Novel - Arcanum 101 (with Rosemary Edghill) (22 page)

When he headed past Chris’s door, he saw that it was not only closed, but there was a black curtain down over the window. He remembered he hadn’t seen Chris last night. Cautiously, he opened the door.

The whole room was shrouded in black—well that was normal; Chris was a Goth—and Chris was lying on his bed, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“Don’t turn on the light,” he said hoarsely.

Tomas stepped inside and closed the door. “Hey, hombre, you all right?” It occurred to him that Chris was the one who called the School Nurse when someone was sick, but who called Nurse Irene if Chris was sick?

“Fine,” Chris gasped. “I’m having a vision. Or, I’m going to. This is just the lead-in. Probably later today.”

“Is there—?” Tomas asked uncertainly.

Chris laughed shakily. “No. Nothing anybody can do. I used to pass out. Now I just wish I would. I’ll be okay in a few hours. I just need to lie around for a while. But… thanks for checking.”

“See you later, then,” Tomas said.

As he closed the door behind him, it occurred to him that there were lots worse things to be than a guy who could start fires by thinking about it.

At about eleven o’clock, the maroon school van came slowly up the drive. Tomas was waiting anxiously out in front, flanked by Ms. Clifford and Mr. Bishop, and—to his secret horror, even Mr. Moonlight was there. Señora Davies was driving the van, and Tomas wondered nervously what she’d said to his mother.

The van pulled up, and Consuelo Torres stepped out, followed by Rosalita. Even though it had only been two months, Tomas was sure that Rosalita was much taller than she’d been the last time he’d seen her—and he was sure she was wearing a new dress. She looked around for only a moment before she rushed past her mother and flung herself into his arms, chattering excitedly: she’d missed him—was he coming home—they’d had frozen carrots for dinner three times last week—she stayed with the neighbor down the hall after school now and she was okay, and she had three dogs, but when was he coming home?

“Ah, not for a while yet, ‘Lita,” that Tomas said, hugging her tightly. “I’ve got lots to learn here. And when I do come home, I make a home for you and Mama, ay?”

“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Señora Torres,” Mr. Moonlight said, stepping forward and extending his hand to Tomas’s mother. “And to congratulate you upon being the mother of a fine son. He is a great asset to St. Rhiannon’s, and we are fortunate to have him enrolled here.”

Mrs. Torres took the proffered hand, and shook it, but Tomas could tell she really wasn’t buying it.

“Èl es un gamberro,” she said softly, shaking her head.

Tomas winced. To hear Mamacita call him a criminal hurt.

Mr. Moonlight smiled. “While it is true that young Tomas did indeed have an unfortunate run-in with the law, may we not agree to look upon it as fortunate instead? For I am persuaded, even upon my short acquaintance with him, that such an adventure will never be repeated, and it has brought him here to us. May I present to you Ms. Clifford, our school counselor, and Mr. Bishop, one of Tomas’s teachers? Both agree that he shows great promise.”

Suddenly Tomas realized that both of them were staring at Rosalita—and had been for the last several seconds. Mr. Bishop had been standing right next to Tomas when the van pulled up, but he’d actually moved away, going over to stand next to Señora Clifford.

Both of them shook hands with Mrs. Torres, assuring her that yes, Tomas was a promising student and an asset to the school, and to Tomas’s embarrassment, she began to cry.

“I’d wanted—I’d hoped—” she said.

“Mama?” Rosalita said, sounding worried.

“Why don’t we go into my office for just a few minutes?” Señora Clifford said, taking her arm and walking her up the steps of the Main Building. “It must have been a very long bus ride from the city, and I’m sure you’d like a moment to rest.”

Señora Clifford and Mrs. Torres walked into the building, and Mr. Moonlight followed them, seeming to feel that his work here was done, though Tomas doubted very much that he intended to actually join them.

“She’s all right, isn’t she?” Rosalita asked anxiously. “Mamacita never cries. At least not where anyone can see her.”

“She’s just been very worried about your brother for a very long time,” Mr. Bishop said encouragingly. “Hello. My name’s Daniel. I’d like to be your friend.” He held out his hand.

“I have a lot of friends,” Rosalita said. She took his hand.

Tomas was watching for it carefully, and so he saw the blank look of shock cross Daniel Bishop’s face, as if the man had grasped a live wire rather than a ten-year-old girl’s hand. But Rosalita didn’t seem to notice anything.

Tomas glared at Mr. Bishop anyway. Mr. Bishop shook his head slightly, meeting Tomas’s gaze, his lips forming soundless words. Not now.

Okay, Tomas could wait. For a while.

“Come on,” Mr. Bishop said. “Let’s take a look around. Ms. Clifford and your mom will catch up.”

The quadrangle had been decorated for the picnic. The buildings might be shabby and the sidewalks cracked—as fit in with the school’s “cover story” of being a down-at-heels dumping ground for kids nobody wanted—but today the buildings were hung with bunting and garlanded with balloons.

The tables were all set up in the central area, and behind them were more tables near the barbeque grills. Tomas’s class had actually made the grills down at the Garage, since they were a couple of old fifty-gallon oil drums cut in half, with legs welded on. When you were cooking for fifty, you wanted to be able to cook a lot at a time. Tubs full of ice and drinks were already set out, and when he saw that, Tomas suggested that Rosalita go and help herself.

“Can I really?”

“You’re coming to the picnic, right? Go ahead.”

Rosalita giggled with delight and ran off in the direction of the tubs of ice.

“Now what the hell was that all about?” Tomas demanded, as soon as Rosalita was safely out of earshot. When he turned around, he saw Ms. Smith heading toward them from the Main Building at a dead run.

“Tomas—” Mr. Bishop began.

“Hi, guys, did I miss anything?” Ms. Smith said. The sunlight sparkled blindingly off her red-white-and-blue sequined t-shirt. She glanced in the direction of Rosa. “Whoa,” she said.

“Exactly,” Mr. Bishop said. He turned to Tomas. “Tomas, it seems that you aren’t the only Talent in your family.”

Tomas glanced back at Rosa. She was standing by the ice-tub, a can of Coke in her hand, talking to a couple of the other students, a boy and a girl close to her own age.

Not the only Talent?

“What?”

“Tomas, when Rosalita stepped out of the van, both Ms. Clifford and I could Read her. And Kayla can too, from all the way over here. Her Talent is very strong. So is mine—psychometry—and I touched her to find out more about hers. I’m fairly sure that Rosalita is a Medium.”

“What? You mean she talks to dead people?” Tomas thought about all of Rosa’s invisible friends, but Mr. Bishop was already shaking his head.

“Not necessarily. Or… not exactly. A Medium is a Sensitive with the specific power to communicate with discarnate intelligences—living things that might not have bodies. They could be spirits of the dead, yes, or that might simply be their normal form. If she’s powerful enough—and I think she is—she also has the power to wake those that are sleeping. And if she’s really powerful, she can Call those beings to her across the Planes, becoming a tool for their manifestation—their arrival—here.”

Tomas stared at Mr. Bishop in sick horror, unable to believe what he was hearing. He shook his head slowly. No. Not his perfect little sister. He might have to lead a life like this, learning to fight and to hide. Not her.

“Tomas, we gotta get her into the school,” Ms. Smith said. “Now. I bet she’s already hearing voices, right? Has been for a while? That’s got to stop. It’s got to be stopped. She may not be hearing a lot of them yet, but there’s gonna be more all the time, and I’m telling you, if you think there are things out there that want to eat you, well, for a Medium it’s a million times worse. A lot of those things without bodies are gonna want hers.”

“I don’t believe you!” Tomas said desperately. “I won’t! Rosalita isn’t a freak!”

“Tomas—” Ms. Smith said.

“No!”

He ran over to where Rosalita was talking to Nina and Vanh. He forced himself to take a deep breath and smile. He wasn’t going to frighten her again, not the way he had the day he’d first discovered his fire. She was just starting to trust him, to believe in him, again, and he wouldn’t do anything to destroy that.

“Come on, Rosa. Let’s go find Mama.”

Mrs. Torres was just walking across the lawn with Señora Clifford when Tomas headed back in the other direction with Rosalita in tow. The two women were talking animatedly, and Mrs. Torres was smiling hopefully.

Tomas was trying to figure out how to explain to his mother—well, he wasn’t quite sure what—when Consuelo Torres enveloped him in a sudden fierce hug.

“You must be good, now, Tomas!” she said. “You’ve been given a second chance!”

“I will, Mamacita. I promise,” Tomas said.

“Well,” Ms. Smith said brightly, coming up to them. “Shall we take the tour?”

For the next forty minutes the six of them walked through the small campus, and Tomas couldn’t find any way to get Mamacita alone and tell her that she had to take Rosalita away from here now. Señora Clifford talked about the many advantages of attending St. Rhia’s—the small classes, the individual attention, the college and vocational courses. Mrs. Torres was very impressed with the library, as well as with the fact that each of the students was issued a computer for their personal use.

“We find that it’s helpful in encouraging study skills,” Mr. Bishop said cheerfully.

“We hope that you’ll consider letting your daughter come here as well,” Señora Clifford said. She darted an apologetic glance at Tomas. “You see, St. Rhia’s is a very special school. It’s for children who are gifted in the way that we understand your daughter is gifted. You see, your daughter has a very strong psychic gift—you’d probably know it as Mediumship. It’s rare, but it’s not completely uncommon, and I’m sure you’ve already seen some evidence of it. It’s nothing at all to worry about. With the special training and help that she can receive here at St. Rhia’s, Rosalita can go on to live a perfectly normal life—even use her ability if she wishes to. Of course—”

“No!” Mrs. Torres stared at Señora Clifford as if she’d suddenly grown horns. “What are you saying to me? Are you all insano? My daughter isn’t una bruja! She’s a good Catholic!”

“Mrs. Torres, this isn’t witchcraft,” Señora Clifford said carefully. “Your daughter’s Talent has nothing to do with magic. It’s very real. And if she doesn’t receive special training, things could become very difficult for her very quickly.”

(“Yeah,” Tomas heard Ms. Smith mutter, “like when she starts to hear voices that nobody else does.”)

“They will not! I will take care of mi propia carne y sangre! The moment I get home I will place her in a convent, and the Holy Sisters will pray all the darkness out of her—as they could not with her father!”

Oh, no. Suddenly, just as Tomas had realized there were much worse things than being a pyrokinetic, he realized that there were much worse things for Rosalita than coming to St. Rhia’s. He still didn’t want to believe she had a Talent, but… what if she did? He thought about Chris, who’s parents had put him in a mental hospital, and other kids here, whose parents had tried to “retrain” them to be “normal” in other ways.

“Mama, there’s nothing wrong with Rosa! She doesn’t need anything prayed out of her. If you—If you let her come her—for maybe just a few months, you could see—”

“No! Rosalita, come here at once!” Rosalita started toward her mother, but before she could take more than a step or two, Mrs. Torres darted forward and grabbed her, clutching her to herself so hard that the ten-year-old squeaked in surprise. “We are leaving immediately! Tomas! I want you to come with us!”

Tomas shook his head slowly. “I can’t do that, Mama. Please, you have to let Rosalita stay.”

“Mama, we’re not leaving? But—”

“Quiet! And you, Tomas, do they say you are a witch, too? Do they say that my only son has the Devil in him?”

“Mama, it’s not El Diablo, it’s not magic, it’s science—Rosalita has to stay here, to learn—”

“Oh, Mama, I want to stay here—everyone’s so nice, and they know about people like me—”

“Be quiet! From now on, you are not my son, and I will pray to the Blessed Virgin on my knees that it is not too late to save my daughter!” Mrs. Torres turned away and began dragging Rosalita with her. It took a moment for Rosalita to really realize what was happening, but once she did she began to cry, pleading with her mother to go back, to let her stay-

“I’m going after them,” Tomas said.

“No.”

Inigo Moonlight had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He put a hand on Tomas’s shoulder and frowned warningly at Ms. Smith—from the look on her face, she felt about the way Tomas did.

“But—” Tomas protested.

“She is far too upset to listen to anyone right now. Give her half an hour to collect her thoughts. Tammerlane is ten miles from here. She cannot possibly reach it in that time. We will send Ms. Clifford after her in one of the automobiles, and perhaps, by then, she will be willing to listen to words of reason and counsel. If not, we must find another way to help your sister,” Mr. Moonlight said.

“If we can’t, we’ll be seeing her here in a few years anyway,” Mr. Bishop said sadly. “One way or another.”

Consuelo Torres was walking down the long hill that led to the main road. Her feet hurt, and her good shoes would be ruined by the time they reached the bus terminal, but she was too angry and frightened to care. These people—these people who had her Tomas—said her daughter was a witch, and in her heart Consuelo knew it was true, for hadn’t her little Rosa, the rose of her heart, been speaking to the spirits of the air for years? When she was only a baby, she’d said her dolls spoke to her, and at first Consuelo had dismissed it as the games all children played, especially lonely children, for Rosalita had never been one to make friends, but when Rosalita had begun to tell her some of the things her dolls said…