by Alex Siegel
"Marion, Illinois."
Dan started tapping on the navigation system.
A few minutes later, they were underway. Andrew smiled at Charley, and she smiled back, but her expression was more polite than enthusiastic.
He could feel the seam in the trunk. It glowed dully like the last ember of a dying fire, but it still had power. It lubricated his mind and freed his creative energies. He had missed that exciting sensation over the last few days.
Andrew was so carried away, he decided to have a little fun. He focused hard on the back of Dan's head. Andrew wanted to create the illusion that Dan had pink hair, but the task was harder than expected. Andrew was accustomed to the Theosophical seam which was a fire hose of raw power compared to the trickle he was using now. Performing even a simple spell was like trying to suck honey through a narrow straw.
After sweating it out for a few minutes, Andrew managed to give Dan a pink streak. It was enough to make Andrew smirk.
Charley leaned over and punched him in the shoulder. "Stop that!"
He allowed the illusion to dissipate.
"What?" Dan said.
Charley shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Andrew was just being a twerp."
Andrew rolled his eyes. She doesn't have to be nasty about it, he thought.
The limousine reached the highway and picked up speed. They were passing through farmland again, and it was just as flat and uninteresting as the thousands of other farms he had seen. He was very glad he didn't work in agriculture.
The seam in the trunk continued to distract him. He tried to ignore it, but it tempted him like a juicy, sweet piece of fruit.
Andrew remembered a question from a long time ago. Now seemed like a good time to ask.
"What's a living seam?" he said.
Charley glanced at Dan nervously. "That's when a seam attaches directly to a sorcerer."
"That sounds great," Andrew said. "You can take your seam with you wherever you go."
"It's extremely rare and dangerous."
Dan glanced back over his shoulder at the two of them. "There hasn't been a living seam in centuries," he said. "If the BPI discovered one, we would have to kill him. A sorcerer with that kind of power would be impossible to restrain."
"Oh," Andrew said.
As usual, Dan had sucked all the fun out of the conversation.
Andrew went back to his hand-held video game. It would be a long drive to reach his house.
* * *
Marion, Illinois was another small Midwest town, much like hundreds Andrew had seen over the last few days. It had three distinguishing features: it was located on a major interstate highway, it was near a large lake, and it was his home town.
Andrew directed Dan to get off the highway and to drive down Main Street. The limousine passed the field where Andrew had played little league baseball. His high school, which had intimidated him years ago, was now a comforting sight. They passed the convenience store where he had once been caught shoplifting bubblegum. He looked up at a billboard which had been the subject of several contentious town meetings.
His nostalgia was mixed with mild disappointment. He had spent enough time in Chicago to know what a real city looked like. Marion wouldn't even qualify as an interesting suburb of Chicago. Everything looked cheap and tacky to his more experienced eye.
"Nice," Charley said.
Andrew nodded vaguely. "I guess."
After a few turns, the limousine reached his childhood home on Chestnut Street. He had grown up in a two-story green house with white trim. He had taken pride in living in one of the bigger houses in the neighborhood, but looking at it now, he realized it wasn't so impressive. Tonya's home was bigger.
The driveway had been repaved recently, but the surface had humps and ripples. Andrew guessed his father had done the work. Percival had an unreasonably high opinion of his own skills as a handyman. A new satellite dish looked like an amateur had installed it.
"You and Charley can go in without me," Dan said. "I'll be fine out here in the car."
Andrew and Charley got out. They were well south of Chicago, and the temperature was noticeably warmer. Only a little snow was on the ground. He eagerly went to the front door and knocked. He had called ahead, so his parents were expecting him.
Andrew's father answered the door. He was wearing a brown shirt and black pants, his uniform when working at his coffee shop. He had obviously just come home from work. The stubble on his chin was a little longer than normal.
"Hi!" Percival looked out the door at the limousine. "You're travelling in style."
"This is kind of a business trip," Andrew said. "Can we come in?"
"Sure. Of course. It's nice to see you again, Charley."
Andrew and Charley walked into the family room. A big, tan couch faced a brick fireplace. The television was at an angle off to the side. A vase containing fresh flowers was on a coffee table made of driftwood. Andrew's mother made sure visitors were always greeted by fresh flowers.
Beth came running out of the kitchen and gave him a big hug. She was wearing a white shirt and a black skirt. She smelled like hair spray, and her hair felt a little crunchy under his hands.
She stepped back and looked at Andrew. "You look good."
She also gave Charley a hug, but the gesture was tentative.
"They came in a limousine," Percival said.
Beth looked out the window. Andrew saw Agent Dan leaning against the car with his arms crossed.
She sighed. "And they brought company."
"Don't worry about that guy," Andrew said. "He doesn't have to come in if you don't want him to. Can Charley stay here tonight?"
"Sure. She can have the guest room, and you'll sleep in your old bedroom."
"Great! We'll go get our luggage."
Andrew and Charley went back outside.
"Both of us are staying here," he said to Dan. "We need our suitcases."
Dan nodded. "I'll find a hotel nearby. Stay here. Don't wander off. Call if there is a problem."
The apprentices retrieved their luggage from the trunk of the limousine. Andrew sensed the tiny seam in the safe, and he lingered a little longer than necessary. He loved the extra jolt of power.
He and Charley returned to the house. Dan drove off.
* * *
"That was a great dinner, Mom," Andrew said.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. His belly was uncomfortably full of beef brisket, baked potatoes, and lima beans. He had been away from his mother's cooking for too long.
Percival stood up. "Let's go into the den while the ladies clean up," he said to Andrew.
Charley frowned. She obviously didn't like the assumption she would help with the dishes just because she was a woman. Andrew shrugged and smiled apologetically.
He and his father went into the den. It had a desk, a leather couch, a pool table, and another television. Brown curtains covered the windows. Percival didn't actually spend a lot of time in the den, but he believed all men needed one, and the big house had extra space. The television was useful during football season though.
He walked over to the pool table. "You still remember how to play?"
"Sure," Andrew said.
His father racked the balls. Andrew shot the opening break, and the cue ball made a satisfying crack as it struck. Two balls went down. He walked around the table as he selected his next shot.
"I'm still upset with you."
Andrew looked at his father with surprise. "Why?"
"You're keeping secrets from us, and they seem like important secrets."
"I explained before. A federal agency told me not to talk."
"Are you training to be a spy or something?" Percival said. "Did the CIA recruit you?'
"Uh, right. I'm going to work in intelligence. Being a spy was my life-long dream."
Andrew took his shot but missed.
"The FBI?" his father said as he chalked his cue. "Is that it?"
"Do you r
eally think I'll tell you?"
"You can trust me. I'm your dad."
Andrew shook his head. "It's not a question of trust. I'd tell you everything if I could, but it's illegal."
His father made a great shot and pocketed a ball in the far corner. He walked around and dropped a second ball just as sweetly.
"And Charley is in the same boat?"
"Yes," Andrew said.
"She seems like a nice girl."
"She's great."
"Are you two...?" Percival's face reddened.
"Not yet. She wants to take it slow."
"Oh. Then why is she travelling with you?"
"It's a business trip," Andrew said. "We're working together."
His father furrowed his brow with obvious dissatisfaction.
"Can we just play pool? Or talk about something that won't get me into trouble?"
His father smiled. "Sure. Oh, we just got a new machine in the coffee shop: the birra eccezionale. It can crank out two shots of espresso in five seconds. It's a miracle of modern science."
Andrew relaxed. He didn't care so much about coffee, but in this case, he was happy to listen.
* * *
Andrew yawned as he walked down the stairs of his home. He treaded lightly on the creaky wooden steps. It was early in the morning, and he didn't want to wake anybody up, but he was hungry. He had decided to make himself a light breakfast while he waited for the rest of the crowd.
When he walked into the kitchen, he was surprised to find his mother sitting at the table. She was stirring a cup of coffee with a spoon, but she seemed more interested in looking at it than drinking it. She was wearing a white nightgown with a floral pattern embroidered in the cloth.
She looked up. "Oh, Andrew, good morning. I didn't expect you up so early."
"You should be sleeping, too." Andrew sat at the table with her.
"I was too anxious. I'll make you breakfast."
His mother got up and went to the refrigerator.
Everything in the kitchen was painted white, giving it an airy feel. The cabinets employed a traditional Midwest style with long, straight, clean lines. The light fixtures were hanging jelly jars with light bulbs inside. The red tile floor was the worst feature of the kitchen. Decades of use had left the tiles scuffed, chipped, and dingy.
"What are you anxious about?" Andrew said.
"You. I'm afraid you'll go down the same path as your grandfather. He was a stranger to his own family. I often wonder what he was doing in the attic of that church, and I suspect you have an idea." She paused. "Do you want pancakes?"
"Sure."
Beth assembled the ingredients for making pancakes from scratch. She would never consider using a premade mix. She pulled out flour, baking powder, sugar, milk, eggs, and butter.
"I want to see the church," Andrew said. "Is it far from here?"
"It's about an hour up the interstate. I haven't been there in almost twenty years. I don't even know if it's still standing, and if it is, we might not be able to get inside. I suppose we could go there today."
"Oh, but there's a problem." He frowned. "The feds want me to stay put."
"Are you on parole?"
"No, but it seems like that sometimes. I'll talk to them. I'll make it happen somehow."
"Just let me know what the plan is," Beth said.
The aroma of pancakes soon filled the kitchen. Charley and Percival magically appeared just as the first batch was finished. They had probably smelled the food from their bedrooms. Everybody ate enthusiastically.
When breakfast was over, Andrew went back to his bedroom to get his phone. He called Agent Dan.
"Yes?" Dan said. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Andrew said. "I just called to notify you. We're going to visit the church where my grandfather used to preach today. I want to reconnect with my past."
Dan hesitated. "Not a good idea."
"I don't see the harm."
"I do."
Andrew sat on the edge of his bed. It was the bed he had used growing up, and his feet banged the footboard when he stretched out, so he had to sleep at an angle. Posters from his favorite movies decorated the walls. The collection included The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, The NeverEnding Story, Avatar, and Pan's Labyrinth. A replica medieval sword hung on the wall, but the blade was dull and made of aluminum.
"You won't let me see the place where my ancestor died?" Andrew said. "That's not fair."
"A seam is there," Dan said, "and the sorcerer who owns it won't appreciate a couple of kids making a surprise visit."
Andrew clenched his jaw. He didn't like being called a kid.
"We'll explain the situation to him. We're just apprentices. We can't attack him."
"I'd better come along," Dan said.
Andrew lowered his head. The response didn't surprise him, but he was disappointed nonetheless. He didn't want an official babysitter.
"Fine. I'll call you when I have more details." Andrew hung up the phone.
He went back down to the kitchen. Charley and his parents were still at the table.
"Well?" Beth said.
"Good news and bad news," Andrew said. "We can go, but our friendly federal agent is coming with us."
Everybody appeared troubled, but nobody voiced any objections.
Beth stood up. "I remembered something while you were upstairs. I still have a few things from your grandfather. You might be interested."
"Absolutely," Andrew said enthusiastically.
"Mind if I tag along?" Charley said.
The three of them went upstairs and continued upwards to the attic. Andrew's father didn't believe in throwing out anything that might have the slightest value, and most of the junk had found its way to the attic. Every piece of clothing Andrew had outgrown was up there. Christmas lights and ornaments filled boxes. There was a bicycle built for two which had been ridden only once. Stacks of rubber bins were full of stuff that would probably never see the light of day again.
Beth pulled a cardboard box out of a pile, set it on the floor, and opened it.
Andrew peered inside and found several textbooks covering physics and philosophy. He had seen similar material in Tonya's office. Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant looked particularly well worn, and some pages were bookmarked.
Andrew opened the book and read, "'All our knowledge begins with the senses, proceeds then to the understanding, and ends with reason. There is nothing higher than reason.'"
"Profound," Charley said.
He nodded. He dug into the box again and found an old Navy uniform with ribbons and the silver bars of a lieutenant.
"My grandfather was in the Navy?" Andrew said.
"I think he fought in Korea," Beth said. "He was an engineer."
"Not a preacher?"
"He came to that profession late in life."
Andrew opened a small velvet box and discovered a square chunk of lead. Streaks of gold ran through the lead like veins in a mineral formation.
"Strange," Andrew said.
Charley took the block of metal and held it up. A single bulb provided all the light in the attic, and the gold gleamed.
"Mrs. Kenworthy," she said. "Can we please have a few minutes alone?"
Beth frowned. "Sure. I'll just go clean up the kitchen."
"Thank you."
She went downstairs.
When Andrew and Charley were alone, he whispered, "What is it?"
"I think your grandfather turned lead into gold," she replied.
"I've seen Tonya do that."
"But not permanently. Transmutations don't stick. A good sorcerer can make the change last for a few minutes, and a great one can make it last an hour. Then the material snaps back to its original form. The world always remembers its proper shape."
"I've wondered why sorcerers don't get rich creating gold and diamonds," Andrew said.
Charley nodded. "Only a few legendary sorcerers were able to cause permanent change. It looks li
ke your grandfather was one of them." She stared at the block. "Wow."
She took a turn digging in the box. She pulled out a bundle of letters on yellowed paper tied with a red ribbon. She untied the ribbon and examined the letters one at a time.
"Well?" Andrew said.
"Love letters, and all from different women." She smirked. "He was quite a ladies man."
He took another turn at the box. The last item was a framed, black and white photograph of two men together. They were standing in front of a white wooden building in a rural location. It looked like a church.
"Interesting," Andrew said. "I want to show this to my mom."
He went downstairs. Beth was cleaning up the kitchen, and Percival was watching the morning news in the living room.
"What's this?" Andrew showed the photo to his mother.
She frowned at it. "I remember that picture. The man on the left is your grandfather. I don't know who his friend is. I saw him a few times but never got his name. They're in front of the church we're going to see today."
Andrew looked closely at his grandfather. In the picture, he appeared to be in his forties. He had short, spiky hair and a very stern expression on his narrow face. It was hard to judge his height, but he seemed tall. His beard reached down to the middle of his chest.
"The other guy must be important if they went to the trouble of framing a photograph," Andrew said.
"I expect so."
There was something vaguely familiar about the other man's face. After a minute, Andrew realized the stranger had a family resemblance to Blake. Must be his father, Andrew thought. Blake had mentioned his father had been close to Andrew's grandfather.
"Get dressed," Beth said. "We'll leave for the church as soon as everybody is ready."
Andrew nodded. "I can't wait." Maybe I'll finally get some answers.
Chapter Eleven
Andrew's father parked the brown Cadillac Escalade in front of a small church. It was painted white, but the paint had peeled in spots, exposing wood underneath. A steeple above the entrance reached high into the air, but the rest was just one story. Tall, narrow windows were made of stained glass. An ugly chain-link fence formed a square around the church, and signs read, "PRIVATE PROPERTY - KEEP OUT." A heavy chain and padlock sealed the lone gate in the fence, and it wasn't obvious how to get in.