Eliza's Shadow (29 page)

It hadn’t occurred to me to ask for the full list
of protective spells Nan had cast over us. She’d said they were for safe
traveling and success of our mission. Now I wondered what fell under those
broader categories. I shook my head dismissively trying to focus.

“I’d like to know more about the age thing. Why
don’t some witches age normally?” I pressed.

Ren shrugged but shifted in his seat squaring his
shoulders in my direction. “I don’t know. Truth is, I don’t think anyone knows,
even those who are affected. Uncle Harold’s one of them.” He added as an
afterthought.

I stared questioningly at him for a moment before
speaking. “What do you mean? He’s Nan’s uncle right? So, how old could he be?”
I asked while mentally calculating the possibilities.

“Well, he’s her uncle, rather her very great
uncle. He’s nearly three hundred years old from what I’ve heard. He’s just a
few generations off from when Nan’s ancestors left for America.” He added.

“Really? Has he always lived in London? Wouldn’t
people notice?” I asked.

“I don’t know for sure. He’s always lived round
and about London I think. He never married, so it’s not like he’s had children
growing old next to him or anything. I’m sure there are spells that could help
with suspicion.” He said thoughtfully contemplating the issue.

“That’s why we’re going to see Uncle Harold. He
understands more of the history of these things. In any case, he’ll know how
risings like these have been put down in the past.” He explained, which
reminded me of another pressing question.

“I understand that this Viking guy isn’t sane or
whatever, but this has happened before?” I asked suspiciously, sensing that I
was about to learn of another aspect of the Heka Society that might be
unpleasant.

Ren slumped back in his seat. Rolling his head in
my direction he eyed me seriously. “Do you remember when you asked me if there
was a danger that you could not learn, you know, to tame your gifts?” He asked
carefully measuring his words.

I nodded solemnly in response recalling that
unpleasant conversation months before.

“Well, it’s not just about controlling yourself.
That’s not really the hardest part of being a witch. It’s the balance of power
and using it for what is right rather than self-serving purposes. The Heka
Service is the body of witches and wizards who police our kind. Sometimes, a
powerful witch or wizard will become seduced by their own power and that’s when
trouble starts.” He said grimly.

I watched his solemn profile in silence for
several moments before responding. “Is that what your parents are doing in
Africa?” I asked gently ever leery of probing him on the topic.

He nodded somberly. “They’re spying, pretending to
join the legion who serve a wizard who is seriously bad news. The things he’s
doing are nothing short of pure evil but as it is, he’s too powerful now to
simply punish. He must be taken down systematically and to do that, the Council
needs information because in the end, there will be a war. One the Council
can’t afford to lose.” He said gravely.

I shivered and shrank back into my seat, letting
my coat fall over my shoulders.

“Is that why the Council is worried about the Viking?
That he’s going to cause a war too?” I asked feeling light-headed and slightly
nauseated. The idea of being caught in the middle of a war was cause for
concern to say the least.

Ren shook his head dismissively. “I don’t know.”
He said grimly.

We sat in silence both ignoring the flight
attendant’s demonstration on safety devices. If our plane went down over the
frigid Atlantic, we’d need a lot more than a floating cushion to survive it.

* * *

I awoke to the greenish glare of the overhead
lights. My neck ached and my mouth was dry. Passengers all over the plane were
waking and moving around in their seats. I rubbed my eyes and stretched trying
to piece together the sequence of events that led up to my slumber. I didn’t
remember deciding to fall asleep, which was disconcerting.

“Good morning.” Ren said sleepily.

I nearly jumped out of my seat with surprise.
“Uh.” I groaned. “I don’t even remember falling asleep. My neck is killing me.”
I complained groggily.

“You fell asleep about ten minutes into the first
movie. Been sleeping ever since… I think.” Ren said rubbing the sleep out of
his own eyes.

My fingers stretched around my neck and shoulders
in an attempt to smooth out the pain and found my headphones still dangling
there. Slowly emerging from the haze of waking in an unusual place, I recalled
the vague beginning of the movie we’d begun the night before.

“I can’t believe I slept through the entire
flight.” I muttered, considering how nervous I’d been when we took off.

I peered out the window. The plane hovered over a
blanket of dense gray clouds for several minutes before slowly sinking into
their fuzzy belly. The filmy haze beyond my window dimmed to a deeper shade of
gloom before we glided beneath the clouds and abruptly bumped onto the damp runway.
It appeared London itself was shrouded in a cloud.

* * *

The driver pulled the cab up to the corner of a
residential street and waited in silence for payment. Ren foraged in his pocket
and hastily thrust several bills into the driver’s palm before throwing the
door open and leaping onto the sidewalk.

The cold fog resting lazily over the city crept
through the open door. It seeped into my clothes and chilled my skin. I climbed
out of the cab and peered through the mist at Uncle Harold’s house.

It stood regally at the end of a row of brick
homes all tall and elegant like society ladies dressed for a ball. From what I
could make out through the fog, it appeared the homes were separated from the
trim sidewalk by wrought iron fences guarding small but interesting gardens.

The cab driver brushed passed me carrying a bag
under each arm. Ren held the iron-gate open allowing him to pass through and
the cabbie left the bags before the black lacquer door and scampered quickly
past us and back into his vehicle with barely a nod of his head.

I followed Ren’s lead to the door and waited as he
rang the bell, which chimed loudly on the other side. My gaze lingered on the
doorknocker, a single set of raised arms resembling the clasp on the bracelet
fastened around my wrist.

“Is that…” I began before the door swung open.

Uncle Harold could have been no more than five and
a half feet tall but stood portly and commanding in the doorframe. His face was
framed by a halo of white curls and eyes magnified by a pair of thick
black-rimmed glasses.

His stern expression softened as he focused on
Ren’s face. “Welcome, my boy! Splendid to see you here so soon!” He exclaimed.

For a man whose life had spanned centuries, he
appeared to be a well-kept seventyish dressed comfortably in wool slacks, a
scholarly cardigan and loafers.

“And you must be Eliza Gowan. Very pleased to meet
you, my dear.” He said with exuberance, peering inquisitively through his thick
glasses.

“Come along, in with you, now! Shall we have a
bite to eat?” He asked while turning toward the dimly lit interior of the
house. “Leave your bags by the door, they’ll find their way to your rooms.” He
ordered loudly over his shoulder.

As Uncle Harold moved down the long hall, lights flickered
and sparked throughout the house like servants caught napping on the job.

Ren and I followed him down the hall flanked by
several rooms on either side, all of which looked dusty and unused as if their
purpose had expired sometime in a previous century. We arrived in a
surprisingly bright and cheerful sitting room with a small breakfast table set
for three. A robust fire blazed in the fireplace burning off some of the
dampness and banishing the chill.

“A late breakfast I suppose but I thought it the
best meal to offer you.” He said, while lifting the lid off a porcelain serving
dish.

A stack of hot sausages lay inside and their aroma
made my mouth water.

“Fantastic. There’s nothing quite like a proper
English breakfast.” Ren responded gratefully.

During breakfast, Ren filled Uncle Harold in on
news about Nan, his parents, and other relatives they shared. The conversation
seemed so much like a friendly family reunion that I nearly forgot our visit
was based in business.

At the end of the meal, when we were all stuffed
and feeling sleepy by the fire, Uncle Harold shoved back his chair to stand and
studied his pocket watch.

“Well, then, you two settle yourselves upstairs
and freshen up as you’d like. I’ll be on my way to the office. Why don’t you
meet me there, say at three o’clock? We can discuss your mission then.” Uncle
Harold said decidedly.

Ren nodded. “We’ll be there, Uncle Harold. Thank
you for the delicious breakfast.” He added with a satisfied grin.

Uncle Harold smiled and patted Ren paternally on
the shoulder. “It’s not every day that the courier is my nephew.” He replied
proudly.

Without further discussion he left the room and a
half-minute later we heard the front door shut behind him.

“Why do we have to go down to Uncle Harold’s
office to deliver the message? Not that I mind, just wondering.” I inquired as
Ren and I mounted the stairs.

“Maybe it’s safer.” Ren replied sleepily without
bothering to elaborate.

When we reached the top of the stairs I noticed
that my bags sat outside one door and Ren’s were waiting before another.

“Meet you back here in a couple of hours.” Ren
said with a tired smile. “I barely slept at all last night.” He added with a
yawn.

“Ok.” I replied hesitantly, still considering the
magic behind the traveling bags but before I could raise the question with Ren,
he had slipped through the door of his room and flopped face down on the bed.

21

Ren and I made our way
through the fog and eventually the string of mansions gave way to streets lined
with small stores and then bigger stores until after a while we found ourselves
in the middle of a bustling corporate section of the city.

“What does Uncle Harold do that he has an office
down here?” I asked curiously, considering what profession could be sustained
over three hundred or so years.

“Well, for one, he’s the official historian for
the Heka Society but besides that he writes books. Mostly historical novels,
biographies, that sort of thing.” He said sounding distracted.

“Do you see an address anywhere?” He asked
scanning the storefronts before us.

I set about looking for a number too but failed to
find one.

“Oh, there’s The Red Feather, a pub Uncle Harold
and I went to the last time I was in town! His office building should be few
doors down.” He said picking up the pace.

Some of the buildings looked to be on the older
side in this part of London but for the most part, the facades were remarkably
new considering the rest of the city. It appeared that business, new,
prosperous, expensive business happened in this part of town. At least it
looked that way until Ren halted.

After passing so many modern buildings, it was a
surprise to stand before the massive medieval door. I took a step back to view
the building itself before we entered. It was stone and oddly narrow compared
to its neighbors. In fact, it downright stuck out like an ancient relic. The
windows were long, narrow, and curved to a point at the top with wrought iron
bars running down their length. The glass fitted into the old design looked
watery, the type that distorted images.

“Here we are.” Ren said giving the massive door a
yank.

The gloomy entryway was completely bare giving no
indication as to what organizations occupied the building. The only option for
exploring the interior was a stone stairwell poorly lit by a large chandelier
suspended from the roof beams. When we’d reached the third floor, Ren darted
down an even dimmer, windowless hallway and knocked on a door.

“Enter!” Uncle Harold called from the other side
of a very solid wooden door.

Uncle Harold’s office was low ceilinged and
cramped. Shelves littered with crusty books, crumpled papers and a number of
other knickknacks that dated him lined the wall behind a bulky desk where he
sat. His office claimed only one of the windows we’d seen from outside, which
permitted a scant amount of gray light into the room.

A dusty old cat with an enormous brown and orange
mane framing its squashed face blinked irritably in our direction from a perch
on the deep stone windowsill. An oil lamp that had been converted to
accommodate electricity brightened the desk area and Uncle Harold’s face.

“I almost forgot my way.” Ren said flopping down
in a chair and dropping his backpack on the floor.

“Hi, Uncle Harold.” I said and dropped into a
chair next to Ren.

“You brought the package?” He asked pointedly,
getting down to business.

“Yes, here it is.” Ren said pulling the package
from his bag. He set it on top of Uncle Harold’s desk.

The cat hissed. Its glassy eyes fixed on the
package. It bounded across the room and up to the top of the bookshelf where it
nestled itself like a snow leopard on a mountain ledge.

“There, there Persephone. It’s not worth raising
your dander, dear girl.” Uncle Harold said reassuringly to the cat.

Yet, he regarded the wrapped package suspiciously
for several moments before approaching it delicately with his fingers.

“Never quite sure what you might find beneath the
surface, hmmm.” He muttered under his breath while gently untying the mass of
knotted string around the lumpy brown package.