Argentum (P.A.W.S. Book 2)

by Debbie Manber Kupfer

  The pain from her arm finally pushed Cynthia out of paralysis. Pulling the silk bed sheet around her, she ran down the stairs, tumbling down the bottom three and landing in a heap in the hallway. She picked herself up and made for the front door, grabbing her car keys as she went outside in nothing but the bed sheet. She ran to her car and opened the door, fumbled with the keys, and amazingly started the sports car. Then she drove faster than she had ever done in her entire life. She was desperate to get away from the monster that was once her husband, but she had no clear idea where she was going.

  Forty-five minutes later, she found herself outside the clock shop. The lights inside the store were off, but one shone from a second floor window. Aldous had told her that he lived above the store. She hoped he was there and that he would let her in. She had no idea what he would make of a woman coming to his door after midnight wearing nothing but a blood-stained satin sheet.

  She banged on the door, but no one came. She decided to walk around to the back of the building. There she found a green door with a doorbell, and the name Aldous Wrigley scribbled on a little scrap of paper that was stuck by its side.

  She pressed the bell, but no one answered. She pressed it again. Finally, she heard movement inside and Aldous—she hoped it was Aldous—made his way down the stairs. He opened the door, peering out with the chain still attached to the latch.

  “Cynthia?” he said, confused, “what happened to you? Come inside, come inside,” he added, opening the door wide. Cynthia followed him into the back of the store and up the stairs to his apartment.

  “Should I call the police?” he asked.

  “No, please don’t.”

  “Okay, but you’re bleeding. Let’s clean you up and then we can talk . . .”

  Cynthia shook her head.

  “Or not,” said Aldous.

  He bandaged her arm and found her a long shirt of his own to wear.

  “I’ll make some tea,” he said, “tea helps.”

  Aldous boiled the kettle and handed Cynthia a mug of warm liquid. Cynthia took it gratefully, though her hands shook as she accepted the mug. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She’d never expected so much kindness from a stranger.

  She didn’t know what the future held, but for the moment at least, she felt safe.

  Back at the Katz house in Town and Country, David was lying on the kitchen floor. Fragments of food and dishes lay all around him. He had no clear memory of how he ended up there, but also no wish to move. His body ached, but the fierce pain that accompanied his transformation had gone.

  It felt like he had his old body back, but he did not want to open his eyes to check. He was scared of what he might see if he did. So instead he lay on the cool tiles with his eyes closed, and slept.

  In his dream, he was visited by the tabby cat with the yellow eyes.

  “You can fight him, David. You can bring me back if you’re strong enough. Do you think you are strong enough, David?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

  Chapter 26

  Jessamyn gazed into the scrying bowl and spoke his name, “Quentin.”

  He looked at her for a few moments and said nothing.

  “Jessa . . . Jessa, I’m sorry . . .”

  “We need to meet.”

  “Yes . . .”

  As Jessamyn flew north out of St. Louis, she pondered. Had she truly not wanted to see Quentin? Was this really the only way she could help Miri locate the charm? Or had she been looking for an excuse? Worse still, did she entertain ideas of getting back together with Quentin? But how could she do such a thing? After he’d abandoned her? After he’d left her, pregnant and alone? After he’d chosen immortality and Alistair? And why would he even want her anymore? She was old. He was still as vibrant as he was back then, so many decades before.

  She enjoyed the feel of the wind in her wings. Flight had come naturally to her, as if she was born to be a bird. She remembered the long days and nights when she flew with Quentin, all the way from Ireland to New York. They’d found ships to rest upon in gull form. These opulent cruise ships fascinated the young Jessamyn. She longed to transform back into human form then, and enjoy the swimming pools, the fancy banquets, the starlight dances. Quentin, more wise than she, cautioned her against such a thing. She could not possibly blend in, he said, even with her best illusion, and would draw attention to them.

  They needed to disappear, he said, get as far away as possible from those who pursued them. Jessamyn didn’t understand. Were they not magicians? What could they possibly fear? For sure she had almost fallen under the power of the Teg, but she’d fought back and survived. Surely this Alistair could not have power as strong as that of the Green Fairy?

  One leg of the trip was particularly harsh. Strong winds and rain had battled them as they flew that day. Jessamyn’s wings grew increasingly tired and Quentin kept searching the horizon for a resting spot. The sky was rapidly darkening, and he knew from experience that it would be impossible to fly through darkness. Finally he spotted it, a vessel of sparkling white amid the churning ocean waves. Mentally he guided Jessamyn down to the ship. They assumed gull form, the most inconspicuous of birds, and huddled in a sheltered corner of the deck. The harsh winds and torrential rain had forced all but a few of the hardiest passengers down below.

  Quentin sat by Jessamyn’s side. He stretched and ruffled his feathers to shake off some of the ocean spray. Then, exhausted, he tucked his head under his wing and fell asleep. Jessamyn watched him for a while. She, too, was tired, but far too antsy to rest. She decided instead to explore.

  She made her way cautiously around the edge of the deck. She could hear voices coming from below. Would it be so terrible to take a look? She could see several sets of steps going down. Jessamyn moved to the top of one flight of stairs and peered down into the ship. Warm air rose from below, and she picked out sounds of laughter and music.

  Jessamyn made her decision. She hopped down the wooden steps carefully, one at a time. The music was coming from a ballroom. A band was playing a rowdy polka tune, and extravagantly dressed ladies and gentlemen were twirling around a dance floor. Jessamyn was mesmerized and longed to join in.

  She hopped around the edge of the room. No one paid any attention to her. Then she noticed a little glimmer of silver on the floor underneath an empty chair. She hopped closer and saw a small silver spoon. Silver, argentum; she sensed it was real. She held her breath and made for the shining utensil. Her first attempt to lift it was unsuccessful and it slipped from her beak. But the second time it held, and she rapidly took to the air and flew up the steps and back to the upper deck.

  The rain seemed to have stopped. She returned to the alcove, where Quentin still slept, with her prize. Dare she risk it? She knew he would be angry if he woke up, but she so much wanted to join the dancers below. With a deep breath, she transformed back into her human form. Her clothes were a soggy mess after so many days of flight, but the silver should help. Her own silver scepter was concealed in Quentin’s backpack. His pack had special wards attached to it, so it had seemed safer that way. Though now that Jessamyn thought about it, she wondered if Quentin hadn’t offered to protect her scepter so that he could control when she used her magic. No matter, Jessamyn was resourceful and any silver, even this modest spoon, should do the job. She concentrated on the spoon, focusing her magic through this makeshift wand.

  Her mother was wrong. Illusion was both powerful and useful. As she wove her spell, her bedraggled dress changed into a sparkling emerald ball gown. She twirled in delight. Then she concentrated on her hair, which first she dried and then twisted into elaborate braids. Her eyes and lips she framed with color. This was the first time she had “worn” makeup, something that Cleona would never have approved of. Quickly, before she could lose her resolve or before Quentin could discover her, she returned to the steps and made her way downstairs.

  People nodded at her politely as she passed. She walked to the edge of the
dance floor and watched the dancers twisting and turning, intoxicated by their movement. The music was like none she had ever heard before and her body was itching to join the dancers.

  She didn’t notice him until he was right in front of her, holding out his hand. She looked at him. He had very dark eyes, almost black. He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. She had never danced before, but her partner guided her and soon she was laughing and twirling like the rest. When the music stopped, she gave a little bow and turned to leave the ballroom floor. The man placed his hand on her shoulder as the band started up again, but rather than the lively polka music, this time the music was slow. Jessamyn became uncomfortable as the man slid his hands around her waist and pulled her close to him. She tried to back away a little, but his grip was too strong. As the music ended, he guided her to the corner of the room and out into the corridor.

  His dark eyes stared at her.

  “Pretty little thing, aren’t you? Where have you been hiding? I don’t remember seeing you on the ship before.”

  “I . . .” began Jessamyn.

  “No, don’t say anything,” he said, and pulled her closer to him.

  She could smell his breath now. It stank of alcohol. She struggled and tried to pull away, but he only laughed and increased his grip. His mouth coming towards hers . . .

  Suddenly he flinched back in pain.

  “Ouch, what the—”

  Standing in the corridor with his silver wand out, was Quentin. Jessamyn had never been happier to see anyone in her life. She ran to him, he took her hand, and together they went back up on deck. The rain was blasting the ship again, but Jessamyn didn’t care. Her illusory dress quickly melted away, back into the ragged old one beneath, and tears ran down her cheeks.

  She expected Quentin to be furious, but he said nothing, just looked at her and guided her back to the sheltered corner of the ship. There, they both turned back into gulls and Jessamyn finally slept, resting against the warm, sturdy feathers of Quentin.

  The next morning at sunrise, they left the ship and continued their flight westward.

  Jessamyn could see the bluffs in the distance. It was the perfect meeting spot for two avian animagi. Only the bravest of the cliff climbers made it up to these summits, and on this weekday in late spring, the area was deserted.

  Through her eagle eyes she saw him, in human form waiting on the peak, searching the skies for her. “Jessa?” She felt a little nudge inside her, as Quentin reached out to her with his mind, but she quickly slammed her mental shield in place. No, this form of communication was too intimate and she was not ready for it . . . not yet.

  She glided towards the mountain peak and landed on the ground next to Quentin. Then slowly, deliberately, she changed into her human form. She wore a long green cloak today, which shimmered with forgotten memories of Ireland. Her red hair glowed and waved in the wind. Quentin looked at her and smiled. Tiny wrinkles formed in the corners of his eyes.

  “Jessa.”

  He took a step forward, arms outstretched to embrace her, but she shrunk back.

  “We need to talk, Quentin.”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter 27

  Miri returned to class but couldn’t concentrate. She kept gazing down at her charm. She longed to escape for a while into her cat form, but knew that Professor Ainsworth would not forgive another outburst. So instead she stayed at her desk and tried to focus on her science sheet.

  As soon as class was over, she ran to the dining room and quickly grabbed a few items from the buffet lunch that Hugo had set out. She ignored her usual table with Sandy, Sean, and Joey and instead made her way up to the Jewel Box.

  She planned to eat quickly, then change into cat form and sit up in one of the leafy plants. She expected to be alone, considering it was lunchtime, but was surprised to find that her favorite bench was already occupied.

  Jenna sat there alone. She was singing quietly to herself. No, Miri corrected herself, she was singing to the baby. Involuntarily, Miri reached out with her mind.

  “Ha! My sister, welcome. Looking for me, were you?”

  “Checking up on you, more likely,” replied Miri, trying to maintain her cool.

  “She’s named me Ryan, you know, after her poor dead brother,” said the blonde-haired youth. “How touching!”

  “She loves you.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t she? I’m only a baby, after all. Did I ever tell you, Miri, how much I’m looking forward to meeting you?”

  Miri looked at the boy. He had piercing blue eyes. She shivered. This space where Ryan existed should be warm and welcoming, and yet it felt cold, icy cold. But still Miri kept visiting it. Checking in, and then withdrawing quickly. Ryan noticed this, and he was amused by it.

  Miri felt his power, the raw energy he had inherited from their father. He should not exist. She knew this instinctively, but there was no way she could share that feeling with Jenna. To Jenna, he was everything, a beautiful, shining beacon. Yet Miri knew that he openly scorned his mother, scorned her and dismissed her as unimportant, merely a vessel, a way into this world. But still Miri kept trying. He wasn’t just Alistair’s son after all, he was also Jenna’s child and Miri’s brother; surely that counted for something, there had to be a shred of decency in there somewhere.

  Nevertheless, it pained Miri to visit for too long with Ryan and now she tried to retreat.

  “Going already?” He laughed. “Come back soon. I know you will. You can’t resist me, can you Miri? Together we could be so powerful. Forget P.A.W.S. Together we could rule the universe.”

  Miri took a deep breath and made a concerted effort to extract Ryan from her head. She then slammed the door to her mental shield. Jenna looked up and finally noticed Miri standing there. As always, she had been blissfully unaware of Miri’s interaction with Ryan.

  “Oh hello, Miri. It’s beautiful in here, isn’t it?”

  A wave of warmth emanated from Jenna. How was this possible, thought Miri, how could someone so caring have something so malevolent inside her? She wondered if it needed to be that way. Cautiously, Miri sampled a little of Jenna’s warm thoughts, magnified them, and sent them back to Ryan. Maybe if he could experience his mother’s love, maybe he would soften a little.

  “Worthless!” the word echoed through Miri’s head and she quickly retreated.

  Jenna looked at Miri. “Does he talk to you?” she asked.

  “No,” Miri lied.

  Chapter 28

  Quentin gazed around the small room he had been given at P.A.W.S. On the desk sat his silver scrying bowl. Soon he would search, search for the missing charm. Silver searching for silver.

  Cum argento et argentum inveneris.

  He knew the spell, but was reluctant to use it. So the charm had disappeared. Good riddance. No good could come of it anyhow.

  P.A.W.S.—he’d never been in this building before, but had lived for many years with Jessamyn in the New York Institute. They had taken them in eagerly. Two powerful animagi. He’d hidden his true identity, and of course his true age. Surely now in New York he was finally beyond Alistair’s clutches. He was happy with this, but for one thing: he was still not ready to give up his immortality.

  The New York Institute had a vast library. He devoted months to those shelves, looking for a spell, a potion, something that would help him extend his years.

  Jessamyn flung herself into her new life. She started attending classes at the Institute. She excelled in all her studies, both magical and mundane. She made many new friends, and rarely thought of her old life in Ireland or of her mother, Cleona.

  Quentin began spending more and more time away from the Institute, taking the form of a pigeon picking its way along the streets of Manhattan and the Boroughs.

  One spring day he found his way to a small city square on the Lower East Side. On one bench sat a man in his late thirties. He looked tired, but happy, and was nibbling on a large square cracker. Quentin, in his pigeon form, ho
pped over to him. The man looked at the bird and broke off the corner of his cracker and offered it to him.

  “Here vogele, you want a little matza? Fresh from the factory.”

  As Quentin hopped closer he noticed something shiny around the man’s neck. Silver. His beady bird eyes picked out the image of a tabby cat. For a second Quentin felt a signal emanating from his own charm. So this man was a shapeshifter. Amazingly, in this vast city, he’d found another shapeshifter, and one that, as far as he knew, was not affiliated with the Institute.

  Quentin took to the air, his grey wings aflutter. He needed to talk about his discovery with Jessamyn. So this was the first time he’d seen the charm, when it still belonged to Max Katz, decades before he was to tamper with it. And now he’d been brought here by Jessamyn to search for this same charm, the charm that he knew in his heart was much better to be left lost.

  Yet, he’d promised Jessamyn and Max’s granddaughter, Miri. Such powerful magic. Quentin shuddered. There was much more of Alistair in Miri than she would ever understand.

  He closed his eyes and waved his silver wand over the waters in the scrying bowl. He thought the words of the ancient spell . . . thought of argentum.

  The charm was not so far away. He could feel it. It had not left St. Louis. The scene that played out in the scrying bowl confused him though. The man appeared to be sleeping on the floor of his kitchen. Why would he do that? Drunk, maybe? It seemed odd. Dotted around the floor were fragments of expensive china, shattered into tiny pieces. It looked like there had been some kind of fight, yet the man did not appear to be hurt in any way, merely sleeping.

  Quentin focused in on the scene and saw what he was looking for; the silver charm hung around the man’s neck.

  There was a knock at the door and Quentin was startled out of the scene.

  “Come in,” called Quentin.

  It was Danny. Quentin looked at the boy and saw his own face staring back at him. It was rather disquieting. Since he’d arrived at P.A.W.S., he’d been avoiding his son. He did not know what to say to him, and it seemed that Danny felt the same way. But now here he was.