The Gray Tower Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Alesha Escobar

  I opened the door and went inside, navigating my way to the living room. For a moment, I thought of our old house back in Baltimore and all my childhood memories associated with it; this new place would take some getting used to, but this large Victorian home did have its charm.

  “Isabella?” Rachel quickly put away her feather duster and walked over to me. Her blonde hair was neatly coiffed in a waved pomp style and she wore pearl earrings and a stylish green day dress. She looked like the perfect housewife, and I wondered if I could ever pull it off.

  “Rachel...hello,” I awkwardly hugged her and self-consciously adjusted the diamond ring on my finger. I had the Agate stone and talisman rings on my chain.

  “I’m so glad to finally meet you!” She beamed. “I’ve seen all your pictures, and Johnnie’s told me everything about you.”

  “I’m glad to meet you as well...you look wonderful.”

  “Thank you,” she answered with a smile. “Mother! Isabella’s here.” She gestured for me to sit on the sofa and went into the kitchen.

  As soon as I sat down, my mother came into the room. She smiled at me with her eyes. I was very glad I inherited her beautiful green eye color and none of her pear-shaped body.

  “Mom, how are you?”

  She approached and gave me a kiss on the top of my head, probably the only extent to which she’d show me affection. “I’m well, dear.”

  “I hope you like iced tea, Isabella.” Rachel set a tray on the coffee table and began pouring drinks.

  “How do you like it here, in Cambridge?” I accepted a glass of tea from Rachel and thanked her.

  “It’s quiet...too quiet.”

  Mom waved Rachel off when she offered her a drink, and instead pulled out a Julep cigarette and lit it.

  “Why, I think it’s swell here.” Rachel forced a smile. “Probably not as exciting as the ambassador’s office, I imagine.”

  I felt like such a fraud, walking in here with an engagement ring that wouldn’t have a wedding attached to it and a career that didn’t exist. I wondered what it would feel like to just tell them the truth. “Well, I’m mainly in the office doing...office work. It’s not as exciting as one would think.”

  Johnnie stumbled through the doorway with my bags and Neal carried another two under each arm. “Izzy, which ones should we put into the guesthouse for Neal?”

  I cringed. I wished he’d stop calling me that. At least Johnnie was a suitable nickname for Jonathan--but to call me Izzy? No. It was just as bad as FBI agents running around calling me “George” in gruff voices.

  “Actually,” Neal said, “all of these bags are hers.”

  When Johnnie gestured for Neal to set his bags down, my mother rose from her seat and beckoned him to her. “Hello, Neal. I’m Mary.”

  Neal approached and very graciously held her hands as he kissed both of her cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. George.”

  She had him sit next to her. “Believe me, I’m just as interested in meeting you. Do forgive me, but I don’t recall ever hearing about you until...well, earlier today.”

  “That’s because I proposed to her this morning. It was quite romantic, if I do say so myself.”

  “Really?” My mother took a puff of her Julep and eyed him critically. I felt an urge to remind Neal about not saying or doing anything that would give him away, but Rachel grabbed my hand.

  “Come on, Isabella. Let’s go set the table.”

  I followed her into the kitchen and helped her grab some dishes and utensils. “The house is beautiful, Rachel.” Why did this small talk feel more painful than an enemy interrogation?

  “Thank you.” After we set the table, she rushed over to me and nearly squealed. “Are you going to live out here? I think there’s a house for sale nearby. What does Neal think?”

  “We haven’t decided yet. We still have several obligations in Europe.” I followed her back into the kitchen and took the large bowl of salad. She grabbed the hors d’oeuvres, a modest platter of raw vegetables with stuffed dates in the center, and a meat loaf too. We set everything on the dining room table.

  “I really hope you both can stay. Jonathan is ecstatic over you being home.”

  “I have to admit that I feel a bit out of place, having been away for so long.” I glanced in the direction of the living room, wondering what my mother and Neal were discussing.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, Isabella. I feel like I already know you, and...you just feel free to ask me anything, because I want you to know me too.” She guided me toward my seat, and when I sat where she wanted, she pushed my chair in and smiled.

  “Um, thanks...” I scooted back just a little to alleviate the feeling of sitting in a high chair.

  Johnnie glided into the room and wrapped one arm around me in a half-hug. “Now that you’re back, have you given any thought to coming to Harvard?”

  I smiled at him. “What did I tell you the last time you asked?”

  “Jonathan’s name is on everyone’s lips.” Rachel steered Johnnie to his designated seat across from me and made him sit the same way she had done me. “He’s been partnering with Dr. Grey, working on some interesting historical texts. They even talked about it in the newspaper.”

  “Well,” Johnnie blushed, “I’m more of an assistant than a partner.”

  “Jonathan’s been working for hours on end,” Rachel insisted. “He’s presenting a paper next week.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Johnnie.” I looked in the direction of the living room once more and began to grow worried. Was Neal subtly getting information out of my mother? I hoped she wouldn’t discuss anything from my childhood, back in Baltimore. She knew about that frightful day, when I was ten years old and I burned with an inexplicable fire that did not consume me. My father knew then what I was. He understood. My mother didn’t, and she was afraid. I think part of her hated my father because of that. I put on a false smile when Neal came walking in from the other side with my mother.

  Rachel had Neal sit next to me, and my mother sat at the head of the table. She finally took her place next to Johnnie. We bowed our heads as Rachel said a short prayer, and we began eating. I glanced at my mom, who had traded her cigarette for a glass of chilled champagne. I wondered what she and Neal had been discussing.

  At Rachel’s prompting, Johnnie continued describing his current project. “I’ve been fortunate enough to help Dr. Grey translate and catalogue some recently discovered Persian and Arabic texts dating from the time of Suleiman the Magnificent. Can you imagine the impact this would have on our knowledge of history, culture, and medicine? I’ve even found references to the Gray Tower in there. Suleiman had a very progressive system when it came to integrating wizards into society.”

  “I’ve read about Suleiman, when I studied at the Tower” I held out my glass and let Neal pour some champagne. “I thought those texts were in Turkish.”

  “Some were,” Johnnie admitted. “The Turkish texts are being translated by Dr. Grey, and I’m handling the others.”

  “Maybe I will come down to the university for a visit, Johnnie.” If I could speak with Dr. Grey and have him take a look at that Turkish text in Veit Heilwig’s diary, then I could finally decode those encrypted pages.

  Neal studied my brother for a moment and then asked, “Your Suleiman project sounds brilliant, to be sure. May I ask what led you to take on such a task? Isabella told me you teach western European history.”

  Johnnie gave a thoughtful look. “It’s fascinated me for these past few years, and so, when the opportunity came along, I went ahead and acted on it.”

  “And Johnnie wouldn’t want to pass up such an exclusive project.” I eyed my brother as I said this, knowing that he had also been preoccupied with my father’s last mission in the Ottoman Empire, and his subsequent disappearance. How deep did his sorrow still run after all these years? Did he think he could find something out about our father by pursuing this project? I was once in the same place, and that�
��s why I knew I’d have to find the right time to tell Johnnie that our father was alive. But how would I do this? When?

  “This meatloaf’s too bland,” my mother said. “You usually make it much more flavorful, Rachel.”

  Poor girl, her stressed smile came back. “Well, you see, I wasn’t sure if my seasoning would agree with Neal. Do you like spicy food in England?”

  Neal smirked, and I reached beneath the table and pinched his thigh as a warning. “I most certainly do, Rachel. This meatloaf is delicious. I only wish Isabella would cook for me, then I would be much happier.”

  My mom snorted a laugh and Rachel gasped. Johnnie stayed out of it and gulped down some champagne. I wanted to tell Neal that he was a lousy fake fiancé.

  “He’s joking, Rachel.” I glared at Neal. I was actually a decent cook, even though I’ve only cooked for myself.

  I supposed the turn of topic from Medieval texts to the artistry of cooking suited Rachel well, because she spoke with Neal another ten minutes about it before finally offering to clear the table. I got up and helped her, but not before giving Neal a final glare. After we cleaned everything up, Rachel invited us into the living room where they had a baby grand piano with a smooth walnut finish. Once she found out that Neal played, she begged him to serenade them with a song.

  She hopped on the couch with Johnnie and curled up against him. I stood watching them from the kitchen doorway, gazing at them with both admiration and envy. I forced myself not to think about Ken, and what it would’ve been like for him to meet my family. I would’ve definitely liked to curl up with him and be romantic as well. My mom stood next to me, as if decidedly not won over by Neal and keeping her distance. Neal began playing Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 while exchanging a few words with Johnnie and Rachel.

  My mom faced me. “When were you planning on telling me your fiancé was a wizard?”

  The question took me by surprise. I swore my mother could put Sherlock Holmes to shame. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like the idea. You...don’t even like me being one.”

  She frowned. “Or maybe I don’t like secrets and lies. Maybe I don’t like my daughter being halfway around the world and me not knowing what’s happening with her.”

  “Did he say something to you when I left you two alone?” I swore that if he revealed anything he shouldn’t have that I’d sneak into the guesthouse and smother him with a pillow.

  “I asked him a few questions.” She smiled. “He’s sharp, contemplative...and he’s playing Liszt’s most difficult piece while casually chatting with two other people.”

  She gave me a triumphant look, as if that had settled it. I crossed my arms. “And?”

  “Even my brightest prodigies would stumble over Hungarian Rhapsody if someone so much as walked into the room while they were playing. He’s playing it perfectly while being distracted, and he doesn’t even have sheet music to go off of. He’s so much like your father.”

  “So why don’t you like him?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Heck, it wasn’t like I was really marrying the guy.

  “Like I said...he’s so much like your father.”

  Neal’s piano serenade had ended, and Rachel and Johnnie cheered him. Neal then began regaling them with fictional stories starring him in the ambassador’s office and how we supposedly met. He even got me to laugh--I had to admit, he could be entertaining when he wanted. The irony was that most Philosophers I’ve known were so wrapped up in their calculations and projections that they tended to lose touch with flesh and blood. People were no longer freethinking beings with individual desires and dreams; to the Philosopher, they were possibilities, projects, and experiments.

  My jaw tightened at the thought of my father and some of his own manipulative actions. He had been so concerned with out-maneuvering his enemies in order to protect us, that he forgot why he was doing it to begin with. Even he should be tired after running and fighting all these years. Didn’t he want to come home to us? Or was I just a pawn in this critical match between him and the Gray Tower?

  “Mom,” I said, watching Johnnie attempt to tell a joke he had recently heard to Neal and Rachel, “do you miss dad?”

  She gave a sad smile. “Every day. Sometimes I’m still angry over some of the things he did. If the Gray Tower called him in the dead of night, he would go. If the Masters wanted him to bring them our little girl...he did it. But, he’s gone now, and that’s all in the past. Isn’t it?”

  Rachel called out to us. “Please, come and have a seat!”

  Johnnie beckoned to us. “I told Neal you used to teach piano, Mom. Could you play us something?”

  She squeezed my hand and acquiesced. Neal made way for her as she approached and sat at the piano. She began flawlessly playing Moonlight Sonata. When Rachel signaled for me to come sit on the couch with her and Johnnie, I gestured to her to let her know that I had to make a phone call. I went upstairs into my bedroom and opened my purse, pulling out the elder Robert Cambria’s phone number. I didn’t want anyone to overhear my conversation, so I decided to use the phone in the study, a few doors down, instead of downstairs in the kitchen.

  I went inside the large study room, with its hardwood floor and matching mahogany bookcases. I went over to the corner, where a typewriter stood on a small desk, and shut the curtains nearby. I walked over to the large desk and turned on the lamp since the sun was setting and the room was nearly dark. I eased into Johnnie’s leather chair, glancing at a stack of books on his desk and carefully pushing aside a pile of papers. I reached for the phone and dialed Cambria’s number, and, after about four rings, he picked up the phone.

  “This is the Cambria residence.”

  “Hello, General Cambria...it’s Isabella George.”

  “Isabella? Yes, yes, how are you?”

  “I’m well. I just got back from Washington and ran into Rob. He gave me your number and address, and I was hoping to pay you a visit.”

  “Of course. Where are you?”

  “I’m in Cambridge.”

  “How soon can you come?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Bring the key when you come.”

  “Okay.”

  “And make sure you come alone, Isabella. Carson made me promise that only you would see it.”

  I heard footsteps in the hallway and I said in a hurried voice, “Thank you, sir. I will. I’ve got to go now, goodbye.”

  I hung up the phone and folded the note, placing it into my pocket. I slouched in Johnnie’s chair and casually grabbed one of the books on the desk. When Neal came into view, I smiled at him. “How’s it going?”

  “Quite well. I’ll be making bread pudding tomorrow morning with Rachel, and, later in the afternoon, I’ll be playing poker with Jonathan and his friends. Now, as for your mother, I must say that she is a formidable woman...a little scary, actually.”

  “Agreed.” I put the book away and stood. “Have you sensed anything so far? I haven’t felt anyone else’s presence yet.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be making a few phone calls tonight. My contacts will be able to tell me if anyone of interest has recently checked into any hotels in the area.”

  “You have contacts out here?”

  Maybe it wasn’t a good idea for my father to meet with me here, in the U.S. He had promised to see me again before the end of this year, and I thought if I were with the rest of the family, that I could convince Dad to reveal himself to them and at least let Johnnie and Mom know he was alive. However, if Neal had contacts around here and was still playing fiancé when my father showed up, I’d have a world of trouble on my hands.

  “Does that surprise you?” he asked.

  I gave a neutral expression and hoped he didn’t sense my unease. “Nothing you do surprises me anymore. You carry around opium the same way other people carry around Aspirin. I’m just wondering what your role in all this is.”

  He approached and stood right in front of me. He reached for the silver chain aroun
d my neck and raised the Agate stone ring attached as a reminder. “A friend...I’m a friend.”

  I thought about yesterday, when I felt like falling apart outside of General Donovan’s meeting room, when they told me about Ken’s death. I couldn’t even shed a tear over him in front of them, because no one at OSS or SOE knew we were even together. I would always be grateful to Neal for his support, because he was probably the only person on earth who I could talk to about it.

  “I know, it’s just that lately it’s been hard not to second-guess people. Brande’s one of the few people I trust. I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you, and I’m glad he sent you.”

  “I think he would’ve preferred to come himself.”

  “I’m sure I’ll see him sooner or later.”

  My mother walked in. “Neal, let me help you get acquainted with the guesthouse.”

  “He’ll be right there, Mom.” His back was to her, and I pressed my face against his right shoulder to stifle my laugh. She probably thought we had planned to sneak up here to be together.

  Neal turned to face her. “Of course, Mrs. George. I apologize for any appearances of... impropriety.”

  She waved her hand through the air. “Oh, please. When I was your age, Carson and I were all over each other--”

  “Ew. Mom. No.”

  “To the guesthouse, then.” Neal wore an amused expression as he headed out the study and down the hallway.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning on the doorframe.

  “No, I’m fine. I need to go to my room and unpack.” I went over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She smiled at me and followed Neal out.

  As I exited the study and went toward my room, which was the one nearest to the stairs, I spotted Johnnie and Rachel coming up. I apologized to them for running off, but they graciously shrugged it off. It felt embarrassing, and a little weird to say the least, that they were having more fun with my faux fiancé than with me. I readily accepted Rachel’s invitation to visit her book club tomorrow evening when the guys would be together playing poker. I hoped that, at least to a small extent, it would make up for me giving them the impression I was disinterested in being at home.