by Sara Hanover
“Evidently not,” I flustered a bit. “Is that why the professor didn’t want a before-daylight meet?”
Carter’s breath tickled my forehead as he answered. “Yes. He thought I could not be at my full strength, but I didn’t need to be. All he needed was a spark. And you could have told me exactly what you had worked out with Germanigold.”
“That meant I would have had to tell you what I’d planned, and I didn’t think you would be okay with that. Freeing the stone and all.”
“You’d be right.” My young lion held me closer, warm and strong, his lips against my temple. “What if he’d been a better jumper?”
Goldie made a scornful noise. “I would simply have flown faster.”
I put my head back to view Carter’s profile. “What do you mean, all the professor needed was a spark?”
“I didn’t know what he had planned, but I recognized the phoenix ritual when I listened. He chanted it all the way in, and that was why I told you not to interrupt him. The consummation by fire is extremely powerful, and he evidently decided it was his only way of stopping Devian.”
“The two of you nuked him.” So Brian had been carrying his pyre in his pockets all these days, afraid to do what he had to until he had no choice.
“Basically.”
“Then where is the professor?”
We all looked about. No sign met our search.
Hiram gently took the Eye of Nimora from Aunt April’s brow and hung it about his wrist like a massive and priceless bracelet. He and Goldie kept their distance as we beat the brush, looking for a newborn wizard. We called his various names, over and over, as the sun came up and then cyclists and trail walkers began to fill their park.
And we found nothing. Not a scrap of clothing. Not a shoe. Not a pipe.
* * *
• • •
Days later, we survivors convened in the basement. My mom. Carter. Hiram. Germanigold. Steptoe. Scout trotting from one to another, tail wagging enthusiastically. Our circle stayed incomplete. Hiram still carried the Eye of Nimora, this time in a plush velvet drawstring bag. He pulled a thick envelope from his vest and handed it to me.
“Your payment, hard and deservedly earned.”
I took it. Thick and heavy and stuffed with as much hope as it held money. I hefted it.
“I’ll trade this.”
His jaw dropped. “For what?”
Germanigold’s gaze met mine across the room. I licked dry lips. “For permission for Goldie to visit the Broadstone home and retrieve her things and borrow a few things of her late husband’s, Mortimer Broadstone, his journals in particular. To be returned.”
“You asked before, and I took counsel on it, and aye, permission granted. But not for a price of money, not from you.”
I didn’t quite understand. “What, then?”
“Forgiveness. From both you and Germanigold, for my family being thick and rusty about the way things should be.”
“Oh, most forgiven,” cried Germanigold, and her wings came up in a spread of joy.
I hugged Hiram. “Always forgiven.”
“Good. Good.” He gulped down a relieved sigh.
Steptoe leaned against a stack of boxes. The professor’s perdition stick cane rested in his empty room, the crystal clear as he’d told us, and it waited, as did these treasures stored here.
The demon had his tail looped about one wrist, rather like the handle of a dapper cane. Steptoe flicked a nail against the barb of said tail. “Well, ’e’s not gone. That I’d know.”
“He’s not here.”
“True, that. But I’ve still a binding on me, which means th’ professor exists. All we’ve got to do is find ’im, ducks.”
I grabbed Steptoe’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “Does your tail know where?”
“Not likely.”
I handed my mother the envelope. “This,” I told her, “is for a sabbatical and the finishing of your dissertation. And maybe six months of my car insurance.”
“Tessa. You went through all this for that?”
“For us? For the future? You bet.” I cupped my hands around hers. “It’s you and me against the world, right?”
She tilted her head at me, and pointed at everyone surrounding us.
“Okay, well, maybe it’s you and you and you and you and us against the world.”
Hiram opened his bag and took out the Eye of Nimora.
“Why did you bring that?”
He dropped his chin. “You worked for it. I thought . . . well, I thought you deserved a look at it. To see what you fought for.” He placed the diadem gently on my head.
And I did see. I swept my gaze about the cellar and saw all of them revealed, for the briefest of moments, in the truth of themselves. Even my ghostly father who stood in the corner, a clear expression upon his face. The moment swept over me, like a tidal wave cleansing a beach, and then the vision dissipated. It wasn’t mine to keep.
Feeling a longing that matched what I’d seen on my father’s face, I removed the Eye of Nimora. “It . . . it’s awesome. Thank you, Hiram.” I passed the jewel to him. “I know your family will use it wisely.”
He took it. Scout leaned against his knees as he did. Nothing stands as sturdy as an Iron Dwarf. I swear he had a firm hold on it. Deedle deedle deedle dum deedle dum. The strains of the Für Elise ringtone sounded from his shirt pocket. “That’s Evelyn!” Cheeks pinking and words suddenly flustered, he reached for his phone. The Eye of Nimora jumped. He juggled it. We held our breaths. The ring tone stopped, but those massive hands seized. Then fumbled. The precious talisman slipped.
And then the gem, the real one, diadem and all, fell. Hiram and I stabbed for it, both missing.
It hit the cellar floor with a sound that shivered into my bones and teeth. It didn’t bounce but lay there as if dead. Shards split off and littered the tiles.
“Oh, no. No.”
Hiram and I bent over as one to gather it up.
I came up empty, my hands outstretched. He came up with the gem and the diadem, two separate pieces but the ruby mostly, miraculously, whole—except for two bright splinters shining up at me.
My left hand twitched. Sounding like a dread vacuum cleaner, the maelstrom stone gulped them down before anyone else could move. In a split-second, they disappeared.
“Oh, my,” said Steptoe. “That can’t be good.”
I blinked. My eyes watered a bit before my vision straightened out, and I could see again.
Everything.
The truth as it stood around me. Everything bright as day.
The aura surrounding all the professor’s boxes. The wards tying them in place. The enchantments the Iron Dwarves had sunk into the very foundation of the house when they’d rebuilt the cellar. The web that kept my father in place and out of time. And more. I thought I could begin naming True Names and wondered where that would lead me.
I looked down at my stone where two crimson eyes seemed to stare back at me. My vision improved past imagining.
This was going to be interesting. And beyond me.
“I am definitely,” I stated, “going to need some instruction on this new, improved sorceress business.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sara Hanover lives with a hoard of books, rather like a dragon, and works on improving her imagination daily. She loves plot twists and cats, family and crispy autumn leaves, traveling and good food. She thanks her parents for supporting her first efforts in writing, and her husband for continuing to encourage her, along with the many good people at DAW Books.
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Sara Hanover, The New Improved Sorceress
