• • •
Xandra Black, her nose and mouth visible beneath her hood, gave Valerie Hunt her grilled cheese and pickle on a silver tray. Then she served the princess her Earl Gray tea with scones, Double Devon Cream, and huckleberry jam. Nastasia watched her with some interest.
“I wish to thank you for your warning, even though I did not heed it,” said Nastasia. “You are…Xandra Black, if I recall?”
“That’s me.” The young woman’s tone of voice was sardonic. “Or Flops-over-Dead-Chick. Whichever suits your fancy.”
“Do you…flop over dead?” Valerie asked, snapping a picture of her. Xandra recoiled as if annoyed and then sighed wearily, as if it was not worth her time to make a fuss.
“Occasionally,” Xandra drawled dryly. “Fortunately, it hasn’t been permanent.”
“I assume you faint or something.” Salome’s overly-large eyes looked even larger when she paid attention to something. “I mean, you don’t actually flop over dead.”
“Does enduring the burning fires of a lake of flame in the underworld sound dead enough for you?” Xandra drawled. “I flop over dead. It’s the price for…a gift of mine.”
“Really? Dead-dead? Can I watch?” Siggy leaned forward eagerly, his chocolate and mint sundae forgotten. “If Lucky ate you while you were dead, would you still get better?”
“Please don’t let your dragon eat me.” Xandra gave an exaggerated sigh. “That might turn out badly for both of us.”
“I can be magnanimous! Lucky, don’t eat her. Even if she looks dead,” said Siggy.
“Thanks,” Xandra murmured dryly, as she returned behind the counter. “Much obliged.”
“Saw your boyfriend last night,” Valerie smirked over her Cheerwine. “Von Dread brought him back wrapped in a pink blanket. I got a picture of it.” She patted her camera. “I’ll make you a copy when I get it developed.”
“Oh, thank you!” Rachel grinned.
The thought of Gaius wrapped in a pink blanket filled her with a kind of bubbly delight.
“He is not her boyfriend.” The princess primly defended Rachel.
“Um…actually, he is.” Rachel blushed. “My boyfriend, that is.”
The princess’s face betrayed surprise and hurt. “But you said you had refused him?”
“I ch-changed my mind,” Rachel stuttered.
Nastasia frowned with such obvious disapproval that it snuffed out quite a few of the candles on the chandelier of Rachel’s happiness.
“Boyfriend?” Joy squealed. “You have a boyfriend?” Faith shot her younger sister an inquisitive glance, raising an impish eyebrow. Joy gave an exaggerated sigh. “My father doesn’t allow my sisters and me to have boyfriends until we are at least sixteen.”
“Valerie and Siggy are boyfriend and girlfriend,” Rachel pointed out.
“That’s true,” Joy shot Valerie a wistful, envious look.
The sourness and anger was fading from Salome’s face. She clapped her hands gleefully and began attacking her peach sundae with her long-handled spoon. “Oh, that’s so exciting. Gaius Valiant’s so cute. All us girls in Drake sigh over him.”
“I thought you had a boyfriend, too?” Joy asked Salome.
“I do.”
“Should you be sighing over some other boy?” asked the princess with a frown.
Salome shrugged. “I can window shop.”
“If you’re not going to eat that, Princess, Lucky and I can help you.” Siggy leaned over and took a scone that the princess had slathered with cream and jam but not eaten. Nastasia sighed but did not protest. Sigfried broke it in half and tossed the rest to Lucky, who gulped it happily, despite that he was still pudgy from last night’s feast behind Drake Hall.
Joy leaned forward. “So…what does Mr. Valiant think of Track and Broom? Is he an athlete? Is he going to want you to go out for the team?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel admitted. “I don’t really know him very well yet.”
“If you don’t know him,” Nastasia stirred her tea with a tiny silver spoon, the furrow in her brow deepening, “why are you dating him?”
“Um…because I quite fancy him, and he likes me.” Rachel blew through her straw and watched her egg cream froth as it bubbled. “He fought Von Dread for me.”
The princess hmphed dismissively. “He is a boy. He fought to defend his pride.”
Rachel heart clenched painfully. Her brother’s claim, that Gaius wanted to date her only to irritate Peter, had not troubled her. This, however, shook her.
What if Nastasia were right?
Rachel knew very little about boys. What if she was fooling herself? It happened all the time in books and ballads—Girls were taken in by handsome faces and sweet words, usually to their ruin. She did not think Gaius fought just to defend his pride. But how could she be sure?
• • •
Three freshman boys came tromping down the stairs, their familiars in tow. They came up to the counter and ordered ice creams. One was pale; one had very dark skin; and the third was in between. As Xandra took their orders, Rachel thought back to the Familiar Bonding Ceremony, in which all the freshmen had been called by name. She recognized them as: Mortimer Egg, Jr., Jarius Knight, and Juma O’Malley
She glanced at the three boys and then back at her egg cream. She studied their faces as they appeared in her memory of the previous few seconds, giving particular attention to the son of the man who had tried to kill Valerie.
Mortimer Egg, Jr. was a slender boy with straw-colored hair and freckles, who dressed in the subfusc style. He struck Rachel as good-natured but a bit hapless. Under one arm, he carried his familiar, a white rabbit with black nose and ears and red, red eyes. Not blood red, like the raven, but an eerie color nonetheless. Rachel would have bet money that it was a phooka. She was good at spotting phookas.
Did he know that his father was an evil murderer?
No, Rachel decided. His face was open, and his smile genuine. If word had come that his father was wanted for murder, or even in custody, he would have had a nervousness around his eyes, a tightness around his mouth. No one had told this boy that his father was a suspect.
Rachel shivered. That meant that they had not caught the man yet.
Rising, she paced about the café. On a mural stretching across the wall next to the bar, Storm King Mountain rose above the Hudson. The storm goblin known as the Heer of Dunderberg stood atop its peak, arms akimbo, in his orange and green doublet and hose and his pure white sugar loaf hat. A storm brewed above and to either side of him. His lightning imps leapt through the air, their javelin-bolts sizzling. His mist sprites reached down with eager faces and long foggy fingers. Below the mountain, the artist had painted the original Pollepel and other famous wrecks, sunk by the fury of the Heer. The vessels were depicted as broken and sinking, their crew crying out.
One ship did not sink, or even rest on the brown waters of the Hudson. Instead, it hovered above them, its sails in tatters, except for the wing-like ones spread horizontally to either side. A man dressed in a black jacket with lace at his throat and a silver buckle on his hat stood defiantly on the prow. He played a double flute. Sparkles of gold spread from his instrument, encircling his ship and protecting it from the winds, as his sailors shot arrows and spells at the Heer.
Rachel traced her fingers over the man, exclaiming in delight, “Captain Vanderdecken!”
“You recognize that bloke?” Siggy had come up beside her, along with Valerie. He turned his head sideways as he regarded the mural.
Rachel nodded. “He is the captain of the most famous ship in the world.”
“And that is?”
“The Flying Dutchman.”
“I thought the captain of The Flying Dutchman was a squid,” said Sigfried.
“What? No. He’s a Dutchman. Hence the name.” Rachel squinted at the picture. “Why is he shown here? By Storm King Mountain?”
“I did some research on the Hudson Highlands before coming to school.�
�� Valerie slid her arm through Sigfried’s, pointing at the mural with her other hand. “Even among the Unwary, there are tales of The Flying Dutchman sailing these waters. Washington Irving refers to it in a story. That story also mentions the Heer of Dunderberg.” As if on cue, thunder rumbled from the direction of the Heer’s prison, followed by a louder thunderclap from the sky.
Valerie shivered. “He can’t hear us, can he? That storm goblin locked up in Stony Tor.”
“No idea,” Rachel murmured.
“I bet he can.” Juma O’Malley’s voice was as eager and infectious as his smile. He had a caramel-colored complexion and a very shaggy head of tight, kinky, coppery curls. His familiar, a tiny elephant no bigger than a cocker spaniel, stomped along beside him.
“Hey, you, Storm Goblin!” Sigfried shouted. “I’m coming for you!” He cupped his ear, but there was no answering thunderclap. He scowled, disappointed.
“Captain Vanderdecken’s granddaughter goes to school with us.” Juma held a short red metal tube with a black rubber button that he pressed repeatedly. “She’s in our dorm.”
“She’s one of my roommates,” Valerie said, “Rowan Vanderdecken. She’s said to be descended from a long line of sea witches.”
“What are you holding?” Rachel asked, leaning over to see the red tube.
“Flashlight,” said Juma.
“Torch,” said Sigfried simultaneously.
“A mundane torch! Oh! I’ve read about them in stories!” Rachel looked at the flashlight with interest. “But it doesn’t work here, does it?”
“Sometimes, I can make it turn on.” Juma pressed the button and frowned. “Not now.”
“Wow!” Valerie marveled, “Can you do that for my computer? Or at least my iPod?”
“Sorry,” Juma hung his head. “That’s beyond my ability. Mom can do stuff like that.” Beside him, the tiny elephant stole the metal tube from his hand with its agile trunk and began trying to eat it. Juma grabbed it back, laughing. “Jellybean thinks he’s the technomancer, too.”
The third boy, Jarius Knight, joined them as well, along with his immense St. Bernard—there was that saint word again, Rachel noted. Jarius was tall for a freshman and distinguished-looking with glasses and nearly black skin. He was older than most of the other students in their class and already sported a mustache. Siggy eyed this dubiously, as if sizing him up for a brawl.
Taking advantage of the space between young Mr. Egg and his friends, Rachel walked up beside him. Eager to connect with this unfortunate boy, she leaned forward and whispered, “Just between you and me, is your rabbit a phooka?”
Mortimer Egg Junior’s cheeks grew red. “W-what would make you say that?”
Grinning, she whispered back, “I’ve spent hours on the Dartmoor, learning to tell phooka and kelpies from rabbits, dogs, and horses. But it’s all right. Your secret’s safe with me.”
His nervousness ebbed away. “Um. All right.” He grinned tentatively. “Our secret!”
While Rachel grinned back at him, inwardly, she cringed. He was utterly transparent with no dissembling skills at all. If he knew anything about his father’s crimes, he lacked the skill to hide it.
She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Rachel Griffin.”
“I know. Agent Griffin’s daughter.” Mortimer Egg, Jr. grinned and shook her hand. “My father works with your dad, you know. He’s occasionally been assigned to the London office.”
“I…didn’t realize.” Rachel blinked at this information. Valerie had met the man in the New York office, but if he worked in London, too, that must have been how he met the traitor, Agent Browne. She added casually, “How is your father?”
“Fine, thanks.” He smiled so openly that a throbbing pain ripped through Rachel’s heart. His father had committed horrifying crimes, and he knew nothing. How terrible.
Juma and his elephant joined them. Mortimer gestured at the other boy with the huge, infectious smile. “This is my best friend, Juma. We’re roommates in Dee.”
“Best friends after one week of school.” Rachel smiled happily, glancing fondly from Sigfried to the princess. “That’s fast work.”
“Oh, no,” laughed Mortimer. “We’ve known each other for years. We’re neighbors.”
“My mother and I live next door to Mort.” Juma bent and fed his tiny elephant a slice of dried apple he took from his pocket. “He’s the one who told me all about magic.”
“Just you and your mom? Is your father dead?” Rachel inquired gently.
Juma shrugged. “Who knows. Mom hasn’t seen him in years. I’ve never even met him.”
“Oh…” Rachel murmured, stunned.
She had been told that such arrangements were common in the Unwary world, but she had never actually met someone from a broken family. All these people with family problems: fathers who were murderers, and fathers who were absent. It made her miss her father.
As if the café had suddenly grown chilly, a shiver passed through her body. She thought of the conversation between Dr. Mordeau and the dean about her grandfather. These two boys knew so little about the true natures of their fathers.
What secrets might she not know about her family?
Chapter Eighteen:
Sigfried the Puddle-Slayer and the Rose-ambush
“You were going to go without me, weren’t you?” Joy O’Keefe stood on the path ahead of them, her hands on her hips, her face blotchy from anger. It was Sunday afternoon. The sun had finally peeked from behind the cloud cover, but the air was still damp and chilly. The princess and Rachel wore sweaters under their scholar’s robes.
“This is detention,” Nastasia replied, unperturbed, “not a social outing.”
“You promised to take me!” Joy shouted.
“That is a big, fat lie,” Siggy declared loudly. “I don’t make promises I don’t keep. Who is this girl? And why is she yelling at us?”
Rachel shook her head. His memory could not possibly be that bad.
“This is Miss O’Keefe,” the princess replied primly. “She is part of our Inner Circle.”
Siggy shrugged. “I guess you can tag along. I mean, you are a sorceress! You can only be killed if someone stabs you through the heart with a stake in the sunlight, right?”
The princess gave him an arch look. “You are speaking of vampires, Mr. Smith. We children of the Wise have no special way to charm our lives from harm.”
Siggy looked back and forth between the girls in horror. “You mean you little witch-girls can be hurt like real people? Good grief! Are you insane? You cannot go on adventures any more, none of you! You could get hurt! And then you’d cry! You’re just like girls!”
“We are girls,” Rachel calmly reminded him.
“Girls with arcane powers,” the princess spoke icily. “Your words are most unbecoming of a young gentleman. As for myself, one of royal blood may never cower when the lives of common people are exposed to danger. Only among the Unwary is it deemed fit for leaders to stay far behind the lines of battle, instead of fighting in the forefront. And look at how low their modern world has fallen and what cowardly weapons they use, and against civilians, too.”
Lucky said, “She’s got you there, Boss! You can’t tell the princess to stay back, because you’re following her.”
“Who gives people detention for acts of valor, anyway?” Sigfried stomped his foot vehemently into the next puddle, making the muddy water jump. Then he hopped around in pain. His bare foot had impaled itself on a sharp stone hidden below the waterline.
“That puddle attack you, Boss?” Lucky snaked up beside them. “Should I incinerate it?”
“Burn it, Lucky, Burn it!” Siggy yelled, hopping.
Lucky drew a large breath and breathed huge gouts of red-gold flame all over the puddle. The odor of newly-struck matches billowed from him. The water sizzled and hissed. Hot steam rose in a huge cloud. The girls jumped backwards.
“Wait! It wasn’t the puddle. The culprit is that sneaky rosebush
there!” Siggy shouted, still holding his sore foot with one hand and pointing a finger, shaking with rage, at a rosebush growing beside a bench. “It was a sneak attack! A booby trap! A rose-ambush! Make it pay for its craven and unknightly attack! Incinerate the miscreant!”
Lucky leapt forward. The rose bush and the wooden bench next to it erupted in roaring flame. Joy shouted in alarm. Rachel watched the red-gold fire dance. If anyone else had done such a thing, she would have strongly objected to them damaging school property. In keeping with her promise to support Sigfried Smith against the world, however, she merely grinned, amused by his audacity. She knew the proctors would be able to repair the damage.
The princess rubbed the bridge of her nose, as if soothing a headache. “Mr. Smith. Please, in the future, refrain from burning school property.”
Siggy sat down in the dirt and pulled a marshmallow and a half-eaten hotdog from his pocket, impaled them both on his huge Bowie knife, and held them toward the burning bench. “Mustn’t let a good fire go to waste. Lucky! Check for other suspicious-looking shrubbery!”
“Why don’t you wear shoes?” The princess cast Sigfried a disapproving glance. “You are only asking for trouble, walking around barefoot.”
“Only wimps wear shoes,” Sigfried mumbled.
Rachel, who was swinging her broom back and forth, kept quiet. She had ordered some for him a couple of days ago. She hoped they would soon arrive.
Siggy casually drew his foot up to his face with one hand. Bending, he began licking and sucking at the tiny red mark amid the grimy coal-blackness of the dirty sole of his foot. Rachel winced inwardly, but her face showed no reaction.
“Eww!” exclaimed Joy.
“Don’t worry,” said Lucky. “He’s not eating his own foot! He’s just licking the wound.”
Joy covered her head with her arms, making jerky outraged motions. “Spit is unhealthy!”
“How can that be?” Siggy looked up, surprised. “There’s spit in my mouth at all times.”
Lucky said, “Spit sterilizes wounds. Because of the heat. It is a scientific fact!”
Siggy nodded rapidly. “You just have to pump a little white phosphorous fluid from the fire-making glands behind your fangs into your saliva before you spit. Lucky told me.”
The Raven, The Elf, and Rachel (A Book of Unexpected Enlightenment 2) Page 21