by Steve Bevil
Loudly, Angela cleared her throat. “Umm, Earth to Nathan?” she said. Immediately, Nathan blinked his eyes, breaking his gaze. Angela sighed and then mumbled underneath her breath. “Now, I know what Lafonda is talking about.…”
“Look,” said Nathan, abruptly, after catching wind of what was said. “We’re here already. It makes no sense to not just go over there.…”
Robustly, Angela nodded her head, causing her blonde curly locks to bounce freely on her shoulders. “Lafonda said that her mother doesn’t want us to go anywhere near that shop, and any cloaking that needs to be done will come from her grandmother.”
“And … where is LaDonda?” asked Nathan, mockingly. He continued to eye the two white statues and the three carvings between them. Nathan thought the three carvings appeared to be three different scenes, or pictures involving the same man. He also thought it was odd that the statue on his left looked like a plain well-dressed man while its counterpart on the far right was everything but simple; including the decorative breastplate he wore and the brazen sword in his right hand. “Has anybody even heard from her?”
Angela had a blank look on her face and Nathan frowned angrily, turning his attention to the blackened walls of the fireplace. He thought about his not-so-pleasant phone conversation with Roy after he found out from Avery that he and the others had snuck away to London. Nathan recalled how upset he was when Roy accused him of being reckless and irresponsible with his life, and with the lives of others. “I’m sorry, but I’m not waiting on LaDonda,” he said, slowly, and with resolve. “They did what they thought they needed to do to protect us, but keeping us in the dark isn’t going to work now.” He looked down at his hands and then turned to look at Angela. “The genie is out of the bottle. They had their turn. Now I’m taking responsibility for my own life.”
“Look,” said Angela, trying not to stare at his hair. “I agree with you. Lafonda agrees with you.” She switched her phone to another ear and quickly retrieved her purple hairbrush from the small handbag that lay across her hip. “That’s why Lafonda wants you to get up, so we can leave now.” She handed him the hairbrush. “But first, we’re going to at least try to convince Dr. Devaro to let us do some shopping before they force us to leave. If they want us to leave everything up to them, and carry on as if nothing is wrong, then they’re going to have to allow us to be normal teenagers. And what’s more normal for a teenager than doing a little shopping?” She watched as Nathan made faces while eyeing the hairbrush. “And if that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to leave. We’ll sneak out anyway.”
There was a brief silence as Nathan wiped his eyes, still holding Angela’s purple hairbrush in his hand. He then looked at her skeptically while mentally going over what she said in his head. Angela shrugged. “Well, at least that’s the plan,” she said. She stopped to listen intently on the phone and then gestured with her head. “Does your hair always stick up like that after you wake up?”
Suddenly, a burst of laughter could be heard from Angela’s phone. Soon, Nathan’s cheeks became a bright red as he tried to flatten his hair down with his hand. “Whatever, Angela,” he grumbled, handing back her hairbrush. She frowned after examining his effort to fix his hair. Frustrated, Nathan decided to abandon his beauty endeavor. “What does this have to do with us getting cloaked? And I’m talking about the part about the shopping … not my hair.”
Angela’s blue eyes appeared to have an extra sparkle to them. “While we’re shopping,” she said, with a smile. “You and Malick can sneak away to that shop to get you guys cloaked.”
“You mean tell another lie,” said Nathan, grudgingly. “I’m tired of all the secrets, Angela.…”
“Not another lie,” she interrupted. There was an upbeat cheeriness to her voice. “The place you want to go to is a store isn’t it?” She winked. “Then, you’re going shopping.”
“Oh, okay,” said Nathan, sarcastically. He turned around after he heard something rattle behind him. Jonathan had entered through the double wood-paneled glass doors that connected the main house to the conservatory.
Energetically, Jonathan strutted toward them, stopping in front of the enormous stained-glass window that took up most of the wall to Nathan’s side. “So, is he on board with the plan?” asked Jonathan.
Angela turned to look at Nathan and then a smug look formed on her face as she nodded. “Yup, he’s on board,” she said, walking away. “Yes, I’m still here, Lafonda — just convince her. We’re not coming all the way to London to end up going shopping without you.”
Nathan and Jonathan watched as Angela made her way across the room and through the conservatory doors. The sound of her flip-flops trailed behind her. “So,” said Jonathan, taking a seat on the arm of the couch. Nathan noticed Jonathan seemed more relax than he normally did. “I trust you slept well.”
Nathan turned to look up at Jonathan and then paused to massage the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said, with a slight chuckle. “I didn’t sleep at all on the flight over.”
“The last time I saw you awake,” said Jonathan. “You were on the phone with your grandfather, and when I came back you were asleep on the couch.” There was a brief silence. “And based on Lafonda’s mother’s reaction, I’m assuming it didn’t go so well.”
Slowly, Nathan shook his head. “Not well at all,” he said. “All I know is that I tried to make the right decision that was best for everyone.”
“Sounds like the makings of a good leader,” said Jonathan with a smile.
Nathan rolled his eyes and then slightly frowned. “Well, I’m definitely no leader,” he said. He paused. “Well, rather, I know I’m not choosing to be one, anyway.”
Nathan lowered his eyes again, continuing to rub his neck. “Leadership is a choice,” said Jonathan. Quickly, Nathan turned to look back at him, but he looked confused. There was a brief moment of silence and Jonathan paused to reposition his glasses before speaking. “Some would argue that leadership is a choice not a position. We learned about it at Leadership camp.”
“Oh, is that so?” said Nathan, with a grin. “Now, I wonder why I was ever under the impression that you weren’t actually at Leadership camp.” He laughed. “Hmm, maybe Erin Rosales has something to do with that.”
Suddenly, there was a hint of redness in Jonathan’s cheeks. “So,” he said, with a huge smile. He drew a deep breath and then nodded. “You think it will work?”
“What will work?” asked Nathan.
Jonathan repositioned the glasses on his nose again before speaking. “The plan to get you guys out of here and over to that shop,” he said. He smiled. “Preferably, I would like to oversee this myself, but Malick insisted you two go alone.” He paused, following Nathan’s gaze over to the fireplace. “Did Malick happen to mention where you guys are going, or who it is you’re supposed to be seeing?”
“No, he didn’t,” answered Nathan, slowly. He was still in awe of the three intricate carvings that adorned the face of the fireplace and the two large white statutes on top of the mantel. Briefly, he turned to look at Jonathan, and then around the room. “As long as Angela and Lafonda can convince Dr. Devaro, we should be good to go. By the way, why does everything in this house seem so big … and over the top?”
A big smile washed across Jonathan’s face as he stood up. “That’s Grandpa Black for you,” he said. He looked around the room and then stretched out his arms in the spacious room. “Welcome to Black Manor, Nathan.”
Nathan followed Jonathan’s lead and scanned the room. He paid special attention to the two floor-to-ceiling bookcases that framed both sides of the fireplace. He also took note of the plush couches and the elaborately patterned loveseats that seemed to dot every corner of the room. “It sure is fancy in here,” said Nathan.
“A little bit of new and old. Quite eclectic.” said Jonathan. He continued to look around the room.
“Well, I love that it looks lived in,” said Nathan. “Unlike the front living room of the Devaro Man
sion.”
He smiled. “It didn’t always look like this,” said Jonathan. There was an extra spring to his step as he headed over to the fireplace. “According to my dad, Grandpa Black purchased this place years ago during an estate auction. Supposedly, he got a great deal too.” He paused, pointing to the space above the fireplace. “A lot of the existing furniture came with the place, including that painting.” Jonathan grew silent. “Dad continued to restore Black Manor after my grandfather passed away.”
“Oh, I’m … sorry for your loss,” said Nathan, sympathetically. He looked around the room again. “It really does have a cozy feeling in here.”
“Thanks,” said Jonathan, somberly. There was a pensive look upon his face, but then suddenly he forced a smile. “We still don’t know who all this stuff used to belong to.”
“Doesn’t your dad know?” asked Nathan, sounding surprised. “Who used to own the house, before your grandfather?”
Jonathan’s light blue eyes continued to look pensive beneath his dark-rimmed glasses. “I don’t know. And my dad said he doesn’t know either,” said Jonathan. “I offered to start looking into the place — you know, a little light research — but Dad told me not to, that we would have enough time to do that later.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, even though it’s been several years, maybe my father’s just not ready to deal with it.”
Jonathan caught Nathan gazing at the painting and the fireplace again. “But what I do know,” he said, “is that these carvings on the front of the fireplace are not uncommon for early 19th century fireplaces.” He paused to push his glasses back up his nose and smiled. “See, 19th century English fireplaces are taller and shallower than their French counterparts … and often feature depictions of finely carved urns, or animals, or classical scenes to the frieze.” There was a certain level of excitement in his voice. “And the majority of the Parthenon frieze can be found right here at the British Museum in London.”
“The what?” asked Nathan. The space between his eyebrows was scrunched together, and he had a confused look on his face.
“The Parthenon frieze,” said Jonathan with a grin. Nathan’s face frowned and he still appeared confused. “Never mind,” said Jonathan with a laugh. “Usually the carvings depict a scene or part of a narrative. They tell a story.”
“Story?” said Nathan, half rolling his eyes. “Tell me, what’s this story?” Facetiously, he pointed in the direction of the right statue. “Let me guess, boring guy, in boring clothes, finally gets the courage to seek revenge and grabs sword.…”
“Yes, it is a little out of the ordinary,” laughed Jonathan. He squatted to get a closer look and then adjusted his glasses. “If I had to speculate, I would say the frieze or the carvings here were depicting a story — a story about a journey.”
“A journey?” asked Nathan, abruptly. “All I see is a few random images. How do you see a journey in that?”
Energetically, Jonathan stood up. He reached above the fireplace and took out a matchstick from what looked like an old gray tin or silver box. Swiftly, he ignited the stick and tossed it amongst the large wood logs that sat inside the blackened fireplace. “See,” said Jonathan, the fire roaring to life. “The nicely dressed statue would be the start of the narrative, and the sword-carrying one would be the end.” Jonathan squatted again and then pointed. “And the three carvings in the middle would be the account of the story….”
“Or his journey,” finished Nathan, rolling his eyes.
“Precisely!” exclaimed Jonathan.
Nathan shook his head, but kept a watchful eye on the carvings. The fire inside the fireplace crackled, flickering angrily against its blackened walls. On the face of the fireplace danced a plethora of fast moving shadows. Nathan could have sworn the fireplace looked animated, as if the three carvings were coming to life.
The first carving appeared to be the same man as in the statues, but he wasn’t at all dressed well. Now illuminated from the roaring fire, the man looked as if he was in a fierce battle against a dagger-wielding giant. Nathan thought it was very reminiscent of David and Goliath.
In the next scene, the man’s clothes looked worn and tattered. He also wielded what appeared to be a dagger in his hand as he gazed into what looked like an enormous mirror. Nathan was surprised to see that the man’s reflection was that of a little girl and, instead of a dagger in her hand, she held a double-edged sword. “And how do you know all this?” asked Nathan, glancing over at the last scene. “I thought your dad didn’t want you researching the place.”
“Well, if you haven’t noticed,” said Jonathan. “I read a lot.” He laughed. “I’m sure I picked up a little bit about 19th century fireplaces while reading about something, somewhere.”
Nathan focused his attention on the last carving. He thought it was rather anticlimactic in comparison to the other two. The man was now depicted on his knees embracing someone, while several others appeared to be watching. Nathan found it at least somewhat interesting because he wondered who all the people were. “And what about the little girl in the painting?” asked Nathan, slouching back and staring at the space above the fireplace.
“Well, first off,” said Jonathan, springing to his feet. He sat on the armrest of the couch again. “I can tell you that it’s an oil painting.”
“Ha, well, that’s obvious,” said Nathan with a grin.
Quickly, Jonathan’s face turned red, but he then smiled. “From the looks of it, I’m guessing she’s about 6 or 7 years old,” said Jonathan. “And based on her clothes and the white bow in her hair, I’m going to say she’s from around the early 19th century.”
“The same as the fireplace,” added Nathan, looking around the room. He laughed. “And probably some of this furniture.”
Jonathan smiled heartedly before suddenly drawing quiet. He now had an inquisitive look on his face and his mind appeared to be somewhere else. “Right,” he answered slowly.
“So, whose idea was it anyway?” asked Nathan, standing up and taking a stretch. “Who came up with the plan?”
“Do you have any guesses?” asked Jonathan, returning to the conversation.
For a moment, Nathan looked contemplative. “Alan!” he blurted.
Happily, Jonathan nodded. “Yes!” he said, and Nathan chuckled.
“It all started with Alan because he wanted to go shopping.…”
“Of course,” added Nathan, looking around the room and then toward the conservatory.
Jonathan continued to nod. “Lafonda worked in the rest.”
“So, apparently, she’s still on lockdown at her parent’s apartment,” said Nathan.
“Yes,” said Jonathan, “but I believe she’s trying her best to convince her mother to allow her to join us over here at the manor.”
Nathan stepped out from in front of the couch and stood in the area behind it. “Where is everyone?” he asked. “In the conservatory?”
Jonathan stood up and nodded, but before Nathan headed toward the double wood-paneled glass doors, he noticed Jonathan was staring oddly at him. “What?” asked Nathan, sounding concerned.
“Uh, nothing,” said Jonathan, now clearly staring at Nathan’s hair.
“Ugh,” Nathan sighed, heading toward the conservatory doors. Jonathan followed behind him, but Nathan caught his reflection in the door’s glass before opening them. “Oh, it is bad!”
The hair on top of Nathan’s head was as pointy as the comb on top of a red rooster. Quickly, he tried to flatten it with his hand. “How is it now?” he asked, feeling a little more confident before walking into the room.
“It’s interesting,” snickered Jonathan, following behind him. Nathan sighed.
“This is utterly, completely, exponentially … extraordinary!” Nathan heard someone say. Slowly, Nathan headed toward the elongated dark wood table that was located in the center of the room. The entire conservatory was surrounded by glass, including the ceiling. Nathan squinted as he tried to connect with the faces sitting a
round the table including the animated man that stood in front of him.
Nathan continued to squint as his eyes adjusted to the well-lit room. Aside from the extra sunlight, he thought the room looked very comfortable and he was pleased to see the large reddish-brown couch pressed firmly against one of the glass windows. Nathan noticed that on the armrest of it, lay several coats, one of which he identified immediately to be his. “I know it’s a conservatory,” whispered Jonathan into his ear. “But, so far, mom’s only been able to keep alive that one fern.” He shrugged. “My dad’s sister, aunt Prudie, is supposed to come by and water it from time to time, but other than that, no one is hardly ever here.”
Nathan followed Jonathan’s gaze upward to the medium-sized potted plant that hung over the others, as they sat at the dark wood table. The edges of some of the fern’s leaves were brown, while other leaves were completely withered. Occasionally, tiny specks of leaves would break off and fall slowly to the center of the table. “Dad said Mom is still in India,” whispered Jonathan. There was a slight quiver to his voice. “They’ve never come back separately from a sabbatical before.…”
“Avery!” pleaded Dr. Colvers. He paused and quickly displayed a crooked smile after he noticed Nathan. “These kids,” he continued, pointing excitedly at him. “I never imagined in my wildest dreams that these secret societies — the Order — could be about real power! And I’m not talking about gaining influence over governments and institutions of leadership power, but actually real power — an organization made up of individuals with abilities that I haven’t even begun to understand!”