Fathomless (14 page)

But instead of being awed by Sean's Spartan silence, Marvell twisted it into a win for his side. “Stubborn again. Then I'll have to make this conversation unpleasant.”

It had been pleasant before?

“If you can't accept the Order's rules, it won't be able to work with you. It will have to withdraw the offer of magical training.”

“Send me home?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Dad might be only semi-reconciled to Sean studying magic, but for Sean to get kicked out for breaking the rules? Capital offense. As for Eddy, she might not leave enough of his ass unchewed for Dad to get a nibble. “I don't want to go home,” he conceded.

“No one in the Order wants that. Helen, in particular. After last year, she feels a strong connection to you.”

It was a dick move to bring up how badly Sean could disappoint Helen. He had to think about Daniel, too, who already blamed himself for the wine cellar blowup. If Sean got expelled because of it—

Sean didn't hang his head, but he did roll out the shamed-dog routine, after all: “I guess I jumped the gun, Professor. I should have told Daniel no thanks on the tutoring. You're not going to come down on him, are you? He was just trying to be a friend.”

“I understand that. So no, I won't give him the hard time you've made me give you.”

“Okay, well. I'm sorry, and no more practical magic until you—”

“Until the Order, Sean. Honestly, I'm not calling all the shots here.”

Maybe not, but he sure seemed to like pulling the trigger. “No practical magic until the Order says okay.”

“And the other things we agreed to?”

The way his head was thudding, it took Sean a minute to remember them. “Um, don't talk magical business out of the wards. If I see Orne's aether-newt again, tell you or Helen. If Orne tries to contact me some other way, same thing.”

“You've stuck with those rules so far?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you'll keep sticking with them?”

Did Marvell want Sean to sign an oath in blood? “Yes, sir.”

“Then let's shake on it again.”

He gripped the hand Marvell extended across the ebony gleam of his desktop, then used the momentum of leaning forward to get on his feet. “I better go, Professor. They'll have dinner ready at the House.”

Marvell gave him the warm smile that had Helen and Eddy fooled, but it softened just the lower half of his mask, leaving his gaze icicle-pointy. “Let Helen know we've worked things out, and tell Daniel I'll talk to him before class tomorrow.”

Lucky Daniel, but that was still getting off easy. Sean felt like he'd been in the turret office all day, not the twenty minutes Marvell's cathedral spire of a clock had ticked off in its niche by the door. He had one foot on the medieval flagstone of the office, the other on the Victorian parquet of the hallway when Marvell added, “One last thing I need to make clear. Even if the Order finds it can't further your magical education, it will continue to supervise you.”

“What's that mean?” Sean asked cautiously.

“It means even if you are no longer with us, we'll keep track to ensure you don't take up with an unauthorized mentor or try to continue with magic on your own.”

Split between centuries, Sean sorted out the threat: “You'd try to stop me from getting another teacher?”

Marvell shook his head. “We wouldn't
try,
Sean. We
would
stop you.”

“From doing any magic, ever.”

“That's what our mandate to protect the public would require. I'm sorry to sound harsh, but you've got to realize magic isn't a toy. In the Order, we take our responsibilities seriously. You need to start doing the same.”

In other words, screw up again, and Sean could land himself an early appointment with the ax guy. “I've got you, Professor,” he said, and then he got both feet in the same century and moved them, fast, breaking into a run long before he hit the library exit.

 

10

That
night, Eddy grilled Sean until he'd given up every detail of his meeting with Marvell. Two things kept her from killing him: First, Daniel was a major conspirator in the tutoring scheme. Second, she herself was a minor conspirator. Forced to split the verbal whupping three ways, she ended up giving herself the biggest smacks. “I knew better than to let you guys do this,” she groaned.

Seeing Eddy upset seemed to bother Daniel more than the idea of facing Marvell. “Yeah, but how could you have stopped us?”

“I could've told Helen. She'd have talked you off the ledge without involving Marvell.”

“Don't be so sure,” Sean said. “Helen thinks he's Professor Godly. She'd have told him.”

“Nobody's Professor Godly to Helen,” Eddy said, defending her own goddess. “Anyhow, forget them. I should've talked you out of it myself.”

“I'm the one who brought up tutoring Sean,” Daniel said. “That makes it my fault.”

Normally Sean would have let them fight for the blame, but Daniel kept giving Eddy's shoulder these awkward pats, and you didn't pat Eddy when she was mad. “Hey, let it go. We're all still here, and I'll just have to wait to learn magic, that's all.”

“Man, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. If it's anybody's fault, it's—”

But Sean couldn't say “mine,” after all. Magic went gene-deep for him—it was natural he'd want to do it. And Marvell had promised him a mentor, and Sean wouldn't have almost torched the wine cellar if Marvell had stuck to that promise. If anyone was to blame, it was Marvell.

Sean left the sentence hanging and took off for his room. It wasn't five minutes before Eddy knocked. He yelled he was in bed. For a couple minutes more, she whispered outside the door with Daniel. Then they left him alone.

*   *   *

But
they must have gone straight to Helen, because first thing next morning
she
was knocking on his door. Sean let her in. “My turn to make breakfast,” he said, like he'd been about to hurry to the kitchen and knock out a ten-course brunch buffet.

“Cheerios and strawberries?” Helen said.

“Um, Rice Krispies and blueberries.”

“I guess that can wait a few minutes.” She settled on the window seat, which gave him no choice but to park on his desk, facing her. At least he was in shadow, while a shaft of sunlight spotlighted every freckle on her face and kindled her hair to spiky auburn fire.

“Eddy and Daniel talked to me last night,” Helen said.

“I figured. Did they have a humongous debate about who was more to blame for me being an idiot?”

“A moderately humongous debate. Mainly they were worried about how angry you seemed when you cut out of the discussion.”

“I was sick of going over it. What's there to talk about? I'm done.”

Helen swung her feet up onto the seat. “‘Done' doesn't sound good.”

“It's true, though. I'm done with magic until Professor Marvell gives the go-ahead.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“He's the one you're angry with. Theo.”

“Maybe.”

She ducked her chin and looked up at him from under raised brows.

Sean had to give. “Well, he
is
the one in charge, right? And he decided I couldn't do practical magic right after you told him me and Orne are related.”

“It's not that simple, Sean.”

“I can do complicated.”

“Theo only proposed the delay. The decision was the Order's. A majority of members agreed that your introduction to magic had been too abrupt, and you should take a step backwards.”

Helen thought she was telling the truth—the steadiness of her gaze proved it. Should he tell her about Geldman's suspicions? About Marvell's own admission that he thought Sean was like Redemption Orne? Impulsive, stubborn, too curious for his own good. Bound for the dark side right out of the action figure box, might as well just hand him the red light saber. “You're sure, Helen? The Order doesn't think I'm, like, too dangerous to train?”

She smiled. “You're too dangerous for
Daniel
to train. Burning up my wine cellar.”

“We had the fire out in five seconds.”

“I know. And the only Orne-related danger the Order's worried about is the danger he poses to
you
. Did you ever think…”

When she hesitated, Sean took the bait. “Nope. That's my problem.”

Helen wrinkled her nose at him. “Bullshit.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Did you ever
think
that the more magic you do, the more Orne's going to want you? Ever think that's why Theo might be applying the brakes?”

“But how's Orne going to know I'm doing magic? Me and Daniel only did it here, inside the wards.”

“But you go outside the wards every day. Doing magic changes your energy, Sean, in ways Orne or his newt could sense.”

“I didn't know that.” But knowing it now didn't negate Marvell's dick behavior in the Office of Doom, especially the way he'd lobbed that twenty-megaton threat when Sean was halfway out the door.

“Well, you know now. Theo's on your side, Sean, same as me. Part of that is sometimes seeming overprotective, harsh, because we're afraid for you.”

Was Marvell afraid
for
him or
of
him? Sean almost asked Helen the loaded question, but Daniel had come out of his room and started down the stairs, to meet Eddy halfway up, from the sound of their voices. “Better go make that breakfast,” he said.

“Right, I hear the hungry horde's on its way to the kitchen.” Helen accepted the hand-up Sean offered. She gave him an earnest look. “You're all right, then? Or better at least?”

Helen always made things better, so Sean could give her back an earnest nod.

“Good. I'll help you, ah, cook.”

“Pour the Krispies?”

“Wash the blueberries.”

“Deal.”

*   *   *

By
Sean's watch, Daniel's pre-class meeting with Marvell lasted seven minutes, just long enough for Marvell to lecture him about the stupidity of a noob teaching a noob, which was the very pinnacle of magical stupidity and a half-assed scheme he'd never imagined Daniel capable of. Needless to say (though Marvell had said it anyway), repeat stupidity would be grounds for Daniel's expulsion from the summer program.

The word “expulsion” was to Eddy like holy water to a vampire, and now both Sean and Daniel had doused her with it. After she'd recovered from the second scalding, she snarled, “No way I'm letting you guys screw up again.” Daniel blanched at the ferocity in her voice, but Sean helped him convince her that further screwing up was in neither of their game plans.

That night, as if to get things back to normal, Helen offered to “chaperone” them to a movie. Eddy and Daniel were in. Sean begged off so he could write Dad about the wine cellar incident—better Dad find out from Sean than from Marvell, who couldn't have informed him yet, or Dad would have Skyped, steaming.

When the rest had gone, Sean was alone in the Arkwright House for the first time. That made the place feel bigger, older, and much more likely to ooze ectoplasm from its walls, however well repaired. What was a little Spackle to a ghost? He tried to write in the common room, but without Eddy and Daniel holding their latest book club meeting or arguing about a Scrabble play, it felt too empty.

He went downstairs to hole up in the kitchen, where at least there were snacks, but the closed library doors lured him over. He slipped inside and fumbled on the overhead lights. The sudden brilliance didn't surprise old Endecott with his feet up on his desk, or Mrs. Endecott embroidering by the fire, or even Helen's uncle John climbing a stack ladder in search of just the right tome. The only ghost around was the spectral aura Mom had somehow infused into the stained glass crow.

Since he'd figured out Mom's secret gift, the crow's halo glow had kindled every time Sean entered the library, lingering as long as he was alone in the room, winking out the second anyone else appeared. He smiled up at it. Mom, or whatever part of her the glass held, was company enough; the other ghosts could stay away, thank you.

However, in case Endecott popped in later, Sean set up his laptop not on the dais desk but on the computer station nearest the crow. He opened an e-mail screen and typed “Hey, Dad.” Great start. Too bad he didn't know what should come next. The library was almost too quiet for concentration, the way its noise wards squelched any whooshes from passing cars, any footsteps or chatter from campus pedestrians, any distant buzz from the highway. The open windows admitted only the fiddling of crickets and the halting staccato of some night bird as lost for notes as Sean was for words. “Hey, Dad,” was too cheerful. “Dear Dad” was too formal. How about just “Dad”?

Maybe he should light up the
Founding
. It was more likely to inspire him than a stupid blank screen. Sean climbed onto the dais and flipped the switch hidden under the sill. It powered up slimline fluorescent fixtures Dad had mounted between the stained glass and the Plexiglas shield that protected it from weather.
The Founding of Arkham
brightened, and the crow amplified its halo to match, and Sean gave it a thumbs-up—

And was rewarded with a caw. Far off, on the edge of audibility, but a caw, all right. A second and a third followed faintly. Simultaneously, the crow's beak gaped.

Sean dropped onto Endecott's desk as the crow flew from Nyarlathotep's upflung hand to the right edge of its window. The wooden frame between the left and center windows proved no barrier; the crow passed through without a missed wing flap and began circling the governor and minister. They remained motionless, merely painted glass. Same with everything else in the
Founding
.