by April White
As if by some silent signal everything got sort of quiet at once, and Mrs. Arman stepped into the center of the room.
“I trust you have all somewhat recovered from your ordeal of last night?”
All of us nodded. Except Tom. He sat motionless against the wall.
“I’ve informed Jane Simpson where you are, and she’s letting your parents and teachers know you’re safe.” Her eyes landed briefly on me when she said that, and I realized she was talking specifically about my mother. I felt guilty for not having called her the minute I had access to a phone. Though realistically, the police station might not have been a comforting place from which to hear from one’s daughter. I nodded my thanks and Mrs. Arman continued, her eyes still on mine.
“I’ll save the lecture. There will be a time in all of your lives when you experience the same fear and concern for someone else’s safety that we have felt for yours. And perhaps then you’ll remember this time, and might even find it in yourselves to apologize to the people who love you.”
That was probably the most effective non-lecture from a parent I’d ever heard. And if the squirminess of guilt in my own guts was any measure, it was one I wouldn’t ignore.
Then she turned to Tom, and her tone softened. “Tom, I think you want to say something?”
He looked startled. “No, I don’t.”
She spoke gently, like she was coaxing a child into trying something unfamiliar. “It’s much better to say it than let it fester, my dear, because if the anger doesn’t go, it will become part of you.”
Tom shook his head, clearly miserable at all the attention she’d put on him. “Really, there’s nothing.”
“I’m angry.” Adam’s voice cut through the thick silence in the room. “I’m angry that bastard keeps hurting you.”
“It wasn’t really on purpose. I just keep getting in the way.” Tom’s mumbled voice was painful to hear, and I got hit with a wave of guilt. I was the reason Tom had gotten hurt both times. Seth Walters had been aiming for me when Tom took a bullet in the shoulder, and it was my dumb idea that gave Slick the weapon to cut Tom’s face.
But Mrs. Arman shot me a warning look before I could speak, and then she redirected the conversation.
“You were successful, I understand. You located the missing genealogy book and retrieved it, an endeavor not without considerable cost, as most valuable things often have. I would like to see the book, if I may?”
It lay on the table in front of Archer, the green tooled-leather cover looking worn, but still beautiful. He stayed motionless, as did everyone else, and I was in awe of his confidence. “While it is true we brought the book here to your home as a place of safety, it was an action designed to liberate it from Walters and his crew, not necessarily deliver it to new owners.”
Camille Arman looked at Archer for a very long moment. She was clearly unused to being blocked from anything, and although he hadn’t said no outright, the pleasant smile on Archer’s face spoke as clearly as if he’d said the word.
“What is your plan, then, Mr. Devereux?” Frost laced her voice, and I shivered.
“My plan … our plan … is to determine Bishop Wilder’s intention in having me compile the genealogy, to understand why the Mongers are willing to steal and maim to keep it, and hopefully decipher some clue as to what Wilder is doing in the sixteenth century.”
I almost clapped.
The rest of the room’s occupants looked stunned.
Except Ringo. He just grinned at Archer and winked at me like the urchin he used to be.
And with that wink, I knew exactly what to do next. I stood and went over to a portrait of the Arman family that hung over the fireplace. It was painted in a style reminiscent of presidential portraits of the twentieth century, sort of time-warp-locked in the sixties. And everyone in it was gorgeous, even though the twins were probably about ten years old. Camille Arman was wearing a stunning silver cuff bracelet that looked like it was covered in ancient scrollwork, and I pointed to it.
“Is that Aislin’s bracelet?” Because the silence wasn’t thick enough in the room. I knew I’d just busted Ava, but circumstances being what they were, I hoped her mother could forgive her.
To her credit, Mrs. Arman didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, it is.”
I turned to face her. “Can you direct your sight to March or April, 1554 to find Elizabeth Tudor in the Tower of London?”
Mrs. Arman’s eyes narrowed at me speculatively. “There are history books for that sort of thing, Saira.”
“Like Archer said, we believe Bishop Wilder is there. With her.”
She took a breath. It bothered her, but she hid it. “And what would you do about it if he is?”
“I don’t know, exactly. But Archer has seen me and Ringo there, so I’d like to know what I’m taking us into.”
This was news to Ringo, of course, since the only time we’d had alone we’d been running, stealing, or fighting, not chatting about Archer’s visions-that-might-have-been-dreams. “Yeah, that’d be good to know. Since I’ve been invited an’ all.”
“And is that something you know how to do? Get back to a specific time and place in history?”
Adam raised an eyebrow at me and I crossed my arms in front of me, either defiantly or protectively, I wasn’t sure. “It can be done.” I tried not to sound twelve, I really did.
And I failed, if the raised-eyebrow look I got from Mrs. Arman was any indication. It was the kind of look that said ‘indeed’ in a way specifically designed to make one feel like the world’s biggest idiot. What was it about this tiny, impeccably-dressed, rich Frenchwoman that made me feel so totally inadequate?
“Mum can’t look into the past, even with the cuff.”
I stared at Ava, remembering why I loved that girl so much. I didn’t think the force-of-nature-and-good-shoes that was her mother would ever have admitted that out loud to me.
“Because it has already happened.” Even as the questions raged through my brain, I already knew the answers. I turned to Archer. “And because I’m taking you back there with me, your visions haven’t happened yet. That’s why you’re having them.”
“Does that mean you’ll let Saira take you back in time to use the cuff, Mother?” Adam’s voice unexpectedly filled the space, but the look Mrs. Arman turned on her son would have withered plants on the spot.
“Certainly not. The girl has no idea how to get there, and I don’t have the slightest intention of putting myself at risk for a goose chase.”
“I’ll go with her.” Ava surprised me again with the strength it must have taken to say those words. “Loan me the cuff, and I’ll help her figure out what the bishop is planning.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
Ava looked at her mother with very clear eyes. “You can’t stop me, Maman.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ava. Of course I can. I am your mother and the head of this Family.”
“And I’m the next in line for head. I’ll take it to the Council if I have to, but it won’t look good to have your daughter openly defy you in front of the other heads. You and I both know there are enough Seer Families vying for power that the slightest sign of dissent will leave you scrambling.”
“It’s what my father’s been waiting for.” Tom spoke quietly from the corner. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to him, but he clammed up and didn’t say another word.
“I’ll find out how to get there even if I have to use my mother’s necklace.”
“Do you really think she’d allow you to go back five hundred years into the clutches of the man who tried to kill her? Because that’s what we’re discussing. Sending our children to their deaths. We won’t do it, Saira. No parent would.”
Archer stood and picked up the genealogy from the table. “Camille, James, thank you for your hospitality. It’s been a pleasure to see these rooms again.” He held his hand out to me and nodded to Ringo, who stood to join us.
Mrs. Arman was motionless, and she looked li
ke she was barely restraining herself from leaping up to stop us. “Where will you take the book, Archer?”
“Someplace safe from Mongers and anyone else who would use the information in it against Descendants.”
I mouthed the words ‘thank you’ to Ava as I followed Archer and Ringo to the door. But then I stopped and found Mrs. Arman’s eyes. “I understand, Mrs. Arman. I know what it feels like when someone you love is in danger. The Mongers want mixed-bloods, and Wilder just wants blood. And when it puts people I love in danger, I have to do whatever I can to make it stop.”
Her expression didn’t change and I didn’t stick around to see if it would. Archer tucked the genealogy into his coat and held my hand as Ringo opened the front door for us with a flourish.
“After you, my not-a-Lord and Lady.”
I grinned at him, absurdly happy considering the conversation we’d just escaped. “Video games? Seriously?”
He and Archer burst out laughing as we stepped into the clear, crisp night.
Leaving a Mark
“I was thinking I’d leave a message for Doran at Whitechapel Station.”
“How?” Archer seemed amused, but not surprised. Ringo, on the other hand, was mystified until I explained that my vaguely-related cousin Doran seemed to be the only Clocker left who knew all the rules of time travel.
“You didn’t actually think I’d come out unarmed, did you?” I pulled an orange paint marker out of the inside pocket of the sport bike jacket I had nicked from Archer’s wardrobe.
“Another of yer fancy pens?”
“Yep. Let’s go.”
It was still early in Vampire night terms, and the foot traffic was all pub and club-goers. One of my favorite things about London was the pub on every corner. I wasn’t much of a drinker, considering I was still four years away from legal drinking age in California, but I liked the idea of a neighborhood gathering spot. A place you knew you could find your friends if, you know, you had them and they lived in your neighborhood.
Since the band was back together it seemed a natural thing to go running. Archer and I were more Parkour runners – all about getting from A to Z without detours. But Ringo was evolving into a free-runner. Maybe it was a day of first-person video games, but he had suddenly developed some stunners. Londoners weren’t typically too excited to be dodged and danced around as we traversed the city, but Ringo actually got applause from some street musicians when he executed a particularly impressive series of flips across the concrete caps of a guard rail. I didn’t even stop to think about things like taxis and buses and electric lights, and what they must be doing to Ringo’s head. I was having too much fun.
We finally made it to the Underground entrance on Whitechapel High Street, and I darted inside while Archer bought us all waters at a kiosk. They joined me in the alcove a couple of minutes later, just as I was putting the finishing touches on my message to Doran.
“Clocker Tower? Why there?” Archer handed me cold bottled water, and I took a long drink.
“He found me there before, and it’s a place to hide Ringo.” I turned to Ringo, who was playing with the plastic bottle cap, twisting it on and off. “Unless … I promised Charlie I’d take you back.”
He looked up in surprise. “Are ye mad?” He held up the water bottle. “I’ve held my tongue ‘cause there wasn’t time before, but the questions need answers and I’m about done bein’ patient.”
I poised my finger over Doran’s spiral. “Right then. To school?”
Archer picked up Ringo’s hand and clapped it on my shoulder while he wrapped one arm around my waist and sighed. “I suppose it’s faster than taking the train.”
The Clocker Tower was empty, as usual, when we landed back at St. Brigid’s. I was shakier on my legs than when I’d just brought Ringo with me, and it was clear that ferrying the extra people was more difficult than where and when I traveled them. Ringo’s grip was still tight on my shoulder, and I could tell he was keeping it together by the skin of his teeth. The tower was dark, but that never bothered me, and I made my way to the desk for an extra Maglite I kept there. I clicked it on and handed it to Ringo.
“Here. I have a pack of batteries for you, too.”
“Thanks, Saira.” The way he said ‘thanks,’ and the grip he had on the Maglite made me think it was a comfort to him. I’d given him mine when I travelled to 1888 to find my mom, and it was probably the one thing he understood of all the modern things that had assaulted him in the past twenty hours. I knew he needed time to process all of it, but we still had a couple of things to do.
“Will you be all right here for a few minutes? I’m going to get us some food and a change of clothes for you.” Archer and Adam were both much bigger than Ringo, but I thought he might fit into Connor’s clothes. And worst case scenario I could give him a pair of my own jeans.
“I’m fine. Ye’ve no need to care fer me like a child. I can manage.”
I bit back the snappy comment I was about to make when I looked at his eyes. They were sunk into purple sockets, and his skin was pale from lack of sleep. “There’s a door to the upper floor hidden in the wardrobe, and you might like the view. I’ll be back in a minute.” I didn’t tell him about the mattress on the floor because he’d deny he needed it, but I was fairly certain he’d find it on his own.
Archer headed toward the door. “I’m going for a change of clothes too.”
Ringo waved his hand at us dismissively as he headed toward the wardrobe. “Be ready to talk when ye get back.” He found the door and was already up the stairs when we left the tower.
I stopped in the deserted hallway. “Where are you really going?” I knew a change of clothes was not top on Archer’s list of errands tonight.
“Shaw’s office.”
“Me too.”
“Lead the way.”
I took Archer down the back staircase leading from the closed wing. It was after lights out, but I didn’t want to take a chance any of the staff were roaming the halls. As I suspected, there was light under Mr. Shaw’s door. I knocked softly, and within moments the door was yanked open. Mr. Shaw didn’t seem surprised to see us, but put his finger to his lips as he let us inside.
“Have you seen your mother?” He sat across from us.
“Mrs. Arman said she called her.”
“She did, but I think she’d prefer to see you with her own eyes.”
I knew he was right, but part of me wondered if my mother and I were on the same ‘do something’ team. Somehow I thought she might still be on the ‘stay hidden and safe’ side of the equation, and frankly, I didn’t want the fight.
Archer’s voice matched Mr. Shaw’s quiet tones, and it felt like we were all sharing secrets. “What happened in the woods last night?”
“They were there for Alex and Adam. Apparently a Monger whelp had seen her arrive yesterday.”
“How did they explain Walters being there?”
Mr. Shaw’s voice was bitter and hard. “Monger enforcer. He said he was just doing his job. The Were took off into the woods a few minutes after they got there, but Connor and Owen had already made it back to school. So in the end, you guys were in the most danger, not us.”
We gave Mr. Shaw the rundown of our own adventures, and he squinted at us twice. Once to realize I’d brought Ringo forward, and then when I described how Tom had gotten cut. At the end of the story, Archer pulled the genealogy out of his coat and set it on the table.
“So that’s it, huh?” Mr. Shaw’s eyes were locked on the dark green leather cover of the book. “I’m surprised you didn’t leave it with Camille.”
Archer smiled grimly. “As persuasive as she is, Camille Arman is too political for my taste. I’d prefer to leave the genealogy with you if I may, at least until we need it.”
I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or Mr. Shaw. The expression on Archer’s face told me that he’d given this a lot of thought.
“I compiled the book, so I know what it says, but not what
it means. I’m hoping your scientist’s eyes can uncover the truth behind Wilder’s mission.”
Mr. Shaw contemplated Archer for a long moment. “Was Wilder already a Vampire when he commissioned this book?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Any idea when he was turned?”
“None. Bishop Cleary and I did an exhaustive search on Wilder’s background, and we believe he was still within his natural life when I knew him. The number of records surrounding his youth and education would be too difficult to fake.”
“Well, that counts for something.”
“How?” I’d never really considered Bishop Wilder’s personal history as very relevant. He was just a nasty piece-of-work old guy who messed with people I cared about.
“If, indeed, Bishop Wilder was ingesting blood in the attempt to synthesize the genetic component of that blood, the genesis for his theories is an important factor to determining his intent.”
“In English, please?”
Mr. Shaw smiled faintly. “How he got the idea might tell us what he’s trying to do.”
“Right.” I looked at Archer. “Was he a scientist?”
He shook his head. “A theologian and a third son.”
“What year was he born?”
“1830. In Cambridge. His father was a Peer and had a fairly decent-sized estate. Apparently Wilder applied to Christ College in Cambridge, but was denied entrance. Something to do with his father’s politics. So he studied at King’s College, and essentially just stayed there, teaching as he went up the ranks of the church.”