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.
“Lady 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.
“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 our 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.