by Sara Hanover
“I did. And it’s yours now?”
“Yes. Want to come sit in it with me, soon as you’ve finished?”
He caught my look. “Ah. I’d be honored. Taking me for a drive?”
“Not yet. I’ve work to do around here and finish up for class, but soon. I just want to sit in it.”
Hiram inclined his head gracefully and made short work of his treat, dusted his hands after he surrendered his plate and thanked my mom, and followed me out the door.
It still felt strange to open the car up with keys that belonged to me. I sat in the driver’s seat and watched Hiram make his way to the passenger side. He slid in and settled comfortably, and the old car, bless its steel hide, settled a little on its shocks and struts but didn’t complain too much. He fit well.
“I thought so.”
His auburn eyebrow rose. “What?”
“The front seats are mismatched. Yours, if you may note, is bigger, wider, and deeper. This used to be the professor’s car and it looks as if he customized it a bit so he could drive your father around.”
“Ah.” Hiram took stock. “Yes, so it would appear. It fits me well, although cars are not my favorite mode of transportation.”
“Horse and buggy?”
“Of course not! SUV.” Hiram winked at me. “I’m glad you brought me out here. We have to talk, and I needed a bit of privacy.”
“Me, too.”
He waved a hand at me. “Ladies first.”
I took a deep breath. “There’s never been a good time to ask this, but Mortimer once mentioned he knew my father . . . and possibly what had happened to him. He did some work in my world that included debt collection, and both my aunt and my dad had gambling problems.”
Hiram inclined his head. “He could very well have known both of your family.”
“Would he have had any idea how my dad got sucked into the ghost zone?”
Hiram sat very still for a long moment. I could see the muscles along his jaw tense and release, tense and release, before he finally answered. “That I cannot tell you.”
“Don’t know or can’t disclose?”
“They are not the same thing.”
“I know that,” I told him seriously. “I don’t know if you’re bound by any kind of oath or pledge or rule, but I’ve got to find out what happened so I can undo it.”
“You have a dilemma, then, because I can’t help you. I will, however, do what I can to help you find out what you need to know.”
Disappointed, I sat back in the driver’s seat. Hiram spread his hands apologetically. “It’s the best I can do, Tessa, for now. My sources, however, are widespread. There’s that, at least.”
It didn’t feel like enough, but I thanked him anyway. We sat in silence for a moment until he noted the low mileage and a few other features, praising my birthday surprise.
Finally, I asked, “What did you need?”
He looked at the floor boards. “A deed, if you will. A quest, of sorts. And it’s not as a payback for your bracers. Those are a present, freely given. They are yours whether you tell me yay or nay.”
A quest? “Tell me.”
“You’ve heard, no doubt, that we are in a bit of turmoil.”
“Your clans?”
He nodded.
“It’s been mentioned. How serious is it?”
“Not very, yet, but it could become fatal at a moment’s notice.”
I could hear the dismay in his voice, and I patted his knee. “Fighting?”
“All-out war.” He looked up. “We can’t have that. There are few enough as ’tis, and with Malender returned, we need to be united and focused.”
“Is he the Great Evil?”
“We don’t know. Many think such. He is powerful, and he does cause a great deal of consternation. Truth to tell, Tessa, he is not remembered all that clearly, for there aren’t many records of him and his purposes. We are long-lived and keep good journals, but he existed in the misty first years of our civilization before he disappeared.”
I thought of my dream of him, and all the souls he took for his own power, and a cold shiver ran through me. Hiram didn’t notice, though, wrapped in his own worries. I’d promised to listen to him, so I pressed. “So what kind of quest is it?”
“Something has been taken, something very valuable and important—not just to my clan, but to all magic peoples.”
This felt like pulling out fingernails. Or teeth. “Okay, but why me and what is it?” And my palms began itching before he answered.
“It is best that you search for it because you have no personal stake in it. And yet you’re nearly one of us, so you can understand how important it is. Also, the last possessor was female and it will return mostly easily to a female hand.”
“And it is . . .”
“The Eye of Nimora.”
I recoiled. “You want me to find an eyeball? Ewwww.”
“No, no, no. I mean, yes, I want you to find it, but it’s not an eyeball. It’s a ruby. Large as a goose egg. It did have its own 24-karat setting, but it could have been removed.”
“A ruby? Like in emeralds, sapphires, and rubies?”
“Aye.”
I tried to imagine how much a ruby as big as a goose egg would be worth, and failed. I’d google that later. “What are the odds it’s still in one piece? That someone wouldn’t have cut it down into several priceless gems? A jewel thief likely would have done that first thing to make it easier to fence.”
“If they knew what they had, they wouldn’t dare.”
“Hiram, this is the real world here. And who is Nimora and why don’t you ask her what happened to it?”
“She’s been gone for a millennium, but her memory remains as the gem.”
“Mystical, okay. Who had it last and why would anyone want it?”
“I’ll answer the last question first: the Eye sees truth. I don’t have to explain that one to you; the value is clear, and we Iron Dwarves have used it to help rule fairly for centuries. Among all our peoples, uncomplicated truth is even more rare than egg-sized rubies. It keeps our interactions fair and just. Some tribes are incapable of simple honesty. The elves alone are—”
“There are elves?”
“Aye. They don’t lie, but neither do they tell the precise truth. They’re a very slippery people to deal with, and then there are those who live and die by magic whether human or immortal. To them, truth is a blade that slices both ways. Vampires are a law unto themselves—”
“Vampires?”
“Very few and rare but generally extremely powerful despite their rarity.”
“I can imagine.”
“You’re better off if you don’t.” Hiram shifted and the whole car moved with him, rocking up and down and side to side. “We Broadstones carry the justice system in our hands, and the Eye of Nimora is crucial. We have a trial coming up for which the Eye is desperately needed.”
“Okay, then.” I felt a little dizzy. “Who had it last?”
“It was a bride price from Mortimer to Goldie.”
“Morty gave it to your stepmother?” My voice climbed. I had experience with harpies, interactions that I hadn’t liked at the time and vowed never to repeat. It had been a harpy who’d killed Morty, and I knew that Hiram knew that well.
“Yes.”
“Whatever for?”
“To prove his love to her, and his trust in her.”
“And she absconded with the thing when she disappeared.”
“We’re not sure. It might have gone first or slightly thereafter or with. That’s part of what we need to find out. And we need to find Germanigold to know. And then we need to find the Eye of Nimora before any more tribes learn it’s gone, and our whole system breaks down. When she was by my father’s side, the system stayed whole and workable despite
the fact she was a harpy, with no one the wiser that she actually held the gem. She gave up most of her life for him. The Eye of Nimora saw for us as it’s meant to do, and we had no problems even though it was Goldie’s.”
“But she was technically one of you.”
“Exactly.”
I thought of the day I’d come to deliver one of the professor’s meals and I’d overheard Mortimer talking with him. I hadn’t know who or what he was then as I eavesdropped from the kitchen, only that his rich and profoundly bass tones filled the professor’s small house and he’d wanted the wizard to find his wife, who’d been taken. And the professor had refused to interfere. I’d wondered why then and now.
I also wondered if the professor in Brian’s head would remember—or tell me. I thought some more before saying, “So this is just a little quest.”
Hiram looked at me. “Why, no. This is deadly important.”
“I was being facetious.”
“Oh.”
I crossed my wrists in the air over the dashboard, wondering if my new bracers and I were up to the task at hand. My mother would be sternly against it, and Carter would probably have conniption fits, but I thought I could guilt Brian into backing me. After all, if he’d gone after Goldie when first asked, a great deal of what followed might not have happened. Despite all the manipulations I began to plan, I still felt like a superhero. I heard Hiram swallow tightly. I thought of his friendship and his father’s friendship and made a corporate decision.
“I hate to ask, but we’re going to need some operating funds.”
“I am prepared to offer you—” and he named a princely sum that would cover my mother’s salary for the next two years, if we were frugal, and both of us knew how to squeeze a dollar until the ink ran out of it. She could go on sabbatical. She could finally finish her dissertation and get a tenure track job with more money, benefits, and stability. She could publish. I could give her one of her dreams. I didn’t for an instant feel sorry for the Iron Dwarf clan because I knew they had very deep pockets and they could well afford a dozen of me doing the job.
“So you’ll . . .”
“Do it? Of course.” I patted the steering wheel. “Looks like I got a car in the nick of time!”
CHAPTER FIVE
SHAKESPEAREAN THINGS
“HE ASKED YOU and not me, so I fail to see how your question is relevant.”
I braced my elbows on the kitchen table and stared, not at Brian but at the long, tall, and cold glass of sweet tea in front of me. As a girl of the South, I am prepared to swear that iced sweet tea is our mascot. I drew my initials in the dewy condensation coating it. “That last book you made me read can be boiled down to ‘every single thing is relative.’”
“That’s what you got out of it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good. That was, indeed, the lesson. It will apply, later on, to sympathetic magic if you wish to study it—”
“Which means that my question is. Relevant,” I added.
“Ah. Well, then, my answer is no. I don’t care to get involved.”
“Professor, your mouth is writing checks that Brian’s going to have to cash some day.”
“Are you suggesting I’m leaving my future self with karma that must be paid?”
“Actually, he’s your present self. Go look in the mirror. And yes, Brian is going to have to deal.”
“He’ll be equipped.”
I shook my head. “Not if you burn all his friendship bridges first. And besides, you’re just sulky because Hiram didn’t ask you first.”
“I am not sulking.”
“And you don’t even know what he asked me to do. I should think you’d be curious.” I took a satisfying gulp, eying him over the glass. He reached for reading glasses he no longer wore and settled for brushing hair out of his eyes and glaring at his hand.
He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before looking back at me. “I do admit to being curious.”
“Listening won’t commit you. But you might know something that I need to know.”
“That is true. My experience in life far exceeds yours.”
“By several centuries.”
He pursed his lips. “At least. All right. Talk away.”
Now it seemed to be my turn to squirm a bit. The professor guessed he’d had a listener to at least part of a private conversation those long months ago, but we’d never discussed it. I tapped a finger on the table. “I think it starts with Mortimer and Goldie.”
“But you’re not certain.”
“No. I mean, there’s a lot of history with people like Morty that I didn’t even know existed. But Goldie was taken—”
“She disappeared.”
“Morty told you she was abducted.”
“He may not have wanted to believe the truth.” The professor watched me steadily with Brian’s guileless face, but the eyes held a shrewd glint to them. Narrowed, even, as I admitted I’d eavesdropped on him, at least the once. His mouth tightened.
“I’ll give you that one. I may find out more when I investigate—”
“You’re not getting involved with the harpies!” His professorial voice rose.
“It may be part of the job.”
“They killed Mortimer.”
“Yeah, and as far as I saw, he dealt a pretty mortal blow in return. I don’t want to wade into that mess, but it seems to be part of the problem. An object is missing. They may have it or know where it went, so I need to know how to contact them.”
“I don’t think I’ll be telling you that. Maybe you’ll have better luck with Carter or Steptoe.” His tone of voice suggested that I wouldn’t, not if he got to them first and warned them off. I etched another initial into the side of my glass.
“I know at least one of them will not only want to give me information but will come along with me. I’m certain Steptoe will be as interested in the Eye of Nimora as Hiram is, and the Iron Dwarves want it back. That’s where the harpies come in.”
The professor sat back in his chair, stunned. “It’s missing?”
“Yup. Evidently, that’s the cause of the trouble in the clans at the moment. It was the dowry for Germanigold, and she either took it with her when she was kidnapped or told someone where to find it or . . . well, that’s what I have to find out.”
“Bride price? Oh, Morty. My dear, foolish, lovestruck old friend.” The professor hung his head down, in mourning.
“Not so foolish. The marriage allied two tribes together and rather successfully for . . . how long were they married?”
“Three short decades.”
I mentally tried to age Hiram in my mind as the son from Mortimer’s first marriage, and couldn’t and gave up. Everyone involved in magic seemed to have a phenomenal lifeline. You would have thought the opposite would be true. “From my point of view, that’s not shabby.”
“Pifff.” He straightened up. “You’re positive it’s the Eye of Nimora?”
“Egg-sized. Ruby red. Missing. Truth seeing or something like that. Needed for trials.” I ticked them off on my fingers.
“That would be it. Although its usage is not widely known and you should not be disseminating that information.” He got up abruptly and went to the fridge to pour his own glass of tea. “He has no business involving you in tracking it down.”
“All I need to know is how to find the harpies.”
“You’re going to the nest?”
“If that’s where I’ll find them, then, yes, that’s where I’m going.”
He added some sugar to a tea that was already sweet enough that the spoon could stand by itself straight up in the glass, and made a bit of noise stirring it in. “I have to go with you.”
“I doubt they’ll let you in. They seem to have this Amazon thing going on.”
“True. I’ll
stay in the car, but I’ll be prepared to help if you need it.”
“How far are you going with me?”
He gulped down half his drink. “All the way, if necessary. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Eye of Nimora for myself before we, ah, return it. If we find it and survive.”
“That’s the spirit!” I beamed at him and finished the last sip of my drink just as the side door clattered and Mom yelled, “I’m home!”
We both went suspiciously quiet as she entered the house.
* * *
• • •
Realizing even the hobbits had a fellowship considerably larger than two participants, I mulled over my options about other arms I could twist to join my endeavor. Simon would jump at it, but I had to consider that his self-interest would probably come first, although he’d been helpful in the past. I thought him trustworthy, but the professor and Carter disagreed with me, and I couldn’t exactly blame them. Minions of Steptoe had frightened and pressured the professor into making a hasty escape via fire and put him into this predicament in the first place. Neither party had confessed to me the reasons for the unfortunate misunderstanding, but I’d find out, sooner or later. As Shakespeare used to say, the Truth Will Out. Or maybe I’d just find the Eye of Nimora and take a look for myself. A few minutes with a relic like that might possibly straighten out several puzzles in my current life.
Carter would be the most difficult because he held a full-time job, but then, I kept nearly full-time student hours, so I wouldn’t be out at all times of the day or night anyway. His hours seemed a bit more problematic. He didn’t work eight to five, or even night shift, anymore but had gone into an undercover operation he wouldn’t discuss. It left him often with batches of time and just as frequently with no time at all. He wouldn’t be much happier than the professor about what I’d promised to do, but he’d understand when I explained the opportunity it would give my mother to earn the price Hiram had quoted for the job. Wouldn’t he? He’d been on our case from the beginning when we finally reported Dad missing, and I knew he’d kept watch on me when he could. He’d been little more than a rookie then, fresh out of the police academy and home from the Middle East, and now he was an officer, making his way up the ranks very quickly. I’d like to think it’s because our city recognizes a good man when they see one, but I could be very naïve about politics. The Society had placed him as a liaison, of sorts, so he held a position created specifically just for him without anyone in the police being aware of the politics. He knew we needed the money. He’d understand the lure of the job.
