by Sara Hanover
“Of course. Didn’t help. She’s still missing.”
“Do you think that’s wise then? Meddling with the affairs of others? If they wanted to haul her in, it’s because they wanted her kept. Confined and all that. Could cause a lot of trouble to go wading in and upsetting plans and all. Not to mention my retirement. I’m scattered all over, you know, don’t know if I can help properly.”
“They may have taken her to leverage me or force a judgment. Bribery to let her go. I won’t stand for that. I’m afraid she’s going to cause a lot of trouble if I don’t retrieve her.”
“True. Wouldn’t put it past her, I wouldn’t. Mortimer, perhaps this is a good time to translocate.”
Translocate? Was that a word? Did he just tell the man to move without his spouse? I leaned a bit closer.
The voice I tagged as Mortimer’s let out a long and resigned sign before answering, “Can’t do that. I’m attached to her, you know. Don’t want to go without her. She’s my wife, after all. She needs finding. I have my duties and law to uphold, and I won’t abandon my position or Goldie. I know you can find her, if you wished. You could find anyone.” I could hear the floorboards moaning under a shuffled step as if something ponderous moved upon them. Was this the big guy that sometimes sat in the ginormous chair in the backyard? And if the professor could locate anyone, how about looking for my father? Not that we wanted him back, but his being found would make our lives easier. I listened more closely.
“And that’s exactly what’s being counted on. Wives do that, you know. Bit of sugar with the tart, fluttery eyelashes, soft lips, delectable curves and then, when you’ve fallen, they put their hooks in. Hooks, talons, whatever, and they go in deep.”
“Don’t make it sound like that.”
“Mortimer! What did you expect when you married a harpy? Hooks, that’s what!”
“Can’t help it, Professor. I love her in my own way, and I think she loves me too.” A muffled noise, rather like a sniffle, followed by a honk as he blew his nose.
A long pause. “It’s like that, then, is it?”
“It’s Malender—”
“No. No names. Especially not his. Wait. You haven’t mentioned me to her, have you? Or anyone? I’m just an old friend, aren’t I?”
“Never said your name. Not Brennus Morcant Brandard, not once.”
“Then it’s not a trap for me. Just the old love-and-marriage dilemma for you, Morty. I suggest, however, that we not stand in the foyer and talk about this. Little pitchers have big ears and all, and the study, which is warded, is a much better place to make plans. Here’s two glasses for you to carry, and I’ve got a bottle in hand, and off you go.” The floor squeaked and moaned a bit as the two walked off.
I jumped as sudden warmth flooded over my scalp before centering on my ears. I rubbed them, the skin as hot to my touch as if they had been burning and I’d been caught. I wasn’t sorry for listening—what if the professor did have a knack for finding missing people? And what a mouthful for a name! Foot over careful foot, I inched my way to the kitchen’s screen door and edged out carefully. As I closed it silently in its frame, the professor peeked out from the foyer’s depths. Our eyes met. His sparkled darkly. Without knowing why, I put my finger to my lips and hurried away without a sound.
That was my first month or so of knowing the professor.
The second month I set him on fire.
CHAPTER TWO
A HOT LATE spring night found me half-asleep when my cell phone rang. I twisted around, strangling in my sheets, furious at the nitwit who ignored phone etiquette, which says after nine pm, you text. Preferably, you mainly text. I managed to pick it up halfway through the second ring.
Static buzzed in my ear. “Help,” gasped the professor. “No time. Fire.” And the line went dead.
I flew out of bed to get to my jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. I snagged my hoodie as I raced out the door.
It might have been faster by bike, but I didn’t even think of it until I skidded around his corner and could smell the smoke and see the orange flames licking into the night sky. The darkened street lamps stood unlit, just useless columns. Why were they out? Was all electrical out? One house’s windows blossomed from gray to golden yellow as I sprinted past it, so no. I yelled “Call 911!” to the night sky and anyone who could hear as I streaked past. As I drew closer to Professor Brandard’s, a tornado of fire and red embers funneled upward. Smoke filled my throat. The house was toast. The neighbors could be saved, but that wouldn’t help the professor any. I stood in despair and wondered what he thought I could do. And what I possibly could have done, because I could see the spout of flame centered from the kitchen. Had he forgotten I’d left yet another meal warming for him? I’d called. Was this my fault? I’d set him aflame! I circled down the driveway and hoped to see Brandard perched on a pair of suitcases or boxes, anything he might have wrestled out the back door, and waiting for me.
No one. And nothing. The old-fashioned sun porch that ran across the back of the house hadn’t caught yet. I ran up the back steps, tearing at the screened walls riddled with dry rot, bringing them down. Splinters and ragged screen tore across my fingers. I lurched across the deck to the back door where I lifted my foot to try TV Cop 101 on it, and actually managed to kick it in with a loud bang. Air sucked in with a whoosh as I staggered back and flattened myself, prepared for the back draft. Flames renewed by the influx of fresh air shot out with a roar. Sparks encircled my head like a swarm of lightning bugs. The flames sucked back in as I rolled away, but I could feel their intense heat on my face as I looked through the doorframe. Nothing but a barbecue was going on inside. My heart fluttered for a minute. He couldn’t still be inside, helpless. He’d called!
“Professor Brandard!”
No answer, nothing but the growing roar of fire and the sound of glass windows cracking and exploding under the heat. Beams groaned and threatened to give way as flame ate away their centers.
Where were the firemen?
I leaped off the sun porch through the ragged hole I’d made, the fire providing illumination over the moonless and lightless night. The whole house keened with a voice of unworldly noise that sent a chill up the back of my neck as I remembered the professor’s place with its quaint identity: A craftsman styling with an upper story. An umbrella stand in the foyer for “bumbershoots.” Lace curtains across the kitchen windows and framing the door to the wisteria trellis. A built-in sideboard in the foyer gleaming with dark oil polish and littered with knickknacks I couldn’t begin to identify, nor had the professor ever let me linger long enough to get a good look at them. Had he died trying to sweep his memorabilia into some duffel so he could haul it outside? Was he buried in books from his library? Digging up floorboards in the upstairs bedroom to retrieve bundles of cash he wouldn’t entrust to the banks? Hiding in the porcelain claw-foot bathtub down the hall in hopes it would protect him?
True, I didn’t know if he had a claw-foot bathtub on the second floor. We did. But Great-Aunt April hadn’t put much money into updating the plumbing. As if awakened by my thoughts, his house pipes began to make a furious thumping noise, as if water heated beyond the boiling point was using fists in an attempt to break out.
Did I hear sirens coming closer?
Maybe he had made it outside into the tall, dew-soaked green yard. If not outside, then he was nowhere safe, and I couldn’t possibly help him. I darted back into the night, coughing and spitting out the taste of the fire. The redwood arch? He’d said it wouldn’t burn. I doubted that, but . . .
I halted in the middle of the yard. Something rustled in the hedge near the maze. Neighborhood cat? No, it sounded like something large. Much larger. I peered hopefully toward the noisy shrubbery.
“Professor? Professor Brandard?” The smoke throttled my voice down and only a whisper husked out. I barely heard myself, but the something had heard me. It stop
ped moving.
“Professor, are you all right?” I sounded like a habitual smoker from one of those warning commercials. What had the professor said to Mortimer? Three times was the charm? I coughed to clear my throat. “Professor Brandard!”
The smoke thinned. The hedge made a furious rustling noise as a being rose out of it. All six foot something of him stood, naked as the day he was born, only a few branches of the hedge hiding strategic spots. My jaw dropped open at the sight of him. A broad shoulder, wavy hair of red gold, or maybe it was a reflection from the fire that tinted it, eyes of bluish-green with sooty eyelashes framing them, and a dimpled cheek. I couldn’t breathe for a moment.
I clamped my mouth shut.
I had no idea what to do when a snarling, shouting voice carried from the front yard, interrupting my jagged train of thought. “Holy shit and bloody balls of hell!” More curses and fury filled the air, and impulse hit. Hide!
I dove headfirst over the hedge and dragged nature boy down by the arm to the ground with me. No firefighter I ever heard of talked like that, and I didn’t want to meet the enraged man who did.
“You didn’t behead ’im? I told you ’e had to be beheaded if things went wrong! If ’e dropped dead on the lot of you, you ’ad to take care of him!” A voice accented by the cockney side of London boomed through the crackle of the fire.
Nature boy started to get up. I pulled him back down, shrugged off my hoodie, and knotted it around his waist. He blinked at me and then, I swear, blushed even as two someones whined in protest to the yeller. One I could hear but not comprehend and the other declared, “Nuttin’ could live in that.”
“Nuttin’ could live in that?” the furious speaker mocked in a voice I could only understand because my mom and I were huge fans of Ricky Gervais and Eddie Izzard. I kept my hand firmly on nature boy’s arm. Now was no time to have an argument over whether or not we should have a meet and greet with these guys.
Was it possible they had started the fire? If I hadn’t? And they were way too excited about taking the heads off of people.
“I told the lot of you to bring me th’ ’ead.”
“He’s old. How could he git outta dat?”
“He’s a wizard, damn your ’ide. ’Ow do you think he GOT so bloody old?”
Seriously? I could tell from the voices they were moving down the driveway and headed into our backyard. I eyed the corner, unsure if we could hop the fence and move fast enough to make a clean getaway or not, the maze being what it was. Especially if nature boy couldn’t run in bare, tender feet. I sneaked a look at them. Not a mark on ’em, as if he’d just hatched out of an egg. He looked back at me, worried. Maybe he had some survival instincts, after all.
They continued to rail at one another, as if they had absolutely no worry a neighbor might hear them. Indeed, with the fuss and roar of the disintegrating house at their sides and backs, they might not be heard. But I could catch every word now. I didn’t understand half of it coming from the two minions. I did decipher “password, got us in a’right” and “cornered ’im in th’ library like you said” and something that sounded like “wouldna tell us a thing” followed by an enthusiastic “so we tortured ’im like ewe said” ending with “an’ then the bloody corpse set itself on fire, ran off, and ’alf the house went up!”
The argument continued on, unabated. The leader kept yelling, “The freaking corpse ran off on you?!! I told you t’ cut off ’is ’ead!” and they kept yelling back, “No, ye dint and he was a bloody shish kabob.” Following came a lot of swear words I did know that sounded a bit quaint in their accents. I decided I had to make a decoy move. I pointed nature boy to the arbor. “Crawl in there and hide. I’ll come back for you. The redwood should . . . keep you safe.” What did I know? But I thought it might. He didn’t budge.
I leaned over and put my mouth close to his ear. “Can you understand me?”
He gave a slow nod. He smelled like cedar and juniper, bracing and good. Well, cedar, juniper and smoke, but I figured the smoke was a temporary scent. I put my hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm under my chilled hand and he flinched a bit at my touch, and then steadied himself, his dimple flashing.
“Stay down. Wait for me. I’ll be back for you. Got that?” If any of this was real, if I wasn’t having a doozy of a nightmare.
A shake of the head.
“You understand me?”
A nod.
“But you don’t agree with me.”
A nod.
“Well, see, I’m dressed and you’re not, so I have the potential to be a faster runner.”
A beat, and then a slow nod.
Good. Too many heroes can spoil the plan. I gave him a little nudge in the right direction as I gathered my legs under me for a running start.
Then Mr. Cockney Foulmouthed and his minions strolled into sight. We froze behind the hedge. The leader wore a dapper suit. His cohorts looked scruffy, like chimney sweeps. I longed for the cute-and-trying-to-be-evil-but-failing Pixar villain and henchmen. These three just plain looked nasty. Unhappy, I froze in place, listening for potential help. Why weren’t Richmond’s finest here yet?
I was even less happy when Mr. Cockney drew himself up with another oath that I had no hope of understanding, so riddled with venom it was, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket and shot the minion he screamed at. But not with a gun. I swear he just pointed a finger. A blast erupted and enveloped the ragged man.
The being threw his hands up in the air, shrieking in pain and agony as blue flaming heat consumed him from the soles of his feet, eating slowly but steadily upward.
“You absolute idiot. He’s a phoenix wizard! There’s no way ’e could be dead!” Mr. Cockney yelled into the hapless face of the poor thing burning in front of him. “I needed those relics, I did. The antiques, you scurvy bastard. And you gave me nothing but this!” And he shook his hand toward the thick of the fire. His captive disappeared in a final POOF! The wailing cut short. I shrank back, a bad taste filling the back of my throat and awfulness scratching across my eyes. What a horrible way to go. Not to mention impossible. I could hardly breathe.
“Bloody coward. Can’t take criticism, never could. He’ll be back.” Mr. Cockney pivoted to look his other follower, who promptly squealed and cowered, in the eye.
Sirens filled the air with a vengeance. The noise of the house fire even died back a little, as if knowing its end came near. Mr. Cockney grabbed his other thug by the shoulder of an ill-fitting shirt, turned about on his heel, and disappeared from view into the billowing smoke that poured out of the house and over the grounds.
I shut my mouth again, tightly. Lies and liars, I am more than familiar with. This situation, not so much. I turned to look at nature boy, who huddled unhappily. I elbowed him, because it seemed wise to do so. “Go hide. I’m coming with you.”
He nodded and began to crawl his way through the hedge and toward the arbor. I started after him and found myself entangled in something. It smelled of soot and fire. I held rags up to the fire’s reflection. Burned to char and dangling threads, but . . . but . . . I could almost recognize them as the professor’s beloved tweed waistcoat, and that tangled snake across my ankles resembled the last of a pair of trousers. My eyes followed the new kid, and a few thoughts traded places back and forth in my head. One of which, I swear, was how I was going to get us out of there. That, and where nature boy had come from, and what the villain and his henchmen could have wanted of the professor. And, finally, what was worth death and reincarnation?
Pending answers and explanations, I could grab clothes from the closet in the spare room, where Mom had moved all of Dad’s stuff, condensing him down into a few boxes. He’d always been a tall, spare man. I thought a pair of his jeans might fit, and a shirt couldn’t hurt, and maybe some of his old Converse sneakers were still thrown in the back. Not the good ones, Mom had given those away, bu
t the ratty pair with a hole at each little toe. I seriously think she kept those not because of Dad but because it had been Barney who’d chewed those two holes.
I caught up with my thoughts. “Stay here. Back to the original plan. I’m going to get you some clothes. Keep your head down. Don’t let the firemen or anyone else see you.”
He looked intensely at me, almost as if he were processing a foreign language, before nodding.
I made my way through the arbor with no difficulty this time, even finding a convenient hole, which allowed me to wiggle through and practically fall over the neighbor’s fence. I got home, packed, and ran back in a flash as the house had given over to clouds of billowing smoke and bursting flames.
I watched, calculating how to get back to nature boy. Men in yellow jackets swarmed the roof, axing great holes in it for the water to get in more effectively. If anything had made it through the fire, the water damage would destroy it. I squeezed through the neighbor’s fence again, hoping no one spotted a slim shadow among the bright lights and loud voices of the men fighting the blaze, but that only took me so far. Precautionary hoses were deployed to both sides as well as the main house, and they had the conflagration confined to what was left of the professor’s home. And they had onlookers. Not just the neighbors ogling their efforts, but on one side of the driveway, the cockney-accented leader of nothing good carried on a conversation with a police officer. He’d snagged none other than my very good Bad Boy, Carter Phillips. The tall and short pair of them surveyed the area with more than casual curiosity. I might get by one but not both. The short guy walked off, to look over the driveway and garage again. I chose my captor and, replacing my smile with a worried frown, drew up to Carter’s side. I swear I could hardly breathe. Must have been the smoke. My messenger bag of clothing goodies banged my side.
“It looks awful.”
He glanced down at me and the corner of his mouth quirked. He had a cleft chin but it wasn’t centered, it was off to his left side. Maybe it was a scar from his military days. His dark curls blended into the midnight sky but his hazel eyes studied me. “It is. I heard you were here earlier.”
