by Ilana Waters
“California, yes, yes.” Arthur was muttering and shuffling papers around in the file. “What did you do before you joined the PIA again?” he asked.
Well, I’ve never had to earn a living in the usual way, but I know the language, history, and science of thousands of eras. I’m also intimately familiar with countless ways of healing and killing people.
“Oh, you know,” I replied, tapping my fingers together. “This and that.”
“I had your resume around here somewhere.” Arthur picked up various documents on his desk, but couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for. Finally, he gave up. “Anyway, I remember it was most impressive,” he added.
And faked, as were the references I gave you.
I smiled and waved my hand. “It was nothing, I assure you.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “You’ve done quite a lot for someone so young. Most of our applicants are older by a least a few years. Not that I imagine it’ll be a problem.”
“Oh, I’m older than I look.” By about six or seven years, in fact. This is something I probably should have told you earlier, dear reader. You see, I managed to stop aging at twenty-five, but only with great difficulty. Stopping the clock is an ability most witches and mages have—harder for me, since I’m not as powerful as some. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to continue it indefinitely.
Or perhaps I really will be immortal, but that comes with its own hazards. Many elect to let the clock keep ticking, as it were, for various reasons. After that, the only way to change one’s appearance is through glamour. Some witches simply choose to die, like ancient vampires, because they cannot bear the weight of their unending years. Many of my father’s generation ended their lives early, and even those nowhere near his age. Would Titus be next, unable to endure a life full of disappointments—including his son? Half of me almost wished he’d go away for good, and half was terrified at the very prospect.
“Well, looking older can come in handy too,” Arthur chuckled. “Getting more respect and all that. At least if the senior members are anything to go by.”
“Are you a senior member, Arthur?” I asked.
“Who, me?” Arthur put down my file. “Goodness, no. I just manage the London branch, that’s all. But I don’t know if I’d want to be a senior member anyway. It’s a lot of responsibility—lots more than management.”
“I see.” I didn’t know how long this little interview was going to take, but clearly it was part of the PIA’s getting-to-know-you process. That, or Arthur was especially friendly. I rose from the chair and went to examine a framed paragraph in Latin on the wall.
“May I?” I pointed to the frame.
“By all means,” said Arthur.
I peered at the small script. “It’s the PIA’s mission statement,” I said.
“Right you are.” Arthur placed his reading glasses back in his pocket and stood next to me. “Several of us were pleased to learn how many languages you know. Latin, Italian, Hebrew—”
“Hebrew was from my mother. I also know a great deal of Yiddish, not that it will likely be useful here.” Why on earth did I say that?
Arthur waggled a finger at me. “You never know which of your talents may or may not be useful.”
“I confess,” I said, “when I first heard of your organization, I thought the concept sounded awfully familiar. Aren’t there a great many such observer agencies in film and literature?”
“There may be many imitators, but I assure you,” Arthur replied, “there is only one PIA. We’ve been in operation since, well, since the beginning of time. Although it’s gone through many names and incarnations, there has never not been some form of the PIA.”
I picked up a rosewood carving of a bonsai tree on a nearby shelf. “Beautiful,” I commented to Arthur, who smiled. “And one is forbidden to become directly involved in any supernatural goings-on, yes?”
“Exactly right,” said Arthur. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You seem just the sort of young man who’d stay away from the wrong things. Our motto is ‘Close, but not too close.’ ”
“Interesting.” I nodded. “I like it.” Vague, fearful, and threatening all at the same time. “But what do they think we do in this building? I mean, the mort—”
I could kick myself. I nearly said mortals.
“—ah, those who aren’t members of the PIA, that is. Who don’t know about us?” I placed the rosewood carving back on the shelf.
Arthur looked to the left and right, as if outsiders were already here, spying on us.
“We tell everyone it’s a private library and club,” he said in a low voice, leaning his head close to mine. “Same story in every branch, all over the world. If we’re in London, it’s a sort of English cultural society—very exclusive. If we’re in Prague, it’s a Czech historical organization. That sort of thing.”
I nodded again. “Very clever.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Arthur said, “but thank you. It’s been like that for as long as anyone can remember.”
I decided I liked Arthur. He was like the grandfather I never had. Granted, if I had known either of my grandfathers, both of whom died before I was born, they probably would have had a much better idea of my true nature than Arthur. But I was glad he didn’t; it was better this way. Safer for him.
Arthur’s voice roused me from my thoughts. “Anyway, have you thought about where you’d like to work?”
“Where?” I repeated.
“Yes, where.” Arthur climbed back up the ladder he’d been on when I arrived and started arranging books. “You could study vampires in New Orleans, shamans in Africa. With a man of your talents, it would be easy to name your preferred location and be sent there in a heartbeat.”
“You mean I get to choose?” I walked over to the bookcase. I thought I’d have to spend a great deal of time in London, but if I could go to Rome right away . . . “I thought the head of the PIA would just station me wherever they send the lowest-level members.”
Arthur chuckled. “No, no, no. I know I said you’d have to work your way up, but we’re not as bad as all that. There are plenty of openings around the globe. And the PIA has no official head; just a group of senior members, as I mentioned. Like the other members, they’re based all around the world, meeting only when necessary.”
Perfect. Diffused power. This PIA thing will be a cinch, as they say. Perhaps I’ve been worried over nothing.
“Well, I am interested in ancient cultures,” I said casually, handing Arthur a book he was groping for on a lower shelf. “Something in Italy, perhaps?”
“Ah, it’s Rome then for you, my boy,” he said with a wink, putting the book I handed him in its place.
“Rome?” He’d just come out and said it like that? I couldn’t believe my good luck.
“Of course, Rome. Where it all began. Before the New World, before the British Empire, there was Rome.” He paused in his shelving, as if remembering some past Roman life. “It’s always been my favorite too. I’m particularly fascinated by one Roman general. Built my entire career on him, in fact. Both vampire and witch he was . . . and some say still is. Fascinating; very rare.”
My stomach froze, but I tried not to show any reaction. Instead, I picked up a small jade elephant to study.
“Really?” I said slowly. “What was his name?”
“Titus Aurelius,” Arthur replied. “Why? Is that name familiar to you?”
I carefully replaced the jade elephant on its metal stand, then looked at Arthur and smiled politely.
“Never heard of him.”
Chapter 8
I left Arthur’s office with a temporary identification badge, key, and instructions to return to my hotel, where I would soon receive information about going to Rome. As I once again traversed the dimly lit halls, I racked my brain trying to figure out Arthur’s angle, if he had one. Was he playing with me? Did he know I was Titus’s son? If so, how on earth did he f
ind out?
In the end, I decided it had to be a coincidence. Perusing Arthur’s thoughts revealed he possessed no overt knowledge of my connection to Titus. In addition, the PIA was known for being secretive, and for handling threats swiftly. If anyone here suspected who I truly was, there would be no benefit in trying to trip me up. I would simply be . . . dealt with.
Still, it had been disconcerting to hear my father mentioned like that. And I wondered if perhaps Arthur sensed the familial relation, at least subconsciously. It was another reminder of how careful I’d have to be in order to conceal my true identity.
The hallway was eerily quiet as I made my way back. In fact, I didn’t see any other members of the PIA, as I had on my way up. Parts of the building were so dark, it was difficult to imagine it was still daylight outside. I couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel. I’d just turned the last corner before the staircase when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. Was I being followed?
No, that was impossible. PIA members had every right to be walking around here, the same as I did now. There was no reason to believe someone was following me just because they were ambling about. Still, I paused to examine a portrait on the wall, then narrowed my eyes in the direction I heard the footsteps. They’d stopped when I did, but I saw only shadows. I took a deep breath and kept walking. The footsteps started up again. I was being followed.
I whirled around. “This is ridiculous. You’re not fooling anyone. Who are you and what do you want?”
Out of the darkness stepped a slightly overweight man, perhaps a few inches shorter than me. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a round face and pink skin. He wore a three-piece suit with the waistcoat buttoned all the way up, and a tie tight at his throat. His blond hair was neatly parted in the middle and slicked back, round glasses covering his piercing blue eyes.
“I do hope you’re not referring to me,” he said humorlessly.
I wasn’t in the mood for games. “Well, unless I’m talking to the portraits, you and I are the only ones here.”
“You’re the newest member, aren’t you?” he asked. “Joshua something.”
“Alderman.” I removed my own glasses so I could look the man in the eye.
“Philip Grant,” he replied, his accent marking him as someone from an old English family. “Lifelong member. Pleased to meet you. Though I must say, I was surprised they let you in. I had the privilege of reviewing your file. Quite the itinerant, aren’t we?”
I folded my arms in front of my chest. “What difference does it make to you?” I asked. “And why were you looking at my file anyway?”
“That is of no consequence,” replied Philip, taking off his glasses to polish them. Wonderful. The spy is being spied upon. “I just want to say that although the other members may be impressed with your background, I myself have some doubts. A posse ad esse non valet consequentia.” He put his glasses back on.
“From a thing’s possibility one cannot be certain of its reality,” I said. There is no way this prick knows Latin better than I do. I learned it from Titus the same time I learned English from Abigail.
Philip seemed annoyed I’d translated so quickly. “Yes, well . . . let’s just say you’ll have to prove your worth as a member of this organization. It’s not as though you’re the only multilingual member of the PIA.”
Though I am the only offspring of a vampire and witch that I know of. Really, was that all this was? A bit of jealousy? I truly did not have time for this petty little man. I gave him a slight smile.
“I only hope my skills—unique or not—will benefit the PIA for as long as I’m here.”
“We’ll see how long that will be.” Philip sniffed the air sharply. “Don’t think that just because you come from money means you can march in and do whatever you like.” I scanned Philip’s mind for threats, but saw mostly the tedium of his work at the PIA and his irrational dislike of me.
“Funny—I thought that’s exactly the sort of thing money allowed you to do.” I knew I shouldn’t be engaging in this childishness, but Philip’s comments were irritating me more than they should. “Although I do plan to be a productive member of the organization, unlike some who spend their time skulking in dark hallways and stalking people. Tell me, do all the supernaturals you secretly observe catch you as easily as I did? I find it hard to believe you’d still be alive, if that were the case.”
Philip’s face twisted in anger, and he was about to say something when Arthur came walking quickly towards us, a little out of breath.
“Oh good, I caught you,” he said to me. “I forgot to give you these.” He handed me a folder filled with glossy leaflets. “I’d collected some brochures on Rome a while back—I thought they might be helpful.” I saw Philip’s jaw drop. “Of course, I’m not sure how old they are.” Arthur scratched his head. “But maybe they’ll help you get your bearings once you’re there.”
“Thank you so much.” I tucked the folder under my arm. “I’m sure they’ll come in handy,” I lied. The brochures couldn’t contain any information I didn’t already know about the city.
“He’s going to Rome?” Philip asked in a tight voice. If there was any possibility of his being civil to me before, it had certainly disappeared now. “Arthur, may I have a word with you?” He took Arthur by the arm and they stood off to one side. I pretended not to eavesdrop.
“Rome, Arthur?” Philip hissed. “He only just arrived. Now he’s being sent to a foreign office? I’ve never seen that happen before.”
“Calm down, Philip,” Arthur said. “These are special circumstances.”
“Special my arse!” Philip said loudly. His eyes flashed to me, and he lowered his voice. “Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean . . . that is, don’t you think there’s something . . . odd about him, Arthur?”
I froze. This was what I’d been afraid of. Was it the clothes? The way I ingratiated myself into the PIA so soon? I cursed myself for not doing something—anything—differently. Would Arthur be swayed by Philip’s questioning? What if it prevented me from going to Rome? This might be one of those times when I’d have to use a bit of mind magic.
“Not right?” Arthur furrowed his brow. “Don’t be silly, Philip. Besides, you’re in London and he’ll be in Rome for now. If you don’t like him, you don’t even have to see him.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like—”
“You didn’t have to, Philip.”
“I mean, he just arrived and already he’s doing fieldwork?” Philip nearly threw out his arms. “I had to study and shelve books for years before I received my first assignment.”
“It’s not fieldwork; not exactly,” Arthur assured him. “Although anything else would seem a misuse of his talents.” Philip opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur stopped him. “What’s done is done, Philip,” Arthur said firmly. “I suggest you concentrate on your own work and forget about it.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. At least Arthur still didn’t suspect anything—yet. Which was odd, considering I thought him the more intelligent of the two. However, I’d long since learned that when it came to the supernatural, intelligence and intuition were very different things.
Philip stared at Arthur and pursed his lips. Then he glared at me.
“Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Alderman.” His voice seethed with resentment. “I do hope you enjoy your stay in Rome.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will.” If you’re not there, it will be the most pleasant place on earth. “A pleasure meeting you as well.” I gave Philip a big smile, mostly for Arthur’s benefit, but also to annoy the little twerp.
Philip turned and walked away very quickly. Right after he left, Arthur gave me an apologetic look.
“You’ll have to forgive Philip,” he said.
Oh? Will I? “Why’s that?” I asked as Arthur walked me out.
“He’s a decent lad, but with a bit of a chip on his shoulder,” Arthur explained.
&nb
sp; “And here I thought he didn’t like my sparkling personality,” I said.
“No, no.” Arthur shook his head. “It’s nothing you’ve done. Philip always feels he has something to prove. His grandfather was an RAF pilot in World War II. Saved his entire squadron in some daring maneuver that nearly got him killed. Won a medal for it too. Ever since then, his family, well . . . they haven’t done anything nearly as worthwhile. Not in their eyes anyway, though both his father and grandfather were proud to work at the PIA.”
Ah, so that’s what he meant by “lifelong member.” “I see,” I said to Arthur as we walked down the stairs.
“I think every generation of his looks to the next to do something that spectacular again,” said Arthur, his hand running along the gleaming bannister. “But there’s not much chance of that happening here. We’re just observers, after all. Still, I suppose Philip doesn’t relish what he sees as competition to do something exciting.” We’d reached the bottom of the staircase; from here I could see the bored receptionist, who was still flipping through her magazine.
Arthur ran his hand through his hair. “Anyway, try not to take it personally. If you end up working with Philip in the future, it’ll just take him a bit of time to warm up to you, that’s all.”
Yes, I’ll look for that when hell freezes over. But I couldn’t blame Arthur for Philip being a prick.
“It’s kind of you to say so.” I took Arthur’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Thank you again for all you’ve done. I enjoyed meeting you.”
Arthur shook my hand back and smiled. “Think nothing of it. As they said in Rome, ‘Optimum est pati quod emendare non possis.’ ”
“It is best to endure what you cannot change,” I translated. I hoped Arthur was wrong on this one point. My mother’s fate depended on my being able to do a great deal more than endure.
