Argentum
Debbie Manber Kupfer
Rocking Horse Publishing, St. Louis, Missouri
First printing, October 2014
Copyright © Debbie Manber Kupfer, 2014
All rights reserved.
ISBN 10: 0990829529
ISBN 13: 978-0-9908295-2-2
Cover design by Shannon Yarbrough, St. Louis, Missouri
The characters and events in this book are fictitious.
www.RockingHorsePublishing.com
DEDICATION
In memory of my father, Walter Manber, who loved
magic and cats.
“If you will it, it is no dream.”
Theodor Herzl
Argentum is the thread that binds all magic. When Merlin fashioned the first shapeshifter charms, he selected silver for his work. The silver wand, the silver scrying bowl, the silver charms of the shapeshifters.
All contain the essence of argentum.
Prologue
Out of the darkness came a face more terrible than any Miri had ever seen before: huge fangs dripping with blood, eyes once blue, now glowing yellow and red, reflecting the blood that flowed all around them. Miri tried to scream, but nothing came from her lips. Echoing through her head was terrible laughter.
“You thought you were done with me, Miri, but I am immortal. I can never die. And now I am inside you! Thank you, Miri. Once, long ago, I gave you life and now you are returning the favor. How thoughtful of you! Oh, what fun we are going to have together. You have brought me into P.A.W.S.—exactly where I want to be.”
Miri screamed. She desperately tried to shut off her mind, shut off the power that was feeding Alistair, but she knew she couldn’t; the power was deep inside her now, and it was growing. And as if to illustrate this, the figure in front of her expanded upwards, towering higher and higher, ten feet, now twenty feet, and still growing, so high that it seemed like it was merging with the stars—a mass of muscle and golden brown striped fur, both tiger and wolf, that oozed power, more power than Miri could ever have imagined possible. From those lofty heights, Alistair gazed down at Miri. He flexed his gigantic claws and reached towards her, his terrible roar penetrating every cell in her body . . .
Miri woke up breathing hard. In the bunk above her lay a white Persian cat, curled in a ball with one paw over her eyes. She mewed slightly in her sleep. Miri glanced up at Lilith, envying her sleep, her security in her cat form. Despite months of training with Danny, Miri still had never learned to do that.
She thought about her dream. Again, it had happened again. She’d dreamed of Alistair. If it was a dream. Miri wasn’t sure about that, and that uncertainty terrified her. The dreams had started the first night after she had destroyed Alistair, after she’d seen him crumble into dust. Except she could still feel him inside her, even now when she was awake. She could always feel him. And she was scared. Scared of the terrible thing she’d taken inside her. Yet she told no one about it, not Danny or Josh and certainly not Jessamyn. She knew she should tell Jessamyn, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She felt for the charm around her neck—the silver cat amulet her omama had given her when she was ten years old. It was cool and comforting and its green eyes were dull as if sleeping. But then, in the corner of her eye, she noticed a yellow glow coming from the drawer in her bedside table. She opened it and took out another amulet, the other charm. This one was burning hot, and the eyes of the tabby cat were glowing yellow. This one she believed had belonged to her opapa, Max. It was only a theory, though. All she knew for sure was that it was all that was left when Alistair crumbled to dust, and that it was vitally important. That much she could sense. She knew she needed to find out the truth that lay within it. Find out before it was too late . . .
Chapter 1
In the years that Josh had been living in the P.A.W.S. Institute of the Midwest, he had not been able to visit his mother, Sarah Sinclair, as often as he would have liked. The Institute’s business came first, but on the first night of Passover, Josh always went home for the Seder—the ceremonial meal that he and his family had celebrated every year as far back as he could remember.
Up until the age of nine, while his father was alive, their house was often filled with guests on this first Seder night. There were friends of his parents, or distant relatives he could never truly place. On the second night, they would have another Seder with just the three of them. Josh always enjoyed this one better. On the first night, the guests were often impatient, anxious to get to the festive meal; with reason, his mother was truly an excellent cook. On the second night, though, they took their time and didn’t skimp going through the Haggadah; each took turns telling the story.
His father and mother would read each section in Hebrew and Josh would repeat them in English, and after the meal they would sing all the songs. Josh loved those songs, particularly the final one, Had Gadya, a fable like those in his storybooks, his children’s Haggadah, illustrated with pictures of the cat, and the dog, and the young goat.
Since his father’s death, there had been no guests in the Sinclair household for Seder. Each year Josh would come and he and his mother would read through the Haggadah together, and eat the modest meal that Sarah Sinclair cooked, just the two of them. Often, Josh would notice tears in the corners of Sarah’s eyes during the Seder as she remembered the parts that Albert always used to chant.
This year, however, it was different. Josh had asked his mother if he could bring guests. Sarah had readily agreed. She enjoyed entertaining and was happy to hear that Josh had friends—a girlfriend, even!
Mandy was nervous about the idea of meeting Josh’s mom.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” she protested.
“Of course she’ll like you,” reassured Josh, putting his arm around her, “what’s not to like?”
But with the holiday approaching, Mandy was feeling a little down. Normally, when she used to live at the Saul Emmanuel Academy, she’d have gone home to her parents for Passover. She had asked Jessamyn if that might still be possible, but Jessamyn had determined that it was too early. Her parents had been told that she’d been accepted on a special school exchange program overseas and would not be returning until the summer.
Jessamyn, sensing Mandy’s disappointment, had suggested that maybe shopping might cheer her up. She’d generously given Mandy and Miri fifty dollars apiece and sent them off on the Metro to the Galleria. Wandering around the mall had been a weird experience for the girls. During the months at P.A.W.S. they had all but forgotten that the regular world outside the Institute existed, but here that world continued as normal, oblivious to the strangeness not so many miles away.
It was actually fun pretending they were normal teenagers hanging out at the Galleria. They laughed like crazy at the Easter Bunny, who appeared to be drunk as he swayed back and forth while a bunch of rambunctious toddlers clambered all over him for a photo op. They tried on fancy dresses in the swankiest stores in the mall. It occurred to Miri that she was enjoying herself, that she’d never done this before, never “hung out” with a friend at the mall like a normal teenager.
They wandered through Macy’s, trying perfumes and lotions. Giggling and flirting with a cute cashier. Then suddenly Miri pulled Mandy away, and they ducked into a fitting room.
“What was that for?” hissed Mandy.
Miri peered out behind the door of the fitting room. She pointed at a woman up by the Chanel counter. She was dressed in a fur jacket over a navy tailored suit, and wore impossibly high red stiletto heels.
“That’s my Aunt Cynthia,” explained Miri in a whisper, “she mustn’t see me.”
“She looks rich,” obser
ved Mandy, “but . . . not at all happy.”
It was true, Cynthia had lost the sparkle she once possessed. In the last few months, she’d gradually been withdrawing from her circle of friends. The fundraisers and coffee mornings bored her. She was restless. She constantly believed that life had left her behind, discarded her on the wayside. There had been something else, someone else, but that part of her mind was fogged. She couldn’t summon up the memories. If someone had peered at her closely, they would have seen the dark circles under her eyes showing through the layers of concealer and foundation. Sleep, it seemed, was part of an earlier, more easygoing life, one that today felt like it had happened to a different person, and she would lie awake at night, thoughts racing through her brain, listening to the loud snores of David, her husband, sprawled out on two thirds of their king-sized bed.
David still wouldn’t talk to her, and continued to spend most of his daytime hours in his office. He, too, looked tired and withdrawn and worried, deeply worried. When he wasn’t working, he would spend hours wandering aimlessly around Forest Park, searching for she knew not what. Cynthia knew about this because she’d hired a private detective to track him. She’d worried that he might have been having an affair. At first she’d searched for David’s friend Alistair Wolfe, but with no luck. He seemed to have no agency listed in the phone book. Instead, she found a Mr. Aldous Wrigley, whose ad in the Yellow Pages boasted that lost cats and wayward husbands were his specialty.
He shared his office on Big Bend in central St. Louis County with an old clockmaker—cuckoo clocks, carriage clocks, grandfather clocks, ticking, buzzing, clicking, chiming—a cacophony of clocks punctuated their conversation as Cynthia shared with Aldous Wrigley the intimate details of her marriage.
Aldous took notes and curiously would check his watch every few minutes, as if he didn’t trust all the many clocks that surrounded him. He agreed to take on Cynthia’s case and set about trailing David during his endless rambles around Forest Park, observing everything . . . and nothing. David wasn’t having an affair. It looked to Aldous as if he was searching for something, or someone, in the park, but who or what he could not penetrate.
Nevertheless, Cynthia continued to pay Aldous, if only so she could have some purpose, and so she could return to the curious clock shop.
From their hiding place, Mandy and Miri watched Cynthia purchase a large bottle of Chanel No. 5 from the snooty cashier and then wobble away on her scarlet heels.
Miri, who had been holding her breath, let out a sigh of relief and turned to Mandy.
“I think we should be getting back to P.A.W.S.” she said.
Chapter 2
Two days after their shopping trip, Mandy and Miri, dressed in their new H&M dresses (Miri’s was blue, Mandy’s was purple), joined Josh and Danny as they set out for Sarah Sinclair’s home for Seder. They took the Metro and then a bus out to Josh’s old neighborhood. Josh always felt a little sad when he came out here. They walked through the local playground to get to his old home, the playground where it all started, where he’d met Alistair. What if he hadn’t stopped in the playground that day? Would none of this have happened? Would his father still be alive? But then he would never have met his friends either, never have gone to P.A.W.S., never have met Miri or Mandy.
Sarah Sinclair’s home was small and modest. Upstairs, there were just two bedrooms and a bathroom. Downstairs was a living room and a large sunny kitchen. Josh led his friends around the back of the house to the kitchen door and tapped gently.
Sarah came to the door. Her hair was mostly gray now and wrinkles had formed around her eyes and on her brow. She smiled when she saw her guests and wiped her hands on the apron that she wore over a pretty cream dress with tiny pink flowers. She grabbed Josh in a huge bear hug.
“Josh, I’m so glad you could come!” she beamed. “So tell me, who are your friends?”
Josh introduced Mandy, who glanced nervously down at her shoes. Sarah smiled at her.
“Very pleased to meet you, dear. Josh has told me a lot about you.”
Next, he introduced Danny.
“Ah, so this is the famous Danny, who gets my Josh into so much trouble!”
Danny gave a little bow. “Pleased to meet you ma’am,” he said.
“And this is Miri . . .”
Sarah Sinclair stopped and stared.
“Who?” she asked, confused.
“Miri . . .this is Miri Katz.”
“But it can’t be,” said Sarah. “Come, come inside.”
They walked into the kitchen. glancing at each other. What was going on here? Sarah darted out of the room and they could hear her running up the stairs. For a few minutes, the friends stood in the kitchen in silence. Then Sarah reappeared red-faced and clutching a huge photo album. She flicked through the pages until she found an old faded photograph that she loosened from the book.
“But this,” she said, thrusting the picture at them, “this was Miriam.”
“She’s beautiful,” said Danny. “Who was she?”
“She was my grandmother,” said Sarah, “but I never knew her. She passed away many, many years ago.”
Miri shivered as she stared at the picture. It was almost like looking into a mirror. The dark messy hair, the freckles and the eyes; it was if her own eyes were looking back at her.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Neither do I,” said Sarah. “I’ve had this picture my whole life. It was the only picture my mother ever had of her mother. She carried it with her through Europe and then to America.”
“It was 1941; my mother was just six months old when she was taken from her home in Vienna by the Nazis to the concentration camp of Theresienstadt. She was taken with her mother, father, and older brother. She was the only one to survive. She survived because her mother bribed a guard at the camp to take her baby out to the resistance. Wrapped in the blanket with my mother was this photograph. Scrawled on the back,” she turned the photograph over and Miri saw some faint blue script, “were the words ‘Deine Mutter Miriam’—‘your mother Miriam.’
“The baby was passed from one resistance cell to the next until four years later, at the war’s end, she was adopted by a young seamstress, Otillia Schaffer, who had the good fortune of landing herself a job in a garment factory in the East End of London.”
“Did your mother tell you this story?” asked Miri, fascinated.
“No, I never actually knew my mother. She became pregnant at a very young age. The pregnancy was very hard and she died the day she gave birth to me. I am named for her. She was Sara. I am Sarah.”
Sarah glanced up at the kitchen clock.
“Oh, it is getting late,” she said, “let’s get on with the Seder.”
Everyone helped Sarah put the final touches on the Seder table and then they sat down and began the meal. Mandy, as the youngest person present, asked the Four Questions.
“Why is this night different from all other nights?”
Mandy looked around. Yes, this night was definitely different from all the other Seder nights she’d experienced in her life so far—two werewolves, an animagus, and a shapeshifter. Mandy knew from Josh that he had never told his mother his secret, and that to this day she did not know the truth about the wolves that had entered her kitchen and taken the life of Albert Sinclair seven years before.
She knew that Jessamyn was protecting Sarah with special wards around her house, though now with Alistair gone this was probably no longer necessary. But Sarah didn’t know about P.A.W.S. She had been told that Josh had won a scholarship at an exclusive boarding school, and that he could visit only on holidays like today. All this Jessamyn had planted into Sarah’s mind with her talent of illusion.
Jessamyn apparently could make people see what she wanted them to see, even in their own minds. Mandy shivered when she thought about this. Jessamyn was good, but it seemed to her that her power could easily be used to manipulate.
Mandy didn’t really trust D
anny, either. She’d seen him practice his magic (mostly telekinesis) and it seemed that he was too flippant with it, using his power mainly to show off. She knew that Miri loved him and it looked like he cared for her, but she distrusted his type, as she remembered too many of them at Saul Emmanuel—those good-looking and talented guys to whom everything came too easily.
As she finished reciting the Four Questions, her eyes met Josh’s and she briefly squeezed his arm. In Josh she found comfort and peace. She hoped Sarah liked her. She liked it here in this modest kitchen, so different from her own family’s ostentatious West County home. She wanted to be part of this family.
During the Seder, Sarah kept staring at Miri and when they were finally done, she beckoned to her to follow her into the living room.
With Sarah out of the way, Danny took the opportunity to clean the table and load the dishwasher. With a little flick of his silver fork, he sent all the dishes on a parade worthy of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. They marched single file from the table to the sink to be rinsed, and then carefully found their places in the dishwasher.
In the living room, Sarah sat with Miri on the sofa in silence for a few minutes. She had once more taken out the old photograph and was peering between Miri and the faded face on the paper.
“They say she had blue eyes, so beautiful and bright. I met someone once, you see, a survivor from Theresienstadt. They said Miriam used to sing in the camp; they had performances, you know? Her husband, David, played the violin. Everyone would cheer, even the guards. You are connected to her, Miri. I know you are. I can feel it. You need to find out the truth.”
They sat together on the sofa for a little longer, then, with a sigh, Sarah got up from her seat and Miri followed her back into the kitchen. Sarah smiled in delight when she saw her completely clean kitchen.
Argentum (P.A.W.S. Book 2) Page 1
