“What is Mrs. Singer’s maiden name?” he finally asked, not quite believing where his instincts were leading him. Anton’s inexplicable interest in Lily, bordering on paternal protectiveness, had bothered him ever since the art dealer had first confronted him—
“Silvester,” his aunt stated, as if she were discussing nothing more interesting than the weather.
“No. No way. No freaking way!”
“It is quite ‘way,’ I can assure you,” she replied, tone dry as paper.
Sebastian swore, loudly and colorfully.
“Language, nephew! You were not raised by hooligans.”
He mumbled an apology and jumped up from his chair to pace the room, unable to sit still any longer. “No wonder he’s been acting like an overprotective sheepdog,” he muttered, pieces clicking into place. “So that means...what? He’s her uncle?”
“Great uncle, to be precise,” Madam Barrington said. “He is brother to Freda’s father.”
Sebastian stared at his aunt. “Really? Nah, he doesn’t look older than fifty. That would make him, like, seventy or something. Wait a minute, is he secretly a wizard?” he exclaimed, eyes going wide. But his aunt shook her head.
“No. It is not widely known, but initiates often enjoy a lesser form of wizard longevity. The effects are never as pronounced—nothing that cannot be explained by good genes and a healthy lifestyle.”
“Wait, you’re saying my dashingly handsome and youthful face is my dad’s fault? I always thought I got my babyface good looks from Mom...” Sebastian mused, brow scrunching in thought. His aunt’s cheeks twitched, and she pressed her lips together as if she were suppressing a smile. Sebastian barely noticed, however, the obvious question sitting heavy on his lips, daring to be asked. “So...does this mean I’m going to live a really long time, like you?”
“It is a possibility. The effects rarely begin to show until later in life—or rather, it is not until later that the effects become apparent by what is not showing.” She gave a wry smile.
Sebastian stared at her, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that wizard magic was a part of him, even if in just a small way. He’d spent his entire youth resenting his mundane birth and lack of innate magic that wizards took for granted. Later, when he’d stumbled across other types of magic and embraced the mantle of a witch, it had been easier to forget his bitterness. Yet it never entirely went away. He especially hated the term “initiate.” It made it sound as if he were some wizard wannabe serving the whims of his wizard kin, subsisting on stray magical scraps that dropped from their table. He was proud of being a witch, proud of finding his own way in the world instead of having things handed to him on a silver platter. And now it sounded like he was a tiny bit of a wizard after all. Did Lily know that some initiates had wizard traits? What would she think?
Wait—Lily.
His train of thought screeched to a halt. This was no time to have an existential crisis. “Right. So, Anton,” he began again, mentally tucking away the issue of his family heritage for later contemplation. “Does Lily know?”
His aunt shook her head. “Not to my knowledge, though her mother’s maiden name is no secret, so I would not be surprised if she has deduced the connection.”
With a grunt, Sebastian resumed pacing, long strides carrying him back and forth as he took five paces to the windows, then five paces back to the door on ceaseless repeat. “Somehow I don’t think she has,” he said. “At least not when she went to see him last summer when we were trying to find Tina.”
“I beg pardon?”
He waved a dismissive hand without looking up. “We needed Tina’s testimony to convince Agent Scumbag to spring me from jail that one time, remember? I sent Lily to Anton because he’s the only reliable point of contact for all the various witches and magical miscreants in the area. Wait a second—” He stopped abruptly and whirled on his aunt, a scowl gathering on his forehead. “Have you been using Anton to spy on me ever since I turned eighteen and left?”
“Certainly not,” she replied, her hand moving from scratching Sir Kipling’s ears to stroking his long, silky back. The cat, seeing his chance, casually inched up onto her lap and settled into a catloaf atop Lily’s eduba.
The king had retaken his throne.
Sebastian’s amusement at the cat’s sneaky coup was not enough to distract him from the way his aunt’s pale face had regained a bit of color, which for her was the equivalent of a tomato-faced blush. He narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t been using Anton to spy on me...but not for lack of trying,” he guessed. “Anton is notoriously tight-lipped about the people he works with.”
The old woman’s jaw stiffened, the planes of her face becoming even sharper than usual. “I did what I believed necessary to look after your welfare, in whatever way that I could.”
“Even after you disowned me?” Sebastian’s eyebrow lifted in challenge and his body tensed as old memories and hurts flooded back.
His aunt stared at him for a long moment, her eyes dark and fathomless. When she finally spoke it was in a tone heavy with emotion. “My father disowned me after I refused to break off my engagement to the man I loved—Arthur had the misfortune of being born a mundane, and a commoner at that. Yet never have I met a man more possessed with the qualities of honor, courage, humility, and kindness. There were...other factors involved in the incident, but it was my engagement that proved to be the last straw for my father. Gaining Arthur was worth the loss of my inheritance and privileged life among the aristocracy, yet after that day my father never spoke to me again.” She faltered, her gaze going unfocused as her brows pinched in sorrow. Then she took a shuddering breath and started again. “I disowned you because—well because I thought it would knock some sense into that bloody stubborn head of yours,” she said with an exasperated huff. “Obviously I miscalculated. Later, I resolved not to allow my pride to send me to my grave regretting that decision. I did my best to watch you from afar, though I was powerless to protect you from the demonic influence you seemed so determined to toy with.” Painful emotions flickered across her face, and there was a haunted look in her eyes. “I hoped that one day I might repair the damage I had dealt, though I had no notion of how to do so while you continued on your foolish path.
“It was only when Lily came to me with the tale of an impetuous young man who had aided her in the recovery of a collection of books I had sent her to fetch that I saw the smallest glimmer of hope. I thought perhaps she would have a positive influence on you, though at every turn my practical wisdom urged me to warn her away from you, lest she, too, be led astray by the evil which tainted your past. Of course, as we have both seen, she was more than up to the task.” His aunt sighed mightily, her years and many worries seeming to weigh heavily on her shoulders.
A pregnant silence fell, but all Sebastian could do was stare, his entire body tingling with disbelief. The moment was so surreal he felt like he was dreaming. Who was this woman and what had she done with his cold, tight-lipped, and uncompromising great-great-aunt? It was almost like...well, like she really cared.
The realization stunned him.
He vaguely remembered several days ago when she had first apologized for the way she had handled him as a youth. The two of them had been with Lily in his aunt’s office, strategizing about how to find and stop Roger. But he hadn’t been wearing his Ring of Cacophony then—hadn’t even known he needed to be wearing it to stave off the mad whisperings in his head that seemed to color his perception and make everything look worse than it was. He had heard her apologize, and thought he had accepted it. But he had been too busy wrestling with his own demons to see the concern and regret that was now as plain as day.
“Aunt B, I—I—”
She shook her head, her sad smile making the words die on his lips. “You need not trouble yourself formulating a reply for my sake. I daresay this is awkward enough as it is. I am not accustomed to expressing feelings, not since—well, not since my Arthur was taken from me.”
“What happened to him?” Sebastian asked, desperate for some change of topic. His entire understanding of his childhood had been turned on its head and he could feel his heart soften as he looked at his wrinkled old aunt. But he couldn’t even begin to process it all—that would come later.
“He died in the war. The Great War—World War One,” she clarified at his blank look. “It was the Battle of the Somme, the most horrible campaign of the entire war. On that first day alone, over fifty thousand Englishmen lost their lives. He—he lasted until day three,” she finished, her voice tight and her eyes glistening.
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, feeling strangely guilty. He hadn’t known that about his aunt. He’d always assumed she was a cold-hearted old biddy who had never loved anyone. That just went to show how vastly he’d misunderstood her. The realization made him wonder what else he’d been painfully blind to. He had a sudden vision of Lily, her eyes desperate as she’d uttered those three earth-shattering words. The memory was accompanied by a crushing tightness in his chest, and he had to take several deep breaths before the suffocating feeling eased.
“It is in the past,” his aunt said, her age-spotted hands stirring to movement once more as she stroked Sir Kipling’s soft gray body. The cat had rolled over and sprawled across Lily’s eduba so that his considerably large form completely obscured it as he purred away like a diesel motor. “After I immigrated to America, I made a name for myself as a tutor and have lived comfortably for many years. Yet, being both widowed and cut off from my family, I thought I would never again know deep affection—that is until our dear Lily appeared at my library nigh on seven years ago. That girl would put a dozen wizards twice her age to shame. She has endured my implacability these many years and has become like a daughter to me. We must do whatever is necessary to recover her. That is why you must go speak to Mr. Silvester immediately.”
Sebastian nodded and collapsed back into the chair by his aunt’s bedside, his manic energy suddenly gone. He leaned forward to prop his head in his hands and place his elbows on his knees. “I agree, Anton is as good a place to start as any, but I don’t know what help he’ll be. I already tried using him to track down Roger, but he swore he knew nothing. Whoever hired Roger didn’t do it through Anton, so that’s a dead end. Plus, we have no idea who Richard is working for or if he just went crazy or what. We have no leads and nothing to go on,” he said to the floor, clutching his dark hair and doing his best not to pull it out in frustration.
“On the contrary. We do have a lead.”
Sebastian’s head jerked up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “What? What do you know?”
The old woman reached to the side and tapped a wrinkled piece of paper that sat next to her green concoction. “Lily found this at the old factory where Roger had his lair. It depicts an ancient ring, wizard-made, most likely dating back to before the Babylonian Empire. I have not had time to fully translate the dimmu runes, but from what I have deduced so far, the ring’s purpose involves amassing power, and it does so through a vile combining of wizard and demon magics. No doubt it was the object Roger was so eager to find, though we cannot know if he discovered it at the end or not. I lost consciousness soon after we confronted the demon within Roger, and Lily is not here to fill in the gaps. It is a pity Sir Kipling has not yet found a way to speak to the rest of us as he does to Lily.” She gave the cat a gentle pat and he meowed expressively in reply, as if he had been following the entire conversation and was now offering his own two cents. When neither of the “dumb humans” in the room reacted, the feline repeated himself and twitched his tail in emphasis.
Sebastian examined the cat, his lips twisting to one side in consideration. He had experienced Sir Kipling’s intelligence in a way that his aunt had not: while in Melthalin the cat could inexplicably talk to both of them, not just Lily. And before that, when Lily had first gone to meet her father at the LeFay estate and had been held prisoner, it was Sir Kipling who had alerted Sebastian and led him there through a combination of twenty questions and charades.
Before he could start asking the cat questions, however, Sir Kipling abruptly rose from Aunt B’s lap, jumped off the bed, and trotted out the door. Sebastian exchanged a quizzical look with his aunt, but the old wizard simply shrugged and continued where she’d left off. “Regardless of whether or not Roger attained his goal, it is clear from this paper that a wizard was the one to provide him the knowledge of what he sought, and most likely hired him to do the deed. While there are a number of individuals who would no doubt desire such an artifact, there is only one who would desire both this ring and Lily.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as adrenaline surged through him. “John Faust LeFay.”
“Indeed. And if we assume it was Agent Grant who spirited Lily away—a reasonable assumption, as he was the last person seen with her—that would make him the wizard’s pawn. I find it hard to believe that Agent Grant was in league with Roger, but it is entirely possible that the two were hired separately to accomplish disparate tasks. Mr. LeFay has always excelled at operating in secrecy, and there is no telling how Morgan le Fay may be influencing or aiding his efforts.”
A needle of fear stabbed through Sebastian, making his breath hitch. The idea of Lily in the clutches of those two psychopaths was terrifying. He needed to find her before...Sebastian clamped down on his thoughts, refusing to even consider the possibility.
“Okay, so our working theory is that Fancypants—who’s hiding out somewhere with the Ancient Hag—hired Tentacle Face and his minions to find the ring and sent Agent Scumbag to nab Lily, which means all roads lead back to Fancypants. If we find him we can rescue Lily and stop whatever nefarious plans they have for the Evil Artifact of Power. Does that about cover it?”
For a moment his aunt simply stared at him, her face blank. Finally, she said, “Do you dislike proper names in general, or simply loathe the names of our adversaries in particular?”
Sebastian shrugged stiffly. “Name calling helps me resist the urge to punch something. So, how can Anton help? You’ve been looking for Mr. Fancypants the past five months, so haven’t you already asked Anton where he is?”
“I have indeed, and Mr. Silvester politely reminded me that he was not in the habit of selling information about his associates, even if those associates were less-than-savory individuals.”
Madam Barrington’s words brought a scowl to Sebastian’s face. “Exactly. Anton is a stubborn prick. Your point?”
“That was then. The situation has changed.”
Sebastian’s scowl deepened, but then it dawned on him. “Lily is Anton’s grand great-niece or whatever, so with her gone he’s got a personal motivation to flip on John Faust. This is great. I bet Anton will lead us right to that murderous, kidnapping low-life and we’ll drop down on him like a ton of bricks.” Forgetting himself, he jumped up from the chair, then winced at the stab of pain the sudden movement caused in his side. He ignored the discomfort, new vigor filling him now that he could see a glimmer of hope in their situation. “I’ll go see him right away. Oh—uh, can I borrow your car again? I have no idea what Freddie did with mine when he used it to get away from Roger at the factory.”
“I suppose if it is absolutely necessary,” the old woman said with a sigh. Then she fixed Sebastian with a threatening look. “See that you return it in pristine condition, both inside and out. I have been driving that car since 1978, and you would not enjoy being the cause of its early retirement.”
Sebastian gulped reflexively. “Yessir, ma’am. Pristine. Got it.” He spun on his heels to head for the door and noticed Sir Kipling at his feet just in time to avoid stepping on the feline. His awkward side hop and stumbling shuffle sent him staggering into the doorframe instead of striding from the room as he had intended. “What the devil are you doing lurking around behind my feet, Kip? I swear if you tripped me on purpose—”
MERRROW!
Sebastian ceased his tirade as the cat gave him a
significant look and trotted from the room, white-tipped tail held high. Rubbing his smarting collarbone, Sebastian followed, impatient and itching to get on the road. Sir Kipling led him down the hall to the bedroom where Mrs. Singer and Jamie had been sleeping, and then stopped beside the bed. With a meow, he pawed at something hidden behind the dangling edge of the sheets.
“What is it, Kip?” Sebastian asked as he knelt down and reached under the frame. His hand found a flat box and he pulled it out, then laughed at the sight of it. “Scrabble? Well I’ll be, you clever old dog.” Sir Kipling hissed and took a swipe at Sebastian’s arm. “Hey!” he protested. “Calm down, it’s just a saying. Clever old cat doesn’t have the same ring to it.” The feline gave him a disdainful sniff and trotted back out of the room.
Sebastian gathered up the game and hurried back to Madam Barrington’s room, where Sir Kipling already waited for him, perched on the foot of the bed. The cat patted the bedspread with one paw, meowing in command. Assuming the role of obedient human, Sebastian opened the game and laid the box top picture-down on the covers, then poured all the letters into it and set to flipping them upright so Sir Kipling could see them. When he was finished, he stepped back and bowed. “Your alphabet soup, oh most supreme highness. Is there anything else you require? A massage? A gilded cat bed? Or perhaps salmon marinated in whipped cream?”
The cat gave him an imperious look that gods and emperors would have envied, then set to work arranging a string of letters. It was an amusing spectacle to watch, but the seriousness of the situation suppressed any urge he had to chuckle. Once the cat finished, Sebastian leaned forward to peer at the uneven line of squares. “LETTERS IN AIR SPELL,” he read, then looked up at his aunt. “Do you have any idea what he means?”
Aunt B shook her head, looking just as confused.
Sir Kipling huffed in annoyance and set about adding more letters, then meowed at them once he had finished.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity Page 3
