The Secret Stealer

by Jess Webster

  “So?” he asked, pretending not to have heard.

  The newly married couple was smiling. Blythe spoke first. “We’ll do it.”

  James grinned happily. “Lilith Palmer will be very happy to hear that.”

  “But why us?” she asked, perplexed.

  “I don’t know why everyone, including you, thinks you’re so bad!” James frowned. “You’re not bad people. You just need to start helping other people a little more often, instead of just yourselves.”

  Both Blythe and Domenic looked slightly baffled, though pleased, with this response – as if they had half expected James and Esther to chase them down and detonate explosives right in front of their faces. Maybe that’s all they needed to be good, James thought. Someone to think that they could be.

  “On that note, is there anything else we can help you with?” Domenic asked, sincerely. Blythe reinforced the sentiment with a nod.

  “Well yes, there is actually,” James murmured. He began then to relate, as best as he could manage, the history of his family. Once this was done he explained his plan: “I want to go home, get the papers out of the safe and take them to the police. My par– uh… the Winchesters… are away on holidays at the moment, so the house’ll be empty. But o’course, I need someone who can actually touch things to help me.”

  It was a few moments before either Blythe or Domenic could speak again, so shocked were they both.

  “Your pseudo-parents are a nasty piece of work!” Domenic frowned at James. “I mean, I only stole your deepest secret – I didn’t steal your mum.”

  Blythe shot him a scowl that seemed to speak volumes[90] . Then to James she said, “Don’t worry about a thing, James. We’ll get those papers. We’ll fly back to Sydney on the next flight we can get. And I have ways…” (She flashed him a Machiavellian grin) “…of making that happen quickly, as you know.”

  Wow, James thought. They were really taking that promise of help seriously. Feeling it wise to take advantage of their generous mood, he asked, “Could you please also look up Willowgreen Care Facility? It’s where my p– the Winchesters put my mum. I’d like to go see her sometime.”

  “Sure,” Blythe replied. “There’s free internet down in the lobby. We can head down there now.”

  “What’s a su-doh?” James asked, remembering the word having been applied to the Winchesters only moment ago.

  “Like a fake,” Domenic answered, as Blythe locked the hotel room door behind them.

  “So you were my pseudo-Protector?” James asked Blythe.

  “Yes, yes, don’t rub my mistakes into my face, young Mr Winchester. We’re helping you now, to make up for it,” Blythe said huffily, pressing the big ‘Down’ elevator button.

  Domenic suggested, “Why don’t we get Esther to help? Another pair of hands on deck certainly can’t hurt.”

  James frowned. “I think it might, actually.”

  “How so?” Blythe asked, curious.

  “Well, she likes me,” James said.

  “I know she does, James.”

  “She was very angry with you when she found out what you’d done to me.”

  “So?” Blythe prompted.

  “If she finds out what my – what the Winchesters – did to my mum and me, she’d probably kill them. I just want things to be put right. I don’t want them dead. And besides, Miss Mason-Smith is a good person. Good people can do bad things when they’re angry, but she’d only feel bad about it later. And I don’t want Miss Mason-Smith feeling bad because of me.”

  Blythe nodded. “Fair enough. We can handle whatever it is you want us to do, just the two of us.”

  Domenic smiled and nodded his agreement.

  “Well, the three of us.” James grinned back at them. “I need you to meet me at my home. It’s Larkwind Estate.”

  “I know the place,” Blythe said. By way of explanation she added, “I researched all the families from Westcott whilst Dom visited the school. For… ah… blackmail purposes.”

  “Good,” James replied. “I’ll meet you at the house. Then we’ll talk about what we need to do.”

  Domenic rubbed his hands together as they entered the elevator. “This is fun, isn’t it? I like plotting.”

  Blythe glanced at her husband with a look that began with disgust and ended with amusement. “You’re such a juvenile.”

  “Yes,” Domenic grinned. “Yes I am.” He punched the ‘G’ button and the doors closed on them.

  “Incidentally, James,” Blythe suddenly said, “what has my sister been doing with you?”

  “What do you mean?” James asked.

  “You’re still in your pyjamas,” Blythe replied, looking amused.

  “Blame him,” James said, pointing at Domenic. “He stole my secret while I was wearing them.”

  Blythe rolled her eyes. “Do you really think someone stole Domenic’s secret while he was wearing a nice tuxedo and a top-hat? Nope – he was wearing PJs too. A silly-looking white gown and night-cap, actually.”

  Domenic frowned at Blythe and looked a little sheepish. “Well that was the style in those days.”

  “Then how–?” James began.

  “Ooh – ooh!” Domenic suddenly became very excited. “Do the tux, like my old outfit.”

  “My thoughts exactly…” Blythe grinned and whispered something that James could not quite catch.

  James looked down and was pleasantly surprised with what he saw. A black bow-tie. A pearly-white vest. White-gloved hands. Very shiny shoes. He turned his head: coat with tails! He looked up and saw the brim of a black top-hat. “How did you do that?” he asked, amazed.

  Blythe took a small bow. “Just clever, I guess.” Then she added somewhat gloatingly, “You have to know the curse inside and out – probably why Esther never thought of it.”

  “I wish I could see him,” Domenic said forlornly. “Can’t you do something with this pen?”

  “Pass it here,” Blythe said, her tone weary. James thought to himself that she actually seemed quite happy to keep showing off. But he wouldn’t have dreamt of saying that out loud, now he knew it would only take her a few words to transform his outfit into a chicken suit.

  A few moments later the elevator reached the ground floor, and the pen had made a rough sketch of what Blythe could see: little James Winchester IV, wearing a top hat, coat with tails, and some very shiny shoes. And, of course, a grin. He was, after all, on his way to justice – in an extremely unlikely alliance: a penitent former Secret Stealer and Deceiver, and a determinedly angry little invisible secret-seeing boy. Though at present the latter was somewhat placated by the novelty of (what he considered to be) his new-fangled super-hero costume.

  Lesson Fifteen: One should NEVER trust a girl simply for her pretty face…

  for it is what’s on the inside that counts. Heart, lungs, gall bladder, the buccinator muscles, etc.

  “Esther Mason-Smith?”

  Esther jolted awake at the sound of her name. Lilith had fallen asleep too, with her head resting on Esther’s arm. Esther’s movement woke her.

  “Sorry, Lily,” she murmured quietly. She turned to the male nurse who had addressed her. “Yes, that’s me. How is Andrew doing?”

  “The procedure went just fine,” he replied with a smile. “Andrew is recovering nicely. We think he’s up to moving, so we’re going to take him up to ward three. We’re going to keep him for the rest of the day for observation, though.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks for letting us know,” Esther said with a nod. “Wait. What time is it?”

  The nurse looked at his watch. “About eight a.m.” He smiled and left them.

  Esther yawned. “You were right, Lily, they’re moving him up to the ward now.”

  “Gosh,” Lilith said as she stood up, stretching, “how did we manage to sleep so long on those chairs? They weren’t very comfortable.”

  “I guess we’re just clever.” Esther smiled, opting not to tell Lilith that she’d cheated a little. What good was
it, after all, to be a magician, if you couldn’t help yourself to some sleep in situations like these?

  They followed the unconscious lad to his new location and were pleased to find some chairs beside the bed that were much more comfortable than those in the emergency waiting rooms.

  As Esther moved to sit down, Lilith said to her, “Sorry, Miss Mason-Smith, but you shouldn’t sit. You should look for Darcy.”

  “Oh, yes.” Esther caught herself mid-slump and struggled back up again. “Any hints other than the name Darcy? Height? Hair colour? Age?”

  “Nope. Sorry.” Lilith shook her head. “Just the name ‘Darcy’.”

  “Alright. Well, you just stay here with Ew-Boy, okay?”

  Lilith Palmer nodded.

  Esther left the room, feeling reasonably confident that Lilith would obey her and stay exactly where she was. She had spent some time, the previous evening, explaining the Secret Stealer curse to Lilith: what it entailed, how it came about, how one might become cursed, and how one might rid oneself of it. Lilith only needed to hear it once to understand it – every single bit of it. Esther had also related to her the story of ‘The Ghost of Westcott’, which had sent the little girl into a bout of giggles that had lasted several minutes. Nevertheless, to grasp such strange concepts so quickly – and at so young an age! If Blythe did take Lilith on as an apprentice, she could become a force to be reckoned with.

  Reaching the nurse’s station, Esther decided it would be easiest to simply ask for Darcy.

  After checking the computer system, the nurse frowned and said, “I’m sorry, there’s no one here with that name.”

  “Oh, okay.” Esther sighed. Perhaps this was going to be a little more complicated than she had originally envisaged.

  She had begun to walk away when the nurse called out to her, “Sorry – miss? I might have misunderstood you. Were you after any staff named Darcy? Or a patient?”

  Seeing as the staff direction had returned nothing useful, Esther figured that a small fib might get her somewhere. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I not say that? Yes, I’m looking for a patient named Darcy. Friend of a friend. I said I’d visit while I was here at the hospital.” Seeing the nurse raise her eyebrow, Esther explained, “Oh, I’m here with Andrew Harrison – patient in room nine.”

  “Well, Darcy is in room eight,” the nurse answered, and Esther tried not to look surprised that there was a Darcy after all. She thanked the nurse and retreated as quickly as possible. Perhaps, after all, it would be simpler than she had thought.

  Esther Mason-Smith crept into room eight as silently as possible, in case Darcy was asleep. She needn’t have worried. As soon as she entered the room a forlorn-looking little girl looked up at her, brightened momentarily and then began to frown.

  “You’re not my uncle,” said the dark-haired, elf-like child.

  “Sorry.” Esther shrugged and smiled. “Are you Darcy?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “Where’s your mum, Darcy?” Esther asked, taking the seat beside the bed.

  “She hadda go to work. My uncle’s gonna come spend the day with me, ’cause my daddy hadda go to work too. It’s boring in here when you can’t do the school stuff or play the games.” The little girl sighed.

  Esther looked carefully into the large, blue-green eyes of the little girl beside her. Like curses, the nature of ill health became apparent to her if she simply looked closely enough. It was this talent of hers that had led her to become a nurse in the first place. Curses were Blythe’s speciality, but blessings (equally powerful though often not recognised as so) were Esther’s.

  Darcy suffered from a condition that caused poor absorption of calcium, resulting in brittle and ill-formed bones. She could be in and out of hospital every week for the rest of her life. A handshake from someone who didn’t know better might in one moment crush every single bone in her hand. It was no way to spend one’s childhood – afraid to be hugged, or tousled, or to fall.

  Luckily Esther had done much reading on the subject, for in order to counter a condition, like a curse, one must understand it. Perhaps this was why she was here, she wondered. Perhaps Darcy had nothing to do with them at all, except that she was in the room next to Andrew’s, and would live a miserable life if Esther did nothing about it.

  “Do you believe in magic?” Esther asked the elfin child.

  Darcy frowned. “Not really.”

  “What?” Esther pretended to be shocked. “How old are you?”

  “Six and three quarters,” Darcy answered.

  “How can you be six and three quarters and not believe in magic?” Esther continued. “I’m 26 and one quarter, and I still believe in magic.”

  Darcy giggled. “You’re silly.”

  Esther furtively glanced about. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  Darcy suddenly grinned. Little girls always love secrets, after all.

  Esther reached into her pocket and withdrew a 20c coin. “This is called a fixer coin. A magician gave it to me and said if I ever got sick, to flip this coin. If I got the side with the queen on it then I’d be perfectly healthy again.”

  Of course the coin did no such thing. Esther intended to do the work herself as soon as Darcy flipped the coin – which was weighted to always land heads-up anyway. One thing that Esther had learned in all her years of ‘fixing’ was that if your patient did not believe they could be well again, then no matter what you did, they’d come down with the same condition again. She was quite often required to fool her patient into believing they could be better, before she could attempt anything. It was one of the most frustrating aspects of her work – that she could do almost nothing for the pessimists. Thankfully this was not to be her trouble today. It seemed that the world had not yet managed to beat the optimism out of poor little Darcy just yet.

  “Can you flip it for me?” Darcy weakly withdrew her hands from under the bed-covers. They were in casts. “My hands got broken.”

  Esther’s work was done even before Darcy saw the Queen facing upwards on her outstretched palm.

  “Feel better yet?” Esther asked.

  “I think so!” Darcy smiled. It would be hard to tell just yet, anyway. Esther glanced momentarily at Darcy’s charts – they sure were being liberal with the analgesics. Then something caught her eye.

  “Oh no,” she moaned. Then, mostly to herself, she muttered, “What is this? One gigantic let’s-annoy-the-hell-out-of-Esther conspiracy?”

  “What are you talking about?” Darcy asked.

  “Well, hello!” A voice behind Esther spoke. “If it isn’t my favourite crazy lady!”

  “Your name just had to be Darcy Gables, didn’t it?” Esther half-laughed, half-groaned.

  “Unky Bee!” Darcy grinned happily. “You know this lady? She just used her magic coin to fix me!”

  “Did she now?” Byron Gables smiled back at Esther and took a seat on the other side of Darcy’s bed.

  “I’ll leave you two alone now,” Esther said, intending to make a very hasty retreat. But two steps from the door she was blocked by a very flushed-looking Lilith Palmer.

  “It’s Andrew, Miss Mason-Smith,” Lilith said breathlessly. “I’ve been running all over trying to find you.”

  “Go get one of the hospital nurses, Lily. I’m not authorised to do anything with him,” Esther replied a little impatiently. Having Byron Gables nearby was making her feel waspish.

  “No, you don’t understand,” Lilith said with some urgency. “You have to come now.”

  James was not exactly sure of what to do.

  Having found Willowgreen Care Facility somewhere on the outskirts of western Sydney, James was having trouble locating ‘Mary Thomas’ within it. It was not exactly like finding Blythe and Domenic within the hotel, for James had very little idea what his mother looked like – only the few fleeting images of her he’d seen amongst Yvette and Walter’s secrets. Furthermore, those images were of a 17-year-old girl, not a 26-year-old woman. James hardly knew ho
w much a person was likely to grow up or change between those ages. He wondered if she had Potential, and whether she’d be able to see him. Or would she see straight through him, like the Winchesters had, even before he’d fallen victim to the curse?

  He had been searching for several hours by now. Or at least, what he thought was several hours. The only indicator he had was the light; that slow and stately progression of the sun from east to west. When he’d first arrived it had been dark. Now the sun was reluctantly rising above its horizon bed, setting the world aflame with colour. Well, if I absolutely must get up, it seemed to say to James, I’ll at least get up with style.

  It would still be a few hours before Blythe and Domenic arrived at the airport in Sydney, but as it was this visit was getting him nowhere. He deemed it best to return another day, when he had a tangible companion to ask questions for him and make easy his currently futile search. The disappointment he felt at this set-back was minimal. If not today, then another. He would find his mother. He had made up his mind and was quite determined to see this through, even if he was practically a ghost.

  As James rose away from Willowgreen, the bright morning sun reflected upon a nearby pond and caught his eyes, momentarily blinding him. As he rose further and further, he thought it odd that the reflection did not change. And, now that he thought about it, the sun would have to have been somewhere high above him for the reflection to reach him here. There was something very… wrong… about this pond.

  Looking at the position of the sun relative to the horizon, James decided that he still had a little time. It couldn’t hurt to satisfy his curiosity about this strange phenomenon.

  As he descended, closer and closer to this bizarre pool of light, James realised that it was not a reflection at all. Just rectangular blocks of light, which seemed to blend together at a distance.

  They were secrets. Buried in the ground.

  Beneath stones marked with names and dates.

  Maybe that’s what he’d meant, James thought as he remembered a fictitious movie character desperately promising: I’ll take this secret to the grave. And here they were, thousands of untold secrets lying beneath the dirt, creating a pool of lights so beautiful that James felt a phantom ache pass through his soul.