by Sara Hanover
And no passport photo, which made it totally illegal. I put that in my jeans pocket, and dumped everything else in my satchel. The worn coin didn’t seem to want to go in . . . can’t explain it, but it kept trying to twist out of my fingers, so I finally shoved it in with the one passport where it seemed content. I put my wallet and house keys in my jeans too, to hide the bulge, closed the drawer, and went back to the original box just as they reentered the vault. I handed Betty her assistant manager keys, saying to Brian, “Next time, bring your inhaler. Absolutely never go anywhere without it!”
“Gotcha.” His gaze dropped on the satchel, which had grown lumpy.
“Are we all done here, then?” Betty smiled brightly at Brian, all but ignoring me. He grinned sheepishly at being called out on his inhaler. He ran his hand through his fine, red-gold curls and she nearly buckled at the knees.
We made a quick exit. Morty caught us both by the elbows on the outside, his great hand squeezing down on my arm.
“We’ve company,” he said grimly.
A tall, stately woman across the street in high-heeled boots pinned her gaze on us, and a pack of red and cream hounds wound round her ankles in the shade of the tree-lined street. We have a lot of hounds in Virginia, but these guys stood out. Maybe it was the woman. I could only be relieved that these weren’t the red-eyed shadow dogs of the night before, though she looked formidable too.
“Who is that?”
Brian told us, “That is Remy. She is one of the good guys. Supposedly.”
“Good timing on having a memory.”
He cleared his throat. “Remy is nothing if not unforgettable.” I think he blushed faintly, but which of him felt the heat, I couldn’t tell. I scratched the side of my nose. If she was responsible for shadow hounds as well this daytime pack, I didn’t think “good guys” applied to her. Twisting out of Morty’s hold, I cried, “You’re on your own,” and sprinted toward the greenbelt running alongside the river, where the St. John’s banks ought to put water between them and me, even though the sun didn’t seem to bother this pack.
I put my head down and stretched my legs out. I wasn’t worried about leaving the two guys behind because I figured I carried what she wanted. I wasn’t happy about it, but fairly certain. The hounds gave chase and voice, eerie howling that could easily have been the screech of tires on hot pavement or brakes on speeding cars, lost in the sounds of the inner city. I thought I could hear her driving them after me. I wasn’t going to slow down to make sure.
They drew closer with every leap and bound as the satchel bounced on my hip and flank with each pounding step. I could see the greenbelt stretching just ahead of me, lush with springtime. I reached it just as the first hound hit me.
The impact sent us both rolling onto the parkway. The second hound caught my sneaker in his teeth as I tried to get back to my feet and then I was surrounded, kicking and flailing, the air thick with their growls and pants. The hound with my foot in his mouth dropped his chest to the grass and held on. I consider wiggling out of my shoe and decided to stay shod, at least for the moment.
The woman Brian had called Remy stopped at the edge of the grass. She gave a whistle and the other hounds flattened, matching the one with my foot in his mouth. “Hand it over.”
“Hand what over?”
“The bag. Everything in it.” She put out an elegant, long-fingered hand adorned by two or three sparkling rings that caught the sun as she did, and waited.
I wrapped both hands about the strap of my satchel. “The professor says you’re one of the good guys.”
“Positions like that can be so relative.”
Something dark streaked the sky overhead, but neither of us paid any attention.
“I don’t see how. I mean, good is good and bad is bad, right?”
“The world is not, and never has been, simply black and white. But you are smart enough to know that.” Remy drew a step closer, avoiding the grass as she did. She had no intention of bogging down in the dirt with the heels of those elegant leather boots. “My comrades should be handling him and his bulky companion right about now.”
“Why aren’t you still one of his friends?” I wiggled my foot a teensy bit. The hound growled and hunkered down lower to hold on.
“Friend? He called me a friend.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s complicated. That would require more explanation than would be wise for you to know. He should never have dragged you into his affairs. Put down the bag and walk away now and your life should return to absolute normal.”
That made the corner of my mouth turn up. “Lady, my life has been so not normal, you couldn’t believe it. And that was before I met the professor.” I twisted my foot free, catching the hound unaware, and leaped over the dog pack straight at her. I caught her and tumbled her onto the grass and took off running again.
They caught me a second time at the river’s edge. I took the bag off my shoulder and slung it in a wide arc, aiming for the water.
Remy cursed and leaped for it, gaining air in a move that any basketball player going in for a dunk would envy. She caught the satchel and whipped it around to embrace it as she landed. She did it without a single hitch in her designer clothing or breaking a sweat under her flawless makeup. The hounds came at me, all tooth and snarl, and she gave a shrill whistle. They heeled smartly and jostled around behind her, eying me. She put up her bejeweled hand and the sun caught me in the eyes, dazzling me. “Tell the old fox that alliances have fallen and been remade. Tell him the game is up. Tell him that the world is not what he hoped and that he can depend on no one. And, above all, warn him away from the great obelisk.”
Shadows fell over us and we both looked up. Three midnight-dark crows, or maybe they were ravens, because they were huge, wheeled over us. They crisscrossed back and forth across the sky overhead. Remy paled.
“Remember this. Malender has been listening.”
“What?”
She made a gesture pointing upward and the three birds dropped, spiraling to the grass where they lay still as death. Remy toed one and looked up at me. “I did not kill them. He takes the life when he is finished with them.”
“And he was finished when we caught him eavesdropping.”
“It’s one of his ways. Also Devian, but it’s Malender that worries me.”
“I don’t intend to drop like that.”
“Yes. I can see why the professor liked you; he always admired a quick wit. Not quick enough, though.” She snapped at my eyes, rings catching the sunlight again and flashing right at me. When I blinked and could see again, she was gone.
At least she hadn’t wounded me. One feeble point for the so-called good guys. I dropped to one knee to pull in several deep breaths, winded and upset. I’d lost the professor’s goods. Well, except for the counterfeit passport. I dug my fingers into the grass, uncertain how I was going to explain the theft. They’d understand if they’d been under attack, too, I thought. Surely.
A scrap of paper blew off the riverbank. It wafted toward me and I caught it. It looked crisp and new, not some piece of trash that had been scuttling about the greenbelt for days or weeks, so I unfolded it. It must have fallen from the purse when I slung it through the air.
Huh. It was a copy of the Meals by Wheels contract. Scribbled on the bottom of it, someone had written, “Professor Brandard, the senior center has found your cane. This is your third notice. Please come and retrieve it or we’ll put it in the donation box.”
Cane? Him? Even aged and crusty, I’d never seen him with a cane. I refolded the paper and put it in my pockets along with everything else, thankful that I hadn’t lost my wallet with my driver’s license and ID in it, or my keys. Small triumphs in a disaster.
I got up and started to walk home, hoping to catch a bus along the street. Brian and Morty were waiting for me at the bus stop, both disheveled
and sweaty but in one piece. Morty had lost his impressive cudgel, and an angry red mark edged the wrist where he’d carried it on its strap. He shrugged when I glanced at him. They both declined to say what had gone after them.
Brian frowned. “She caught you.”
“Yes, and got the satchel. I’m sorry. This is what she took.” I described the deposit box contents.
He shook his head as I detailed each one as best I could remember. “Nothing strikes me. Keepsakes perhaps, although the scrolls were undoubtedly important. But they couldn’t have been terribly valuable or I would not have kept them in metal. Magic deteriorates in metal.” The professor peered at me through Brian’s eyes. “Are you certain that’s all you found?”
“Well. There’s this and this.” I pulled out the passport with the silver coin and the contract.
As he touched the passport, I swear I saw a flare of light, a flash like a static electricity spark that came and went. He opened it. All in good order, its photograph intact, a reasonable likeness considering what most official photos could look like. My jaw dropped. I snapped it shut. I couldn’t have been mistaken that it had been blank before but I had no explanation. I had thought to tell him all that Remy had said, but decided I should wait until we were alone. Instead I peeled the edge off one fingernail that had gotten jagged while he opened the contract and read it. Then he read it aloud, one eyebrow arching at Mortimer for an opinion.
Morty rumbled, “Possibly an unimportant item, but you should not be leaving anything behind, Professor. Personal items can be used for tracking.”
“No, I shouldn’t. I quite agree. But, dude, I have to go to the old folks’ center.”
Listening to two people in one body at the same time gave me a splitting headache while they decided to rescue the cane. I bet on its being one of the footed ones, hospital issue, as I tagged along behind them. Morty could move when he wanted, rather like a mountainside giving way to a massive but speedy landslide.
The senior center positively bustled on a Saturday afternoon. There was a spirited shuffleboard tournament outside, and inside the rec center, a potluck had begun to assemble. The smell of food leaked out to remind me we’d missed lunch, and Morty’s stomach gave a momentous grumble. A pretty, if blue-haired, woman smiled at us from the counter. I wondered if she played cards with Aunt April, and if I should warn her my relative was a card shark. I passed the paper over to her.
“I deliver the professor’s meals. Thought I’d get his cane for him.”
“Of course, dear. You’re Mary Andrews’s daughter, I know your route. It’s about time he retrieved it!” She ducked into the back office and came out with a gorgeous hand-carved walking stick. She dimpled as she handed it over to me. “I think he was avoiding us. Several of the girls here are quite taken with him.”
I took the cane. Common sense warred in me over whether to tell her the bad news about the fire or not since she seemed not to know. Discretion won. “I’ll tell him not to be so shy!”
“Oh, do that!” She waved good-bye cheerily, and Brian made a choked noise behind me. Morty thumped him on his back as he steered him outside.
Once there, Brian grabbed the cane. He rubbed his hands up and down its length, holding it in front of him. He looked up, a fierce gleam in his eyes. “This is no crutch for a feeble gentleman. This is my blasting rod!”
I hustled him past the shuffleboard courts and parking lot and into a quick walk home before anyone could notice us, opting not to wait for a bus. Morty huffed and puffed behind us as the blocks passed. Once there, I shut the front door on us, before saying, “What do you mean, blasting rod?” Mom’s car no longer stood in the driveway, so we seemed to be alone.
“Beleaguered as we have been, you couldn’t have found anything more perfect.” Grinning ear to ear, Brian swung around on us, pointing the cane. “It’s a wand, a defensive and offense weapon, just what we need! Nothing better.”
“It’s a cane, a walking stick. A nice one. But it is what it is.” I crossed my arms as my mind balked, finally, at the improbability of Professor Brandard. Despite hounds that melted in the sunlight and those that didn’t, and the mutterings between these two, and menacing Steptoe, I still had my doubts about the whole realm of magic. I had no idea what to make of Remy, other than I hoped I’d look that good when I got older. And as for hefty Mortimer, he could call himself an Iron Dwarf if he wanted to, but that didn’t make him one. The professor had needed some help, I’d helped him. I was done. Enough of the charades. My mom and I were up to our necks in trying to survive my dad’s disappearance and didn’t need more drama. The professor’s surviving relative had to step up and tell the truth about what happened instead of sneaking around.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “This is as far as I go. One suspicious disappearance in the family is enough. I have no intention of being on the hook for a second.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Brian turned on his heel to peer at me closely, as if just remembering I was in the same room and possibly dangerous.
“I think she means,” said Morty, “that her credulity is strained. She wants answers.”
I nodded to him. The man might be thick as a rock but he wasn’t as dense intellectually. “Look. Both Remy and Steptoe have told us this Malender is coming and that doesn’t look good. What or who is a Malender?”
“Attention we don’t want,” Morty grumbled.
Brian reacted more vividly. “We are beset,” the professor roared, “by enemies and idiots! This is my perdition rod.”
“Perdition?” I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Perdition!” He turned heel, aimed the tip of the cane at an inoffensive urn in our foyer and yelled, “Avaunt!”
The urn shattered into pieces and Brian dropped like a stone, out cold.
CHAPTER SIX
“AVAUNT? WHAT IN the name of sleeping angels did he just do?” My own knees felt like they might buckle.
Before either Morty or I could move, the front doorbell rang. I moved to it, looking out the peephole into Carter Phillips’s intriguing off-center chin cleft. He ducked down to eye level in time to see me peering out at him. Caught.
I waved at Morty. “Get him up.”
“What?”
“On his feet. Get. Him. Up.” I put my hand on the doorknob. “Now, please!” My ears rang with my words and I cleared my throat. When did I start sounding like a dictator? I opened the door, slowly.
“Tessa.”
“Detective Phillips.”
We traded looks.
Carter said slowly, “Are you all right? Is there a problem?”
“Did you want me to have a problem?”
He tilted his head. “I heard there was an incident earlier today and your purse was stolen.” He eased toward the doorway opening as if he might come in. He smelled like leather and pine and something else I couldn’t name but found enticing. I hesitated. Not that I didn’t want him in my presence, but now did not seem like an opportune time.
I made an offering. “I did lose an old purse, but it was mostly empty, so no harm, no foul, right? Maybe someone else needed it more.”
“You gave chase. According to witnesses.”
I wondered just how much his witnesses had seen and what they had told him, because I had been chased and then lost the satchel. So much for reliable statements. I retreated. “Whatever.”
“You don’t want me to take a theft report?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s long gone by now and not worth the effort.” And I was certain I didn’t want Mr. Detective to find a handful of dubious passports and cash inside it if he did retrieve it somehow.
His gaze went over the length of my body, taking inventory as if he wanted to know for himself there’d been no harm. My face warmed. I wondered if he took note of the tooth marks in my sneaker and casually hooked it behind me, standing with flamingo gr
ace on one foot.
“You look all right.”
I stifled the impulse to return, “I look good!” and nodded instead, reminding myself that he was on the wrong side of the law. But that didn’t take away the impact his eyes were having on my breathing ability.
Carter straightened up to ask, “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Of course not.” I stepped back to let him in, and bellowed, “Detective Phillips is here!”
He winced before his eyes took in the sight of Morty shouldering Brian on his feet and swaying as they walked into the living room. Well, Morty walked. Brian just dragged his feet.
“I correct myself. Is everyone here all right? And who is that?”
My mother barged in the scene, saying, “It’s nice to know I can be gone for a few hours and the world, if not Aunt April’s vase, stays in one piece,” as she took in Brian being seated, or rather dropped, onto the couch by Morty as his eyes fluttered open. She set down her briefcase and sweater, shaking her head in sympathy. “It was a long night and the stress of knowing his uncle is gone for certain is just taking its toll. Carter, this is Brandard’s great-nephew.” She leaned over him. “Brian, perhaps you’d like to go upstairs and lay down for a bit?”
“I didn’t know the professor had relatives visiting.”
“I didn’t either,” I returned truthfully to Carter.
“Can you verify your relationship?” Carter studied Brian, who still looked woozy but was making attempts at alertness by widening his eyes, rather like an adorable, wonky baby owl.
Between eye openings, he mumbled, “Everything burned up at the old man’s.”
“Family elsewhere?”
“Not readily available. They’re working in a remote area of Peru.”
“Archaeologists?”