by Nikki Hyson
“I wouldn’t. I didn’t.”
The Professor, crossing the distance to stand before her, considered the possibilities. A lie? Or does she honestly not remember? Gently taking hands that trembled with the frailty of autumn leaves, he murmured, “Hush. I know.” He needed to be careful or she’d crumble before he replaced her. “Have you been watching anyone?” Keeping his tone light, conversational, he asked, “Is there anything I should see?” He felt her tremors still.
They both gazed into the mirrors, fogged over but starting to clear. She worried her lower lip. “There is one.”
“Show me.”
The mirror cleared. Brown eyes stared back from it, revealing only a portion of the face within; unfocused on either of them.
It took The Professor a moment, but he understood the reflection. The eyes they watched sat looking into the mirror of a car, gaze focused on the driver.
He frowned. “Who is he?”
The Oracle shook her head. “I don’t know. He hasn’t spoken to me yet.”
The Professor continued staring at the young man. He seemed fixated upon the car’s driver, but that scarcely mattered. The sorrow burning through his soul, reflecting up and out of his eyes, gave the Professor hope. I can work with that. If only they could find his writer before she fell apart.
Moriarty shifted his scrutiny to the bare sliver revealed in the mirror’s reflection. Wind tousled strawberry hair, pale skin and a flash of gray green eyes reflected back at him. He knew that face, though he’d only seen it once before. “Lily.” She’d tumbled into his best assassin only yesterday. “Of course.”
“Should I continue looking?”
“No. You did fine, my dear. Absolutely perfect.” He looked away, hiding the smile before it became a grin. “Get some rest.” There would be another Oracle before the next full moon. And James, perhaps he was the foil Moriarty longed for after all. Holmes’ replacement.
At the door he looked back a final time. His Oracle stood before Lily’s mirror, hand raised to touch its silver surface. A look of lost wonder on the Oracle’s snow-white face.
The Professor breathed a sigh of relief. Her time could end before the insanity reached its zenith. He had no wish to fight any Oracle during their final hour when the rage over two lost lives made every one of them his equal.
14
The last traffic light passing overhead, Lily glanced into her mirror. Amos, catching her concern, grumbled his thoughts before settling deeper into his Sherpa throne. She chuckled, clicking on the radio. “I know, Sweetie. It was a long night.”
The source of both their exhaustion lay curled in a fleece-lined box beside her. The puppy snoozed peacefully, tiny snores muffled by a couple of Amos’ grudgingly surrendered toys.
A little before lunch, Lily kneaded the brakes to a complete, rocky halt. Throwing it in park, her eyes slid shut, counting backward from five. A-roooo!!! Amos despaired of her pitiful slowness somewhere between three and four. AR-Roooo!!! It had been the beagle’s opinion for the past quarter hour, when he woke up and realized where they were.
Releasing her Zen for another time, Lily slid from behind the wheel and moved to open the hatchback. Ejecting himself from the vehicle, the beagle landed amid the excited barks and bays of three other dogs all twice his size. For a moment, enthusiastically thwacking tails claimed Lily’s attention. Demanding noses pushing forward expectantly, her hand fell to the same ear more than once. Scolding, laughing, and loving all at once, she ordered, “Down! Down, you brats!”
Oblivious, all four hounds took off across the fields to harry goats and search for lost bones.
Exhaling a long breath of relief, Lily grabbed her backpack from behind the front seat. Home.
The green kitchen door squeaked open. “Lily!”
“Hey, Mum.”
“Peter, Lily’s here,” Sarah Westfell called back into the cottage before hurrying forward to greet her daughter. “Oh, Sweetheart. How was the drive? Did Amos drive you absolutely crazy?”
“Just the last bit.” Lily welcomed the hug, gripping a bit longer than intended as she inhaled the familiar lilac scent. At the end of two days it would start to overpower, but right now she’d never smelled anything so lovely. “How’s Dah?” she dropped near a whisper before he joined them.
“Better, I think. He honestly thinks we can sort his attic in a weekend.”
Lily nodded. Don’t push. The dark circles and weight-loss told her different. Be the break she needs. She let it go, gesturing towards the passenger seat. “Brought you present.”
Sarah glanced through the still open rear to the open box. “You didn’t.” As if on cue, the silky-eared spaniel peeked over the box flaps. Looking around, it gave a little Ruff?
“Oh, Lily, you did.” The puppy filled Sarah’s arms two seconds later, kisses exchanged between them. “She’s gorgeous.”
Lily watched the two become acquainted, her father’s footstep soft on the grass behind her. A moment later, he hugged her into his side.
“There’s my girl. Ah, what’ve you done now?” he added, looking to wife and puppy.
Lily leaned into the hug, her own arm going around his waist. He felt a bit thinner, but still good. She dropped a kiss to his beard-scruffed cheek before addressing the charges against her. “A friend rescued her, but couldn’t keep a puppy. I couldn’t say no.”
“Never could. Your mother will want to name her River.”
Sarah stepped into the kitchen, puppy cuddled close, then came immediately back out. “She’ll need to pee. We’ll name her River.”
Watching her carry the newest pack member to the side of the house, Peter chuckled.
Following him into the kitchen, Lily couldn’t help but tease. “Been watching much Doctor Who lately?”
“She’s rather fond of the Matt Smith years. We just restarted his run. Care for a cuppa?”
“Love one. Shall I put on the water or get the cups?”
“Cups, please. Ah. Looks like your mother already has a pot brewing. Best to let her finish.” He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. “She doesn’t like me meddling with the tea.” Gently, as if his energy had already ebbed, he eased himself down into it. “So, what’s new with my girl?”
Lily, dropping her bag near the woodpile, took the seat opposite. “Long week.” Reaching casually for a forbidden sugar lump from the blue-chipped bowl, she ripped off the figurative bandage. “They let me go at the office. Said they’re downsizing.”
“What a shame. A lot of people are.” Peter paused, gaze sweeping over her face. “I see.” He nodded. “You don’t believe them.”
“No,” she admitted.
“Were they unhappy with your work then? Afraid to say it, or didn’t want to give you a bad reference?”
“That’s just it. Doctor McNally spoke with me just last week about the possibility of going full time. He said business has been up. Loved my work.” Lily ran her fingertips across the grain of the table’s wood. She’d followed the knotted trails during every meal of her childhood. “I think they called it downsizing so I can’t question it.”
“What could the real reason be?”
Shaking her head slowly, Lily frowned. “That’s just it.” No less puzzled after a day spent trying to unriddle it, she admitted slowly, “I don’t know.” Changing topics, she lifted her gaze from table to father. “Oh. I met someone.”
Peter’s eyebrows rose. A smile couldn’t keep the solitary word tucked quietly in the corner of his mouth. Finally! He leaned back, nonchalance a ruse. Lily knew that bait of old. “Really?” he elongated the first syllable until it was almost two.
She spread her fingers wide. “It’s not like that. Not even a little”
“Ah.”
Lily slapped his arm lightly. “Stop it. Thirty isn’t old. Besides, you wouldn’t want me to settle for just anyone and right now I don’t have time for dating. Wouldn’t work.”
He sighed, his long-suffering legendary and loudly
documented. “I just think it’d be fascinating to meet the fellow you find interesting. I wonder what your type is. Do you have a type?”
Old memories, frequently dusted and never quite on the shelf, panged deep. For an instant anger fluttered, demanding the return of a father who never forgot she’d already lost the man she loved. Not his fault whispered through her; heart hammering a staccato beat. I know. Oh, God, I know.
A bubble of laughter broke on Lily’s lips. I can pretend. That this could be anything but a serious conversation? I can do this for them.
Sarah entered before she answered, River already trotting at heel. Lily flicked a glance at her mother’s back, then to her father. This he remembered, and winked. Her smile gained substance. “You know, Dah. I don’t believe I do.”
Sarah, straining the tea, paused to look back. “Don’t believe you do what?”
They ignored her, Peter posing his own question. “So, a long-haired beatnik and a clean shaven, well-dressed lawyer would stand an equal chance with you?”
Sarah set down the china pot with a clank that made her wince. “What on earth are you two talking about?”
Resting her cheek against one hand, the conversation flowed between Lily and her father. “Is that actually an option?” she wondered. They’d long ago crafted the art of teasing her mother without ever casting an overt word her way. “Do beatniks still roam the countryside?”
“Well, Lily Rose what does your generation call the unkempt rebels?”
“The truly scruffy ones are generally gamers, but that’s only because they won’t get off the sofa.” Her brows arched into fine points, betraying dimple blossoming. “They wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Good to know.”
“As for rebels.” Lily stopped to consider. “Not so many anymore. Lots of unhappy followers out there.”
“More’s the pity,” Peter said, genuine regret tanging the words. Still curious, he nudged her with an elbow. “What of the lawyer?”
“Slim to none. Can’t be trusted to tell the truth.”
“So, it isn’t that you have no type, but there isn’t one to suit you.”
Unexpected truth gleaned from a silly question. With a little surprise, Lily nodded. “I suppose so. No one can compare with Stephan. He belonged to his own type.”
Memories flickering, her father reached across the table, palm up. She laid her hand in it. His thumb crossed its back. “True,” he said. “Now, what about—”
She glanced mother-ward with a silent shush.
He nodded, finishing the question with scarce a break. “What about your novel? How’s it going?”
“Only a week left and I’m not exactly ahead of the word count curve. Blindsided by distractions, but still maintaining. ”
“You shouldn’t have come this weekend. You should have come after December first.”
Sarah set cups of tea in front of them. “And what would she have done with River for two weeks?”
Peter took a sip. “So, it’s to be River then? She seemed like a lady full of trouble if you ask me. Could be courting disaster with that name.”
“Oh, hush. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The dog door flapped violently in response, scrabbling paws and one startled puppy squeak announcing the arrival of Merry, Pippin and Beatrix. The human trio watched the herd of dogs pass; destruction and yelps following in their wake.
The spaniels checked badly at the oven, scraping and sliding on woven rugs that’d lost their rubber backing some years ago. Pippin didn’t check at all, slamming into the wall with a grunt. The other two, circuit complete, barreled back towards the door flap.
Amos, prevented from joining by his fear of the flapping door, bayed wildly on the other side. Poking a tentative nose forward, he set the door rocking again.
Sarah laid her hand on Peter’s shoulder, concern tinting her cheeks. She tried, uselessly, to gain control of the moment. “Take it outside. The lot of you!”
Peter chuckled, shaking his head. “Let them be.”
Amos, finally brave enough to stick his head through, eyed the thundering stampede with yelped protest. His head pulled back a half second before Beatrix hit it. The other two followed like volleys of furry chaos, barks fading to silence.
Peter, looking at the bunched rugs, flipped water bowl, and rumpled puppy sitting dazed among it all, laughed loudly. “I rest my case.”
Lily struggled hard to swallow her last sip of tea before snorting laughter.
Sarah, wiping her eyes free from tears, attempted to counter Peter’s claim. “But I named Beatrix after the writer.”
That old defense. Lily smiled.
“She wrote of naughty little rabbits and foolish mice. The dog never had a chance.”
Lily, thinking she’d recovered, burst out laughing again. Patting her leg, she coaxed River over. “Ah, girlie. You are going to have so much fun here.”
15
Lily gazed across the sunbeams tumbling through the attic’s arched windows. “How long’s it been since Dah came up here?” Lifting an Alice in Wonderland first edition from its brown paper wrappings, she carefully opened it to the copyright page.
Sarah didn’t look up, adding a slim, leather bound volume to her growing pile. “What do you mean?”
“This packing slip is from two months ago. He’s never gone so long without organizing his books.” Dust motes sparkled between them, alighting on both boxes and books. Harboring no desire to salt the wound, Lily refrained from mentioning the dust.
“He’s been busy. Orders keep coming. Books to be fixed and restored. You know.”
“Yes.” She’d glanced out, at the path to his workshop, from her bedroom window. Less traveled since her last visit, the danger of spring weeds seemed inevitable. Lily knew Dah’s hands weren’t quite as calloused as they’d been in the summer. She knew the cup wavered on its way to his lips, clattering back into the saucer after a too brief sip.
Lily knew more than she wanted to guess, but only one thing she wished to remain ignorant about. Clearing a non-existent frog, she breached the answering silence. “I know. How are you doing?” Please, lie to me.
Kindly, Sarah did with the softest of smiles. “Fine. We’re both fine. He told you about my new art class, didn’t he?”
“Yes. How many students do you have?”
“Only nine.”
“I’m sure next semester will be double. Word just has to get out that you’re back.”
“Hmm.” Sarah glanced over the top of her reading glasses. “We’ll see how happy they are once they have to stretch their own canvases.”
Laughter bubbled where only a moment before a sob had nearly broken. “I remember the first time you made me do that.”
“You had the hardest time getting it taut.”
“I was nine.”
“True. You liked doing the gesso though.” A near smile flickered with the memory. “White all over your nose.”
Lily laughed for them both. Slipping the conversation into a more practical vein, she gestured with a book. “Arranged as always by author, title and year of publication?”
“Yes.”
“And what about this?”
“This?” Squinting, Sarah pushed the glasses up onto the bridge of her nose.
Lily held one up. “Both Alice first editions from the same year.” She checked then added, “One is illustrated. One isn’t. Which one do you want first?”
Sarah considered. “The non-illustrated first. Your father prefers them.”
Moving to the fourth of ten bookshelves, Lily shuffled them into order. The red oak shelves ran the length of the room, floor to ceiling monuments built to worship the written word. Fingertip grazing both the familiar and beloved, she wound her way through the world of Lewis Carroll. Stopping between the fourth and fifth copy of Alice in Wonderland, she counted aloud, “That makes twelve.”
“Fourteen,” her mother corrected, holding out two more.
&n
bsp; Lily took them and the following third. She knew the goal her father reached for. The first five copies, of each edition, of every title on some list only he knew. “Why?” Not the first time she’d thought the question and at least the fifth time she’d asked it. “Why so many?”
She didn’t expect anything other than a gentle rebuff or vague sidestep. Certainly not the truth.
“To keep them safe.”
“Safe from what?” Lily hesitated, reading something in the cloud shadow passing across her mother’s eyes. “Safe from who?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about his past. Tea? I think we could use some tea. Earl Grey or chai?”
“Mum.” Lily captured her mother’s hands, stilling the flutter of anxious fingers. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Sarah’s lips parted on a breath, holding there for a long moment. At last they shut with a small shake of her head. “Not mine to tell.” Pulling her hands free, she kissed Lily’s cheek. “Earl Grey or chai?”
Lily returned the gesture, lips warming against the soft skin as always. “Forever chai.”
“I know.” Sarah turned to the stairs. “Can’t blame me for trying.” Steps nearly flight, but firm enough to retain the dignity of only urgent tea brewing purpose.
Lily let her go without another word, attention shifting to the half-empty box beside her. Withdrawing the packing slip, she scanned the titles.
Most were half memorized repeats of others already on the shelves. Treasures, to be sure, but nothing to savour. Then one caught her eye. One that’d never entered her father’s sanctum before. This would be the first copy of her favorite.
Gently, she lifted the brown leather volume from under a copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles. Tilting it to catch the mote speckled sunlight, the gilt edges caught like fire; a glory of gold and silver clasped edges.
