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 waiting.”
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.”
Evelyn leaned across the table on her forearms. “You have never been demure a day of your life, for which I’m grateful.”
“Thanks. I think.” A bell rang. We swept up our trash in a hurry, readying for the next slate of classes. My coma faded enough so that I could absorb the afternoon of teachings, though I was so ready to get home.
Joanna, limo and all, waited for us as we left the hallways.
The house seemed ultra-empty with none of the guys in it. I had no idea where Steptoe and Hiram and Brian had gone, but I knew Carter had gone to work. The key rack jangled noisily as we passed it, and I threw out a hand to steady it even as I hung up my keys on it. It fairly quivered like a live thing under my touch. What was wrong with this house?
Joanna gave it a wide berth as she went by it in the hallway.
My key ring sprang off its hook. I caught it before it hit the floor, but Joanna and Evelyn never saw a thing. I put it back on the hook. “Now, stay.”
Upstairs, by the time I got to my room, the girls had opened the garment bag cocoons and laid the resulting butterflies out for my approval. I stopped in amazement. These were not dresses. They were stunning rainbows of material and color, style ranging from fun to elegant to simply outrageous. “Wow.”
Joanna gave a shy smile. “You like them?”
“Wow,” I repeated. Evelyn nodded to Joanna.
For the next hour I slipped in and out of silk, satin, and chiffon, and back again, turning about to see in the mirror, laced or open, off the shoulder or slit up the leg, twirling to see which one I liked best. Although there were only three garment bags, five dresses had been pulled out of them and every one of them looked awesome. Not necessarily on me, but in themselves. I felt both silly and royal at the same time watching myself pose in an ocean of pink chiffon or peach-colored satin. I must have tried on each one of them three times. You know, just to thoroughly check them out.
Evelyn perched on a corner of the bed, cheering me on, while Joanna paced back and forth a little, as if eying me on a catwalk, trying to decide what the best perspective would be. She paused by my nightstand. Her gaze fell on the journal, and for some reason I felt very uneasy, as it seemed to catch and hold her attention. I sashayed over in her direction, swishing my extravagant skirt about, and managed to knock the journal onto the floor. One quick kick and it scooted under the bed out of sight. Joanna gave me a sideways look when she noticed it missing and then a little shrug. We hooked arms and sashayed about the bedroom some more, making Evelyn laugh until she cried at our silliness.
I finally picked up the silk one, in a sea glass green with a side leg slit, although a modest one, ruched over the bosom and dipping nicely at the back. Nothing scandalous but daring in its own quiet way. I held it up for about the fourth time, just holding it against me and looking at the mirror that covered the back of my bedroom door. With it, my freckles seemed less, my hair richer in color and lustrous, and I knew the side slit would accent my legs nicely. Field hockey and bicycling had definitely given me killer legs.
“That one,” Joanna stated.
“I think so.”
“I knew it!” Evelyn bounced on her corner of the bed. Joanna looked at her.
“You were right.”
“Don’t get me wrong, the others are great, but this one, well, it’s awesome but . . . I don’t know. You can still see me, while I’m wearing it, you’re not just looking at dress, you know?”
“Absolutely.” Quick and efficient, Joanna began to repack the other dresses, while Evelyn found a suitable hanger for my choice. “I don’t even think it needs alterations if you wear heels.”
“And why wouldn’t I?”
Joanna’s gaze swept the side of my room, where a pile of sneakers, sandals and flip-flops partially blocked the closet. “Oh, I don’t know. Just a hunch.”
When we left my room, though, Joanna cast one long and thoughtful look behind her. I decided I’d better move the journal somewhere safer. Evelyn punched her in the arm for being slow and the two dissolved in giggles while I put my gown on the acquired hanger and tried, loftily, to ignore the hilarity before joining them in the hall. The moment seemed blissfully normal. I delivered meals, did assignments, and slept in my own bed.
That normalcy flew out the window a day later when I handed Brian the journal. I’d tried to do it once or twice before but got interrupted, and then it would slip my thoughts entirely. Self-defense on the book’s part, so I wouldn’t reveal it? Was it still, somehow, in hiding mode until delivered to Brian? I determined not to wait another moment, in case I forgot again and it became too late. I whispered to him, “I found a book.”
“A book?”
“At the tobacco shop. Not the one where we rescued you, but an older, nicer place up the street. An establishment, a fine tobacconist. There was a cigar box stored there, with your name on it, and under the second layer, I found a small leather journal. No one else saw it.”
His hand trembled in mine. “Could you read it?”
“Haven’t tried. I’ve kept it hidden.”
“Very wise of you. I wonder what it might be. I wrote several journals about this and that.”
“Hopefully it’s a very important that.” I slipped it into his hands.
He staggered back a step, as if I’d hit him with a two-by-four. I grabbed for his shoulder to steady him. “Hey!”
“I thought I’d never see this again.”
“But it’s yours, right?”
“Oh, yes.” He tapped an index finger on the cover, on words I couldn’t begin to read. “Of all the things I thought you might hand to me, I never thought of this. It says ‘How to Burn,’ and only I and a few others could have written it.”
“It’s a recipe book for phoenix wizards? DIY? For the regen process?”
He nodded. His hands shook a little, and he made no attempt to open the journal further. Finally, he looked up at me to break a long silence. “I made notes, you see, on the best and most painless ways to accomplish what is a necessary if nasty transition.” He rubbed his thumb over it several times, the thick gold ring gleaming as he did.
What could I say to that? “Wow” didn’t seem suitable.
“A snake sheds its skin. A cat gives up its nine lives to insatiable curiosity, hopefully gaining enough in wisdom to live long and full the last incarnation. The rest of us go rather blundering through, don’t we? But not I. I have to build a pyre, prepare myself and . . . drop a match.”
“Technically, they didn’t have matches back then.”
Brian’s gaze shot up to meet mine, belligerent, and then he caught the joke. He did give a soft laugh. “Technically. Also, some of the essential herbs and spices have changed a lot throughout the centuries. I’ve had to substitute some and manipulate others, but I can’t complain about the results. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”
“Or almost.”
“Indeed.” He stuffed the journal in his waistband. “Thank you, most deeply. I’ll be studying it closely to see how much of this quest we have before us.” He returned to his room, and the house lapsed into quiet. Hiram napping. Steptoe gone to check on his minions. Mom in her study, working on her class grading and another new article. Brian didn’t know it, but it seemed only a matter of time until Practical Urban Wizardry crept into her work as she absorbed the influence.
I decided on a nap. The quiet seemed perfect for it.
It couldn’t last. An hour or two later, I stood with the guys in the professor’s backyard, trying to determine the best way to enter the charred wreckage of his home.