The Lost Gate (33 page)

“Oh, keep your shirt on, Danny,” she said. “Leslie
is
a cow. That's her heartbeast. Lighten up.”

“That's not how you meant it.”

“You don't
know
that,” she said, with a coy look.

“Don't call Leslie a cow ever again.” Danny turned his back on her and walked toward the house.

“Aren't you going to invite me in?” asked Veevee.

Danny did not answer her at all. Let her come to the porch and knock on the door herself, if she wants in. If Leslie and Marion already know her, they probably already hate her. Let the three of them work it out.

“My knees and palms hurt!” Veevee called from behind him. “Make me a little gate!”

Danny made a gate directly in front of her. Then he turned and beckoned to her like a traffic cop—one hand pointing to her, the other beckoning for her to move forward.

It wasn't necessary—she saw the gate. She smiled and stepped into it—and found herself across Xenia Avenue, facing away from the house. She spun around, confused at first, then furious when she saw Danny, but Danny just turned and continued into the house. Supposedly she could see where his gates led, and gatemages were known to be pranksters. Why hadn't she looked before she stepped?

He stepped into the house and called out, “We have a visitor!”

“Don't shout in the house!” shouted Leslie from upstairs.

“A gatemage followed me home,” called Danny, and then, perhaps a little louder: “Victoria Von Roth.”

Leslie practically flew to the top of the stairs and then seemed to ski down them, she moved so quickly. “That miserable bitch really
is
a gatemage? And she's
here
? Oh, of course she's here. Wherever she's not wanted.”

Leslie seemed more than annoyed—flustered, really, and vaguely embarrassed. It suddenly seemed likely that at least part of Veevee's story was true—they had been rivals for Marion's affections.

“Relax,” said Danny. “Marion chose
you,
didn't he?”

“What did she tell you? That the only reason he married me instead of her was because everybody thought
she
was drekka, and I was a real mage, even if I was only a Cowsister?”

“I don't think she's here to try to persuade Marion he made the wrong choice,” said Danny. “I think she's just excited to finally have proof she's a Keyfriend.”

“Oh, a Keyfriend no less! Naturally she'd claim to be the very highest kind of gatemage that can't actually make gates.”

“I think it's true. She found my gates and went through them without my help or even my knowledge.”

“That's bad news. You should have felt her using them.”

“You never told me that. I can sense when people use gates I made?”

“Obviously not,” said Leslie. “Go find Marion and tell him he'd better get in here.”

“No,” said Danny. “I think I need to be here when Veevee gets to the door.”

“What do you think I'm going to do, moo at her?”

“I think you and Marion should be together when you see her for the first time in all these years.”

“Oh, suddenly little Danny North is a peacemaker. I don't remember what kind of magery that is!”

“It's the I-don't-want-any-bloodshed kind,” said Danny.

“Gate to the barn and drag him back here, then,” said Leslie.

“You said not to gate around the farm—”

“This is an emergency, you boneheaded bratling.” She was peering through a slight gap in the curtains. “Oh, she looks just the way I expected. Always tarting herself up like she was a senator's wife. I'd say ‘duchess' except she forgot her coronet.”

So the bitchiness ran both ways. It was easy enough to understand why. They both believed—Veevee with spite, Leslie with dread—that Marion had only chosen Leslie because their children were likelier to be mages.

Danny gated out to the barn, where Marion was inscribing a headstone. Now that he was retired from geology, he did stonework just because he loved to work with rock. He charged more than the local stonecutters so that they wouldn't think he was trying to put them out of business, though it took him fifteen minutes to do an intricate carving that they would spend three days to do. And as a Cobblefriend, he could help the stone find a smooth, sealed finish that would not erode for centuries. He also had a bit of a flair so that even with headstones, there was a sense of dash about them. Some people thought it was undignified and in bad taste; they had plenty of other stonecutters to choose from. And there were always people who thought Marion's stones expressed the character of the loved one they had lost.

This one had the silhouette of a mountain at the top of the stone, with the figure of a mountain climber very small against both the front and back surfaces. It would be the gravemarker for a young husband and father who had died on a mountain while trying to save a fellow climber who had fallen and broken a leg. The young man's parents were outraged that his widow was putting a representation of the thing that killed him on the headstone; but the widow was the customer, and
she
said that he was never happier than when he was climbing. “He had a love for the stone itself. He said he sometimes felt as if, when he climbed, his fingers caressed the rock and the rock caressed him back. He died as a hero on the mountain, and that's what I want our children to see when they visit his grave.”

Marion had told this story over supper just last night, and then added, “I have no doubt the young man had an affinity for stone.”

“So he was Westilian?”

“I doubt it.”

“You know I don't believe all that nonsense of Westilians originating here on Earth,” said Leslie.

“Believe what you want, my dear,” said Marion, “but Westilians and Mittlegardians interbreed quite readily, and there's no reason to think there isn't latent magery in the population of Earth.”

“I think that the male Westilian habit of seducing drowthers is a sufficient explanation of affinities cropping up in general population from time to time. There's hardly a soul on Earth who doesn't have
some
Westilian blood by now.”

So here was Marion, carving the headstone for a fellow stonemage, or so he supposed. It was part of the camaraderie of the mages, stone for stone, fire for fire, heartbeast for heartbeast. They felt a kinship, those who shared an affinity, regardless of Family barriers.

And Veevee, thought Danny, is the only person in the world, except perhaps the Greek girl, with whom I might find such kinship. It was clear that Marion had shaped the headstone with great respect—he had taken hours giving intricate detail to the stone. Danny, on the other hand, had knocked her down in the driveway, injuring her, and even when he healed her, he had sent her across the street.

“Marion,” said Danny.

Marion looked up from his work. “Did you
gate
in here?”

“Leslie asked me to. Victoria Von Roth is here.”

“Here!” Marion looked annoyed. “What for?”

“She found my gates and followed me through them. She's a Keyfriend.”

Marion absorbed the information with a blink.

“I think Leslie needs some reassurance. Veevee's almost at the door by now. May I gate you back so you can face her together?”

“Don't imagine that you know
anything
about what passed between me and Veevee and me and Leslie all those years ago,” said Marion.

“I only know what's likely to pass between Leslie and Veevee in about fifteen seconds,” said Danny.

Marion reached out a hand. Danny helped him to his feet and then gated him into the parlor. Veevee was knocking and Leslie was about to open the door.

“Let Danny open it,” said Marion. He strode to his wife, drew her back into the parlor, and stood there with his arm around her waist. This must be how Christians stood when they faced the lions in the Roman arena, thought Danny.

He opened the door. “Veevee!” he said with exaggerated warmth. “How lovely of you to drop by!”

“You're something of a devil, Danny,” she said with mild reproach, “but I still adore you. Or at least I adore your gates.” She turned at once to the Silvermans and inclined her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” said Veevee, “that this young man's gates should lead me to your door. I can't imagine a better place for him to seek shelter and training than in this house.”

Danny was almost disappointed that Veevee was behaving so graciously. But it did amuse him that Veevee's tone made it impossible for Leslie to show any of the feelings that he knew were seething just under the surface. Marion held out his hand and Veevee shook it firmly. “I'm glad to see that both of you look so well,” she said.

Leslie had no choice but to offer her hand as well, and Veevee smiled at her. Warmly, to all appearances, because Leslie made some effort to shape her face into a genuine smile.

“And how are all the happy little cows?” asked Veevee, her warmth undiminished.

Danny almost whooped aloud with laughter—it was hard to remain silent. Veevee really
was
a bitch, but she certainly had style.

Leslie glared. “The herd is quite contented, thank you. There's always room in the barn for more, if you need a place to stay.”

No, Leslie, please, Danny said silently. Don't try to match wits with Veevee. You sound petulant where she is cool.

“I have no plans,” said Veevee, “so I may take you up on that, depending on the freshness of the hay.” She turned to Marion. “Imagine this, Marion! I
am
a gatemage after all. Not so advanced as your dear wife, of course. But I think I may be singularly useful in the training of your young ward. Gatemagery has been my study for thirty years, as part of my—what was the term, Leslie, dear?—my ‘elaborate sham,' wasn't it? And since it turns out, to everyone's surprise, not least my own, that I really
am
a gatemage, perhaps I might have some information that Danny might find useful.”

She turned to Danny. “You wouldn't mind if I told you some of what I've learned?”

“I hope you'll tell me all of it,” said Danny. “But only if you refrain from discussing cows while on this property.”

“Fortunately, the closest I ever come to dairy nowadays is low-fat yogurt and cottage cheese,” said Veevee. “And I never eat beef—after knowing Leslie for so long, it would be like dining on a friend.”

“We eat beef whenever we like,” said Leslie. “Cattle are a prey animal and expect some of their number to die from time to time. Like you, we do our slaughtering with tenderness.”

“I have an excellent idea,” said Marion. “If Danny wishes to learn from you, he can make a gate from here to wherever you live. He can go to you for a few hours a day, and then return here for meals. Unless you've learned to cook in the intervening years.”

And there it was. Marion had declared himself. He was completely on Leslie's side, and Veevee was not welcome here. Danny was rather relieved. He could learn from Veevee, but he wouldn't have to deal with all this history.

14

P
UBLIC
G
ATE

Veevee wouldn't even let Danny gate her back to her car in DC. “I'll call the rental company and tell them where to pick it up. I'll say I had a family emergency—and I did, didn't I!” Instead, he gated her home to Naples, Florida, where she lived in a penthouse condominium overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. As soon as they arrived, she went to the kitchen to take inventory of the refrigerator and call out for a grocery delivery.

“This is going to be so fun,” said Veevee.

Danny wasn't sure. Her enthusiasm still bothered him. So far, all he really knew was that she could travel through his gates. But what did that amount to? He already knew how to create gates. He didn't need her to confirm that it worked.

And yet he
was
excited. He wasn't the only gatemage in the world, and Veevee had spent her life studying a magery she only hoped she had.

She went into the bedroom and came out in a modest scarlet one-piece swimsuit which flattered her without pretending that she was any younger than she was. “First things first,” she said. “I want a gate that takes me down to a spot near the beach, and then another gate that brings me back up here.”

“Is that why I'm here?” asked Danny. “To save you waiting for elevators?”

“Why, does it cost you anything?”

“Well, supposedly each gate costs me part of my outself.”

“Are you running out?”

“I don't know.”

“Then do it, Danny. We have to have something to work with, don't we? We can't work on the gate back to the Silvermans' cowshed every time, can we? And what if you do learn to close or take back your gates? Do you want it to be
that
one?”

She always had an argument like that. She always would. Compelling reasons for him to do
exactly
what she wanted—now. If he didn't put his foot down now, would he ever?

Probably not. But it would be worth it, if she could actually help him get control of this thing.

So they leaned over the Gulfside balcony of her condo and chose a spot mostly sheltered by palms near the condominium tower next door. She could come and go from there without being observed. So he created a gate to the spot and she gleefully went through it. When she appeared down in the sand, she waved merrily to him and then held out her arms like a two-year-old wanting to be picked up.

Danny decided to make it a challenge for himself. Instead of going through the gate himself and then making another to bring them both back up, he decided to try to make the second gate from right there on the balcony. After all, it's not as if he touched anything or connected to the gates when he made them. So why would it matter if the starting point was far away, and the endpoint was right next to him?