaver and shambled off into the meat locker, her cheeks pink with pleasure. Max took advantage of the momentary quiet.
“Dad,” he said, “I want to tell you something that I did last night, so you hear it from me and not anyone else.”
Mr. McDaniels nodded quizzically and reduced the level of flame on the range.
“Would you like me to go?” asked Bob.
“No,” said Max. “It’s not a big secret or anything—I just wanted to tell my dad that I got Acclimated last night.”
Mr. McDaniels raised his eyebrows and glanced at Bob, who gave a sputtering sigh.
“What is that?” asked Mr. McDaniels. “Is that slang for getting high? Did you try a cigarette or get into the wine cellars, Max?”
Mr. McDaniels smiled uncertainly as Bob began to laugh, nearly subsonic chuckles that vibrated the glass panes of the dish cabinets.
“No, Dad,” said Max. “Nothing like that. Ms. Richter had Cooper take David and me to an empty beach last night—a couple hours from Rowan.”
“Yeah?” said Mr. McDaniels, the smile disappearing from his face as Max told him the story. He kept the tale brief, omitting the gruesome details of the husband’s head in the basket. Max’s father listened attentively, his expression alternating between anger and shivering curiosity.
“And what was the point of all this?” asked Mr. McDaniels when Max had concluded.
“Cooper said it’s to get students used t
o being near the supernatural,” explained Max. “David got sick because he’s never been exposed. It didn’t affect me as much, because of what I went through last spring.”
Actually, Max thought his experience in Marley Augur’s crypt was enough for a hundred Acclimations. The aura radiated by the undead blacksmith had been a far more malevolent force than the nausea-inducing presence of the woman’s ghost.
“Bob, did you know about this?” asked Mr. McDaniels, turning to the craggy-faced ogre.
“No,” said Bob. “I have never heard of one being Acclimated so young.”
“Yeah,” said Max hastily. “Most students do this when they’re eighteen.”
“Just before they’re assigned,” added Bob, frowning now as he diced another basket of tomatoes.
“Assigned to what?” asked Mr. McDaniels.
“Official duty,” said Bob ominously, with an anxious glance at Max.
“Over my dead body,” breathed Mr. McDaniels, removing his apron and heading for the door.
“Dad,” cried Max. “Where are you going?”
“To find Ms. Richter,” huffed his father, disappearing out the swinging doors.
Max groaned and buried his head, listening to the static that now hissed from the radio.
Despite his father’s angry departure and an exhausting afternoon, Max found it impossible to resist the splendor of the Welcome Feast. The Manse was lit from within like a jewel as thousands of candles flickered from carven alcoves, casting a rich gleam on silver polished to spotless perfection. Students filed into the dining hall by class to take their seats, looking as scrubbed as the silverware in their formal uniforms. Max took a seat next to David, whose brow was furrowed in furious concentration as he wrestled with his crooked tie. David grunted hello as Max craned his neck at the tables where the Fourth Years were taking their places. Max scoured the faces until he found Julie Teller, a pretty girl from Melbourne with whom he had exchanged letters over the summer. His stomach clenched into a funny knot as Julie met his eyes for a moment before she quickly looked away and resumed a conversation with the girl next to her.
“Julie, Julie,” muttered Connor, taking the seat next to Max. “What’s going on with her?”
“I don’t know,” said Max. “I thought something—I mean, we wrote each other and stuff this summer—but she walked right past me in the foyer.”
“Women,” said Connor sympathetically. “I can’t figure them out either, mate. Hey, Lucia?”
Lucia’s dark eyes flashed at them from the far end of the table.
“Why won’t you go out with me?” called Connor.
“You are a filthy pig-dog,” said Lucia with cool disdain, eliciting peals of laughter and applause from a gaggle of nearby girls.
Connor shrugged and turned back to Max.
“See? By the way, Mr. Sikes took care of everything—those Sixth Years don’t know squat about any witch. They probably don’t even remember who Cooper is!” he added with a chuckle.
Before Max could reply, there was the clinking of spoons on crystal as Ms. Richter swept into the dining hall, followed by three adults Max had never seen before. They took their places among the faculty and staff, Ms. Richter’s proud face looking happy but careworn in the candlelight.
“Please stand,” she said in a clear, strong voice that filled the great hall.
Max stood, glancing at David, who had abandoned his tie and stuffed it in his pocket.
“This is a House of Learning,” said Ms. Richter, “and today is the Day of Return, when teacher and pupil reforge their bonds and resume their progress on the path.”
The faculty and students raised their glasses.
“This is a House of Learning,” she continued, “and today is a Day of Remembrance, when we gather to honor our past, embracing both its joys and sorrows.”
Again, the glasses were lifted in salute.
“This is a House of Learning and today is a Day of Renewal, when Rowan welcomes a new class bringing with them life and promise to grace these halls and grounds.”
Max watched the First Years fidgeting nervously at the nearby tables. His voice joined those of the older students and faculty.
“We welcome them with open arms. We will help them on the way.”
The assembly raised their glasses toward the First Years. Max, David, and Connor clinked glasses before draining the mouthfuls of wine and reclaiming their seats. Ms. Richter waited for the noise to die down before she continued.
“A new school year should be greeted with renewed energy, enthusiasm, and purpose, and I hope that each of you has returned to Rowan restored in body and mind to do your best. With the exception of our newest students, each of you has undoubtedly noticed that the campus has undergone significant changes over the summer. I wish to address the cause for such changes and quell the misinformation and rumors that I know are rampant.”
Max felt a stir of whispers through the dining hall; the older students looked grim and attentive.
“As many of you know, a great evil has been unleashed through the long and secret efforts of the Enemy. That evil is Astaroth, the very same entity that drove us to these shores over three centuries ago. We have never faced a more formidable foe, and our field offices have already reported a dramatic rise in Enemy activity. Given these developments, things at Rowan will operate a bit differently this year, and I would like to introduce three special guests whom you will see about campus from time to time.”
Ms. Richter gestured to the three strangers seated at the table behind her.
“Allow me to introduce Yuri Vilyak, Commander of the Red Branch.”
A tall, formidable-looking man with silver hair and the flat black eyes of a doll stood and smiled at Ms. Richter before bowing to polite applause.
“What’s the Red Branch?” whispered Max.
“I don’t know what the Red Branch is,” said David, “but I’ve seen Vilyak’s name before. He was Director before Ms. Richter. I think he was voted out of office.”
“Amulya Jain, Chair of the Prometheus Scholars,” continued Ms. Richter.
Ms. Richter stood aside as an Indian woman in a brilliant scarlet sari and wire-rimmed spectacles stood and bowed before the students. David sat up and squinted at the beaming, willowy woman, who now took her seat once again.
“I’ve heard of her,” he said, glancing at Max. “The Prometheus Scholars are the very best Mystics in the world. She must be very good.”
Max raised his eyebrows but had to swallow his question as Ms. Richter introduced the final guest, a lean middle-aged man in glasses and a black suit and tie.
“Our last guest is not a graduate of Rowan and is indeed outside our Order altogether. I have asked him here because he is an old friend and we will have need of old friends to face the challenges ahead. Please allow me to introduce Jesper Rasmussen, Chief Architect and Engineer of the Frankfurt Workshop.”
The man listened with an amused expression, rubbing his hand distractedly over a completely hairless head throughout Ms. Richter’s introduction.
“Clockwork marvels,” murmured David. “That’s how Miss Kraken described the Workshop. I don’t think she likes what they do.”
“Miss Kraken doesn’t like anything,” said Max, glimpsing the instructor, who watched Mr. Rasmussen with thin-lipped disapproval. Cynthia shushed him from several chairs over, and Max spent the rest of Ms. Richter’s opening remarks studying the stained-glass windows and their many-colored panes while thinking of his Course training with the Agents earlier in the afternoon. They had been Junior Agents—just a few years out of Rowan—and although they had meant well, Max had found them to be patronizing before they started and painfully slow once the scenario had begun. More than once, Max had been forced to wait during his simulated mission for another member of his team to catch up as they navigated a labyrinth of tunnels and converged on the target—a hostage guarded by a band of tusked oni, fearsome and cunning Japanese demons. Once the team had elimin
ated the sentries and taken strategic positions, Max’s instructions had been to wait for the team leader’s signal. He had seen an opportunity, however, and chose instead to create a diversionary fire and leap into the chamber. As he had anticipated, the oni were too slow. Max had cut them down and freed the hostage in less than a minute, earning the team a much higher score than if he had acted on orders. Unfortunately, the team leader did not appreciate Max’s initiative, and Max had been forced to endure a furious lecture about strategy, discipline, and unnecessary risks.
The lecture was forgotten, however, as food began to arrive, carried out on silver platters by a combination of Fifth Years and fauns in formal dress. As the fauns approached, Connor promptly flipped his napkin on the floor and dove down to get it. While he lingered beneath the table, Connor’s charge, a Normandy faun named Kyra, marched past their table, her delicate features dripping with indignation.
“Why are you hiding from Kyra?” whispered David.
“Shhh!” hissed Connor, waving David away. “Don’t draw her attention over here—she’ll do something terrible to our food! She said she might!”
“Why?” asked Max, watching the faun soften her stride to deliver a platter to a table of delighted First Years.
“Thinks it’s beneath her to be waiting on the likes of us,” whispered Connor, peering over the table and slipping back into his seat. “Normandy fauns are right proud. I tried to explain it was just twice a year and how I wait on her all the other days, but she doesn’t see it that way.”
“How’d you get her to come at all?” asked David, watching as Kyra flicked a murderous glance at a First Year who had the nerve to point at her hooves.
“I bribed her,” confessed Connor. “Said I’d get her a real tiara.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” asked Max. The answer dawned on him almost immediately. “Mr. Sikes?”
Connor cackled mischievously and thumped the table with his fist. “Yes indeed, my friend! Should be getting it tonight—little fellow even promised to wrap it with a pink bow! Not even Kyra can stay mad after that!”
The Second Siege Page 5