William Wilde and the Necrosed (The Chronicles of William Wilde)

by Davis Ashura

  Within three strides of leaving William and facing her new house, Serena schooled her face to stillness. No one could be allowed to read her true thoughts. Where she had been brought up and taught, doing so could lead to unfortunate consequences.

  And she wanted to avoid ‘unfortunate consequences’ given who her “father” truly was. He was related to her, but his importance stretched further than familial ties. He was her Isha, the person charged with her education, her final training. And displeasing him, not accomplishing what he had taught, was unforgivable. Not only would his punishment be more severe than anything her true father would have ever administered, it would set her back, maybe too far to recover, in what she hoped to accomplish with her life.

  Even as Serena thought about her future, she sensed William’s regard. She glanced at him over her shoulder and feigned a shy half-smile before facing forward once more. Lastly, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind an ear—William seemed to like when she did that—before opening the door.

  One last glimpse, and she caught him smiling in return.

  Good. William could never see her as anything but a happy, well-adjusted new student. She had plans for him.

  Serena still wore the half-smile as she crossed the threshold, but as soon as she stepped inside, her expression became inscrutable.

  The house she entered, a modest, single-story ranch, opened into a large space that held the kitchen, dining room, and the family room. Down a darkened hallway to the right lay three bedrooms. Compared to some of the houses in which Serena had resided, this one was small, but its humble nature wasn’t what ended her smile.

  It was the presence of her Isha, Adam Paradiso, a big man whose size and aura shrank the room. He sat at a card table, which currently served as a dining table, with his well-muscled arms folded across his broad chest and his bearded face displaying a frown of impatience.

  “You’re late,” he snapped.

  “I was delayed, sir,” Serena replied.

  “The reason?”

  “I was asked to accompany the Mayna for ice cream.” Serena kept her voice level and composed. Isha disliked reports given with any sense of emotionality. He felt it biased the listener.

  Her instructor’s impatience receded and he raised a sardonic brow. “And I’m sure that brought you great suffering.”

  Serena allowed a smile of true humor to cross her face. “It was necessary, but yes, I did enjoy the ice cream. I’ll not lie.”

  “Why not? I’ve taught you to lie at need.”

  “You have,” Serena agreed. For her, lying had become as natural as breathing, and she no longer bothered with who might be hurt by it. Ambition had become her sole motivation. “But in this case, the truth suffices for my purpose.”

  “And what purpose is that?”

  “To give you an accounting of my movements.”

  “So be it,” Isha said. The last of his annoyance fell away. “Tell me about the Mayna.” His visage had tightened into one of raptor-intense interest, the same expression that Serena sometimes unwittingly mimicked. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Who is William Wilde?”

  Here was Isha’s true self: the meticulous, controlled taskmaster. In fact, he had never truly been upset with her. All along, his annoyance had been a ruse, a means to see how Serena would react. Constant testing and training had always been Isha’s way.

  “He is young and—”

  “Meaningless.”

  Serena tilted her head in acknowledgment of the rebuke. “He is naive. Weak.” She fingered the cross hanging from her necklace. “He also thinks I’m a Christian. He likes that.”

  “Why?” Isha asked, appearing truly puzzled. “God doesn’t love the meek.”

  No, He didn’t, but Serena sometimes wondered what the world would be like if He did. She knew better than to voice her treasonous thoughts.

  “What about his lorethasra?” Isha asked.

  “Quiescent. He has no need for a nomasra.”

  “What of his friends? Who are they?”

  Serena pursed her lips, uncertain. “Of them I am less sure,” she admitted. “I can’t tell if they’re magi of Arylyn or friends who are as simple and harmless as the Mayna.”

  “You think him harmless?”

  “In comparison to what we are? Yes,” Serena replied with no hint of her prior uncertainty.

  “And therefore, you believe that if circumstances require force to accomplish our task, he will be unable to deny us?”

  Serena carefully considered Isha’s question before answering. “No matter what you believe about his potential, right now he is untrained. He knows nothing. He could not stop us.”

  A true smile broke across Isha’s face. “Excellent. Finally some good news. I’m already tired of this place.” His air of intensity returned. “Pay close attention to William. Stay close to him. Ingratiate yourself to him. If he is a raha’asra, we need him. Our people need him, and those who bring him in will rise high in our ranks. You will do this.” There was no hint of a question in Isha’s voice. It was a command.

  “Yes, Isha,” Serena said. “Already he likes me as a young man likes a young woman. Our task won’t be as difficult as I was initially led to believe.” Serena let a smile, lupine and cunning, slip across her face. It hid her true feelings, which were uncomfortably close to affection for William. She had genuinely enjoyed talking to him, enjoyed his sense of humor, and listening as he and his friends had sung that song and eaten ice cream. It was so different from anything she had experienced thus far in her life.

  It changed nothing, though. Friends were a liability.

  “Do not let confidence blind you to the dangers we face,” Isha warned.

  “Yes, sir,” Serena said. “But there is one other thing.” She hesitated. “The Mayna—”

  “William. If you wish to earn his confidence, start thinking of him by his true name. Consider him the Mayna and you deny his humanity. You begin to think of him as an object. It will come across in your interactions with him.”

  “I already know this, sir,” Serena said, allowing none of her annoyance at his simplistic advice to taint her voice. “After so many years, do you not trust that I know how to do as I have been instructed?”

  “A reminder is not always—or even often—meant as an insult,” Isha said. “But this other thing you wished to tell me? What is it?”

  “I hadn’t realized that William’s family was killed last year. Burned to death in a car accident. It’s tragic.”

  “Tragic?” Isha rubbed his chin. “Failure is tragic. What he experienced was the sorrow of a puppy who lost his master.”

  William watched Serena walk home, noting how she smiled at him one last time before tucking away a strand of hair and opening her front door. Such a small gesture—a smile—but it could convey much: amusement, sarcasm, satisfaction, acceptance, joy . . . In Serena’s case, it had been pleasure.

  At least that’s how William read it.

  “What are you doing?” Jason asked from the front stoop of their house. “Are you coming in or what?”

  William broke from his reverie and quickly climbed the steps from the driveway to the front doorway.

  After his parents and brother had died in that horrible car accident last winter, William could have gone to live with some aunts and uncles, but everyone figured he’d be better off staying close to his friends in familiar surroundings.

  In the end, it had been Jason and Mr. Zeus who had taken him in, and William reckoned he’d remain forever grateful for their generosity. He didn’t know what kind of state he’d have been in if they hadn’t. Their patience, friendship, and love had been key to William’s recovery.

  That didn’t mean Jason couldn’t be a pain in the ass, such as now. Jason was probably itching to make fun of him about Serena. William kept his head tucked as he trotted up the stairs. He didn’t want Jason to see his blush of embarrassment. Still, he risked a glance.

  Jason smirked. “Something
have you so mesmerized you forgot where you were?”

  “Shut up,” William growled. He knew it had been too much to hope that Jason wouldn’t tease him about Serena.

  “What did I say?” Jason asked.

  “Just get it out,” William replied.

  “I have no idea what you mean.” Jason tried to keep his face innocent, but his twitching lips and twinkling eyes gave him away.

  “Ri-i-ight,” William said. “I’m sure you haven’t been dying to say a whole bunch of things you think are funny.”

  “Well, of course,” Jason said. “If jokes at your expense were ammo, right now I’d be loaded for bear. Some of my jokes are even as funny as your face. You know what I mean?”

  “You mean when I’m doing my impression of you?”

  Jason didn’t go for the bait and fall into a war of insults. “Of course, we could ask Serena what she thinks of your looks,” he continued, still wearing a smug smile.

  William rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you get right on that, himbo?”

  Jason’s smile curled into a frown in puzzlement. “What’s a himbo?”

  “You know, a guy who’s a bimbo. A him-bo. The kind of guy who does this.” William arched his neck, closed his eyes, and used both hands to slick back his hair.

  Jason erupted in laughter. “A himbo. I like it. Where’d you hear it?”

  “A girl I met today. Lives down the street from us,” William said, wearing a grin of his own now. “She was talking about one of my friends when she mentioned it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jason said. He sounded dismissive, but worry lingered in his eyes.

  “All right. It wasn’t about you,” William admitted. “She was talking about Steve Aldo.”

  Jason chuckled as they climbed the short flight of stairs to the main living area. “Serves him right. I’ll have to spread that word around tomorrow.”

  “What are you two laughing about?” Mr. Zeus asked, immediately recognizable by the aroma of his wafting pipe smoke.

  As usual, Jason’s grandfather sat ensconced in his throne, an ugly, pink-plaid recliner as comfortable as it was hideous. He held a pipe between his teeth and a folded newspaper in his lap. He stroked his long, lustrous, white beard, and his eyes twinkled. They always did, as if he was secretly laughing about something. He was an odd man, William thought, as odd as his true name: Odysseus Louis Crane III. All he needed was a pointy hat and he’d look like Merlin.

  “Himbos,” Jason replied to his grandfather’s question.

  An arched eyebrow and a perplexed expression prompted William to explain the nature of himbos once again.

  When he finished, Mr. Zeus cackled. Puffs of smoke escaped his mouth with every guffaw. “That’s clever,” he said. “But now, what’s this about a girl?”

  William didn’t want to discuss Serena. There wasn’t anything to discuss. He liked her, but they’d only met today, and as soon as she was settled in at school, she’d probably find her own tribe—her own circle of friends. It wouldn’t end well for him if he hoped for something more. And Jason teasing him about her wasn’t helping matters. “Nothing, sir,” William answered.

  “To me, ‘nothing’ describes the void between the stars. Or the empty space in your brainpans,” Mr. Zeus said. “A girl is never nothing.”

  “I didn’t say she was nothing.”

  “Which means she’s something.”

  “William met a new girl today,” Jason supplied.

  William ignored their conversation and tried to pay attention to whatever was on TV. President Reagan was talking about the Soviet Union and the Chernobyl disaster, and stating that Commies were basically Nazis with better press.

  “She just started at St. Francis,” Jason said, “and she’s beautiful.”

  “And William is worried she’ll forget about him as soon as she figures out her way around the school,” Mr. Zeus guessed. “Which is why he doesn’t want to talk about her.”

  William groaned. How had the old man known?

  Mr. Zeus chuckled. “I’m old, but I’m not that old.” He went back to stroking his beard, and William noticed that he seemed to be checking to see if it was symmetric.

  A few months ago, Mr. Zeus had burned off a good five inches of his chin moss during an accident in his smithy out back. Forging was how he spent his days. That, and taking long hikes in nearby Winton Woods, or if he was feeling really adventurous, the Arboretum at Mt. Airy Forest. Of course, getting to the Arboretum necessitated that Mr. Zeus drive, an activity he loathed almost as much as Jason did. Otherwise, he spent most of his time in his shop. In that claustrophobic space of metal and fire, Mr. Zeus forged, creating armor, tools, and weapons straight out of the Hyborian Age.

  “Who saw her first?” Mr. Zeus asked.

  “Me,” William replied.

  The multitude of Mr. Zeus’ laugh lines crinkled as he chuckled in what seemed like amused understanding at Jason. “I see.”

  Jason bristled. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Zeus’ eyes twinkled even more than usual, and his smile widened. “William saw her first, she likes him more, and now you’re making fun of him out of jealousy.”

  “I said it wasn’t like that,” Jason protested. “Yes, he saw her first, and yes, she likes him, but I’m not jealous. I’m happy for him. But it also doesn’t mean that I can’t make fun of him about it.”

  Mr. Zeus arched his caterpillar eyebrows and peered over his wire-rim glasses at the two of them.

  “Her name is Serena Paradiso,” William answered in response to his unspoken question.

  “Serena Paradiso.” Mr. Zeus seemed to be savoring the syllables of her name. “Serena Paradiso,” he repeated. “Is she truly as fetching as her name?”

  Jason smirked. “William thinks so.”

  “And you don’t?” William challenged.

  “She’s beautiful,” Jason accepted. “But only you think she’s lovely.”

  William scowled.

  “Lovely, eh?” Mr. Zeus asked. A smile creased his seamed face. “Like the young woman you admire so much on that television show?”

  “Stephanie Zimbalist. She’s on Remington Steele,” Jason unhelpfully supplied.

  William reddened. He really didn’t want to talk about Serena with Mr. Zeus. It felt wrong on some fundamental level. “Yes, I think she’s lovely,” William said. “Can we move on now?"

  Mr. Zeus eased back into his chair, and a faraway memory appeared to stir him.

  “What?” Jason asked.

  Mr. Zeus shook his head, and his eyes seemed to film over. “I remember what it was like to be young, and having my heart led astray by a beautiful woman. It’s so hard to keep your head straight, and the prettier they are, the worse it is.” He sat silent for many seconds, apparently lost in his recollection, until he shook himself back to the here-and-now. His misty smile faded, and a serious expression took its place. “Keep your wits about you when you’re around this girl and don’t do anything foolish,” he advised both of them.

  “Yes, sir,” William and Jason mumbled together.

  Mr. Zeus studied them for a moment before harrumphing. “At any rate, I have something for you,” he told William, standing up and passing over a small jewelry box resting on the coffee table.

  “What is it?” William asked.

  “Look inside and find out.”

  William cracked open the box and discovered a platinum chain with an oval locket made of gold. The locket had a small latch, and William snapped it open. Inside lay a picture of his family: his mother with her dark skin and bright smile, his red-headed father, grinning in the cheesy way only he could, and Landon, his big brother, with an arm thrown carelessly across William’s shoulder.

  William’s eyes misted.

  “I made it last week,” Mr. Zeus said softly. “I thought you might want a way to see your family whenever you wished.”

  “Thank you,” William said, blinking to keep away the tears.

 
Mr. Zeus gave a tight-lipped, sympathetic nod before relighting his pipe. All it took was a flick of his hand, and a flame somehow appeared on the tip of his finger. Mr. Zeus was something of a magician, but William had yet to figure out how he made fire appear.

  “One more thing,” Mr. Zeus said. He pulled a box off the fireplace mantle. “I fixed him.”

  William slipped the chain around his neck and took the box, grinning. He lifted the lid, and a stuffed black dragon stared back at him.

  “Is that Bartholomew?” Jason asked.

  William nodded, unable to stop smiling. “My dad gave him to me.”

  Bartholomew had been the first present William had ever received. His father had given the stuffed dragon to him on his first birthday, and for years, he and Bartholomew had been inseparable. They’d gone everywhere, on every vacation, sleepover, and summer camp.

  Eventually William had outgrown the small, stuffed dragon, and several years back, he had shoved Bartholomew into a box under his bed. Bartholomew had lain there, forgotten as time slowly ravaged him, leaving him dust-covered and moth-eaten. It had broken William’s heart to rediscover Bartholomew ruined like that. Now here he was, all fixed up and looking new, thanks to Mr. Zeus.

  “Thank you,” William said to Mr. Zeus, choked up with emotion. The little dragon had a nick on his right ear and was still missing a claw on one paw, but other than that, he was fine. He was Bartholomew.

  “Thank you,” William repeated, holding Bartholomew close as flashes of memories played in his mind: Bartholomew’s first bath; his tears when Bartholomew’s claw had torn off; Landon teasing him about having a ‘baby’ toy.

  “Think nothing of it, my boy,” Mr. Zeus said.

  The basement of Mr. Zeus’ house was a large, open space with a ceiling high enough to play basketball and one of William’s favorite places in the world. He and Jason spent most nights there, training in kickboxing, judo, or the longsword. Mr. Zeus knew quite a lot about martial arts, and he’d readily agreed to take William on as a student.