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 grace 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?”
“Herbalists. Looking for native species of plants for new medicines, that kind of thing.” His verbal ability came back in a rush. Brian bolstered himself on the couch, mental acuity working even if it looked like his limbs were still noodles.
“Tessa?”
I shrugged at Carter. “News to me. I’d like to, but I can’t really vouch for him. I found him in the professor’s backyard, pretty much in shock.” He stared at me for a long moment, and my face heated a little because although I’d been there off and on all night, he clearly remembered I’d been alone, as far as he knew.
Morty cleared his throat. “I’m an old family friend. It’s been many years since I’ve seen Brian, but he is the professor’s grand-nephew. Now if you were to ask me if he was in the will or anything, that I couldn’t be telling you. But he is family, come to visit.” He shifted his weight as if squaring himself off. The house responded to that with an alarming crack and pop at the joints.
“And you are?”
“Mortimer Broadstone. I’ve known the professor for decades.”
“My condolences for your loss.”
Morty nodded solemnly while Brian inched a bit taller on the sofa and shook his head to clear it.
“All right then. I’ll make a note in my reports. If we need to talk to you, we’ll find you here.” It wasn’t a question. Brian nodded in response and my mother folded her hands as if satisfied as well.
“You’ll have a cold drink, Detective?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll take a rain check on that.” He dipped his strong chin at me and let himself out. The door made a satisfying thud behind him.
Not that there was tension in the room, but I don’t think anyone breathed for a minute or two, and then we sighed collectively. My mother took up residence in an armchair. She crossed her legs and pinned Mortimer with her bright blue gaze. “What have you involved my daughter in?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Really? Who broke Aunt April’s vase? Just goofing around, the three of you?”
“They said it was magic.” My voice broke a little, and I realized I sounded petulant.
“Magic. Seriously.”
I pointed at the blasting stick. “That destroyed Aunt April’s vase.”
“Well, not really,” Brian offered. “A bit of sleight of hand gone wrong—”
“What?!” Mom slashed a hand through the air for silence. I shut my mouth and crossed my arms, feeling deeply offended. “You. And you.” She pointed at Brian, who immediately tried to look innocent, and then at Mortimer, whose jaws clenched at the sight of her index finger. “I think I know a con when I hear one, and you’ve gone and involved Tessa.”
Morty’s beard quivered as he rumbled lowly, “Madam, I assure you. I am most certainly what I say I am. Those are the robes I wear in this life. But I am more than that, and so is the lad here.” He leaned forward. “We are the very embodiment of the magic that this world tries its best to ignore. And yes, we pull the con, but only to hide the truth.”
My mother went pale. My jaw fell back open.
“I break rules talking to you squarely, but the two of you deserve it. You’ve extended courtesy to strangers and I must do the same. I have little liking for lies, whoever tells me them. I represent the rule of law among my house and my people, and that binds me to a standard. I would tell you more if I could, but I am held back. However. You can put whatever trust in me that you must, and I will honor it.” Mortimer put his hands on the table in front of him and shoved himself upward. The table and his chair and the floor all gave voice to his movement. “Hide in your denials if you wish and tell yourself this is part of a game, but you are wrong, and if you persist in thinking that way, your ignorance could very well doom you.”
My voice squeaked slightly. “Doom?”
Brian rubbed his temple. “As in destruction and despair and death.”
My mother straightened up. “It’s good to know where we stand.” Her slightly strained gaze fell upon Brian. “Just who are you, then?”
“Brian. I’m a new body, raised from the . . . ermmm . . . rearranged molecules of Professor Brandard’s old body.”
“Reincarnation.”
“Rather similar.”
“And just where is the professor?”
“Dead. Mostly. He resides in me like a, hmm, second personality. And a crusty one at that.”
“He haunts you.” I watched Brian across the table, as did Mortimer, his immense brows lowered heavily on his face.
“Oh, it’s rather more than that. It’s like I have two souls. One of them goes absentee a lot, and I think if I can get my memory back, he goes to rest permanently, having passed his power and teachings onto me.”
My mother’s voice stayed sharp. “So this is magic. Not a stage magician? An illusionist?”
“Nothing like that. Like a shaman or . . . or Merlin!” A smile shot across Brian’s face. “Yes, exactly like Merlin.”
“But you’re not him.”
“Well, noooo. Not him, no.”
“One of his brothers.”
Brian hung his head, defeated. “Not that, either. Just a worker of magic.”
“Once a great worker,” Morty intoned. “In a spot of trouble, lately.”
This was nothing new to me, but I could see shock waves rippling across my mother’s face. Of course, I had two days’ head start on her. A stray thought tickled my brain. If Brian was a phoenix wizard, and Morty was what he was, could his wife Goldie actually be a harpy? My mind throbbed and I decided to ignore that thought. For now. I touched the back of her hand. “It’ll be all right, Mom.”
She glanced at me and back at the two men. “And you had to involve Tessa.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you. If the professor resides in you, how do I know him?”
“I was, for a very brief time, on your dissertation committee. How is your paper on magic realism and its necessity in pop culture coming along?” The professor watched her from Brian’s eyes.
My mother swallowed, very tightly. Then her jaw relaxed. “Why my daughter?”
“I needed a friend. Immediately. I had a feeling she would answer my call.”
“Next time call 911 first and leave it at that. I’ll accept magic, conditionally, for now. After all, the belief in it and its spirituality is a thread woven deeply into the human conscience. As you so aptly reminded me.” She heaved a sigh, and turned slightly toward Mortimer. “Then you’re not here to claim a pound of flesh?”
He shook his head. “I have, once or twice, called in debts when they infringe upon your culture, but I am, among my people, an arbitrator and a judge. I could swear an oath of truthfulness, upon the Eye of Nimora, if you wished.” His gaze flickered slightly, for some reason.
“No need. And what might your people be?”
“I’m an Iron Dwarf.” He sat back, his plaid suit jacket straining at his shoulders, looking every bit what he proclaimed.
My mother looked as if she considered that, and then she shook her head quickly. “So, what do we do now that Tessa no longer has to lie to me?”
“We eat dinner and make plans.”
Brian licked his lips quickly. “Could we have pizza? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a gut that could digest it.”
“Pizza it is. Tessa—”
“Got it.” And I did.
While we waited for the delivery, we looked over the perdition rod, mourned the untimely demise of Aunt April’s hallway vase, and tried to decide what we should do next. I kept running my fingers over the carving on the cane’s handle. Rather than etched inward, it was contoured outward, like a stamped sculpture. I remembered the arm on the professor’s redwood chair and its secret panel. I spoke up when the thought wouldn’t leave my mind. “I think this is a key. Insert it, embed it, and it will open a secret panel.”
“What?” Mortimer had his great hand wrapped around a dewy mug of sweet tea, which he had grumbled wasn’t ale but would do in passing. He stared at me.
“The professor has a liking for secret panels. I’d say this carving fits into a depression somewhere.”
“Somewhere, lass, is an almighty big destination.”
“No, wait.” Brian scooted forward on his chair. He’d been doodling with pen and paper, since Mom thought he should record his random thoughts in case his memory might be developing even more holes. “She’s right. You found the key in the patio chair, right?”
“I did.”
“One panel, one key, is not a lot to base a pattern upon.” My mom eyed me.
“True. And even if I’m right, it’s useless if the panel was in the house. I mean, it’s all gone now. Nothing left but wet ash and char. Pretty disgusting.”
“Wouldn’t be in the house,” Brian countered. “Too close. Not hidden enough.”
“True that,” Morty rumbled. “He told me he’d scattered his goods far and about. Said he couldn’t help me find my wife because of it.” My mouth opened to debate how we could determine where to look, but the doorbell rang and the arrival of dinner put other discussions on hold.
After dinner, our minds got lazy while our bodies digested the better part of two pizzas—I mean, Morty practically totaled an entire extra-large all by himself—and we sat around trying to think of what the professor had done with his magical regalia upon retirement. I’d related everything I’d heard to date, much to my mother’s distress and the others’ fascination.
When my mother yawned behind her hand, I got up. “I’ll clean this up.” She hadn’t slept really well in years. I tried not to let her know that I noticed it, but she worried me. As much as I worried her, I suppose. I gathered everything up and left to Morty’s vibrating bass tones quizzing Brian without much success, back door banging at my heels and garbage cans beckoning in the moonlight.
Steptoe caught me taking out the trash. I always knew there was a good reason not to do chores, especially the icky ones. He blocked my path, still imbued with the faint odor of smoke despite seeming to have showered and shaved, and he smiled at me. It was a thin-lipped expression that did not warm his face or his eyes, immediately making me suspect. But then, I’d already had dealings with him and suspected him of a lot.
“You’re in grave trouble if you continue to harbor him,” he said without preamble.
“Him who?”
“Our boy.” Simon picked a bit of nonexistent lint off his lapel. “I presume he is a lad, although I can’t be certain of what age. I also presume that he is likely to be in the middle of puberty, or perhaps even a bit older.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because Professor Brandard was an accomplished wizard, and he would scarcely translocate himself into a body that could not bear the stress and strain of the situation he anticipated. This situation. A time of crisis like this one.” His words slipped in and out of his accent.
“No, I meant . . . why would I be in trouble? If I harbored anyone.”
“Ah.” Simon Steptoe laced the fingers of his hands together and gave his knuckles a quick crack. “Because the boy isn’t stable. He’s not quite incendiary, not yet . . . but he will be. Until he finishes the ritual of the phoenix, he’s very, very dangerous. Things could, and will, go up in flame around him.” He freed his hands and traced his index finger through my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “And you, dove, would not look good scorched.”
Or without a head. I ducked away from his hand. “If I was helping someone, there isn’t a lot you can do about it.”
“Not just I. I imagine Remy and one or two of the other Guardians have been about. I thought I spotted her on the outskirts of town earlier.” He paused thoughtfully, a faint crease forming between his eyes. “Tell your professor, if you do see him, that tides have turned. Yes, indeed. Friends may no longer be friends, and enemies, well, there are possibilities there, too.” He leaned forward, nearly nose to nose with me. “Tell him that Malender has awakened and is coming our way. None of us want that. NONE of us. If you turn the new boy over to me, I can assist—”
“You wanted to behead him!”
“Ah. Yes. I thought other ears had ’eard me.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Mmmmm. Most unsavory sounding. But my orders were to behead the man if he dropped dead on us, to prevent the conflagration that, ultimately, ensued anyway. His head is all that was needed for his successful reincarnation. He’d have been saved, and the house too. All intentions went willy-nilly thanks to the incompetence of my assistants. He willed himself into a phoenix state and, rather like a flash bomb, nearly took all of us with him. And it could happen again. Will happen, unless he gets the aid he needs. I stand ready to assist him. As I said, enemies are not necessarily still at odds with him. You will tell him, won’t you?”
“If, and it’s a long if, I see anyone who fits your description, I might. I wouldn’t count on it, though.”
His gaze dropped to my sneakered feet. The corner of his mouth stretched in a genuine smile that did bring a spark to his eyes. “Your shoe is a bit gnawed. I see you’ve already met Remy and her hunt. She proves my point rather well, actually. She used to be one of Professor Brandard’s staunchest allies. The Guardians appear to be a bit off him now. Society politics, it seems.” He dropped his voice a little. “They were lovers, once. Now, well, she is hunting him and you, too, by the looks of it. I know a hound’s bite when I see one.”
I put my chin up. “The longer I stand here, the more something stinks. I don’t know if it’s this bag of garbage I’m lugging around or . . .” I sniffed. Shrugged. “I suggest you leave before I scream or something.”
“Then I shall do so. I remain your servant, Miss Tessa Andrews.” Steptoe gave a small bow. “Just call. I believe you know how.”
He turned about and moved so rapidly into a set of shadows that I could almost think he disappeared on the spot. I didn’t though. I unwound the strand of hair he’d touched and found a business card tucked there, behind my ear, like a magic trick. I shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans. When we got through this, the professor was going to owe me. Like my next few years of college or something.
I found the trash can and violently threw the heavy plastic bag into it, beaning and scaring the heck out of a raccoon perched in the bottom of the container. It chattered at me balefully as it climbed out and ran off.
At least something respected me. And with that thought, another great thought followed.
They were waiting for me at the kitchen table. Brian and Morty had evidently helped my mom with the rest of the kitchen cleanup, and they all held expectant gazes. I plopped down. I decided to pass along regards later. “Sorry I took a while. I was chasing raccoons.”
“I should get another dog.”
“What if Barney comes home? He’ll be heartbroken!”
My mom gave me a faint smile. “I think he’d have made it back already if he could.” Reaching across the table, she patted my arm.
Morty cleared his throat, sounding like a rock polisher. “We seem to be at a loss as to our next move.”
I glanced at Brian. He looked pale and drawn, nothing like the hearty teen I’d found in the professor’s backyard. He’d just downed the better half of a large pizza. How could he look so weakened? Did he walk a tenuous line between being mortal and catching on fire again? Had Steptoe buried a little bit of the truth in the discussion we’d just had? What was the advice when lying? Stay as close to the truth as possible to make the lie successful?
I took a deep breath and put my thought out there. “It’s obvious. We have to go where we were promised trouble. Remy said to stay away from the great obelisk.”
Brian locked gazes with me. Something moved through his eyes. “That’s it. She was either warning me off in her new role as my enemy or she was giving me a hint in her old, familiar role as friend and guardian. Either way, that’s exactly where we have to go!”
“Which great obelisk?”
I tilted my head. “There’s only one great one in this part of the world. We call it the Washington Monument.”