by Sara Hanover
Carter tilted his head a little and they locked gazes again. A second time, Steptoe looked away first, with an unintelligible murmur.
“He did help,” I pointed out. “His flash-bangs drove away Malender at the motel, and then—”
“You saw him? When? And where, again?”
“Late yesterday. And how could you not see him? About a million starlings died between the airport fields and Old Alexandria. I know the airport has a lot of nesters and they’re trouble for the planes, but the birds stay anyway. Or did, until he called them.”
“A million?”
“Well, you know. A lot.”
“He’s really here, then.”
“Again, how could you not know?” I ticked off the facts on my fingers.
“Things do die off on their own. Even schools of fish. Sardines, for example, by the piers, can die for lack of oxygen in the water. Hundreds, thousands of them can go belly up.”
“Or the guy could just step off a boat and suck their little fishy souls dry.”
“Or that,” Brian added in, sounding really, really drunk, his voice slurred and whispery. He tried to sit up, blinking his eyes.
We hadn’t known he’d come to. I perched him up more comfortably between us, and he helped a little, reminding me of some overgrown three-year-old from the days when I used to babysit a lot. You know, back before people couldn’t look us in the eyes any more. He patted the back of my hand as we settled the seat belt into a better position.
“I feel like a wet sack of grain.”
“Noodles,” I told him. “A bowl of well-cooked noodles is more like it. Do you hurt?”
“Everywhere. But I live. And I’ve kept my head.” This last, with eyebrows knotted, and eyes narrowed, at Steptoe.
Steptoe grinned back at him. “Always someone about who will take care o’ that little problem, guv.”
Carter cleared his throat. “I’d like to return to the matter at hand. You all were attacked yesterday by Malender?”
“By himself, in the flesh. I weren’t there, understand, but I had given the little lady ’ere some ammo and ’eard they was most useful. Glad to be of service.” He tipped his hat to me.
“He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Is he some kind of Fallen Angel or something?”
Shaking his head at me, Carter answered, “Not even close. That’s just a projection, for him, and he’s more than a little vain about it, but you would have, should have, seen more.”
“He brought the tar pit with him.”
Startled, Carter repeated, “Tar pit?”
“A big cloud of stinky, gooey awfulness. I think maybe that gunk was more dangerous than he is.”
“You know more than you should,” Brian said to me. “And he saw you?”
“Don’t you remember?” Brian stared down at his toes in slight embarrassment. I patted him on the shoulder. “We were mano a mano. Or nearly.”
“Gods. How could the two of you allow that?” Carter frowned at the others.
Brian stiffened up a little. “You’ve known her longer. Does she take direction well?”
“Not from what I can gather, but you’d have to ask her mother about that.”
“My observation would say that she is fiercely independent and—”
“Sitting right here, guys.”
“Mouthy,” the professor finished. “Definitely has a mouth on her.”
“Heeey!”
From the front seat, Sam offered, “America is a great country where women can speak freely.”
Carter pointed at me. “Letting him get a good look at you wasn’t wise.”
“Nobody said I should hide under the bed while they fought the good fight.”
“Well, they should have. And, you’re very intuitive. That cloud of gunk is essence that he could not or wasn’t willing to glamour, for any number of reasons. He may be too weak still from crossing the Atlantic, or he may just be flat-out mean and uncaring of what he touches. In any case—”
“Salt.”
He stopped at the interruption. Then, “What?”
“Salt. Salt disintegrated the gunk, or at least its leading edge, when he tried to slither into my room. Made the rest of him very uncomfortable.”
“Kosher salt? Sea salt? Any idea what kind? And how much?”
“Regular, ordinary, in-the-tiny-white-paper-packet salt, although a heck of a lot of it. We were shredding paper everywhere trying to get them open. Next time, just get the big, kitchen-sized shaker.”
Carter’s eyes sparkled. “That’s incredible news. It means he’s vulnerable, at least for now, and we’ve got an ordinary weapon that could work wonders.”
“So take that to your Society and tell them to leave us alone.”
“It doesn’t work quite like that.” Carter scratched his chin uneasily. “I will report the good news, however, and attribute it appropriately.” He unclicked his seat belt. “I’m going to leave this as it is, and let Sam take you back to Richmond. I should be here for a full two weeks for training, but it sounds like you could use my help.”
“We could,” Brian said cautiously.
Carter put his hands up in the air. “No strings attached.”
“It would have to be under those circumstances.” The professor sounded forceful.
“I’ll get released and get back as soon as possible. My postings are fairly flexible.” His glance flicked to me as if I might interrupt with a “Fed!” but I kept my silence. “You need to . . . well, you need to remember what you can and get a protection spell for Tessa. Our opponent always goes for the weak link.”
“I fear he already found it in our departed companion.”
“Mortimer?”
Brian and Steptoe nodded in unison. Eerie.
“He betrayed you? Why . . . and how?”
“He reached out to the harpies, trying to get his wife released because he thought they had taken her, and they wanted Brian to even an old score. They took Brian at the park but they didn’t bring Goldie back.”
“And now we’ve got trouble with the harpy alliance, too? I shouldn’t be surprised. Well, work on keeping Tessa safe.”
“We’ll do what we can.”
“I assume you’re trying to complete a ritual which failed?”
“Yes, but that’s not the cause of the arson. That came about as a result of self-defense against an attack.” Brian went stiff-necked trying not to look at Steptoe.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Carter leaned toward Sam and did the Jedi wave again, murmuring a few words, which I almost, but not quite, made out.
“I’ll leave you all here. Get home safe.”
Steptoe slid into the vacant front seat, and I moved over to a window, as did Brian, while Sam took a few moments to wake up from whatever reverie he’d just been in.
“Home?”
Steptoe patted Sam on the shoulder, “Back to DC and then we’ve another journey. Hopefully a lot quieter than this one has been.”
“Quieter? You guys are so dull I keep falling asleep!” Sam snorted as he began to back the shuttle out of the NYC alley.
* * *
• • •
The ticket agent at the station made adjustments to our tickets and we just made the train south. He hadn’t even asked for ID for me to use Morty’s card, but I’d had it and a story to go along with it if needed. The ride home did not restore our energy or our hopes, and it was dark by the time we traipsed up the sidewalk to my house, the porch light on, gleaming a faint gold against the night.
Remy sat on the front steps awaiting us.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE HAIRS AT THE BACK of my neck went all prickly and I moved in front of Brian, but it was Steptoe who got to her first. He swept his bowler hat off and gave a deep bow.
“La
dy Remy. What a joy ’tis to see you again.”
She looked down her nose at him, a nose that was slightly longer than fashionable and thinner than trendy. She’d swept her hair up, although a soft curl or two dangled down, and I thought I had finally placed that look about her: she was French. No wonder she was looking at him like she’d ordered caviar and gotten coal.
“Steptoe.”
“You remember.” Cheer infused his voice. He took a pace closer as he resettled his hat with a pat. “Then remember this. I beat you off the last time we met, and I’ll do it again if you interfere with any one of us. From what I ’ear, you can’t ’ide behind the Society’s cloak anymore, so you are, dear lady, fair game.” He didn’t sound at all as if he meant dear lady.
Remy stood. She topped him by a hand’s width, but he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, she was the one who looked a bit unsteady. “Bygones,” she began, and he cut her off.
“No excuses. You are what you are, just as I’m wot I am. But I don’t go lyin’ about it. Now bug off.”
“Child.” She looked to me.
“Not a child and I’m not too fond of you either. Or trusting.”
Lastly, she considered Brian. She pivoted away when his voice, a little rusty and hoarse, stopped her. “You didn’t think to come to me.”
“No. No, I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Despite what we’d been through.”
Remy sighed. “Especially because of that. You don’t remember all, not yet, in fact you don’t even remember most—but you will . . . and there’s no apology I can make that you will accept. You never have.”
“I’m not the forgiving sort?”
“No. Not at all.” She shook her head and another, single curl fell loose from her hairdo to join other tendrils along her bare neck. “You should be, but you’re not.” She held her hand out to him. “I am indentured to him. A foolish thing that I did, not being wary enough. Binding, but not permanent. Just enough to put us at odds. I have very little wiggle room, but what I can find, I will use. I don’t want to lose you.” Her gaze swept the group and her eyes widened as she realized we were short a man. “Broadstone. Was he taken?”
“Died in battle honestly.”
She exhaled. “Protect yourselves, all of you.” With a wave of her arm, a pirouette, and a shadow that reached out to swallow her, Remy disappeared. Something, leaflike, drifted to the porch steps in her wake.
Brian bent over and picked up a scroll. He tapped it against his fingers. “This might be just what we were looking for.”
“What is it?”
“Guardian scroll, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Could you be mistaken?”
“Not with this, no. I wrote it.” He smiled crookedly. “Wiggle room, as she called it, might be quite helpful.”
Steptoe made a noise at the back of his throat as he walked up the porch and waited for us. “I wonder,” he noted, “what deal she made, and if she expects us to help her break it.”
“That would be typical, wouldn’t it?”
“Very,” he agreed with me. “Very.”
Mom heard us and threw the door open, almost clocking Steptoe in the face, but he jumped back nimbly before it hit. “Goodness. Back at last. Tessa, you have two days to make up on campus and I expect no excuses.” Her professorial voice hung on the air.
“Yes, Mom.”
“As for the rest of you. What trouble did you bring back with you?” Her gaze swept them.
“We have no idea.”
* * *
• • •
Steptoe left us after introducing himself and then doffing his hat to my mother, going off to wherever he went to, which I suspected was somewhere nearby that his minions held safe for him. Brian trudged up to bed but not before demolishing a salad and huge bowl of leftover stew. I picked at mine as I listened to his weary footfalls up the stairs.
Mom wiped down the counter. “So Mortimer left all of you? Was that why you brought home another one?”
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that. Another one what? I decided to be a little dumb on the subject. “Yup.” I chased around a chunk of carrot, speared it, and chewed. I hoped she wasn’t expecting more of an answer, since I had my mouth full.
Her hands made thoughtful swipes in circles, cleaning old linoleum counters that probably were original from when the house was built. Here and there, all the brown speckled spots had patches worn away to colorless. I watched, thinking that old houses didn’t get wrinkles, they just faded away. Finally, Mom looked up. “That’s not the sort of thing I’d expect from him, so I imagine there’s more than either of you have told me. Mortimer wouldn’t have just left. I don’t like what’s going on, and I don’t like not knowing the whole truth.” She seemed to expect an answer so I swallowed.
“You worry too much.”
“Thank you. That seems to be one of my main jobs now. I used to be right there on the front lines with you, but now I’m relegated to just watching.” She rinsed off her sponge and stowed it away, her face crinkled in a frown. I didn’t like seeing the lines, old and new, in her face.
“And I’m not lying.”
“But you’ve omitted a ton of facts. Do you think I can’t tell?”
“I can’t explain everything that happened.”
“Then tell me about Mortimer.”
A chunk of potato looked inviting but she lowered her head a bit to look into my face, and I decided there wasn’t any use in further avoiding answering her. I put my fork down. “He’s gone. He died trying to protect all of us from an attack, an attack that won’t show in any newspaper or police report or anything else. And he didn’t leave a body. He . . . I don’t know how to explain it. He was an Iron Dwarf, akin to stone and metal, right out of the earth, and his body returned.” My throat dried and I took a big gulp of water, trying to force down a sudden lump. “He was there and then he wasn’t, kind of. Not that fast, but in front of my eyes. He wasn’t human, Mom, not like us and yet he was.” My hand shook as I lowered my drinking glass. “How do you explain that?”
“It seems to be one of the things in life that are better felt than explained.” She put her arm around my shoulder. “What attack and why? If he was killed, this whole thing has become lethal. I can’t bear that. No one else was hurt?”
“Brian got a little pushed around but, no.” I took a deep breath. “He knew stuff about Dad. He was going to tell me but he didn’t have a chance. It might have been important, and now it’s as gone as he is. But the lethal stuff, yes, there was a fight and he lost, but it was between him and the attackers, mostly. It had nothing to do with us.”
“I know you’ve heard of collateral damage. I’ve had my hands full trying to keep us on an even keel financially, but emotionally, I can’t accept this. I can’t accept the friends you’re making or the trouble they’re bringing with them.”
“But what if it leads us to Dad?”
* * *
• • •
Somewhere in the kitchen, pots and pans rattled loudly. We both started at the sound.
I could feel the tension in her arm. “I want you out of this, Tessa.”
“Mom. Brian needs my help.”
“He seems to have friends and enemies enough of his own and you shouldn’t be a part of this. We don’t deal with magic, this isn’t our world, and I’m not sure it even exists, except if Mortimer is gone, then it can be deadly whether we believe in it or not. Tessa, think. I don’t want to lose you, too. I couldn’t bear it.”
“You won’t lose me.”
“You don’t know that! You can’t promise me what neither of us understands or can anticipate. And you shouldn’t have to. What you should be doing is planning your life, college, friends, the ordinary stuff that you spin into your own kind of magic, human magic. Not this . . . this . . .”
“Stuff that dreams are made of?” Brian said dryly from behind and above us, from the stairwell.
“Nightmares are more likely,” she said without missing a beat. “How did you ever live to be an old man?”
“I only wish I could remember. It seems unlikely that this body will enjoy the same lifespan.”
“And you dragged Tessa into this?”
He looked at both of us. “I doubt anyone drags Tessa anywhere. But she has been invaluable to me, in both lives, that I do remember.” He held up the tightly wound scroll that Remy had dropped and he claimed he had written. “This, when I enact it, should give coverage to all those within hearing range.”
“Should.”
“The operative word, yes.”
He took the last few steps down and walked into the kitchen, unrolling it as he did. A tiny flake of red skittered off the parchment and floated down to the floor. Paper? Blood? Wax from a seal? He stepped over it, unnoticing. “Do we have everyone here we want protected?”
“What about Steptoe?” I asked.
Brian flicked a finger. “He should be amply protected on his own. We’re the vulnerable ones that need whatever I can conjure up.” He flattened out the ancient paper carefully on the kitchen counter to scan it. He cleared his throat two or three times. “I should be able to handle this.” He looked pale and too weary to even stand up on his own, but I didn’t dare contradict him. I should, however, question him.
“Should?”
“It’s simple enough. It’s one of those spells that merely needs the proper words said—and I have them written down—and a force of will. I should have that. And you can assist me.”
“I can?”
“Of course. You are obstinate as well as intuitive. Both apply.”
I threw a grin at my mother who seemed far from delighted.
“Now then.” Brian straightened his youthful body, smothered a groan as he did so, and woefully rubbed his rib cage. “My mind says it’s not that sore, but my body protests.”
“You came through better than Morty,” I pointed out.