Unknown

Chapter Sixteen

It was a strange phenomenon how fast a funeral could come together. It had to take a spell because it wasn’t more than a few days before the wake and burial of Arthur Laurence Babbit.

Arthur. Nobody at the lodge had called Babbit by his first name in a long time. Certainly not since I’d started there. But hearing it from the presiding eldermage’s lips, I could see how the names fit together like a train set.

The service was nice. Sunshine, with just the right amount of clouds. I found out that day it didn’t always rain at funerals, though it didn’t make the mood any less somber.

The eldermage knew Babbit, of course, although I don’t think the old man had seen the inside of a Solstice Chamber in years, what with always working Sundays. Still, the eldermage went on about surviving relatives as though he was a close friend, and spoke about Babbit’s past, doing his duty to take those in attendance on a sort of poetic tour of the mage’s life. This surreal sort of memory lane journey, littered with hovering flower petals and Rose Wisps courtesy of the eldermage’s apprentices.

It was nothing like my mother’s funeral. For that I was grateful.

They buried my friend in Sailfin Cove. It was Babbit’s home for nearly three decades. It was where he settled after what he called his “tramping days.”

Whatever that meant.

Emma was there, of course. We rode down in a company van together with six other lodgers. A nice van—not the old toaster they usually gave us. Everybody had at least a half day off for the funeral. I had been given the whole day.

I was going to need it.

We didn’t speak much, Emma and I. Didn’t have to. A couple times during the service, she put her hand on top of mine. Every time she did it’d cause Ethan to snort from the other side of her. Of course he came with. He wore a suit and sat upright, smug, but refused to remove his sunglasses and leather driving gloves even while inside the chamber.

He could care less about the people he worked with, but he always attended things like this. Any chance to wear a suit, right? I was seething even more than usual in his presence.

But I wouldn’t let him see it if I could help it. This was Babbit’s day, not Ethan Webb’s.

He’s gone, I had to tell myself. He’s really gone.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Babbit was old when I’d met him and seemed noticeably older each time I saw him. But to me, he was this animated statue. Eternal, immortal. Something outside the realm of weathering and wear.

Babbit was supposed to last forever.

And yet my family seemed to be growing smaller exponentially. Who was next? That was the question everyone asked at funerals—not out loud, of course. But it wasn’t the time of celebration everyone pretended. Although, I wasn’t crying like everyone else. I hadn’t saved enough tears for this funeral—I’d used them all up at the last one.

At the burial, I saw a girl with hair like white gold. It would’ve looked like a sheet of pure silk save for a couple beads around a single strand. She looked a little older. Very beautiful. Striking, one might say.

And she stared at me like she knew me.

I struggled at first to place her face around the resort, but gave up. The black skirt and blazer was the final giveaway—she was a relative of Babbit’s. And I’d never met any of Babbit’s family.

Still, the girl’s pale silver eyes watched me through most of the service. And not just stolen glances either, these were burning gazes. All that was missing was the gun.

After my old friend and mentor was in the ground, and the last Rose Wisp had flitted out of sight, I decided to attend the luncheon at Babbit’s residence. I realize it was very un-Quinn of me to jump headfirst into a social situation, but most of the people I shared the van with were going to make an appearance.

Emma however, had to work. She was going to ride back to Alkamee Heights with Ethan—who of course had driven separately in his wannabe-Batmobile.

So not only was I jumping in headfirst, but I was doing it alone.

“You’ll be okay?” Emma asked, hands still connected to my shoulders. I wasn’t sure where my hands should go—the lingering hug was not an art form I was familiar with.

“Yeah, I’ll live.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. Bitter and guilty.

Emma knew what I meant and nodded. She gathered me up for one last hug.

“Come find me later. If you need to talk,” she said, and then pulled away. Thinking twice, she added sternly, “About this … about Babbit, okay?”

I bit at my lower lip. “And nothing else?”

Emma let out a hot sigh, “I know how much he meant to you, Quinn—and I’ll be here for you.” Her eyes opened up, freezing me in place. “But don’t push it.”

After a few awkward mumblings and a peck on the cheek, Emma was gone. Despite everything, I wanted her to stay. I wanted her to hold my hand through the whole thing.

And I especially wanted Ethan Webb to ride home alone.

At Babbit’s house, there was music playing while his friends, family, and coworkers traded stories and snacked on cheese and crackers.

I made a tiny plate for myself so I would fit in, but I wouldn’t be eating today. With nobody to talk to, I stayed pretty quiet. I was a lamp in the corner.

At the peak of my invisibility, I slipped down a hallway and into a side room. It looked like an office. The white ceiling was like a cloud bank over the aqua walls and matching carpet. It was as if Babbit had just kept buying small shelves as needed, instead of investing in one big one. They were all different styles and colors, and so many, they left little room for the tiny desk pinched into the corner.

The desk had its own bookshelf as well.

It was all a blur as I processed the room, no particular title or object stuck out at me. Save for one thing hooked my eye the minute I swept over it. It was a small picture frame pushed to the corner of the old oak desk.

I wasn’t nosy, nor was I one to touch or prod. But I recognized the person in the frame. The grin was unfamiliar, but her hair was unmistakable.

It was the girl from the funeral. A school picture, a bit yellowed by time, but definitely her. I picked it up and studied it, turning it over in my hands. Even debated whether or not to crack the back open and hope for a name.

But I didn’t have to.

“He had a lot of books, didn’t he?”

The voice was light and airy, like wind through a wheat field. I turned, looking up into the face from the frame.

The little picture frame burned in my hand. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just—”

She gave a tight grin and shook her head, letting her eyes stay shut a little too long. “It’s okay. I don’t feel like crowds today either.”

My voice petered out and I nodded.

“I’m Selia.” She came forward and extended her hand. I did the same, hoping my palm wasn’t too clammy from clutching the frame. Before I could introduce myself, she asked, “Are you Quinn?”

“Uh—yeah. Yes.”

Selia laughed lightly. “I thought so. I’m sorry if I jumped the gun. Grandpa told me about you. Apparently his description was pretty accurate.”

Grandpa?

“Apparently,” I agreed. “Nice to meet you.”

Her pale cheeks filled with color. “Sorry. I just—I recognized you at the, um, the funeral. From the stories. Kind of felt like we met there, you know?”

Made sense to me. I was fluent in awkward situations. “I suppose. All those stories were good ones, I hope?”

Selia became unreadable. For a moment, I thought she might tell me what a horrible person I was to her grandfather. Or a bad student. Or a real crap conversationalist.

“He didn’t have any grandsons,” she said finally. “Until he met you.”

It was just enough to siphon some tears from my eyes. I kept the full-blown sobbing in check, but didn’t bother to wipe my cheeks dry.

“That’s really nice of you to say,” was all I could reply. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I sniffed. “You know, Babbit … your grandfather—was teaching me spells.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I shut my eyes and felt a dagger sliding through my heart. “I was, um … I left right in the middle of one.”

Selia squinted at me, not sure where I was going with this.

“It was last Monday,” I admitted.

“Oh.” She nodded. “I see.”

A new wave of tears washed down my face. “I … I didn’t … it was just one lesson … I thought—”

Selia silenced me with a bat of her eyes. When she opened them, I could see they’d become watery and glistening.

“You know, I tried to visit Grandpa every week in the summer. I’d stop in, whether I knew he was there or not. Just to talk or play cards. I was supposed to see him Monday night … the Monday in question.”

“Oh.”

“You know,” she went on. “Play a little Rummy, have some ice cream … gods, he loved ice cream. Rum Cherry. Did you know that?”

I shook my head.

“Instead I went for a drink with some girlfriends,” she explained. “I asked him if he’d take a rain check.”

I just nodded, listening.

Selia’s face pinched up with a new sob as she crossed her arms. “I mean, that’s cold, right? Take a rain check. That’s the last thing I told my grandfather over the phone.”

It didn’t take much of a gesture to pull her into a hug. I don’t know why I did it, but I just held her until her sobs fizzled to a quiver.

“I guess we’re both pretty lousy grandkids, huh?” I tried.

Selia laughed wetly. She leaned away from me slowly. Her eyes were a beautiful sterling, and they seared right through mine.

“Sorry,” she said, brushing away at the spot of moisture she’d left on my dress shirt. “And thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You know, it’s kind of funny I found you in here,” Selia said lightly. “The last couple months, he’d been doing a lot of research in here for you.”

“For me?”

She nodded. “‘Gotta help Quinn,’ he’d say. ‘Doing a little research for the boy.’ I was almost getting jealous of you.”

My throat tightened up. Babbit was helping with my quest for the solistone,. And I couldn’t even give him a whole lunch break.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s really something else. Incredible.”

“Yeah, well, it gave him something to do. I think,” Selia went on. “Not sure if you ever finished what you were working on, but he always said his library was your library.”

“Mine?” I asked. “As in me?”

She nodded again, this time with a smirk. “Yeah, you. Quinn.”

“Wow.”

“Like I was saying, not sure if you finished your project,” Selia went on, “but if you need … or want any books of his, you know … take your pick.”

The room took on a different hue, a glow. It seemed to grow around me. It felt like when I first stepped into the seashell library in Willow Bay.

Babbit had given me a treasure chest, and Selia and I were inside it.

“Thank you,” I told her. “That’s … I appreciate it. Very much.”

“Welcome.”

She stared at me few moments squinting, like she was trying to see my brain through my skin. She bit her lower lip.

“You know,” she said. “I think I should give you my number. You know? Stay in touch. About Grandpa. Or whatever.”

“Yeah,” I said, gulping dryly. “That’s … smart.”

Smart?

She patted her side and cursed quietly, realizing she was sans purse. She scanned the room with her cool eyes and stopped when they landed on the desk.

“Here,” she said. A silent breeze whispered through the room, tugging a small sheet of stenographer paper off a short stack of books. The paper glided like a leaf around the room, scooping up a pen along the way, before both items found their way to her hands. She tore off only a small piece and let the other larger half glide back to the desk. So casual. Mage or not, I wasn’t used to seeing anyone use meta that fast. So instinctively, without so much as a second thought. I knew she was an upperclassman compared to me.

Selia began scrawling on the flip-side of the sheet, and suddenly it didn’t matter. I watched every digit her smooth hand formed on the scrap, every loop of blue ink.

I was getting a girl’s phone number.

“Okay. Here you go,” she said finishing up and handing me the slip of paper. I was too scared to look at it. I just shoved it in my pocket.

“Cool,” I said—though the way I said it was anything but. “Thanks.”

“Well, uh, again, it was really nice meeting you,” Selia said.

“You too.”

“Bye, Quinn.” With that, she gave me a light kiss on my cheek and exited Babbit’s office.

“Bye,” I managed long after she was gone. I took a step back and not very smoothly bumped into the desk, dislodging a couple books and the other half of the stenographer paper. It fluttered towards the blue carpet like a feather, and I suddenly made an embarrassing scramble for it, crumpling it in my hands. If it’d been a bug it’d been a very squished, unrecognizable bug.

“Nice one,” I told myself.

As I pressed and flattened the piece of paper against the desk, hoping futilely it would look untouched, I noticed there was a handwritten note on it, very light, as though the pen was running out of ink. It was undoubtedly Babbit’s handwriting.

And though Selia had torn through the part which contained her name, I could tell the note was addressed to her.

I was about to go after her, when four words caught my eye. willow bay public library.

The detective in me kicked in again. Why not be a little more nosy today?

The body read:

Found these left in a room at the resort. Please return to the Willow Bay Public Library next time you’re up that way. Thanks, kiddo. And tell Vivian I said hello!

~Grandpa Art

These? My eyes snapped back to the stack of books Selia had taken the paper from. Two paperbacks sat on top of a big hardcover.

A very familiar hardcover.

“No way,” I whispered to myself, stitching my eyebrows together. I moved in a ghostly slow motion as I swept the top two books away like crumbs. I pulled the hardcover volume to my face, rubbing my fingers over the decorative etching at the corners carefully. “No ’chanting way.”

It was an Encyclopedia Alchemica.

Volume C.

“Croatoan,” I whispered. I really couldn’t believe it. After all that searching and fretting, Babbit had the book I needed. The whole ’chanting time. Real funny, universe.

For a few heavy seconds, all I could do was stare at the cover, like maybe the information I needed would just appear in my head, or I’d sprout x-ray vision and just see the relevant page. It was part reverence that I didn’t crack open the sacred tome, but also part me, being a total moron that can’t remember anything.

I couldn’t remember the word. After all this, I couldn’t remember the damn word! It hadn’t been too terribly long since my recon mission to Willow Bay, but apparently long enough. More likely that it had been riddled with too much tension, for my brain to hold onto one pesky, weird-looking word.

Come on, Quinn, think! What was it? You know it starts with a ‘C’ at the very least.

Capitalist?

Canopy?

“Candlestick?” I said, trying to jog my memory out loud. “Candlewax?”

Candilisk.

That was it. A word of ancient stone traced in blinding white. I wasted no more time, I cracked open the book, all reverence out of the way. This was business. All quest—no waiting.

Fervently I searched through the fragile pages. Twice I skipped over the section I was looking for. My heart fluttered in my chest. My stomach felt like it was turning inside out.

It felt like the first time I met Emma.

“Here we go,” I told nobody. My finger slid down the page to the very last entry. No wonder it was so tricky to find.

But there it was.

Candilisk (n): a prehistoric saurian from the Jurassic Period and an early ancestor of the common basilisk. Believed to be a nocturnal hunter, the candilisk relied heavily on stealth, as well as its venomous bite. Alchemists now know the scales of of this reptile contain naturally-occurring metaphysikal and alchemical properties. Though the creature is extinct, a fossilized scale from a candilisk is considered a precious gem, and a commodity to alchemists.