by Sara Hanover
“I’m here,” he said softly, “to warn you.”
That couldn’t be good. “All right.”
“You and yours have been marked for both Death and Justice. You must take very close care of those you love.”
Not that I wouldn’t, but I frowned, and felt my nose wrinkle slightly. “Or . . .”
“You will lose, Tessa. All that you value.”
“And you can’t help me?”
“I’m here tonight, am I not? Take care.”
With that, he flicked his wrist. The whip lashed out with a sharp crack, flames leaping out and the smell of the burn circling us both. Then Malender disappeared.
Scout bounded away from the door as if released and thumped into me hard enough we both almost fell over. I dropped a hand to his dense head.
“I think,” I said to him, “I’ve had enough for tonight.”
I don’t remember what I dreamed when I finally fell asleep again.
* * *
• • •
“Tessa! Ever getting up?”
Sometime during the night, the pup and I had changed positions for as I pried my eyelids open, we were nose to nose. He had one pillow and I the other. And no matter what anyone says, past a certain age, puppy breath is not adorable.
I rolled around him and made it to my bedroom door. “Down as soon as I shower!”
“I’ll wait breakfast on you, then.”
I yelled out my thanks and headed to the bathroom that serves as mine. Scout slept in, nearly oblivious until I dressed and laced on my shoes at which point he sensed that his own breakfast loomed. He lumbered past me, leaving me in his dust.
This time I put my bracers on and left them on, under the long cotton sleeves of my shirt. Malender had warned me, and it wouldn’t be much use if I just shrugged that off. Against what, I’d no idea but any advance notice was appreciated.
Mom, true to her word, sat up straight at the table and smiled softly as the two of us walked in and plunked down. Scout went to his feed bowl, but I sat at my mother’s right, as I had done for most of my life.
She’d made an egg and potato scramble that smelled heavenly, with bits of Vidalia onions caramelized and stirred in, and I grabbed for my fork.
She didn’t follow suit, so after gulping down my first big bite, I stopped.
“Something wrong?”
“Nothing I can put my finger on.”
“Did you sleep well?” I wondered if my nighttime adventures had disturbed her.
“Like a log. No, it’s the paper and the committee and . . . stuff.”
I stabbed another forkful of eggs and good things but didn’t lift it. I wondered if I should tell her about the university personnel I’d seen at the Society or any of the other things that had gone bump in the last few nights. I decided on partial transparency. I waved the fork at her. “Want to know how the meeting went?”
“If it distracts me, yes.” She watched me with tired eyes. Normally her eyes blazed blue, but today . . . today they seemed a bit clouded. I hadn’t noticed that expression on her face since we’d found out that Dad had sold off the mortgage on our home without telling us.
“They didn’t know the professor had completed his ritual.”
“Really?” She unfolded her paper napkin with the delicacy others used on linen. “I thought they were supposed to know everything.”
“They didn’t. And they were all terribly interested in the maelstrom stone.”
“Naturally. Did they give you any trouble?”
“No. Inferred but nothing overt. I kept a lot of my ability under my hat, so to speak. It seemed best.”
“You’re not going back,” Mom stated.
“Actually, I might. I’ve arranged a few lessons that I need. The professor neglected some of my education. However, I think I’ll approach the Society cautiously.”
“Hmm.” She picked up her own fork then.
“There were people there, Mom, that I didn’t expect. I recognized some from the university. Like Faith Hawkins.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and Nyanga from my campus, even though he runs the custodial department.”
She thought about it. “Camouflage?”
“Maybe. Maybe he just enjoys having a relatively stress-free job. The one that worried me is from your area, though.”
My mother sighed. “That rather jibes with what’s been bothering me. I have this overwhelming sense of disapproval regarding my work. Faith may or may not be on my side. She holds a bit of power, and I’ve acknowledged that, which pleases her, but . . .”
“Trying to discourage you? It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Over a year late. Although I must admit my writing didn’t really take off until I changed my main focus last fall. Knowing what I know, I don’t think I could write any differently, at least, not on this subject.”
“Then plow through. Insist that they finish their review so you can get your diploma.”
“And if I get dismissed altogether? No paper, no job?”
I took my bite although it had grown cold. “I graduate in May. We’ll move or whatever we need to do. Find work. We’ve friends now, and connections.”
She laughed at that. “We could disappear off the grid altogether.”
“We could.”
We both started eating then, a little buoyed by our options, and determined to buck tradition as we had done before. The only thing I had to worry about would be leaving my father behind in the cellar.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TROUBLE TO THE RIGHT OF ME
THAT’S NOT QUITE how it goes, that earworm stuck in my head from some classic vinyl station my mother listens to, but the lyrics, clowns to the right of me, jokers to the left didn’t quite fit what I was feeling. It had to be trouble, and I definitely felt stuck in the middle.
I stood in front of my closet, sorting through clothes that might or might not be appropriate to wear to the Statler Inauguration and wondering how warm/freezing cold the venue would be, and how damaging the shoes would feel to my toes after, oh, say, five minutes, and other crucial fact considerations. What I really searched for was a truly excellent reason not to go, but Evie was counting on me, so I couldn’t really devise an alternate plan. Not unless, say, my house blew up or something. Which, after the warning Malender gave me, was not as improbable as it sounded. My bracers were becoming a steady part of my everyday outfit.
Whether I wanted to or not, the Society lessons had become a necessity, if only because I had a need to keep an eye on certain members. I wasn’t sure where the threat could be centered, outside of Judge Parker, but he was enough, and if he’d had the likes of Thigpen in his pocket, there would be more. If he had friends in low places, I needed eyes in the back of my head. Although, with Evelyn, I might not need them. Her predictions came true much more often than not, and I had to face the fact that my best friend had become a seer of sorts. Time to give her credit and see if she could help me head off potential disasters.
As if divining that I thought about her, the phone rang. I fished it out of my back pocket and said, “Hi, girlygirl. What’s up?”
“Do you think Hiram really wants to host us at a luncheon?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’ve been a little . . . pushy.” And I could hear Evelyn sigh.
Maybe she was coming to her senses. I could hope. “Just a little.”
“It’s just that everything feels so right!”
“If it is, it will not only last but get stronger.”
“You’re trying to tell me time won’t ruin it.”
“Not if it’s real,” I told her. “And I think it is, you think it is, and I can’t speak for Hiram, but he’s acting as if it is. Hiram strikes me as the sort who stands by his word whenever he gives it.�
�
Evelyn’s voice got very small. “He hasn’t told me he loves me.”
“Yet. He will. He’s taking into account all sorts of things that you don’t know about him. He’s not a hasty sort.”
That brought a little laugh. “You’re making him sound like a character out of Lord of the Rings.”
She wasn’t far wrong, but I couldn’t tell her that. I left it to Hiram to tell his story. I laughed back at her. “You need to chill, Evie. This is a good thing happening. Stop trying to talk yourself or Hiram out of it, okay?”
“Like you and Carter?”
“We’re different but the same. Everything will work out for the best.”
“I wish I could believe that, but I have this . . . I don’t know. This bad feeling.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all. I dug the toe of my shoe into the floor and answered, “Now you’re just trying to spook yourself. Cut that out!”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I’ve been jumping at shadows. Talk to you later?”
“Absolutely.”
She hung up. About then, a dress fell off its hanger in my closet, and I caught it on the way to the floor. Its light green chiffon draped nicely over my arm. I hadn’t ever worn this, a leftover from last spring’s big event. About time to give it its day in the sun, I thought, and hung it back up where I could easily find it.
I tried to have no qualms whatsoever about what pulled it off its hanger. Its history, though it shouldn’t have had one, because I’d never worn it . . . well, its history bothered me. Joanna Hashimoto had brought it over with a couple of others, including my favorite which I had worn near to death. I hadn’t known then that she was anything but a super smart tech kid with a father who owned a country club and several other high-toned businesses . . . nothing about them had suggested that he was a samurai mage and she a three-tailed and very wicked Kitsune. Either one of them would have killed me for the stone, and they were twice as deadly as a team. Just goes to show that one never knows what goes on behind closed doors.
I’d learned that samurai held a vigorous code of honor, but this one hadn’t—he was all about power. I’d also been told that Kitsune, Japanese fox goddesses, were wise and good . . . but Joanna had been as corrupt and power-hungry as her father. On any scale, they had a lot: wealth, prestige, intelligence . . . so what made them so hungry? The need to be immortal, I suppose, immortal and unstoppable. I tried not to think about it because there would be no clear-cut answers.
But they were gone now, although I battled Joanna once in a while in my dreams. The pale green dress really did look pretty enough and sedate enough to wear to the mayoral inauguration ceremony. I would show a little neckline and shoulder, and maybe a sweep of my ankles, but the rest seemed pretty conservative. Not that I needed to be conservative, but it was Mrs. Statler’s and Evelyn’s night, not mine. I patted the dress as I shut the closet door. I’d had Carter as my plus one, but got the feeling he wouldn’t make it, not to a high publicity event like this unless he was working it. My mom and I had had each other’s backs for years, and she could use a ritzy night out.
Scout let out a sharp bark from the backyard, to let me know he wanted a walk/run and attention, so I went to retrieve him.
Steptoe was waiting for us both when we got inside, me chafing my hands for warmth and Scout dancing around because he liked to dance.
He’d started a fire in the living room, and I sat cautiously. The demon looked dreadfully serious, unlike him, and I knew we were in for more trouble.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TWITCHES
“I’VE BEEN THINKING,” Steptoe ventured, his hands wrapped around each other as though chilled beyond measure.
Normally, one of us would have teased him, but I was the only one still in the house, and neither of us felt quite like laughing just yet. “Of what?”
“Time to test the old twitches out again.”
It had been weeks since we’d tried. At a certain point, there seemed to be no reason to. I poked in a small piece of kindling while I considered it before asking, “What’s changed?”
“Outside of a broken latch and a few switched boxes? Nothing. But we won’t know for sure unless we go looking.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Got an itch?”
Steptoe frowned. “My tail is not to be a subject of your skepticism.”
Attitude much? But he seemed to be genuinely upset, and I decided not to rile him up further. “How do you want to go about it, then?”
“Drive around a bit. Circle the city, I’m thinking.”
“In case he’s here somewhere.”
Steptoe nodded. “I can’t rightly think he wouldn’t come back. He had his roots here for quite a while. And you’ve got trouble, Tessa. You need him.”
I checked my watch. “Well, Mom’s at meetings till after six. I’ve got the time.”
We bundled up, or rather I bundled up, Steptoe was always mostly in his suit although he did add a natty red muffler about his neck before he got in my car. It had begun snowing and then stopped although wind still rippled through all the trees. Clouds had boiled in, turning late afternoon almost as dark as night. I would have to drive cautiously and slowly, which helped the search actually, as long as we had room on the road and didn’t stop traffic.
As we pulled out of the neighborhood, I suggested, “Let’s start at the church.”
“St. John’s?”
“That’s where it all started, right?”
“A lot of things started there, including bits of the Revolution, but you make a point.”
I watched him, side-eye a bit, to see how uneasy it made him. The historic Episcopalian church, famous for Patrick Henry’s “Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death” speech was also where the professor had cornered Steptoe and bound him. For decades he’d thought that was where Brandard had also hidden his stolen tail, but that proved not to be true. After the fire that hit the professor’s house, while sifting through the ruins, it became clear that the tail had been stored there in his massive desk, in a hidden compartment, until someone else stole it from the ruins. We finally identified it in the hands of dark elves and liberated it after a number of misadventures. But we hadn’t been able to break the bond, not even with the professor disappearing.
Our partially redeemed lesser demon was also only partially free. Not an easy state to try and exist in, I knew. He seemed a bit uneasy on the drive to Broad Street, but that could have been alertness for ice on the streets and cars that couldn’t maneuver on it. The statues we passed held a gleam of frost on their metallic structures, looking even colder than usual.
Steptoe considered a couple of them as well. “Not nice people,” he finally stated. “Don’t deserve a memorial.”
“Did you know any of them?”
“A few. None of them knew what I was, but they thought me a villain and tried to hire me, now and then, to create a spot of trouble.”
That was news to me. “Trouble?”
“Theft, robbery, disruption behind the lines. General mischief. I wouldn’t do it, but enough humans answered the call anyway.” He gave a sniff. “War is not a noble profession.”
I nodded as the stark shadows arrowing across the road worked on my mind as if it tried to remember and couldn’t.
We got to the parking lot of the plain white-painted church. It didn’t soar like Notre Dame had or rear itself in stone majesty like Westminster Abbey or St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York. Wooden and relatively simply structured, it looked practical and sustaining. Whatever magnificence it carried was on the inside.
I’d been there a few times, school field trips to instill history in us, successfully in the church’s case. I’d always been able to feel the weight and importance of a relatively small building in comparison with its place in the scheme of things. I’d also been here once, very quickly,
with Steptoe. I didn’t expect that today would be any different.
Except that it was. My companion tensed in his seat, both feet pressed downward as if they rode a secondary brake and attempted to push it through the floorboards.
“Steptoe?”
I waited for him to relax or melt or at least acknowledge me before reaching over and putting my hand on his arm. Muscles felt like steel under my touch, but he did turn to me.
“Leave, Tessa. Turn the car around and get out while you can.”
“What is it?”
“I’m . . . not sure. But it has nothing to do with our mission. It is far bigger and more dangerous.” He moved then, all of him, rocking forward a bit as if he might leap out of the car.
“Drive!”
It seemed best not to argue with him. I put the car in gear, backed up, and sped out of the parking lot. “Where to?”
“Somewhere far from here.” He looked over his shoulder, as if transfixed in horror, and unable to look away from whatever caught his attention.
I drove to the Dairy Queen not far from my old high school, almost diagonally away from the Broad Street church. It was closed for the season and maybe due for some fresh paint before it reopened, but it seemed relatively harmless. More than harmless, it seemed a little forlorn on a wintry day. I shrugged that off as I turned to Steptoe.
