Sigfried leaned forward. “The Elf thought Mr. Big and Bad was sleeping in the tor?”
“She looked in that direction. Maybe she was looking at the tor. Or maybe she was glancing off toward Ireland, for all I know…it was the kind of look one gets when one is thinking of a place beyond where you can see—which, at that particular moment, was the inside of the Roanoke Tree. Maybe it had nothing to do with the tor at all, but…”
“I’ve looked at the tor with my amulet for any buried gold the Heer of Dunderberg might have had,” said Sigfried, “but I can’t see more than about a hundred yards into the dirt. If the demon is down deeper than that, I wouldn’t be able to see him.”
“But we know for certain, then, that within the top hundred yards, there is no buried demon, right?’ ask Nastasia.
Siggy nodded. “Unless he’s disguised as dirt.”
Zoë sank down in her seat with her knees resting on the chair back in front of her. “How could the Terrible Five know about Mol-face?”
“Azrael was a demon, too,” replied Rachel.
“Oh. Right.”
Rachel continued, “Gaius and I have been talking about the spell Egg cast…”
“You mean the spell used on my friend Misty’s family?” Zoë spat, from where she slouched on the red velvet chair, knees above her head. “That spell? What did that do again? Brought us all from other worlds? And by us, I mean Seth, Misty, and me—not you natives.”
Rachel nodded. “Gaius and I wondered: who was the first person this spell ever brought to our world—back in the eighteen nineties, when Azrael killed my Grandfather’s family? Was it one of the Terrible Five? Were they, or some of them at least, from Outside? Or could it have been Moloch? Could Azrael have been here looking for him? Could that be why Moloch is here to begin with? Because the Raven caught him and put him to sleep when Azrael’s spell brought him here, the same way he caught the Terrible Five and turned them to stone—which, come to think of it, could be why they were statues when Aaron Morley found them.”
“This is all conjecture on your part,” said Nastasia.
“True,” Rachel sighed, struggling to put her conviction into words. “I just had a feeling that Azrael—might have been looking for the demon. But Joy has a good point. We should find out more about the Heart of Dreams, too. Does anyone even know what it is?”
No one did.
• • •
As they filed out of the dimly-lit auditorium, Wulfgang Starkadder stepped from the shadows beside the doorway.
“Princess Nastasia, I would speak with you.”
The princess nodded and gestured for the others to continue without her. Rachel peered closely, but she saw no sign of blushing or nervousness on her friend’s tranquil face. Once the rest of them reached the foyer, Zoë announced that she was exhausted and headed upstairs to take a nap, along with Joy, who had not slept much of late out of concern first for the princess and then for Zoë. That left Rachel alone with Sigfried and Lucky.
Rachel grabbed Siggy’s arm. “Quick, what are Nastasia and Wulfgang saying?”
“What, them?” Siggy yawned. “Why, is it important?”
“Yes!”
“Okay. Okay. Look at your card. I’ll make it show what I am seeing through my amulet,” said Siggy, adding, “I’ll stop at the surfaces of objects, so as not to freak you out. Unless you want to see Wulfgang’s liver and the princess’s spleen.”
Rachel pulled out her calling card and peered into it. The green color of the glass cleared, revealing the dim auditorium. Nastasia and Wulfgang stood in an aisle near where Rachel had left them, speaking softly to one another. Nastasia looked like a vision of loveliness. Her golden curls seemed to float above her black poplin robes. Wulfgang was out of uniform and instead wore black leather pants and a black shirt with traditional Transylvanian embroidery on the collar and front piece: blue, black, and white. With his thick hair hanging low over his dark, brooding eyes, he looked unexpectedly distinguished and handsome.
Wulfgang spoke graciously rather than in his customary laconic manner. “—in keeping with our parents’ desires, we might endeavor to know each other better, do you not agree?”
He attempted what Rachel suspected was supposed to be a congenial smile, though he looked as if he had had little practice.
“I see no particular need for us to fraternize,” the princess replied solemnly. “If we are wed, there will be time enough to come to know each other. Should it be decided that our union will not forward our families’ purposes, forming any kind of bond of affection ahead of time will merely prove inconvenient.”
“But—” Wulfgang spoke courteously, although his voice was slightly gruff. “Would it not make sense for us to find out whether we are suited? While we still have plenty of time?”
“I do not see how our being suited is pertinent. If our families determine that a match is in the best interest of both our countries, we will do our duty and comply.”
“But—” Wulfgang’s face started to fall into his perennial scowl. He rearranged it into a look of polite inquiry. “Would it not make sense for us to become friends?”
“I have quite enough friends at the moment, Mr. Starkadder. Or, should I perhaps call you, ‘Your Highness,’ considering the subject of our conversation. More friends than I can safely protect. Circumstances constrain me from adding more friends to my personal circle at this time, as I would not be at liberty to speak openly to any newcomers.”
“O-kay.” Wulfgang blinked, stymied. “Um—” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “How about—acquaintances? Might we at least become acquaintances and occasionally speak to each other. Unless that would be too—er—taxing for you?”
“Acquaintances would be acceptable.”
Nastasia inclined her head and gracefully exited the auditorium. The last thing Rachel saw, before quickly stuffing her calling card in her pocket, was Wulfgang, who had smiled politely until the door shut behind the princess, throwing his arms up toward the ceiling and exclaiming in a language that Rachel could not speak. From his expression, she suspected his words meant something like: By the gods, what was up with her?
• • •
The princess came gliding out of the auditorium and across the black and white marble. Rachel ran to meet her.
“What happened?” she cried. “What did he have to say?”
Nastasia shrugged. “He wanted to talk about our families’ plan to have us marry.”
“And are you friends now?” Rachel asked, feigning ignorance.
A look of sorrow and bewilderment appeared on the princess’s face. Immediately, it vanished behind her well-bred smile. Yet, while it lasted, it was so heart-wrenching that Rachel would have hugged her had she not known that the princess was not comfortable with familiarity. Instead, Rachel lunged forward and grabbed her friend’s hands. Nastasia squeezed Rachel’s fingers in return. Her face was calm, but her eyes were still filled with sadness.
In a small voice, the princess said, “Rachel, I am not skilled at dissembling. I know how to parley politely with mere acquaintances; how to conceal state secrets from strangers. But once someone is my friend, I have no talent for recalling what I am supposed to say to whom and what I am not. I cannot at this time be friends with one with whom I cannot discuss the secrets we know. There is too much at stake. The danger is too grave.”
“Oh,” Rachel whispered, feeling very sorry for Nastasia. “Yes. I see how that could be a problem.”
Nastasia lowered her head and squeezed Rachel’s fingers again. Rachel squeezed back. The two girls stood together like this for just a moment. Then, raising her head and adjusting her smile back to its customary regal calm, Nastasia took her leave of Rachel and Sigfried and glided across the foyer to speak with her siblings.
Rachel watched her go. Alexander Romanov and his twin sister Alexis stood near the hearth with the salamander. Alex threw pennies through the grate to the fiery lizard and then watched them melt. Alexis, who liv
ed in Dee Hall, was examining the Dare foyer with interest.
Nearby stood their eldest brother Ivan, laughing with a group of admiring girls. Among these, Rachel recognized Mr. Fisher’s daughter Marta, two of the Hirvela sisters with their long, Scandinavian blond hair, and Lena Ilium. Rachel’s hands curled into fists. It made her angry enough to see Ivan cavorting about with young women other than Laurel, but to see him charming her brother’s heartthrob, Lena Ilium, filled Rachel with righteous hatred.
She hated Ivan Romanov.
• • •
“I hate him!” screamed Rachel.
By herself in her room, she jumped up and down on the princess’s Persian rug, bursting with fury. How dare he mock Laurel! How dare he steal the affections of the girl Peter adored! Shouting in frustration, she stomped across the room and kicked one of the wardrobes.
Pain exploded through her leg.
“Yoowwwww!”
Rachel sat down on her bed, holding her throbbing foot and whimpering. The surge of wrath ebbed, leaving her feeling shaken and ill. A noise in the hall startled her.
“Please, don’t be Nastasia! Please don’t be Nastasia,” she prayed, not feeling up to looking upon Ivan’s sister.
Then she felt even worse. The whole point of wanting Ivan to marry Laurel had been to draw Rachel’s family closer to Nastasia’s, not to drive a wedge between them. She hung her head, feeling miserable.
A noise caused her to glance up. Two felines stared back at her. Mistletoe sat on the windowsill, his black and white form almost a silhouette against the cherry light of the setting sun. Leander lay curled upon Kitten’s bed, gazing at her with his huge golden eyes. Looking at them, a feeling of peace touched her heart. Rising, Rachel petted and kissed the head of both the cat and the tiny lion, momentarily burying her nose in the latter’s sweet smelling-mane.
Feeling lighter of heart, she pulled off her robes and donned a favorite blue and white dress for the fancy dinner, adding a matching bow in an attempt to contain her flyaway hair. With a last word of goodbye to the familiars, she ran down the stairs to join her friends for Thanksgiving dinner.
• • •
Outside, Rachel nearly tripped over the wolf familiar that had taken to sleeping on the porch of Dare Hall now that the weather had grown cold. Some familiars were flourishing in the change of weather. Others were thoroughly miserable. Rachel hoped they would all get something special to eat for Thanksgiving.
Nearby, her friends walked down the snow-covered path through the woods that led to Roanoke Hall. The sun was setting, painting the sky in vibrant reds and deep purples.
As they walked toward the dining hall, Rachel asked, “What did the Lion say to you, Sigfried? When you talked to each other after he saved Zoë.”
“I asked to be his knight,” he replied. “But he talked about his father. I think he meant I should be his father’s knight? Not exactly sure. Lions are sneaky. They only talk in parables.”
“The Lion has a father?” murmured Rachel in surprise.
“Wake up, Griffin,” Zoë said snidely. “Everyone has a father.”
“Not me,” muttered Siggy. Then, his eyes lit up. “You’ll never guess what else the Comfort Lion said!”
“They’ll never guess,” said Lucky.
“They might!”
“They won’t.”
“Won’t guess what?” asked Joy. “The sky is up? Roses are red? You read in bed?”
“Nothing stupid!” Siggy scowled, kicking a large piece of gravel down the path. Joy, whose face always grew a little pink when she talked to Sigfried, looked crushed.
“Any other guesses? No?” He looked from face to face.
The girls shook their heads.
“I’m a robot!”
“What?” Rachel exclaimed.
Joy laughed as if he had said something funny.
“No. For real,” said Sigfried. “The Lion told me that I was a robot.”
Lucky added, “It explains a lot.”
“Like why I heal so quickly and why I am so much stronger than most boys my age.”
“And so impossibly handsome?” sighed Joy.
“That, too, most likely,” Sigfried replied, not missing a beat.
“He said…what?” Rachel exclaimed again. “The Lion said the words, ‘Sigfried, you are a robot’?”
“Not those particular words in that particular order, no. But he said it.”
“What words did he use?” pressed Rachel.
“He said that his father made me.”
“He made you?” gawked Joy. “You mean you’re an automaton?”
“Or maybe you were conjured,” the princess stated. “Similar to Mrs. March.”
Sigfried dismissed this idea, as if brushing off a fly. “He did not say ‘conjured.’ He said ‘made.’ That means I am an exquisitely crafted, finely-made machine.” He flexed his arm to form a muscle and pointed at it with his finger, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis.
“You’re such a ham,” Zoë snorted. “Really, Siggy. You can be relied on to say something totally incoherent.”
Siggy frowned slightly. “What I’m saying is coherent. You just can’t understand the workings of my finely-crafted robot brain.”
“Did he mention the name of this father?” asked the princess.
“Yes,” Sigfried said with some importance. “He’s called the Emperor of All Things Seen and Unseen.”
“An emperor?” The princess nodded serenely. “Interesting. That makes the Lion at least a prince. Perhaps, he is of rank to advise a Princess of Magical Australia after all.”
Rachel whispered the name several times. “That’s a nice name. Kind of eerie. Is that like Seelie and Unseelie?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did he say anything else?” asked Rachel. “The Lion, I mean.”
“Nothing important.” Sigfried scowled. “He breathed on me, and I saw a vision.”
“I didn’t see a vision!” Lucky said, astonished. “I thought we shared everything!”
“Sorry, bro. I’ll imagine it, and you can see it. Though you might wish you hadn’t.” Siggy leaned toward his dragon and confided. “It was all about how girls have emotions and stuff, and, from time to time, this causes them to malfunction. They must be treated gently. There are ripples, ripples I say! Ripples, I tell you! They flicker outward from our every insignificant act and hurt the feelings of girls.”
“The Comfort Lion showed you a vision about ripples?” Lucky asked curiously, as he undulated through the air beside his boy.
“Ripples, and girls,” Siggy said sagely. “He showed me a vision about how my actions inadvertently caused girls to cry. There were no boys in that vision. I assume from this that boys are immune from the ripple effect. We don’t need to care about them.”
“Them, ripples? Or them, boys?” Zoë asked, as they walked over the icy bridge and into the dining hall. She ran her hand over her dark hair. Nothing happened.
Zoë stopped walking. She tried again and then again, running her hands over both her head and her braid, her expression growing more alarmed.
Her hair stayed dark auburn.
“I didn’t just lose my mother’s feather,” Her voice sounded unnaturally wooden. “My gift. My ability to change my hair color? It’s gone, too.”
• • •
Dinner was held around long tables and served family style with platters passed up and down. Before the feast, one of the Scholars, a dark-skinned tutor dressed in black and yellow, gave the opening benediction and poured the wine for Hestia. Prayers and sacrifices of honey cakes and fresh herbs were also offered to Demeter and several of the other earth goddesses. Next, baskets were passed up and down the tables. Students threw in offerings of money, jewelry, talismans from charm bracelets. These would be given to the Order of Hestia in New York City to be sold, the proceeds to be distributed to the poor.
Then came the food: plates of carved turkey; steaming bowls of wild rice; freshly baked br
ead with newly-churned butter; candied sweet potatoes; green bean casseroles; jellied cranberry sauce; buttery squash; roasted venison; warm corn pudding made in Lenni Lenape style; and hot pumpkin pie. Cups overflowed with mulled cider, hot wassail, cold sparkling pear juice, and eggnog. A heavenly aroma filled the chamber, and the feasters commented to one another that even nectar and ambrosia could not smell more delectable.
The gods of luck must have been smiling upon Rachel, for by some quirk of good fortune, she arrived at exactly the right moment to sit at the long table with Sigfried and her friends and the entire O’Keefe family to her left and Gaius and a few of his friends to her right. A more fortuitous position could not even be imagined.
If only it could be like this every day.
Maybe, together, the two groups of friends could solve the many mysteries: sleeping demons, forgotten persecutors, missing talismans, unfulfilled prophecies. As she sat sandwiched between her blood-brother and her boyfriend—the two young men at Roanoke who were dearest to her—listening to the laughter of friends, including one who had been lost and was now found—Rachel Griffin acknowledged that she had much for which to be thankful.
Chapter Eighteen:
The Case of the Burnt Homework
The rest of the long weekend passed without event. Rachel and her friends spent much of their time studying. To Rachel’s delight, she was able to spend a whole lazy Saturday afternoon in the library with Gaius, reading and talking quietly about physics.
Rachel discovered that she could follow conversations between Gaius and William about physics—up to the point where the talk turned to math. Without trigonometry and calculus, she was quickly left behind. Gaius gallantly offered to teach her these more advanced mathematics. They chose Wednesday nights, while everyone else was at the YSL meeting, as the time to devote to this study. Rachel could not have been more delighted. Finally, she had a regular appointment she could look forward to when she could spend time alone with her boyfriend.
The Awful Truth About Forgetting (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 4) Page 20