Chapter 15 - A Great Man

The early morning light coming through the trees cast long shadows across the road where Darius and Olivia were walking. They moved in and out of the light every few steps. Each time they did, the difference made the vampire’s eyes ache despite his sunglasses. He could’ve stayed in the heavy canvas tent the crew had set up beside the hole, but he’d wanted to prepare Olivia for some of what she was about to encounter.

When he told her that the mansion had disappeared, her slight frown hardened into a deep scowl.

“What about Iset and the others?” she asked.

“There’s a good possibility they’re alive,” Darius said.

“What does that mean?”

“At the moment we have no way to contact them or check on their welfare.”

“But Big Jacky—”

“Jacky is doing everything he can, but these are unusual circumstances. All we know is that they weren’t dead when the mansion disappeared. Olivia, I’d be lying if I said I was comfortable involving someone as young as you in all of this—”

Olivia’s cheeks went red, and her lips thinned.

“—but this is an uncomfortable situation,” Darius said, “and Jacky and I would both be grateful for your help.”

“Of course I’m going to help!” Olivia cried. “Why wouldn’t I help?”

Darius looked away to give himself time to think how to answer. Two steps later he looked back at her.

“You’re going to become involved in some deep and dangerous secrets,” he said. “You may learn things that you can never mention to another person for the rest of your life—”

“I don’t care!” Olivia insisted. “That’s my home! Iset is my friend.”

Darius’s heart constricted with painful empathy.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Olivia said, “keep all your secrets—I don’t care. I’m helping.”

Darius nodded, then added, “Thank you.”

By then they had reached the middle of the line of cars at the edge of the road. Two team members were grabbing an hour of sleep in one of the sedans. The smell of old coffee and stale pastries wafted back from the front of the line.

“Do we have any leads on what happened to the mansion?” Olivia asked.

“Yes.” Darius frowned, but he managed to keep his tone neutral. “And we’re receiving help from a unique expert.”

They passed the last of the cars, and headed into the crowd of tables, canopies, and tents that surrounded the front of the hole. Darius paused to return a greeting from Olsen, then he and Olivia walked toward an unassuming tent buried in the center of it all. The heavy canvas dragged on the eight-foot-tall frame. The window flaps were tied down. Every two feet, a stake pinned the bottom edge of the tent to the ground. The only door not secured was one of the front two flaps. There was a man standing a few feet off to the side, smoking a cigarette. Despite his laid-back posture, something about the way he hovered made him look like a guard. Even though they were still at least twelve feet away, his eyes were following Olivia. When he noted Darius beside her, he went back to scanning the rest of the area.

“Who’s the expert?” Olivia asked.

“A man named Grover Northrop,” Darius said.

“Gro-Grover Northrop?” Olivia stopped walking. “As in the Grover Northrop?”

Darius stopped beside her. “You know him.”

Olivia’s voice took on a rare note of excitement: “Of course I know him! That’s like asking if I know who Einstein is!”

Much to his irritation, Darius caught himself frowning again. He turned and started walking.

Olivia jogged to catch up. “Northrop is one of the five most famous sorcerers who ever lived. His work changed the way everyone interacts with magic—including witches!”

“Please lower your voice.”

Olivia obliged. “But you must be talking about his great-great-grandson or something. The original Grover Northrop died hundreds of years ago.”

Darius paused outside the tent. “I think you’ll find that’s a slight exaggeration.”

He lifted the unsecured flap and motioned for Olivia to go inside.

Jack Noctis was standing at the side of a small table. Two of its legs were propped up with folded paper so it wouldn’t wobble on the uneven ground. On top of the table was a large propane camping lantern whose light was almost swallowed by the glow of the sun through the ivory-colored canvas. Behind the table, sitting on a wooden chair, was the original Grover Northrop.

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Darius followed Olivia inside and saw her stiffen when her eyes adjusted enough for her to get a good look at Northrop’s rotting body.

“Olivia,” Big Jacky said. “I’m glad you’re here. This is Grover Northrop.”

Olivia blinked and her jaw tightened, but, otherwise, there was no reaction.

Jacky turned to face the corpse in the chair. “Northrop, this is Olivia Lauren Sofie Emma Tara Grace Oliversen. She’s a witch.”

This time Olivia managed a nod that Northrop didn’t return. The corpse eyed her.

“And what is she doing here?” he asked in a low drawl.

“Like you, she’s here to help us,” Jacky said.

“Her?” Northrop scoffed. “That chit of a girl is barely old enough to scrub the floors.”

Olivia’s cheeks flushed.

She hated it when people drew attention to her age. She allowed it from Darius and Iset because they were…well, Darius and Iset. The fact this moldy, fetid stranger had once been one of the most famous sorcerers of all time no longer mattered. As far as Olivia was concerned, he was six feet too far away from the center of the earth for several reasons.

“And you,” she said, “appear to be nothing but a failed archeology project whose bitchy, elitist attitude is the only thing more outdated than his knowledge.”

Northrop’s contemptuous expression faded into a calculating frown.

“There are no floors to scrub,” Jacky pointed out, “and I have different tasks I would like her to perform. I must excuse myself to make a few phone calls. While I’m gone, I want you to repeat everything you told me to her.”

Northrop looked up at Jacky. “Everything?”

“You have decided to help us, have you not? You will wind up giving your information to a number of different people, but you will start by repeating it to Olivia.”

“Would she even understand it?”

Olivia spoke up: “In case you’ve forgotten, I am a witch, sir.”

Northrop tried to tilt his head when he turned to look at her, but his skin and muscles failed to move properly, so the angle of the tilt looked awkward. He widened his already prominent eyes in mock astonishment. “Oh! A witch.” He let out a brief and unconvincing laugh. “Forgive me. I must have misheard.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed.

Darius sighed through his nose and rubbed his forehead.

Oblivious, Jacky went on, “Olivia is a witch of impressive skill and power, and she’s had a unique education. I want her to have full access to all of the details you can provide about the magic involved. She is infinitely more equipped to understand them than I am, and one of her roles will be to help me grasp the intricacies of the situation. Is that all right with you, Olivia?”

She answered without shifting her glare. “Yes, Mr. Noctis.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me.” Jacky turned and left the tent.

Olivia and Northrop continued glaring at each other.

Darius had no love for the dead sorcerer, and under most circumstances, he would’ve left them alone to glare themselves out, but the matter was urgent. He didn’t have time to cater to the egos of two powerful magicians.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I would think you two knew each other.”

“I know his type,” Olivia said, “though he is more obnoxious than most.”

One side of Northrop’s mouth tweaked upward. “You don’t have to be nice if you’re powerful. But I thought you already knew that, Miss…Witch.”

Before Olivia could respond, Darius tapped her on the shoulder. “A word, please.”

Olivia cast one last poisonous look at Northrop, then followed Darius to the front corner of the tent.

“Can you work with him?” Darius asked under his breath.

Olivia’s whisper was loud and indignant: “Of course I—”

She shut her mouth when the vampire’s eyes flashed up to meet hers. They were standing only two feet apart. The intensity of his expression made her feel as if someone had slammed their fist into her sternum.

“Think before you answer, Miss Oliversen,” he said. “Our friends’ lives may depend on your accuracy.”

The silence between them hummed in Olivia’s ears.

“They’re in danger,” she said.

“Imminent danger,” Darius said. “We only have so much time. Each second you spend fighting Northrop, rather than listening to what he has to say, is a second gone from a limited pool. I’ll ask you one more time—can you work with him?”

Olivia paled, and all the haughtiness left her face. The difference made her expression look uncharacteristically soft.

“I can,” she said.

“Do you need anything?”

“There’s a notebook and pen in my luggage. If it hasn’t arrived yet, I’ll use any pen and paper.”

“I’ll get you that immediately.”

“Thank you, Darius.”

Darius didn’t bother acknowledging her thanks before he left.

Olivia turned back to the table where Grover Northrop sat, watching her.

She noticed several chairs lined up along the side of the tent. She walked over, grabbed one, and brought it back to the table, placing it across from the corpse.

When she spoke, it took no effort to sound polite. Olivia had never seen such stark anxiety in Darius’s eyes before. It had both humbled and frightened her.

“How are you here?” She motioned to his body and clarified: “How were you raised from the dead?”

Northrop put one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. “That’s an interesting question that I would love to discuss with some of my already damned colleagues, but it isn’t relevant to the current problem, and I would hate to be accused of corrupting someone so young and impressionable. By the way, what do you prefer to be called?”

“Excuse me?”

“Most of the witches I knew were extremely particular.”

Olivia scanned what was left of his clothes, trying to figure out where they belonged in the history of fashion. “I assume that was a long time ago, Mr. Northrop. Things have changed.”

He let out a brief “ha!” that was more a scoff than anything else. “The sun will go cold before witches stop being particular.”

The heat crawling up Olivia’s temples meant that her too-quick temper was rising. She wanted to argue, but couldn’t. There was the anxiety in Darius’s eyes—but, also, Northrop was right.

“Miss Witch is fine,” she said. “Or Olivia, if you’d like. I’m not particular about that.”

“Oh?”

Olivia’s eyes flew up to Northrop’s face when she heard his tone. It had been too quiet. Too considering. But he’d raised one of his partially decomposed hands to his jaw. It hid most of his expression.

He moved his hand back to his lap. “What do you know about the situation?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Only that my ward went down all at once.”

“But you weren’t here.”

“I was in Morocco at the time.”

“I don’t know that place.”

“It’s in Africa.”

“Africa! You were maintaining a ward”—Northrop tapped the tip of his finger bone on the table—“over this place, from that distance?”

“Magic is like technology, Mr. Northrop. It advances.” She inclined her head, motioning to him, and tried to hide the “grudging” portion of her grudging respect as she said, “You helped with that.”

Northrop’s face broke into a wide smile. It spread slowly. Olivia’s stomach twisted at the gruesome sight.

“Here’s to another small hope,” Northrop said. He uncrossed his legs and moved to the front of his chair. “I suppose we should start at the beginning.”