by A. L. Knorr
My mother shushed me and put an arm around my shoulders. "This is all very sudden, Mr. Chaplin," she said to Basil. "We'll take the school year to think things through. When Saxony graduates, maybe—"
The school year? My heart dropped like a stone and I stared at my mom in horror.
"Annette," my dad said gently. I gave my dad the most pleading look I had ever given him in my life. My father turned to the phone. "We'll discuss things and call you back, if that's all right?"
"Of course," said Basil. "Anytime, day or night. People like Saxony are why I exist. I'm here for her, and for you."
"Thank you for everything," said my dad.
"Yes, thanks, Mr. Chaplin," I added.
"You're welcome."
I pressed the button to end the call and closed my eyes so my mom wouldn't receive the glare I wanted to shoot at her. I knew her. We'd had enough clashes where I had let my temper fly at her. It had never turned out in my favor.
"Mom," I began, my voice trembling with emotion. "Please don't make me wait a whole year." I opened my eyes and looked at her. "I need to go. I have never wanted anything more than I have wanted this. Do you remember how much I wanted to go to Italy?"
My mom took my hand, her lips parted.
"Italy was nothing compared to this. Mr. Chaplin is the only person in the world who can help me. Can't you see that?"
My dad spoke up. "I have vacation days I haven't used up, I could take her tomorrow and be back by—" he paused to think.
I perked up with excitement. This would be perfect. "Mom," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "If you want to keep me safe, send me to Arcturus. Otherwise, I have no idea what I'm up against."
"Or what we're dealing with as a family," added my father, putting a hand on her other shoulder.
Mom’s mouth was a flat line. She looked at my father. "You'd better get on the flights. They'll be very expensive at the last minute."
I wanted to leap up from the table and dance around the kitchen. My dad and I shared a look of relief. My heart pounded with excitement and my tummy was full of tremors. "I'll call Basil and let him know," I said. "How many days?"
"I'd better take no more than two," said my dad. He got up and grabbed his laptop case from where it was propped against the island.
I grabbed my phone and got up from the table as my dad sat down and booted up his laptop. I redialed Basil's number with trembling fingers and waited.
"That was quick," answered Basil.
"We're coming. My dad and I." I couldn't have wiped the grin off my face if someone had paid me.
"Excellent!" He sounded almost as enthusiastic as I felt.
"Two days is okay?" I asked.
"Plenty. Book your tickets for Gatwick. I'll have a car pick you up. My valet's name is Pete."
"Okay." I turned and made a wow face at my parents, who were both watching me. "I'll text you our landing time then?"
"Perfect. I'll wait on you."
"Thanks, Mr. Chaplin."
"Not at all."
I hung up the phone. "He'll have a car pick us up." My whole body felt wired with energy. Sleep would be impossible tonight. "Just have to tell him when we land."
My parents glanced at each other. "That's awfully nice of him," said my father. He turned to his laptop and pulled his glasses out of his pocket. He tilted his head back and peered at the screen through his lenses. "Looks like there's a flight tomorrow morning," he added, scrolling with his ergonomic mouse. "Lands at seven thirty London time."
I couldn't help the sound of joy that squeaked out of me as I bounced in place.
Mom skewered me with a stern look. "Don't get too excited, Saxony. This is just a fact-finding mission. We're not leaving you there."
"I know," I said.
"Then you'd better go pack."
"Yes, ma'am." I bolted from the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time up to my room to do just that.
Chapter 9
Dad and I had barely rolled our carry-on luggage out through the one-way sliding doors at Gatwick and out into arrivals, when I spotted a portly man in a black suit holding up an iPad with 'Cagney Family' on the screen.
"You must be Pete," I said with a grin as we rolled up to him.
"Yes, miss," he said, smiling. His face was soft and jowly, and he reminded me of a St. Bernard dog. "How was your flight?"
"I slept the whole way because I didn't sleep a wink the night before we left," I said, shaking his hand. "This is my dad, James Cagney." I stepped aside and Pete shook hands with him.
"Pleased to meet you," Pete said. His accent was thicker than Basil's. "Have other luggage, do you?"
"No, this is it," said Dad. "We packed light."
"Excellent, excellent. I'll take this, miss," Pete said as he reached for my carry-on. "Anyone need anything before we take-off? Toilet's that way. Coffee, water, and nibbles that other way." He pointed in the two directions. "What's your pleasure?"
We said we were ready to go.
"Very well,” he said. “This way to the car then."
The humidity in the air reminded me of Italy, but the temperature was cooler. I pulled my cardigan close around me and closed the tie at the waist, more for looks than any feeling of being cold.
"I didn't think I'd be back in Europe so soon," I said to my father.
He gave me a tense nod. "Or for such a strange reason."
"Yeah." I gave him my most reassuring smile. "Thank you, Dad."
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple as we walked through the parking lot.
The car Pete led us to was a larger version of a black London cab—longer and more luxurious, but with the same curves and glossy black paint. Pete chattered away as he loaded our luggage into the 'boot' and held the back door open. Dad and I piled into the roomy back seat. There was enough legroom for a Great Dane to lie down in front of our feet and still not rub up against the back seat. The seats were cushy black leather and there was a tinted window between the front seat and the back.
Pete got into the driver’s side. The car shook and growled like a diesel as he turned the engine over. The glass between the back seat and the front slid back. Pete said, "We're little more than an hour to the manor, just knock on the glass if you need anything. Remember that we drive on the other side of the road here in jolly ol' England, so don't be alarmed. I’ve been driving nigh on forty years, so you're in good hands."
"Thank you, Pete," I said, fiddling with the seatbelt.
"Not at all." The glass slid closed.
The car made its way out of Gatwick airport parking and we soon found ourselves on a narrow freeway and in the middle of fast moving traffic. As Pete drove us through various roundabouts and turns I began to notice a consistent destination listed on the signage.
"I think we might be headed to Dover," I said. “It’s been on all the signs every time we’ve taken a turn.”
My dad peered out the window. "As in the White Cliffs of? Always wanted to see those."
Soon the road became less busy and the scenery much prettier. Everything was green and lush but the sky was overcast with thick gray clouds. For the first time, we passed an exit pointing to Dover without taking it, and the road became a single-lane road. Trees arched over from one side and a stone fence lined the other. I could see the ocean in the distance.
We took another turn toward the water and trees closed in and we began to descend. Pete downshifted and the car slowed as the downhill became steep, and forested land closed in on both sides. The road began to traverse along the hillside and Pete guided the car around the steep switchback and headed back the other way. We passed three more switchbacks before the ground leveled off.
Around the last bend, we pulled up in front of a gate which was already sliding open. There were no identifying signs to tell us where we were.
"Saxony, look," said Dad.
"I am," I said, in a voice just as awed as his.
The whole property was closed in b
y a tall stone wall laced with ivy. The driveway was a large circle, the center of which was bursting with rose bushes. A tiered water feature in the center towered high above the blossoms and water cascaded into to a pond where the lazy shadows of koi were drifting.
The car pulled up in front of an old stone manor. This time, I did spot a plaque to the right of the door reading Chaplin Manor, Est 1814. The place even shared Basil's last name. The car came to a halt in front of the wide double doors and we spilled out into the humid sea air. I could hear seagulls screaming in the distance and waves crashing onto shore.
"Welcome to Chaplin Manor," said Pete as he got out and opened the boot. The car was still running as he took out our baggage.
Our eyes roamed the steep roof, stained glass windows, and castle-like turrets. The front door opened and Basil stepped out into the overcast light. He was finely dressed in a suit jacket and bow-tie. He had a cane in one hand but I was pretty sure he didn't need it. He stood straight, wide shoulders back and spine erect. His brown hair was perfectly coiffed and sprinkled with gray above the ears. I thought he was quite handsome for an older gentleman.
"You must be Mr. Chaplin," Dad said, holding out his hand. “Thank you for having us on such short notice.”
Basil gave a nod as they shook hands. "My pleasure, Mr. Cagney."
Our host turned to me. The moment our eyes met, I had a strange feeling rock through me. It was as though we were already connected by some invisible tether. It was difficult to describe. I had bonds with my parents, of course; no one could replace them in my heart. But Basil was different. This man was a mage, just like me, and that made us family. I could feel it.
"Saxony," he said, looking down into my face, searching my eyes. He held out his hand and I took it.
As if the link I had felt only moments ago wasn't enough, the heat that shot up my arm from his hand gripping mine was startling. It zinged like a live wire straight into my heart. It felt like our hands had become molten metal and were now welded together. My brows shot up with surprise at the unexpected sensation.
"It's a mage bond," he murmured. "Try not to be alarmed by it."
I opened my mouth but no words came out. As he released my hand, my arm continued to throb. It wasn't unpleasant, just unexpected and distinct. I looked down at my palm, but it appeared normal.
"Saxony?" I looked up at my father's voice. He and Basil were already on the doorstep, ready to head inside. Dad raised his eyebrows. "Are you coming?"
I grabbed my carry-on and took it up the steps. "Sorry, yep."
We stepped into the house and Basil closed the door behind us. The foyer was large and carpeted, with multiple arched doorways leading off in different directions. A huge empty fireplace with soot darkening the chimney stood off to the right. The ceiling went up and up, showing another three floors of balconied halls above us.
"It's eerily quiet these days," said Basil. "I'm sorry about that. My students are on summer break. It's a good time for you to visit, though.”
Dad and I gaped in wonderment.
“So," Basil continued. He stepped back from us and spread his hands, his cane dangling from his right fingers. "Welcome to Arcturus."
Chapter 10
Basil showed us the main floor, which included three large sitting rooms full of comfy furniture and decorated with very English-looking wallpaper and paintings. He said they were common rooms and could be used anytime by anyone. Two of the rooms had sprawling windows facing out into a large back yard and the ocean was visible just beyond the green space. He showed us the kitchens and dining room, a library that smelled musty, and pointed out the direction of his office.
He led us out into a courtyard. Across the flagstones stood another building, which looked much newer than the rest of the manor.
"This building is fire-proof," said Basil, "for obvious reasons." He unlocked the big metal door with a key he took from inside his coat. "This is where we do our practical classes and coaching."
We stepped into one of the strangest spaces I had ever been in. The air was cool, the ceiling was high, and there were a lot of metallic surfaces, strange looking instruments, and a couple of closed off rooms with black-tinted glass windows.
"Everything done in here has to do directly with our fire-power—utilizing it, controlling it, perfecting and honing skills," explained Basil. "Not all students are interested in learning these things."
"Why is that?" My dad's eyes jumped from oddity to oddity—the metal beams, the glittering black floor, the contraptions with digital screens and panels.
"Being a fire mage hurts, as Saxony will know." Basil nodded at me.
"Yes, I told them," I said. "But I don't have any pain anymore."
"I imagine it ceased not long after your burning?" Basil asked.
I nodded.
Basil faced my father. "As a supernatural, your daughter would have been unusual had she not passed through a burning. But now that she has, well..." A look passed over his face that I couldn't define. "She is exceedingly rare."
"Have any of your other students done it?" my father asked, putting his hands in his pockets like he was tempted to touch things.
"Heavens no!" cried Basil. "We actively discourage it. It's far too dangerous. It is better to learn to manage the pain than to risk a burning." He turned away and walked through the space. We followed him. "As I was saying, once my students pass the first-level exam, many of them quit the practical training. They don't have any interest in utilizing the fire, only in being able to live with it."
Looking around at the training space, I could admit it freely to myself—I was fascinated. What could I learn to do with the fire? Basil had said I was extremely rare, so wouldn't I be doing myself a disservice if I didn't at least try and see what I was capable of? The idea of training with Basil made my heart speed up. "What kinds of things do you teach in the first-level?"
"I'm glad you asked," Basil answered, stopping beside what looked like a big square, flat panel covered in vinyl. There was a strange digital meter attached to it. "With your father’s permission, I would like to put you through a few basic tests. It would help us have a clearer picture of where you're at." He looked from me to my dad. "Knowing this would help me make a recommendation for Saxony—how long she might expect to be here and such."
Dad said, "Makes sense. It's okay by me."
Basil reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. "I'll need you to sign this form. And then I'll have to ask you to watch from there." He pointed up to a metal room that looked like it had been bolted to the ceiling. It was completely encased in glass and could only be reached by a long metal staircase along the wall. "It's just a precaution,” Basil added. “We are overzealous with safety here."
"That's appreciated," Dad said, taking the paper from Basil and opening it. He skimmed it, took the pen Basil offered, and bent to sign it against the low metal railing.
"Thank you," said Basil, taking the page and tucking it inside his coat. "I'll file it when we're done here. If you wouldn't mind?" He nodded up at the high room.
Dad climbed the stairs, his footsteps sending out a metallic echo. He entered the small glass room and closed the door. He appeared at the glass, watching.
I turned to Basil. "Can he hear us?"
"Yes," he answered. "There's a speaker that picks up what's going on down on floor level." He took off his jacket and tucked it into a metal drawer. "Would you like a drink of water before we begin?"
"Please." My stomach unleashed a horde of dragonflies. This was it. I was going to be tested by someone who could actually tell me something about myself.
Basil took a metal cup from a stack on a nearby shelf and poured me some water from a dispenser. I drank every last drop and handed it back to him. I took off my cardigan and he tucked it into the same drawer as his jacket. We faced each other and I was reminded once again of the bond between him and me. He was relaxed, so I relaxed.
"Do you mind i
f I ask you a few questions first?" Basil leaned against the desk and worked on rolling up his shirtsleeves.
"Ask away."
"During your burning, do you have any idea how many hours you went without water?"
I frowned, trying to remember. "I'm not sure. I was unconscious for some of it." My eyes flicked to the cage. Hearing the details might upset my dad.
"More than eight hours?"
"I would think more than twelve," I answered.
Something crossed Basil's face. A shadow of emotion. Surprise? Horror? I wasn't sure.
"And what did you experience after you'd had water, I mean within the next day or so. Emotionally speaking." He finished with his shirt sleeves and crossed his arms.
I hesitated as a realization struck. "You've been through this, haven't you?"
"I have," he said. "I had to. I wouldn't be able to run Arcturus if I hadn't."
I felt a dart of shock. Basil had endured a burning just so he could start this school? He must have been very driven to make it happen.
"I felt harder," I said, truthfully. "Stronger, I guess. Emotionally speaking." I thought about how I’d felt toward Federica and her betrayal. "Not without forgiveness, but..." I paused. Basil waited, not prompting me with suggestions. "I think my judgement got a bit harsher, but it’s weird."
"Why weird?"
"Because my temper is actually easier to control now. I used to be more of a hothead."
Basil's eyebrows flicked at this. "Interesting. And your body, how did that change?"
"On the outside, only my mark changed," I answered. "On the inside, I couldn't tell you if I changed physically but I definitely felt different. Almost like, uh—" Self-consciousness washed over me. It sounded so dumb.
"Go on." His voice was gentle.
"Volcanic rock," I finished, feeling lame.
He didn't seem surprised at that. "If it doesn't make you uncomfortable, could I see your mark?"
"Sure," I answered, toeing off my left shoe. I peeled off my sock and rolled my foot inward so the mark on the middle toe was visible.
