CHAPTER THREE

THE DOOR TO MY HOUSE opened with a flood of golden light, motes spinning out like a flurry of yellow snowflakes. A cookbook fell off the kitchen shelf around the corner in greeting. Nature boy paused and I touched his elbow. “Go on,” I instructed.

My mother loomed in front of us, her face creased with concern. “What is it? I heard you run out. It’s the middle of the night. What happened, and who is this?” She blinked, distracted, as she recognized the clothing he wore. “Please, come in.”

“Fire,” I told her, as if she couldn’t smell it on the two of us and hadn’t heard all the trucks and emergency vehicles. “The professor’s.”

“Oh, no. That’s where it was?” She stood aside, folding her robe across her and belting it into place.

“This is my mom, Mary, and this is the, the professor’s nephew. Grandnephew. He got out, but the professor . . .” An unexpected choke stopped me. Smoke still in my throat or something. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, Tessa. I’m sorry.”

Nature boy ducked his head as he eased past her in the doorway.

I shimmied past her, too, and headed toward the kitchen. I needed a tall, cold drink of water or, wow, iced tea. No need for sleep tonight, anyway.

As nature boy took a seat on the tall stool by the counter, I asked quietly, “What do I call you?”

He looked down at his shoes, my dad’s ratty old sneakers, in thought. He shrugged.

“How about Brian? Keep it in the family.”

He nodded.

Naturally. What else would I call him? I peered into his eyes. In the kitchen light they were still neither blue nor green but a mix of both. A phoenix wizard. Give me a break. I didn’t see anything illuminating in there. I looked down at his shoes, too, complete with Barney-chewed air holes. The professor might have been harboring someone at his house, a grad student or someone. There were no such things as wizards. Maybe they meant a genius in his field, like a wizard of numbers, a savant. Right? Or maybe just an old con man. Of course, that didn’t explain how I could think he might have burned away into a brand-new version of himself, but I could chalk that up to something toxic in the fumes. Heaven knew what the professor had stored in all his various jars. Events might have Mr. Cockney freaked but not me. Not quite. I stored that aside for the moment.

Brian kicked me in the side of my foot. My gaze bolted upward. Mom stood over me saying, “Tessa, honey, are you all right?” She put my tea in front of me.

“Ever stop to think and couldn’t get started again?” I threw her a quick grin.

She gave a slight laugh. “It’s been a tough night.”

If she only knew. I wrapped my hands around the glass and found the soreness in them anew. I rubbed my hands up and down against the icy condensation to soothe my fingers.

Brian gulped down the tea my mother had set in front of him, and she poured him a second. Her hand rested on his shoulder a minute. “It must be a great shock.”

He nodded. His dimple deepened.

“Were you here for the summer?”

He tilted his head a bit, like he listened to something the rest of us couldn’t hear. He spoke very deliberately and slowly. “Something like that.” He paused. “Sorry. That sounded rude.”

It also didn’t sound a bit like the professor, more like Brian was channeling . . . me. I quirked an eyebrow at him, out of my mom’s field of vision. He drank some more tea before adding, “I barely got out myself. An old house like that, filled with clutter, you know? It just went up. Tessa found me in the backyard, only place I could think of to go.” He spread his arms. “My things are trashed. She found me some clothes. How can I ever thank you?” He was channeling me. Or my thoughts, which was even scarier. I tried not to stare.

“By staying here tonight, at least, and for the next couple of days. We’ll help however we can. Do you need to call anyone?”

He beetled his eyebrows. “My parents aren’t available. There must be someone. I have to think.” He drained the glass again.

“Let me go make up the spare room.” Color tinged my mother’s face. I knew that it was nothing special and cluttered with moving boxes we’d never quite emptied or stored away. There was, however, a twin bed under them, which had probably been there since the seventies. She disappeared up the back stairs, and I didn’t say anything until I heard footfalls on the floors above us. My cell phone buzzed impatiently in my pocket. I took it out and thumbed up the text message. Evelyn: Everyone says your mom black widow did the professor in.

Gossip at the speed of sound. I narrowed my eyes and tapped back: Untrue and unkewl. Then I dropped my phone back in my pocket. Who needs enemies when you have frenemies?

The doorbell rang. Police keeping tabs on us, especially since I’d ducked out on Detective OMG Carter? I yelled, “I’ll get it,” and motioned for Brian to stay where he was.

Good thing because I opened the door a crack to find myself face-to-face with the bad guy of the week. He stank of smoke. If I hadn’t heard him earlier that night, I’d still have guessed English. He had an apple-cheeked complexion, dark eyes that fairly snapped at me, and needed a bowler hat to go with his dialect. He looked up expectantly as light from the house fell over him. Of course he had good reason to wonder what I’d been up to, all dressed and wearing eau de disaster, just like him.

“Mmmm. Can I help you?”

He smiled and tugged on the corner of his suit jacket. I swear a puff of smoke wafted out. “Sorry for my intrusion on your late evening. You ’eard the sirens?” Accent there, but much more cultured.

“Oh, we did. Fire around the corner, I understand.”

He made a tsking sound. “Indeed. Bad business, that. I’m making inquiries around the neighborhood, going ’ouse to house. We think there might have been a survivor, disoriented and frightened. Seen anyone about?” The smile on his thin lips did not warm his flint dark eyes or deepen the blush of his ruddy cheeks.

“I don’t think so. Did the professor make it out?”

He shook his head and put a finger to the side of his nose. “We, and the authorities, are not quite sure. Too hot to go in yet. The victim possibly had a guest or visitor. Anyone you might have seen would be helpful.”

Interesting. Male or female, young or old—he had no idea who he was actually looking for. That could give me an advantage down the line. “No one comes to mind, Mr. . . . ah . . .”

“Steptoe. Simon Steptoe, at your service.” I think he clicked his heels. “Give me a shout if you spot anyone. Shock is a terrible thing. They could be wandering around without a coherent thought. I’m here to ’elp.”

Sure he was. Off with his head! “I understand.” I started to close the door.

His hard-shod foot stopped me. “It’s important that you let me, us, know. This survivor might need help or medical attention. They might even have an involvement,” he added conspiratorially. “Accidental or deliberate, there have been some terrible events this evening. There might be other inquiries. Don’t answer them. Avoid the man named Malender if you can.”

You would know. “Noted.” I put the toe of my sneaker to his shoe to start to push it out of the way.

He resisted, lips thinning in that almost smile. “It would be advantageous to let me know if you run across anyone. Just as it might be detrimental to forget to advise me.” His look dropped to my shoes and fastened there for a long moment. I didn’t think humility had anything to do with it.

My shoes. Ash and water runoff from the fire. Shoe prints stomped in the bent and dewy grass. My shoes and Brian’s. Was he comparing evidence mentally?

His gaze snapped back to mine. “It would be most helpful if you would remember me and what I’ve said.” He brought his hand up and a business card flicked into his fingers. I did not take it.

“And you would be Miss . . .”

I had no intention of filling in the blank. I pushed on my door and it gave way slowly, reluctantly, shutting on his last words, but I think he said, “Just call my name.”

I was so not about to. I backed away from the door quietly, listening to see if he still stood there on the other side, listening as well. As if I might have turned around and shouted, “Hey, Brian, that guy is looking for you!” Finally I heard the clomp of hard-soled shoes on the steps, and he was gone.

Mom’s voice floated down the stairs. “Who was at the door, hon?”

“Nobody, really. Just making sure we knew about the fire and that everything’s under control.”

“How nice of the fire department. Be ready in a bit up here.” Her footsteps dimmed and I heard a very faint sneeze. Dusty work, evidently.

Brian had his head on the counter, dozing, when I returned. He rubbed the heel of his hand across his tired eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“All right? Of course I am. Fit as ever.”

I felt as if I had been slapped in the face by Professor Brandard. Déjà vu. I let it pass for the moment. It was more than a bit disconcerting to think that this handsome guy had a crusty old professor hiding out in him somewhere.

“That was a Simon Steptoe,” I told him.

“Ah. Simon.” Brian sighed. “I think I know of him.” Had they known each other then, once upon a time? What else did he know that he wasn’t saying? What sort of con game had he and the professor been playing at?

Why not ask? Leaning forward on my elbows, I said, “What’s going on?”

I thought I saw an echo of the old professorial gleam spark in Brian’s pretty eyes. “I’m not sure yet, myself. What do you think is happening? Besides a fire.”

And there it was, that faint British accent of his own. If he meant to mimic the professor, he was spot on. And if he didn’t, if he actually was the professor, reincarnated, he was even creepier. Brandard and Steptoe. How well, if at all, had those two known each other? Were they mortal enemies or something? Beheading sounded like a serious rift between friends.

How could what I was thinking even be true? I needed to examine the evidence or have my own head examined. But what evidence? I’d left the only real trace of the professor, his clothing in rags, in the backyard shrubs. The only thing I had now was nature boy—er, Brian—himself, and he certainly wasn’t volunteering much.

I skewed my lips. His answering a question with a question of his own or an indefinite was not what I had in mind. I repeated, “What’s going on?” Before he answered (or, more correctly, evaded the answer again), I tacked on a third “What’s going on?” Third time’s the charm, right?

He bit off a muttered curse. He tugged on a lock of red-gold hair. He folded a lip between his upper and lower teeth and chewed on it thoughtfully. “It seems I am compelled to answer, even though I have few facts. I am uncertain as to all the details. Steptoe showed up with his goons and wanted information I wouldn’t give him. There was only one way out when they were done with me, and I took it.”

“You set yourself on fire?”

“My recollections are spotty. I can’t tell you much more. The house went up in flames, assuredly.”

This was the professor talking, all the way. I wondered if there really were two people in that body, or two very clever people behind it. “I heard him call you a phoenix wizard.”

“If I am, I barely know anything. I need help. Lots of help.” He swirled the melting ice cubes around the bottom of his drink. “I don’t even know where to start, Tessa.”

I scratched my chin. “There’s not much left of the house. If you had anything in there, it’s probably gone.”

“Do you think a wizard leaves stuff lying around willy-nilly?” Brian stopped. “It’s habit to scatter the instruments of one’s power far and wide.” His eyes widened. “That much I know!” He shot to his feet. “All is not lost. Well, it’s lost but I should be able to retrieve it once the memory comes back.”

“Do you have an app for that?”

“A what? Oh. Not exactly.” He tapped his foot. “I think that I might have been depending upon my friends and so forth.”

“To jog your memory?”

He sighed.

“I’ve gone along with this about as far as I think I can.”

He shook his beautiful, handsome head. I watched carefully, determined not to fall for either Brian or the professor, and failing a little. Those eyes. “I was a recluse out of necessity. Now, I realize that might be what dooms me.”

“Whatever.” I stood up and he sat down. “You need friends. I can solve that.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to, nor how I would explain it to my mother, but the footsteps overhead had slowed and she’d be returning any minute now, her chores done. I had an idea and decided to run with it. This would be about the third really colossally stupid thing I was going to do tonight and, after all, again, that magic thrice.

I went to the front door. Brian trailed after me. I took a deep breath and without opening the door, I called, “Mortimer.”

Silence.

“Mortimer.”

Still silent but now it had a kind of expectant quality. As though something unseen listened. “Mortimer!”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling for the only friend I know you’ve got besides me.” The house fire had been a big show. Surely Steptoe and I and a few curious neighbors hadn’t been the only ones watching it.

A deep vibration. The house quivered. I thought of the tyrannosaurus rex approaching in Jurassic Park.

Another thrum. Closer. The house shook. And again, seriously, this time echoed by the groan of the front porch stoop. Another shock as if a pile driver had hit the porch. The front door boomed.

I opened it to find a short, maybe five-foot-tall man glaring at me. He was nearly as wide as he was tall, so it wasn’t likely anyone would look at him and think, oh, he could have been a jockey. Frankly, anything on four hooves would have taken a look at him, whinnied, and raced away in terror. He looked as if he’d been carved from granite, or maybe stepped down off Mt. Rushmore. He had a billy goat goatee of yellow-white hair that might have been blond hair going white or white hair stained yellow, hard to tell. He had silvery hair on his head and deep coffee-brown eyes. His nose arched from a brow that could have belonged to a big-horned sheep that was used to knocking heads against immovable objects, and his hands were like shovels. He wore a plaid suit, the pattern stretched wide.

“Mortimer?”

He frowned. “Aye.” His glance aimed behind me. “Professor?”

“Dead,” said Brian.

“I see.” Mortimer’s craggy face creased in thought. He didn’t seem surprised.

Nature boy nudged me aside a little. “I might need your help as well as your friendship.”

“So it’s come to that.”

“It appears to have.”

“You told me you’d retired. You’d broken things apart. That’s why you couldn’t aid me and my wife. You did try, but you weren’t successful.”

“I can imagine. I couldn’t help that, but I need you now.”

Mortimer shifted his weight uneasily to throw his java-colored glance at me, and the whole porch creaked. I remembered that heavy-duty, use-scarred patio chair in the professor’s arbor and realized that Mortimer must have indeed been the one who sat there.

Another thought popped out. “What do you weigh?”

Brian waved a quizzical finger at my interruption.

“I thought it might be important. In case the porch collapses or something.”

Mortimer drew himself up. His whitish goatee wagged. “I am an Iron Dwarf. Stone and metal are my elements.” He paused before adding, “As they were my father’s and my grandfather’s before. Wood bows before me as it is intended to do. However, that being said, your porch seems sound enough.”

Wizards, beheaders, and dwarves, oh my. “Okay.” I realized he still stood on the complaining wood. Did he have to be invited in? Outside of general courtesy, that is.

From upstairs, I could hear my mother. “Tessa. Do we have more company?”

“Mmmm. Yeah.” I looked at Mortimer, wondering how to explain him. How to keep Mom from being overly curious and hospitable. Inspiration came to me about the same time she skipped down the stairs and appeared in the foyer. She looked poised and a trifle baffled. I didn’t want her to ask me too many questions. “Mom. This is Bruno. Well, his name is Mortimer, but . . .” and I let my words trail off. My implication that one of dad’s bill collectors had finally showed up hung in the air between us.

She paled.

“Please call me Morty, ma’am,” the man rumbled. “I am sorry to be here so late.”

“Actually,” and my mother sighed, “I think you’re rather past due. Well, come in. Late or not, I won’t leave you standing outside. Iced tea?”

Morty waggled a bushy eyebrow at me as he came in and I shrugged. He looked like he could be a mob collection agent, after all. Why not trade on it?

We took the convention back to the kitchen.

I whispered to Morty as I passed him, “Follow my lead. She thinks you’re a debt collector. For, like, the mob.”

He answered with a noncommittal grunt.

Mom not only found iced tea but lemon icebox cookies. She fanned them across a plate and put them in front of everyone. I thought our two guests might be shy, but they filled both hands before I could blink twice.

“So, Mr. Mortimer. It is more than passing late. I appreciate the fact you came in person, but really.” My mother looked at him, and her expression could have melted the coldest heart.

He swallowed the cookie in his right fist. “The night is best for visits like this, ma’am, and in person, if you understand my meaning.”

“Well, yes. But what if I’d decided to call the police rather than answer the door.”

He set his free hand down heavily on the kitchen table. “Best not to involve the authorities in matters like ours. It could be embarrassing for all.”

Hell, he needed no hints on how to play this from me!

My mother put her chin up. “I’ve lost the ability to be humiliated by my husband’s activities.”

“Have you now?” Mortimer wet his whistle. “Then I’ve no need to beat around the bush or be delicate. You know what my job is.”

“I haven’t the money. I don’t know how much he owed your . . . organization . . . but he left me with nothing. You’re going to have to tell your boss to cut his losses.”

Mortimer put his now-empty glass down sharply on the counter. “Tell him what?”

I could see a quiver run through my mother. She straightened one leg as if she thought to lock her knee in place. “Let me make myself clear. My husband gambled. I had no knowledge of it. And then he chose to disappear. I’ve paid off what I can and there is nothing left. The only thing I haven’t lost so far is my job.”

“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Mortimer cornered the market on menacing insinuation.

She put her hand up and then dropped it. “I refuse. Threaten if you must. I won’t budge any more. He’s gone, and if you want to drain every drop from him, find him and go do it. His matters are none of my concern, not any more.”

Mortimer turned a little stiffly to eye me. “And what about you?”

“What she said.”

“There are still places in the world where a pretty young woman is worth something.” Mortimer eyed me, and then licked the icing off his last cookie before popping it in his mouth.

He gave me the creeps with that bit. My mom picked up the iced tea pitcher as if she might bash him across the head with it to give me a running start, but she coolly refilled his glass instead.

I opened my mouth but Morty interrupted me. “Luckily, my employer understands your position. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush and so forth. I’ve been asked to come and assess the situation to see what the possibilities are and then return with a report. You may even find me of some help if an unpleasant barbarian happens by. Not all of us in collection are as civilized as I am. This is the twenty-first century, and we realize we have an image to be concerned with. Not all collectors ask first and listen. There are circumstances here which should be looked into.” He gave a nod. “See you in the morning.”

“Morning?”

“We are agreed.” He gave a little half bow to me as well and said, “I’ll let myself out.”

The house moaned as he trod through it and the front door shut solidly behind him.

My mother pushed the cookie plate around the counter a moment before picking it up and putting it in the sink. She made a small, stifled noise that hurt me to hear. “Tessa, I don’t want you to have to deal with this man.”

“I don’t mind, Mom. He actually seems kind of reasonable.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Mom, you can’t take time off work. Classes are winding up for me but it’s busier for you. I can give him the runaround better than you can.”

She brushed the back of her hand past the tip of her nose. Her blonde perkiness had definitely paled.

“I can deal,” I repeated firmly. Besides, I knew what Mortimer was really going to be up to. I hoped.

Brian stood to gather the empty glasses and brought them to her. “Mrs. Andrews—”

“Mary.”

“Mary. Perhaps it would be better if I find someplace else to go.”

“Nonsense! Your house burned down. I’ve made the guest room up for you and we, more than most, know what it is to have lost everything.” She brushed her hair from her face. “It can’t get much later, so I suggest we all get what rest we can. Tomorrow we’ll help you figure out your next steps.”

He nodded and, making grateful noises, started up the back stairs. Another of Aunt April’s old house eccentricities—it had servant stairs from the kitchen and a sweeping staircase from the foyer or front parlor. I finished helping clear the kitchen. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought Morty in publicly. I had just brought more hurt in, and my mother didn’t deserve that. I went up the stairs slowly.

Brian waited for me in a dark corner of the hallway.

“Mortimer. Why can’t I remember much about him? Did I not have friends? I’ve lost everything, but what I’ve lost most is myself.” My brash, irascible professor sounded as if he could drown in grief. I thought that I understood what he might be going through. I put my hand on his arm.

“He used to sit in the arbor with you.”

He frowned. “Yes. Yes, he did.” Then a glow spread over his face. “Tessa. The arbor. I’ve hidden something in the arbor. I can’t remember what but—” He waved his hands. “I remember something.”

“You told me the redwood was a good guardian.”

“Yes. Yes, I must have.”

“You can’t go after it.”

“We can’t leave it to chance that Steptoe won’t find it!”

“You’re not going.” I grabbed my backup hoodie from my closet. “You go occupy the guest room till I get back.” I stopped at the top of the stairs. “Any idea what it is I’m looking for?”

He shook his head sadly.

I shrugged. “I’ll handle it.”

It might only be trouble, but I was bound to find something.