“Right,” I said, and in the moment it seemed that the question provided a good opening. “Well, my son’s been quite ill over the last few weeks.”
“Oh no,” she said, her face full of concern. “What is it?”
“The doctors aren’t sure. He’s been having seizures.”
“Is it epilepsy?”
I shook my head. “No. Not that we know of. He’s actually—” I was surprised at how hard it was to talk about. “He’s catatonic. He has been for several weeks now.”
“That’s terrible,” she said, leaning across the table and laying her hand over mine.
I was surprised, and had to resist the impulse to pull my hand away.
“What happened? How did it start?”
I took a sip of my coffee, bracing myself. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Me?” she said, touching her chest at a point just below where the silver chain disappeared. “Why me?”
I took a deep breath. “This is going to sound crazy,” I said, wishing there were some other way to start. “But I think it might have something to do with your grandfather.”
“Lazarus?”
“David was reading one of your grandfather’s books when the first seizure hit. A book called To the Four Directions.”
“That’s not one of my grandfather’s books.”
I nodded. “That’s why I got in touch with you, asking if you knew of any other books that Lazarus had written.”
“But he didn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure he did,” I said, as calmly as I could. “I haven’t been able to find anything in any of the databases or online, but it reads like your grandfather’s writing.”
“You read it?”
I nodded. “I think your grandfather wrote it after he left England, and had it published here in a very limited edition. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was only a single copy ever printed.”
“But what does that have to do with your son’s … condition?”
“I think …” I shifted in my seat: this wasn’t going to give me a whole lot of credibility. “I think there’s a spell on the book,” I said, watching her face drop. “I think the book was designed as a trap. A way of … capturing its readers.”
“But you read it.”
“Yeah.”
“And nothing happened to you.”
I stopped myself for a moment, not sure how much I should tell her, how much detail she would be able to stand before she thought I was completely crazy. Finally, though, I decided it was best to tell her everything.
“No,” I said. “I think that’s how the spell was designed. Most people, reading it, wouldn’t be affected at all. But some—boys, boys of a certain age—meet the criteria and …” I lifted my hand helplessly.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and spent a long moment stirring her coffee.
“It sounds like you’ve done a lot of research on this, Chris,” she said finally. “And maybe had some help. Unless you’re familiar with magic yourself.”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “Just what I read in books. I met some people in Victoria who were able to help me figure all this out.”
I was amazed at how calmly she was taking this all in.
“You don’t seem too surprised to hear this,” I said. “I thought you’d call me crazy.”
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said, and it felt like a weight was suddenly lifted from me. “I’m not under any illusions about my grandfather, Chris. I know what he was interested in, the type of magic that he worked with. Judging from some of the things I’ve seen in the archives, no, I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”
My first thought was of the stacks of boxes in the small office at the Hunter Barlow library, but then I recalled her mentioning papers she had at her house.
“There’s stuff … material … like this in Lazarus’s papers?” I asked, hope rising within me.
She nodded. “A lot of it. I haven’t been able to get through most of it, to be perfectly honest. It doesn’t make a great deal of sense to me. But there’s lots of magical stuff in there. It looks like that’s what he focused on after he left England. That’s why I was so surprised to hear that you had a book from him that I hadn’t seen: I didn’t think he was doing any writing at that time. But if it was for a spell …” She shrugged. “Wait—is this the book you mentioned on the phone? When you asked me about the editor from New York?”
I nodded.
“So you don’t have it?”
I deflated. The fact that I didn’t have the book was my whole reason for meeting with her, but hearing it confirmed in her voice was hard.
“No, I don’t have it,” I said. “That’s actually why I wanted to meet with you.” As her eyebrows lifted, I told her about Tony Markus: about how my attempt to get information on Took had only served to stoke his interest in the book; about how I suspected him of engineering its theft, in hope of her allowing him to publish it. “I thought you would have heard from him by now.”
“Well, he did call me a few days ago, wondering if he could talk to me while he was in Oregon, but I had no idea.” She looked at me with a directness that I could almost feel. “So what can I do?” she asked. “What do you want me to say when he calls?”
There was a warmth and resolve in her eyes that made me glad that she was on my side.
As David led the magus toward the Mermaid, they kept close to the walls, in the shadows, silent, as occasional drunks staggered across narrow stone walkways. At one point, they crossed the path of two patrolling guardsmen, several buildings away, but David led them into a narrow alley where they crouched, watching the men pass.
“We’ll stay to the alleys now,” David said, leading the magus deeper into the darkness. “There are bound to be more people around the closer we get to the Mermaid.”
The back alleys of the inner city were a maze of brick walls and garbage, muck underfoot and stink in the air. There were no lamps or torches, but David had no need of light, leading them confidently, instinctively, through a series of sharp turns and obtuse angles. His feet—Dafyd’s feet—knew where to go, and David did not resist.
He slowed slightly as he passed the spot where he and Tamas had beaten Zekariah and Jarrett. The spot where this whole thing had started.
That’s where the book started, Matt said.
Matt was right, but there was more to Dafyd’s presence now than simply what was in the book. Dafyd’s memories ran too deep, his emotions too strong, to have lived only a fictional life. David was remembering things that the book had never hinted at—the way the other kids used to chase Dafyd, throwing rocks at him; the way he had cried softly in his bed at night, missing the father he had never known. These memories were real.
Another few turns brought them out of the alley near the wall of the small yard behind the tavern.
“The gate will be locked,” David whispered. “So we’ll have to go over.” He looked at the magus. “It’s not that high.”
The magus scowled. “Do I look to be concerned about the height of that wall?”
David grinned and, tucking his toe into a familiar indentation between two stones, heaved himself over, disappearing into the darkness.
Moments later there was a scream, cut off in mid-breath, and the sound of shattering glass.
Jacqui and David took their time walking back to the hotel, holding hands and letting the tidal pull of the crowds carry them along the sidewalk. As they passed the restaurant, she slowed their pace, glancing through the windows. Chris was sitting near the back, his face almost hidden by the head of the woman to whom he was talking. Cat Took.
Jacqui considered stopping, interrupting the meeting to join them, but she decided against it. Instead, they returned to the hotel to wait.
She got David’s shoes off and got him settled on the bed, turning the TV on at a low volume before collapsing into the desk chair. The walk on the beach, all that fresh a
ir, had left her feeling exhilarated and pleasantly tired.
She reached for the copy of that morning’s Oregonian. Chris had left it for her on top of his laptop, where she would find it easily. Oddly considerate, for him, but completely in keeping with how he had been acting in the past few days.
She found a strange pleasure in reading the news from a different city, a different country: new scandals, different civic issues, different names. Different, but so familiar.
She stopped at the top story on page A3, almost choking on her breath.
NEW YORK EDITOR IDENTIFIED IN HOTEL MURDER The body found in a guest room of the Hotel Vintage Park late Thursday has been identified as that of 32-year-old Anthony Markus, an editor at Davis & Keelor Publishers. Markus, who was killed with a single gunshot wound to the head, was, according to his New York office, in Portland for both meetings and personal time. Police do not currently have a suspect, although in the hours prior to the murder Markus was reportedly seen dining with an unidentified woman.
Jacqui reread the article, trying to glean any details that might lurk below the surface of the words, then dropped the paper to the floor. She paced the room in a haze of disbelief, trying to talk herself out of her certainty. It could be someone else with the same name. Another New York editor with the same name. From the same publisher. In Portland at the same time … No, it had to be him.
Which meant …
… dining with an unidentified woman …
She picked up the hotel phone and dialled Chris’s cell. She couldn’t be sure that the woman seen with Markus before his death was Cat Took, but she had to warn—
She jumped as a telephone rang right next to her. Chris’s ring. Muffled. Chris’s phone, tucked into the pocket of his jacket, still hung over the back of the desk chair.
David pulled away from Tamas as the magus rose over the wall, hanging silently in the air a moment before stepping to the thin top of the bricks, his left hand tight around his amulet, his right hand extended toward the yard. His face was knit with determination.
“It’s all right,” David said to the magus in a hoarse whisper, stepping between the old man and his friend. “It’s Tamas.”
The magus’s face remained set for a moment, then seemed to fill in with relief. But he did not release the amulet.
Tamas stood wide-eyed in the dim light of the yard, broken crockery and spilled ale at his feet, gaping soundlessly at the sight of the old man who had floated to the top of the wall. It was the second most amazing thing he had seen in the past few moments, following the sudden return of his friend.
“The stableboy?” the magus asked, teetering on the wall.
Tamas nodded silently, then stopped and shook his head. “Yes. No. I mean, I was, but—”
“Lower your voice,” the magus ordered. “Unless you want the whole of the guard here.”
Tamas’s mouth snapped shut.
“And now …” The magus looked around himself warily, as if suddenly aware of his delicate position. “If one of you wouldn’t mind helping an old man down.”
After a good deal of fumbling and groaning, he was back on solid ground, and the three of them huddled close in the shadows.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Tamas sputtered, reaching out for Dafyd again, touching his arm to reassure himself that his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
David’s heart was still racing from both the shock of almost falling over the other boy, and the unexpected pleasure of finding his friend. “Why are you out here?” he asked.
“I’ve been helping your mother,” Tamas said, almost uncomfortably.
“Really?” David said. “But you and my mother don’t—”
“What happened at the stables, Tamas?” the magus interrupted.
It took Tamas a moment to shift his attention from Dafyd. “The master told me not to come back.”
David shook his head. “And my mother?”
Tamas smiled awkwardly. “She told me that if I was going to spend all my time here, I might as well make myself useful. Emptying piss-pots. Throwing out drunks. Breaking up fights.” He shrugged.
“All the things I used to do,” David muttered, then he thought of what Tamas had said. “ ‘All your time here’? You were waiting for me?”
“Of course I was,” he said sharply. “We all were.”
He seemed genuinely surprised when David pulled him into his arms for another long embrace. “You never gave up on me,” he whispered into his friend’s ear.
“Never,” Tamas said, in a voice that sounded close to tears. Then he stepped back from David, wiping his face, trying to look strong.
A tumult of feelings was rising in David: Dafyd’s feelings, thoughts, memories, pushing against his own. He looked toward the light in the window. “Are they in there?” he asked, stepping toward the door. “Let’s—”
Tamas reached out and grabbed David’s arm, held him back. “Dafyd, don’t—”
David shrugged off his friend’s grasp. “Let me—”
“Dafyd,” the magus said warningly, as David reached for the door.
“Dafyd, stop,” Tamas said forcefully.
David stopped. He had never before heard such a tone from his friend.
“There are guardsmen inside,” Tamas explained. “Two of them. By the front door.”
David looked at the magus, who was studying Tamas with fresh curiosity, and a small smile.
Tamas saw him looking too. “I’m not stupid. You came in the back because you’re trying to avoid being seen.”
David nodded. Perhaps he hadn’t given Tamas enough credit.
“How long have the guardsmen been there?” the magus asked.
“Since we opened this afternoon.”
“Is today the first day they’ve been here?”
“No, gods no. There have been guardsmen here since the day you were arrested, Dafyd. They just sit, watch.”
David nodded. “The Queen said she would—”
The magus cut David off. “Have you seen other guards nearby? Perhaps watching the tavern when it’s not open?”
Tamas thought for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he said. “The patrols are more frequent, but I haven’t seen anyone watching the place.”
“And you’d notice if there were,” the magus said thoughtfully. “The guardsmen wouldn’t conceal themselves.”
When David looked at Tamas, his friend was grinning widely at him. “Your mother is going to be so happy. And Arian …”
David felt a rush of warmth at the sound of the girl’s name.
“We’ll need to wait,” the magus cautioned.
“I can bring them out here,” Tamas said. “Away from the guards.”
The magus shook his head. “The guards would notice immediately that something was amiss. No, it’s better that we wait, until they have left of their own accord. We can’t give them any reason to suspect anything,” he said, his voice becoming stern. “Do you understand that, Tamas?”
He nodded.
“Just go about your work as if nothing has happened.”
Cat listened intently as I told her about Tony Markus and what I guessed would be his plans for the book he had stolen from me.
“I certainly don’t want to interfere with the re-publication of your grandfather’s work,” I stressed. “I think that would be a great thing. But I’m not sure that the last book should ever be published.”
“No, of course not,” she said. “You think that it might have the same effect on other children?”
“I think it already has.” I told her about Matthew Corvin and his mother’s foundation. She held her coffee cup with both hands, considering.
“You’ve certainly done a lot of research,” she said when I finished. “Do you have any idea what you’ll do if you can’t get your hands on the book?”
I must have had a horrified look on my face, because she hurried to clarify. “Oh no. No, the moment Tony Markus contacts me again, I’ll let you know. You
can keep the book, for all I care.” She seemed to almost shudder in distaste. “I certainly don’t want it.” She set her coffee cup down and leaned across the table toward me. “What I mean is, what will you do if we don’t hear from him? Especially with your son getting worse.”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “This might really be our last chance.”
“Could your friends, the witches …?”
“They can’t do anything without the book. They’ve got the lexicon—”
“The lexicon?” Her eyes widened.
“It’s a sort of a dictionary, I guess. I was able to get them a copy of it from that library in New York.”
“They might be able to come up with a counter,” she said slowly, thinking to herself. “If they’ve got the lexicon.”
“But without the book …”
“They probably wouldn’t be able to break the curse itself, but they might be able to come up with something to counter its effects on your son.”
“Do you think so?” I asked. It was something that I hadn’t thought of, a slim ray of hope under a door that I had thought locked for good.
“Well, I don’t know a lot about this,” she said, leaning back. “Just what I read in Lazarus’s papers. I’m sure they’d want to try, especially with David getting sicker.”
She was right: I could picture Sarah and Nora in the kitchen, poring over the pages I had sent, trying to do anything to help my son.
“Of course, if we had the book …”
I nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be in touch.”
She smiled. “I’m sure he will be too,” she said, still thoughtful. “He seems like the sort. Still, though, I wonder …”
I waited a moment. “Yes?”
“I wonder if there’s anything in Lazarus’s study that would be helpful. Something that might help your friends.” She sat forward again. “Do you want to take a look? I can’t promise anything.”
Her offer left me momentarily speechless. “I … I’d like to.”
She smiled. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “The place is a mess, and I have no idea even where to start.”
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