A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories (10 page)

The Longest Night

A Secret World Chronicle Prequel Story

Mercedes Lackey

The absolute quiet was broken only by the crackling of flames. Vickie Nagy gave up trying to be interested in her book, sighed, and put it down on the bed beside her. Tucking her legs up under the plush velvet spread, she wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on her knees, brooding, as she gazed into the fire in the fireplace at the foot of the huge bed.

Under other circumstances she’d have been luxuriating in the comfort. This was probably the best bedroom she’d seen outside of pictures in magazines,
ever,
especially for someone like her, who wallowed in fantasy novels and historical romances. The fireplace was only there for the ambience, not for heat—though these buildings were probably the oldest on the North American continent, the magicians who ran and staffed this very special school kept things nicely modern when it came to amenities. Central heat and air, plumbing and wiring that met every modern standard, even satellite television and internet. There wasn’t a piece of furniture in here that either wasn’t an antique older than the USA, or had been built to look like it was. The dark wooden bed was a huge Tudor canopy number, complete with red velvet bed-curtains matching the bedspread that you could pull shut all around, isolating you from noise, and creating a cozy, dark cave. But there was also a good reading light and her own cassette deck (usually playing classical music) in the headboard of the bed—which also had a cupboard she could stash books in. The mattress was more comfortable than anything she had ever slept on before. There was a faint scent of sandalwood from incense burning over the fireplace.

Her clothing had been put away in a matching freestanding wardrobe. There was a real Turkish carpet on the floor, old and soft and beautiful.

The fireplace she was staring into was giving off
just
enough heat, and no smoke at all. It had a tiled hearth, and a carved mantle of some sort of dark red wood.

As for the rest of the furniture, there was a real red-velvet “fainting couch,” and two red velvet chairs that were so cushy you hated getting out of them, positioned on either side of the fireplace. Another wardrobe actually hid a mini-fridge, a TV with cable, and a player.

And the bathroom was to die for, with a cream-colored, claw-footed tub deep and long enough that a tall man could float in it without hitting his head or feet. The supply of scents for the water was enough to make even the most jaded hedonist raise an eyebrow.

If this room had been
hers,
she’d probably have considered herself well and truly spoiled rotten.

But it wasn’t hers. It was in the guest section of the West Building of St. Rhiannon’s School for Exceptional Students, and she was here, because her parents, who were FBI agents with the FBI’s Metahuman Agents section, had been sent out on a Job, and it wasn’t one she could go along for. Which was super-depressing, because it was Yule Break at the School, and she
could
have gone without anything getting in the way of her studies.

As long as it was just her parents, and the Job in question was something she could contribute her Talents to, she had gone along on a lot of their cases in the past. But this was going to be something tough, FBI Metahuman Division 39 had sent out three teams on it, and not even her Godfather, Agent Hosteen Stormdance, thought having a teenager along was a good idea. And
he,
not her parents, was usually the one to override protocol and sneak her in because of her Talents.

Super
depressing. Not only was she missing a Job, everyone concerned was pretty sure it was going to be a long and involved investigation. Probably wouldn’t be over until she was well into the next term. Which meant she was going to be here over Christmas. First Christmas, ever, without her parents. First Christmas alone.

That was why she was here, instead of at home in Quantico. Nobody thought it was a good idea for her to live at home in their little bungalow alone for several weeks, not even her. Too many things could go wrong—and she was not only the daughter of a pair of FBI agents, and so a potential target for bad guys, she was also the daughter of a pair of pretty formidable FBI magicians, and
definitely
a target for bad guys. No one fancied her becoming Daddy’s Little Hostage.

But since she
wasn’t
going to officially be a boarding student, the Dean had decided to put her up in the Guest Quarters. She didn’t mind not being in the dorms in East Building, not really. For one thing, as an only child, she’d never had to share a room, and she kind of didn’t like the idea. She’d seen the dorm rooms, and while they were probably about as nice as her room at home, and even though you were allowed to do almost anything you liked with them, including using transparent, fluorescent or luminous paint to make starfields on the ceiling if you liked, they were nothing like the guest rooms. For another thing, the boarders all had their own rooms, and at the moment, every room in the girls’ dorm was full. That meant she’d have to be doubled up with someone—and she didn’t think whoever she got put with would be any too pleased about being saddled with a stranger for a couple weeks to a month, having
her
private space invaded, and suddenly having to share everything.

So she got to luxuriate in the really posh Guest Quarters, which, if it hadn’t been Christmas, would have been grand. She’d have full access to the school library and other magical amenities, during the break, and she wouldn’t have to cook for herself. She
shouldn’t
be living here long enough for the novelty to wear off. It should be like a kind of solo vacation, like going to summer camp as she’d never gotten to do. And really, she’d actually be pretty excited about all of this, if only.…

If only what her parents were assigned to wasn’t, obviously, a dangerous job. If only it wasn’t happening over Christmas. Every time she started to get excited about being here, another wash of worry for her folks drowned it all. Every time she felt anticipation, a reminder that there was just not going to be any Christmas this year made it go flat.

The worry was the worst, really.

They’re smart. They’re the best there is. Division 39 hasn’t lost anyone, ever, not since the end of the Second World War.

She sighed again. Maybe it was just as well she was staying here, in the mostly-deserted school, rather than anywhere else, like with either set of grandparents. How could she
possibly
enjoy Christmas when she knew the entire time she’d be all balled up with anxiety? And so would the grandparents. And they’d all be trying not to show it, and trying to keep each others’ spirits up, and pretending to enjoy the holiday stuff, when in fact they would
all
be in tense knots and the whole holiday would be completely spoiled for everyone. Besides … Mom’s parents were in Scotland, and Dad’s were in the back of beyond in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and just
getting
her there, with planes booked solid for the holiday, would have required an Act of Congress, almost. And sure, she could have Apported, but then try and explain the sudden appearance of an American girl without evidence of plane tickets if someone in authority got nosy. Trying to take magical shortcuts in the mundane world almost always got messy. Especially when you were under orders not to draw attention to yourselves.

And I bet Mom had that all figured out within five minutes of when they got assigned,
she thought, stroking the soft velvet over her knees with an absent-minded finger.
I bet that’s why she arranged this in the first place.
At least this way she wasn’t going to have to put up a façade for anyone. If she wanted to mope here in her room and never go out for anything but meals, she could do that.

Well, I can until classes start, anyway.

And if she wanted to spend all her free time trying to lose herself in her studies, well, she could do that, too.
Think of the bright side. I have Professor Higgins all to myself.

She stared into the flames, brooding. Why couldn’t her parents have been with ECHO, been metahumans, and not magic-wielding, but all-too-mortal agents of an FBI Division that wasn’t even supposed to exist?

If they’d been metas, well, the fact that metas all seemed to share a certain amount of enhanced strength, better reflexes, and faster healing would have made her feel less anxious about her parents and her Godfather.

But they’re going to be wearing ECHO nanoweave
, she reminded herself
. They’ll be
practically
bulletproof.
And her mom was a healer, after all.…

The secrecy was the thing that just
ate
at her. They had not been allowed to tell her anything, not even what part of the country they were going to be in because they hadn’t known themselves. Moira and Alex Nagy didn’t often get investigations where they practically had to play Secret Agent, but when they did every moment that they were gone Vickie lived with a knot in her stomach. And she’d learned what
we can’t talk about this
meant very,
very
young, because her own Talents had shown up about the time she started to speak, so her parents had begun teaching her “consequences” at a ridiculously young age. Well, “ridiculous” for a mundie, not so much for the magical child of magicians.

That had its advantages, for sure, as well as its drawbacks. She felt sorry for the magical child of mundies—ordinary people, who didn’t know magic existed. Life for someone like that … at least until they were discovered, and one of the alumni would turn up with an offer “to help your child” … could range from difficult to living hell.

Hearing some of those stories had really driven home how lucky she was.
Though you would think, in a world where the guy that just robbed the bank is as likely to get nabbed by a psion or a super-speeder or some bloke who can bend steel bars around his little finger as he is by a cop, they might go a little easier on a kid that “does things that can’t be explained.”

So far as the parents of about half of the students here were concerned, this was some sort of correctional school supported by eccentric benefactors, and as long as they saw their offspring as little as possible and there were no obvious signs of abuse, the lack of parental access bothered them not at all. Budding mages born into normal families tended to get into a lot of trouble they couldn’t adequately explain as they came into their powers, and adult magicians out in the world were always on the alert for the signs of a youngster in need of rescue. A little glamorie, a little persuasive geas, and the relieved parents were happily sending their “problem” off to be dealt with by someone else. And as for the kids, well, from everything some of her friends here had let slip, Vickie knew they were as relieved to finally find themselves in a place where they actually
belonged
as she had been.

So far as the parents of the
other
half were concerned—the parents who were themselves magicians—St. Rhia’s was the place where their children were free to study and practice magic openly, and where they would get the best magical education to be had in North America. More part of the campaign to keep their nature hidden; at St. Rhia’s, their kids learned both magic and camouflage. Eventually, some few, with the right skills, would actually go off and pass as meta-humans, joining ECHO, with no one ever the wiser about
where
their abilities came from. Most, however, would find some other way to be practicing magicians in the world.

Even Vickie’s parents managed that, at least as far as most of the FBI was concerned. Outside of Section 39, except at the very top levels of the Bureau, no one was aware that they were anything other than metahumans—or that the things they stalked were sometimes considerably different than “mere” super-criminals.

Most of the time, their job wasn’t that much different from a meta-Agent, or even a mundie-Agent. Investigate the crime, identify the criminal, intercept and arrest. Most of the time, the criminal was
much
more invested in avoiding discovery than he was in fighting back.

But this time … it could be different. They’ve taken a three-team Job … over Christmas. The Longest Night. Bad things can happen on the Longest Night.
Anyone schooled in magic knew that there were “bad” times of the year, when really nasty things could turn up. Samhain—Halloween, to mundies—was the one most people thought of. But the Longest Night, Midwinter, or, as the mundies and non-pagans knew it, Christmas Eve, was far more dangerous. So were the days on the run-up to the Longest Night. Darkness had sway over Light, and on the night itself, had its hold over this half of the world longer than at any other time of the year, and bad things lived in the shadows. If they were off going after something at this time of year … if they were lucky, it was just a really dangerous mundie or meta, that the Bureau thought could only be caught by the “outside the box” method of Division 39.

But if they weren’t lucky … it was something else. It was the “something else” that had her in knots.

But they’re the best. And there’s going to be nine of them. And Hosteen promised me he’d keep me updated.
There was that. Her Godfather was not only the team leader for this job, he knew how she fretted. She’d at least know, if not what was happening, at least that they were all right.

With that held firmly in her mind, she decided she would at least try and read her book. And eventually, to sleep.

The central courtyard was covered in about a foot of snow, with neat paths cut through it in the shape of a big equal-armed cross. That was another difference between here and home. When Vickie stepped out into the court, she was forcibly reminded that the school was somewhere in upper New England, not Virginia. Where it was, exactly … not even her parents knew. You came and went either by Apporting into the Central Courtyard, or by private plane to an airstrip about a mile from here on private property, and Apported from there. There weren’t more than a handful of people who knew the exact location. It was safer that way.