The bus was parked to the right of the building next to a new-looking silver SUV and an old pickup truck, neither of which I’d noticed when we drove up because I was too busy looking at Professor Neverman’s house. The place was huge, the size of a factory, but charming with a red-tiled roof and stucco exterior. Arched windows were flanked by wooden shutters and covered with decorative metalwork that probably doubled as a security feature. No one was going to crawl in or out of the windows. The front door was enormous and solid-looking, giving the impression it was as impenetrable as a fortress. A large doorknocker, a lion’s head with a circle of metal through its mouth, was the only thing that would get us to the other side. Using the door knocker, Mr. Specter rapped on the door. We waited. There was nothing.
“Nobody home?” Kevin suggested.
“No, he’s definitely here,” Mr. Specter said. “This was all arranged weeks ago.” He grabbed hold of the door knocker and banged a little louder. The sound of metal against metal echoed in the distance.
This time there was a response. A voice hovered above us. A woman speaking Spanish. I looked up, but didn’t see a speaker. It had to be camouflaged somehow.
“We’re the Edgewood group,” Kevin Adams yelled before Mr. Specter could say anything. “Here to visit Professor Neverman.”
“Go away.” The intercom, wherever it was, crackled with static.
Kevin said, “Ma’am, just get Professor Neverman, por favor.”
“How did you get past the gate?” the woman asked, scolding. “No one is allowed in without permission.” The last word was stretched to its fullest. Pare-me-shun.
“Oh for crying out loud.” Mrs. Whitehouse sighed dramatically.
Mr. Specter said something in Spanish, and the woman answered in English. “No one is to see Señor Oswald today. Nobody. Ees not possible. I will open the gate now. You must go or there will be trouble.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Mrs. Whitehouse said.”We can’t go! Where would we go?” She fidgeted like a little kid.
Mr. Specter raised a hand to shush her and then said something in rapid-fire Spanish. I caught the word “guard” and then “Samuel Specter,” and “Oswald Neverman” and something that sounded like “promesa.”
There was a long pause. I could almost feel the woman considering his words. Then, her voice squawked back to us. “I will check with Señor Oswald. But he is very sick, so I do not think he will want you here. If he says no, you must go.”
We passed the time by shifting our weight, exchanging worried looks, and jiggling the handles of our suitcases. We were tired, anxious, and wanting a warm, comfortable bed. Waiting for some woman, a disembodied voice, to decide our fate. “Don’t worry, kids,” Mr. Specter said. “If she won’t let us in, I have a Plan B.”
A few minutes later, the door swung open. Behind it was a white-haired man in a bathrobe. Thick-lensed glasses distorted his eyes, which widened with delight at the sight of Mr. Specter. “Sam!” the man said, throwing his arms open. “I apologize for the mix-up. I thought you were coming next week.”
The two men embraced and did that back patting thing guys sometimes do. Mr. Specter kept his hand on Oswald’s shoulder as he introduced us. “Kids, this is Professor Neverman.” We all shook his hand and then the professor ushered us inside.
“Please don’t find fault with Elena,” the professor said. “It was my mistake. The medication muddles my brain. I’m lucky to remember my own name lately.” He chuckled, and ran a hand through his thick white hair, making it stand on end. “Come in everybody. You must be tired and hungry. Sam can show you to your rooms, and then after you drop off your things, we’ll get you something to eat. Bring them to the main kitchen,” he said, directing this at Mr. Specter. “You remember?”
Mr. Specter nodded and led us down a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs, our suitcases bumping one step at a time. Recessed alcoves in the walls showed the outlines of the crucifixes that had once hung there. Periodically on the staircase and in the second floor hallway we’d encounter woven wall hangings depicting Peruvian villages—red tiled roofs, people in native garb, and the mountains in the background.
“I think you’ll like your rooms,” Mr. Specter said, coming to a stop so suddenly that I almost collided with him. “When this place was a hotel they updated everything, expanded each room and made it quite nice. Each room has a small bathroom with a toilet and a sink, but the shower is down at the end.” He pointed to a door labeled W.C. “We’ll have to take turns in the morning for showers. Try to be considerate and keep it brief. No one wants to take a cold shower.”
“Yeah, no hogging the hot water,” Kevin said, punching Jameson’s arm.
“I’m glad I’m an early bird so I’ll be one of the first ones showering tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Whitehouse said in a smug way. “I never was one to loll around in bed. Too much to see and do for that.”
“Can I ask a question, Mr. Specter?” Mallory said, lifting her hand. “What’s wrong with Professor Neverman? He’s sick?”
“He’s fine,” Mr. Specter said, “Just getting over a flu bug. By tomorrow he’ll be good to go, but if not, we’ll let him rest.”
I was standing so close to him that I could see the whiskers on his face. I felt the lie roll off him like a wave against the shore so I knew Oswald Neverman had more than a flu bug. Something was seriously wrong with him. Mr. Specter glanced down at me, and seeming to know what I’d sensed, patted my shoulder. “Nothing to worry about.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Russ
Between Professor Neverman showing up at the door in his bathrobe and the housekeeper Elena saying we should go away, I definitely got the impression we weren’t expected or welcome. But once we got inside, I felt a whole lot better. Neverman’s place was not as luxurious as I’d been expecting. More old castle than quaint bed and breakfast. The walls were stone and seemed almost damp to the touch. Every ten feet or so, wall sconces held thick white candles that were more than decorative—the wicks were blackened and the walls behind them covered with soot.
Nothing about the place said warm and cozy but at least it had indoor plumbing. I saw Mallory make a look of disgust when she heard we would be sharing the shower down the hall. Her face sort of squinched up like she smelled something nasty and she shook her head so that her ponytail whipped from side to side. It’s a girl thing, I guess, this obsessive need for bathroom time for makeup or whatever. I don’t really get it. My mom spends a lot of time in the bathroom doing who knows what and as far as I can tell, she comes out looking exactly the same as she did when she walked in. I know the whole hair routine takes time, but that doesn’t seem to account for all of it. I’m probably better off not knowing.
Unlike at the hotel the previous night, we each got our own room but there were no working locks on the doors. “When it was a hotel there were keys, but now this is a private residence and there’s no need for it,” Mr. Specter said. “You can lock it from the inside when you’re sleeping. Otherwise we’ll have to agree to respect each other’s privacy and agree not to enter anyone else’s room without their permission. I assure you that your possessions are perfectly safe.”
He gave us ten minutes to unpack our stuff and then we met up in the hallway to go down to eat. I was glad to follow the herd. The hallways were confusing and looked a lot alike. Our destination, the dining room, had a large rough-hewn table covered with a table runner and topped by candles, which were halfway burned down, but not lit. When Mr. Specter noticed me staring at them he said, “They use the candles when the electricity is out, which is often.”
The table was set for the seven of us; Professor Neverman was nowhere in sight. After Mr. Specter checked in with Elena, who was busy bustling around in the adjoining kitchen, we all sat down and she came out to deliver our food. The meal was an odd assortment of food artfully arranged on a tray. From the looks of the things, Elena scrounged through the fridge and the pantry closet and threw together any
thing she could find. Just the way you’d do it if seven people showed up unexpectedly and wanted dinner. There were some hard-boiled eggs and slices of roast chicken, roasted vegetables, French fries, fried plantains and some weird looking olives.
The best thing on the tray, two golden baked empanadas, were scooped up by Kevin before the tray ever made it to our end of the table. When none of the adults were looking, Jameson used his telekinesis to lift one of the empanadas off Kevin’s plate and fly it over to his own. Kevin never noticed, not even when Jameson made a big show of pantomiming how tasty it was, biting into the pastry shell, pointing to the meat and cheese inside, and then rubbing the front of his shirt. His performance was clearly aimed at me. I did my best to pretend I didn’t notice what he was doing, but it was hard. The empanada looked delicious and I could have gone for one. I think it was the only time I ever wished I had his power instead of my own.
Nadia sat on the other side of the table, directly opposite me. I tried to catch her eye a few times, but she had her hood up again, and was concentrating on her food. I was starting to realize the hood was her defense mechanism, Nadia’s shield against the world. When she was feeling overwhelmed or threatened, she retreated into her hood and nothing got through. Just when I thought I’d broken through to the other side and connected with her, she’d pulled away again.
After dinner, we cleared the table and took the dishes into the kitchen, which looked like the kind of kitchen you saw in restaurants in movies. The focal points were a glass-fronted refrigerator with a sliding door, an island with a butcher block top, a six-burner stove, and a sink deep enough to soak a turkey. Elena thanked us and then waved off Mallory’s offer to help with the dishes.
We would be retiring to our rooms, Mr. Specter said, where we could do whatever we wanted. But, he added, there was no television, no Internet access, and a high likelihood the power could go off at any given time, so if it did, we shouldn’t be concerned.
“You have got to be kidding,” Kevin Adams said. “No power?”
“People lived without electrical power for most of history. Pretend you’re time traveling,” Mr. Specter counseled.
“Yeah, sure people lived like that for most of history, but not cause they wanted to,” Kevin grumbled. “Good thing I brought some comic books on the trip. And here I didn’t think I’d have time to read.” He flicked my arm. “You’re lucky you bring your own electricity with you everywhere you go.”
“You really expect us to go to sleep already?” Jameson asked. “It’s going to throw off our internal clocks.”
“You can stay up as late as you want, as long as you stay in your rooms. I know it’s early but today was a big day,” Mr. Specter said. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’d love some down time. Tomorrow we’ll have a group meeting and then you’ll be free to explore the grounds.”
“Mr. Specter?” Mallory raised her hand.
“This isn’t school, Miss Nassif,” he said, amused. “You don’t have to raise your hand.”
“You seem really familiar with this place. Is it because you’ve been here before?”
“Indeed I have. Many times.”
“And Professor Neverman?” she said. “He lives here by himself?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Why?” Mallory’s head tilted to one side, a puzzled expression crossing her face.
“He enjoys the solitude,” Mr. Specter said.
And before we could ask anything else he strode away, leading the way through the maze of hallways and up the stairs to our rooms where we were instructed to stay until morning. Once inside my room, I heard the opening and shutting of doors up and down the hallway and the sounds of the others fumbling with the hook and eye closure that would serve as our locks. I didn’t latch mine just yet. I had the idea that I’d sneak out to Nadia’s room after everyone else had settled down. Once we were alone, I’d ask what was going on with us. A direct approach, that was my plan. If I had the nerve to actually go through with it.
Without a TV, the room seemed incomplete. I had a bed, a dresser, a coat rack, and an upholstered chair. The door leading into the bathroom was narrow and the bathroom itself was the size of an airplane lavatory. I had no trouble imagining my room as a nun’s room. The bathroom was probably once a closet or prayer space or something.
I settled back on the bed, playing with the calculator on my phone. I did some calculations to figure out something that had been bugging me, and when I was satisfied with the numbers, I found myself reaching into my wallet for the medallion Gordon Hofstetter had given me. As big as a driver’s license (which I didn’t have yet—my sixteenth birthday was coming up quick), it was silver and octagonal in shape. A clear gemstone occupied a hole right in the center.
When I held it up, the waviness of the glass diffused the light. I traced my finger over the spiral etched in the metal circling the stone. Since I was in grade school, I’d doodled spirals in the margins of my notebooks when I was daydreaming, something that irked my teachers. Who knew that someday I’d discover a glowing spiral as big as a field, the remnants of light particles that had fallen from the sky? And now, cryptically, the same pattern was on this medallion. I still hadn’t told anyone else about it.
I wiped the medallion with my shirt, put it away, and looked around the room for something else to do. Finally, I pulled out the comic book my nephew Frank had snuck into my suitcase when he and Carly came to the house to see me off. When I’d called home from our hotel in Miraflores, Frank had just happened to be at my house; I could hear him talking in the background while I was trying to concentrate on what my mom was saying. Finally, she handed the phone over to him. He was excited to speak to me and glad to hear that I’d found the comic book and his note in my suitcase. That was the great thing about Frank. He was always energetic and in a good mood, kind of like a happy caffeinated puppy. The only time I ever really saw him depressed was when he asked me why his father didn’t love him. Man, that was heartbreaking. And then he asked me all these other questions about who the guy was and why he never met him. What was I supposed to say? I didn’t even know who his father was and neither did my parents. If Carly knew, she wasn’t saying. The only answer I could give him was that his dad, whoever he was, was missing out big time, because he could be spending time with Frank, who was one awesome kid. Sometimes all you can do is tell the truth.
Flipping through the comic book, I saw more evidence of Frank’s personality. The comic book illustrator had drawn all of the women with huge breasts, and Frank had put Post-it notes with arrows pointing this out on several different pages. No words, just arrows with numerous exclamation marks next to them. Carly was fond of saying her son was a ten-year-old teenager. Most of the time I didn’t see it, but this was a definite sign that she was on to something.
I wondered how my family was right now and if the day’s events—the killing back at the bus—would somehow affect them. What if the Associates knew it was me and retaliated by hurting my parents or Carly and Frank? My hand went up to Carly’s key, still on a chain around my neck. She’d told me not to go on this trip. Maybe she’d been right. If anything happened to my family, I couldn’t live with myself.
To distract myself from my disturbing thoughts, I turned back to the comic book. I was on the last page when I heard a light knock on my door. “It’s open,” I said.
Mr. Specter stuck his head in the room. “Is this a good time to talk?”
“Sure.”
He made a point to close the door quietly behind him, then sat down in my chair, resting his hands on his knees. “I wanted to talk to you privately about something important.” He tapped his finger against his leg and then looked around, as if checking to see we were alone.
“Did you want to sweep the room for bugs first?” I asked. I was only half joking.
“No.” He smiled ruefully. “That’s not necessary here.”
“Are you sure? I mean, better safe than sorry, right?”
&n
bsp; “No, rest assured it’s secure. Oswald Neverman is nothing if not careful.”
I closed my comic book and tucked it under my leg, suddenly embarrassed to be caught reading it. “Is this about us getting attacked today?”
“Yes, in part.” He gave me an intense look. “I knew we’d have this conversation someday, but I really thought we’d have more time. Today’s events have made me aware that things are moving faster than I anticipated.”
“Oh.” The expression on his face made me uncomfortable, like he was going to give me very bad news. I thought of the worst thing possible: that we wouldn’t be going home, that something terrible had happened to my family. My fists clenched at my side.
He said, “First of all, I need to tell you that you shouldn’t feel bad about what happened today. In fact, you can’t allow yourself to feel bad about it because it will affect your emotions and your thinking, which will create a weakness that the enemy will be quick to exploit. Don’t think of what happened as killing or murder. You were defending yourself and your friends. The men who attacked us knew the risks when they took on the job. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded. I understood, but I still felt like crap. I could picture that man on the ground, dead because of me.
He continued. “If it helps you feel any better, they were adult men with guns, attacking a bus filled with unarmed high school students and their chaperones. No legal system in the world would prosecute for that. We were victims fighting back.”
“Using your reasoning, it was justified because they started it?” I said.
“Something like that.” He exhaled. “I knew you’d get it.”
“But I keep thinking that maybe I could have saved them.” I searched my mind for the right words. “That maybe if I had stayed behind and put my hands on them to heal them, that it would have made a difference.”
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 42