by Sara Hanover
“Indeed. My dear friend. I have no cause for complaints. I shall miss him more than he will ever know. Now I have to take care of the business at hand as he gave his life for this endeavor.” He stretched for a moment and Brian came back with a yelp. “Man, if he doesn’t take better care of us, I am never letting him into my mind again.” He shook his head vigorously, ample hair ruffling. “Back.” He read the paper again. “Ready?”
About to say yes, the house suddenly swayed and creaked, timbers straining, and my mom looked about wildly as if ready to catch dishes jolted out of the cabinets.
“What was that?”
Brian stared about. “Earthquake? We don’t get earthquakes, do we?”
“Not generally, although there was the one that damaged the Washington Monument. We didn’t feel it much, though.” Mom stayed alert, hands out, ready to catch falling items if another shock hit. “Stay put. This is a fairly sturdy room of the house.”
I felt another shiver through the floorboards and looked at Brian. “It couldn’t be.” I started for the front door when something heavy pounded on it.
Brian joined me, Mom trailing in behind, as I threw the door open.
An Iron Dwarf stood there. Not as broad as Morty, and a bit taller, and definitely far younger, his auburn hair curled down to his collar, a floppy hat in his big hands and his miner’s boots with a shiny black polish to them. The porch light gave a kind of halo reflection to him.
“This be the Andrews’ residence?”
“It is.”
“I am Hiram Broadstone, here to fulfill my father’s obligations to you. May I enter?”
While I tried to think coherently, my mother reached around to open the door wide, saying, “Of course you can. And please, call me Mary. Our condolences on your father. We all liked him quite a lot.”
“Aye, he was a good man.” Hiram entered, and although his presence did not quite make the building protest as it had when Morty trod through it, he still raised groans and sighs from the construction. He moved a little slowly as if expecting that and giving the house time to absorb his bulk. “I take it none of you were expecting me.”
“Not really.”
“A sad, sad thing that would be, not to know that a man’s honor would be upheld by his family in his stead. But then, times have changed.” He stopped at the kitchen’s edge. “Would it be any trouble to have a glass of anything cold and wet?”
My mom hustled to the fridge, pulling out that pitcher of sweet tea that never seemed to empty, filling a glass for Hiram and one for Brian, who seemed to be studying the dwarf closely. That’s when it occurred to me that there might be a problem. Hiram might not be who he said he was, though I had little doubt he was what he claimed from his effect on our home. I hadn’t known Morty well enough to know he had a son, and surely Goldie hadn’t been a mother to this one. I shot Brian a sideways glance. He caught it and shrugged back at me. He had no idea either? Surely the professor would. I tapped an index finger to my head, hinting to Brian that someone with knowledge, even if it had gaps in it, should maybe be in charge.
Hiram, meanwhile, drained his glass with a smack of his lips and thanked my mother for the hospitality. The glass hit the counter with a ring as he turned to face both of us squarely. “Now then,” he declared. “It seems we have a task ahead of us. Where do we stand in the gathering of the relics and objects needed to rejuv you successfully?”
“Would that I knew.”
“Don’t be glum. I am here to help however I can, as my father would have.”
“He gave his life for us. I think that’s enough, don’t you?”
Hiram smiled thinly at me. “He made that sacrifice because he had betrayed the two of you. His love for my stepmother had proven unwise on several occasions. I hope to hold your trust in firmer hands. You’ve given me sustenance and shelter, and I am beholden to you, in addition to the burden my father placed upon me. You may know that I will do whatever is in my ability to be of aid.”
“Wow.” Everyone swung about to look at me. I spread my hands. “I mean, chivalrous, right? Sounds like something from the Round Table.”
“Referring to Arthur the king, are you? He goes far, far back in our ancestry but some of the manners of loyalty and debt remain the same. Now, it’s evening and perhaps late for you, but I am willing to carry out a task if necessary.”
“Actually,” and I nudged Brian, “we were just preparing a little something.”
“We were? Oh! Oh, yes, indeed. All right everyone, hold your tongues till I am quite finished.”
Hiram raised an eyebrow as Brian spread his feet and took a steadying pose, raised one hand in the air, and began to recite from his scroll.
Words filled the air with a physical presence, suggesting shields and bucklers, and trees with stout branches to cover us, and the sun conspiring to keep us hidden from both glare and dangerous shadow, and yet I could not repeat a single syllable of what I heard, as if it were entirely foreign to me. I understood it but I could not voice it. The words held a power but also a plea, as if asking for this protection, not forcing it, from the nature about us. And it was natural. Not a thing about it came from modern man, no weaponry or technology. This was something Brian coaxed out of the earth itself with his asking.
And then it settled about us, all of us, a recognizable weight on our shoulders, and I thought for a moment I could smell the fresh, green scent of some vast primeval forest. He didn’t have to tell me he was done, and I don’t think he could have anyway, as he reeled back, spent, and leaned upon the kitchen counter to stay on his feet.
“Wow.”
“Indeed, and well said.” Hiram scratched his chin through his beard, a neat and short beard, trimmed nicely, and he hummed a moment, before flexing. “Substantial.”
“Good.” Brian reached for his drink and finished it in two long gulps. “Bed.”
He staggered off.
“And you, Hiram?”
“A couch, good mistress, if you have one that will hold me.”
“Right this way.” She led him off, and I stayed behind to straighten up the kitchen, thinking. Wondering if we had just accepted an enemy into our midst, side by side with us, and had given him all the protection we gave ourselves.
There wasn’t anyone I could ask who had an answer.
Unless Steptoe could. But how far did I really trust him?
I closed the top cabinet door firmly, shutting away my thoughts even as I shut away the clean glasses. Or tried to. Some things linger.
The doorbell rang, a very soft version of its usual jangling chime, almost as though the utility knew the hour and that people could be asleep. Drying my hands, I went to the door, expecting to see Steptoe, hat in hand, asking for shelter. I glanced through the peephole.
A young man stood there, very well dressed and groomed, in a suit that might well have been worn to the Academy Awards or other society doings. And inside the suit, a very fit and polished Japanese guy who could give Carter and Brian a run for the money in the handsome race. I opened the door cautiously because he held a red envelope in his hands and not a ninja weapon like nunchucks or a throwing star.
He smiled as the porch light fell over him. “Miss Tessa?”
“Yes.”
“Permit me. My employer has asked me to deliver this invitation to you and await your answer if possible. I am sorry the hour is late.”
I took the envelope. It smelled faintly of cherries. Thinking of Joanna, and who else could the man represent but her father, I slipped a finger into the crease and then shook out the letter.
It was a smaller version of the invitation Evelyn had answered, framed on a larger sheet of paper upon which senior had penned: “It has come to my attention that Joanna has overlooked a most important personage in her plans for auction night. We therefore, my daughter and I, would now like to extend o
ur hopes that you will join her and her date. The fun and pleasure of two girls will only multiply bountifully if you agree. Partners for all will be supplied. If you send your answer back with my employee, Joanna will have a suite of dresses sent to your home upon the morrow for your approval. Yours.
“Hironori Hashimoto.”
And he’d signed it with a flourish, very American, and in the corner a brushed symbol.
Wow. I took a quavering breath. He’d even anticipated that our budget might make me turn down the invite, and neatly bypassed that. Did I want to go?
Hell yeah. Although I couldn’t put it in those terms out loud. I pulled my phone up and decided that Evelyn would possibly be awake. I put a finger up to the messenger in Armani haberdashery to indicate I needed a moment, texted Evelyn, and waited.
She was. I told her what I had in my hand. She responded. OMG. Joanna said she would ask! Come! We will have an amazing time!
I put the phone away and smiled at the paragon of patience on the doorstep. “Thank you, and I definitely accept. It sounds awesome.”
He smiled again and bowed. Though he might be in America, Japan flowed deep in his veins. I watched him retreat to a limo sitting in deep shadows at the curb. It roared away smoothly into the night. I hugged the letter to my chest.
The auction, after all. I wondered if Morty had worked a little earth magic for me in his ghostly form. Whether he had, or not, I intended to take advantage of it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MORNING BROUGHT DELICIOUS smells floating up to my room, along with the sound of voices, all of which I thought I recognized before realizing, sadly, that the deep tones came from Hiram, not Morty. I sat on the edge of my bed a moment, saddened by that realization. Then I hurried to my bathroom where I got to mourn the lack of hot water for my shower. Guests had evidently put a strain on the old house’s plumbing, which it couldn’t quite meet. In and out in a hurry and shivering while I dressed, I went through my clothes of DC and New York before throwing them in the hamper. I found the autumn leaf I’d kept and put it on the nightstand nearest the window where it blazed in the rays of an early sun. Maybe it had come from Faerie too, where everything lived close to forever, if such a place existed. I propped up Brian’s leather journal there. I’d have to tell him about it, the object we’d found that Morty had given his life for, as well as his rescue, but I wasn’t quite ready yet. I couldn’t explain why. Steptoe didn’t need to know about what I’d found, and I wasn’t sure about Hiram yet. Definitely Carter couldn’t know about it because he might have to tell the Society. So I would wait for the moment. I lined up the remaining flash-bangs, only five left, thought a second, and then put two in my pocket. Be prepared, right? The items joined a collection of a few other things I’d picked up and kept because there was no calculating their worth or worthlessness. The brass token I slipped under my pillow. I ought to ask Mom about it, but with things going the way they were, I thought it might be like adding salt to an open wound. I decided to keep it, though. I hated to throw anything away. Lastly, I meant to set my invitation there, but couldn’t find it.
My stomach growled. Breakfast couldn’t wait any longer. Dressed and geared up mentally, I trotted downstairs.
Mom pushed a full plate at me and said, “Classes.”
“But—”
“Classes. We both have them, you to attend and me to teach.”
“Right.” I sat down on a tall stool as the chairs were mostly taken, the last one by Carter Phillips to my surprise, one hand filled with a coffee mug and the other holding my invitation. The aroma of coffee blended nicely with his leather and cedar scent and I inhaled to enjoy them.
He waved the mislaid invitation. “Going?”
“Yes.”
“Good. There are some memories of youth everyone should have.”
“Tell that to the guy they put in the college dumpster last week.” I grabbed a spare, clean fork from the table. Mom had opted for scrambled eggs, easy to fix in bulk, and she’d mixed cheese, some chopped chives, and diced tomatoes in with them, so they looked like colorful confetti had spit up in them. I dug in.
Steptoe had taken his hat off and kept it off for once, it sitting on the small desk in the corner where women were supposed to do the budget, write notes on their recipes, and other quaint activities. His dark hair waved nicely, with only a slight indentation from the bowler. He passed a teacup to me, filled to the brim with the most heavenly smelling brew. “Have a cuppa.”
“You made it?”
He gave a slight bow in my direction. “Of course, ducks. Wouldn’t drink it any other way. Though how you lot can have it without milk is beyond me. Sticks in me throat, it does.”
I grinned at him and took a sip. It was, indeed, heavenly, if sugarless. I promptly remedied that before taking another gulp. Yup. Worthy of paradise. “I think we should keep you around.”
“Thanks, but you know. I have things t’ do and places t’be.” Steptoe blushed slightly and looked away, obviously not used to compliments.
“I see you’ve met Hiram Broadstone,” I noted to Carter.
Carter nodded with a murmur, “I am familiar with all his clan, but it’s a pleasure to know Hiram better.”
“He understands the honor I uphold.” Hiram returned the nod and held his plate out for seconds. Or possibly thirds or fourths. Mom beamed and dished out the last from her enormous frying pan, the one we only used for family dinners on major holidays, the one that held bulk quantities. In those days, we used to have Great-Aunt April and Dad and some miscellaneous cousins that no longer lived in the area, but who we heard from at the holidays. I stared at the fryer, thinking of how things had changed. She set the pan in the sink. “You’re going to have to run to catch the bus or bicycle and you need to—” She checked the kitchen clock. “You need to get a move on.”
“You’re not driving me?”
“I have a faculty meeting this morning. More nagging about publishing or perishing, I imagine.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “Good thing I have an article coming out in July.”
“You do? Hey, Mom, that’s terrific. Not about the not driving, though.”
“I can take you.” Carter set both the invitation and his mug down. “I’ve got an undercover car today.”
“Oh goody.”
He colored a bit too, but not in a pleased way, and pushed back a little in his chair as I mopped up the last of my breakfast. I would have liked another half serving but that had gone the way of the Iron Dwarf. I dusted my hands off. “Brushing my teeth and I’ll be ready.”
He opened the front door for me when I joined him, backpack and toothpaste breath in place, and we both froze in surprise as we caught Joanna in midknock.
“So sorry. Did I interrupt?”
“Just leaving for campus.”
Petite and immaculately dressed, casual to a tee, she had three garment bags that nearly capsized her over one slender arm. “I brought these early. I thought we could come over after and see what worked.”
“Great.” I carefully took them from her.
She stood on one foot and then the other, not coming inside, but then Carter was in the doorway, blocking her. I nudged past him and stowed the bags in my room, laying them out more or less carefully across my bed. My fingers itched to pull the plastic aside and see what they concealed, but no time. I settled for pushing a finger into the plumpest bag. It concealed chiffon, unless I was greatly mistaken.
Downstairs, Mom had let Joanna in, and they were chatting amicably, when a pan began to rattle on its hook and then fell down with a loud crash to the floor, just missing Joanna’s toes. Mom hurriedly picked the pot up, but didn’t rehang it, setting it at the back of the counter.
Steptoe and Hiram both watched the pot as if it had grown legs.
Joanna recovered and held a hand out. “Come to campus with me. I’ve a car wai
ting.”
I was so gone, if it was anything like the sleek limo I’d seen last night. We waved and left. I didn’t even look back to see if I’d disappointed Carter.
At Skyhawk, Evelyn heaped a ton of notes onto me and wished me luck. I made the rounds, listening and learning, and wondering what any of these teachers would say if they’d seen what I’d seen over the last few days. What rules of chemistry and physics and mathematics could explain and support magic? Unless, of course, I’d taken a spill down the stairs and lay in a coma somewhere, imagining everything. I lifted a hand to my head and probed here and there to see if I could find an injury of any kind.
“What are you doing?” Evelyn looked over her bottled tea at me, her sandwich only half-eaten in the tradition of dieting.
“Checking for injuries.”
“OMG, did you get hurt?”
“No.”
“Riiiight. So, Joanna told me she brought some dresses over.”
“Yup.”
“And we’re coming over to help you decide?”
“Yup again.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
“I am! Just tired and maybe comatose.”
“Tess-aaaah.”
“It’s been an interesting week.”
“Missing two days doesn’t help. Don’t lose those notes! We’ve got finals coming up in four weeks.”
I took her iced tea from her and downed half of it. Then I eyed her sandwich. Despite having eaten my own lunch, I felt starved. Without a word, she pushed it over. Actually, she had a word or two but didn’t deliver them until after I finished her lunch.
“I hope those dresses will fit.”
I wiped my mouth on her napkin. “They’d better. You know my size.”
Evelyn smiled smugly. “I used to know your size.” She waved at the luncheon debris. “Now I’m not sure.”
I shot a wayward potato chip at her and it hit midtorso. “Score!”
“Honestly.”
“I know. I’m just tired of being demure.”