The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales (9 page)

Too curious
. Of course, if I had my way, the PIA would know absolutely nothing about me or where I came from. But I couldn’t expect to get out of all social niceties. “I spent several years in London growing up,” I replied. “So . . .”

“Ah! This must be like coming home, then.” Arthur nodded vigorously. “Splendid. Still, must be lovely to live over there. I’ve always wanted to go to California. I hear the weather there is fantastic.” He placed some papers behind others in the file.

“Oh, it is,” I agreed. I didn’t want to explain to Arthur that I didn’t stay in one location so much as floated around. I did keep an old house where Abigail and I had lived in upstate New York, but I couldn’t bear to stay there. Too many memories. Around every corner I kept expecting to see her face, hear her voice calling down the hall. Even the scent of the furniture polish she used was too much, drifting as it did from the cracks in oak and pine. Then there were the terrible memories from the night she disappeared.

I blamed myself that she was taken at all, though I still didn’t quite understand how it happened. There had been nothing to suggest it was anything other than an ordinary evening, which would lead to another ordinary day, at least for us.

You see, Abigail was a midwife—a fairly unusual occupation in the modern age. Then again, she was an unusual person. All floppy hats, wide-legged pants, and loose blouses. Mind you, by the time I was born, it was well past the sixties and seventies. But apparently no one bothered to tell my mother, because she seemed to enjoy being partly hippie. Not that she would have ever given up her laptop and gourmet coffee, of course. It was from her I learned growing and healing magic, which was a nice counterbalance to Titus’s more violent tutelage.

“California, yes, yes.” Arthur was muttering and shuffling papers around in the file. “What did you do before you joined the PIA again?” he asked.

Well, I’ve never had to earn a living in the usual way, but I know the language, history, and science of thousands of eras. I’m also intimately familiar with countless ways of healing and killing people.

“Oh, you know,” I replied, tapping my fingers together. “This and that.”

“I had your resume around here somewhere.” Arthur picked up various documents on his desk, but couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for. Finally, he gave up. “Anyway, I remember it was most impressive,” he added.

And faked, as were the references I gave you
.

I smiled and waved my hand. “It was nothing, I assure you.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “You’ve done quite a lot for someone so young. Most of our applicants are older by a least a few years. Not that I imagine it’ll be a problem.”

“Oh, I’m older than I look.”
By about six or seven years, in fact
. This is something I probably should have told you earlier, dear reader. You see, I managed to stop aging at twenty-five, but only with great difficulty. Stopping the clock is an ability most witches and mages have—harder for me, since I’m not as powerful as some. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to continue it indefinitely.

Or perhaps I really will be immortal, but that comes with its own hazards. Many elect to let the clock keep ticking, as it were, for various reasons. After that, the only way to change one’s appearance is through glamour. Some witches simply choose to die, like ancient vampires, because they cannot bear the weight of their unending years. Many of my father’s generation ended their lives early, and even those nowhere near his age. Would Titus be next, unable to endure a life full of disappointments—including his son? Half of me almost wished he’d go away for good, and half was terrified at the very prospect.

“Well, looking older can come in handy too,” Arthur chuckled. “Getting more respect and all that. At least if the senior members are anything to go by.”

“Are you a senior member, Arthur?” I asked.

“Who, me?” Arthur put down my file. “Goodness, no. I just manage the London branch, that’s all. But I don’t know if I’d want to be a senior member anyway. It’s a lot of responsibility—lots more than management.”

“I see.” I didn’t know how long this little interview was going to take, but clearly it was part of the PIA’s getting-to-know-you process. That, or Arthur was especially friendly. I rose from the chair and went to examine a framed paragraph in Latin on the wall.

“May I?” I pointed to the frame.

“By all means,” said Arthur.

I peered at the small script. “It’s the PIA’s mission statement,” I said.

“Right you are.” Arthur placed his reading glasses back in his pocket and stood next to me. “Several of us were pleased to learn how many languages you know. Latin, Italian, Hebrew—”

“Hebrew was from my mother. I also know a great deal of Yiddish, not that it will likely be useful here.”
Why on earth did I say that?

Arthur waggled a finger at me. “You never know which of your talents may or may not be useful.”

“I confess,” I said, “when I first heard of your organization, I thought the concept sounded awfully familiar. Aren’t there a great many such observer agencies in film and literature?”

“There may be many imitators, but I assure you,” Arthur replied, “there is only one PIA. We’ve been in operation since, well, since the beginning of time. Although it’s gone through many names and incarnations, there has never
not
been some form of the PIA.”

I picked up a rosewood carving of a bonsai tree on a nearby shelf. “Beautiful,” I commented to Arthur, who smiled. “And one is forbidden to become directly involved in any supernatural goings-on, yes?”

“Exactly right,” said Arthur. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You seem just the sort of young man who’d stay away from the wrong things. Our motto is ‘Close, but not too close.’ ”

“Interesting.” I nodded. “I like it.”
Vague, fearful, and threatening all at the same time
. “But what do they think we do in this building? I mean, the mort—”

I could kick myself. I nearly said
mortals
.

“—ah, those who aren’t members of the PIA, that is. Who don’t know about us?” I placed the rosewood carving back on the shelf.

Arthur looked to the left and right, as if outsiders were already here, spying on us.

“We tell everyone it’s a private library and club,” he said in a low voice, leaning his head close to mine. “Same story in every branch, all over the world. If we’re in London, it’s a sort of English cultural society—very exclusive. If we’re in Prague, it’s a Czech historical organization. That sort of thing.”

I nodded again. “Very clever.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Arthur said, “but thank you. It’s been like that for as long as anyone can remember.”

I decided I liked Arthur. He was like the grandfather I never had. Granted, if I had known either of my grandfathers, both of whom died before I was born, they probably would have had a much better idea of my true nature than Arthur. But I was glad he didn’t; it was better this way. Safer for him.

Arthur’s voice roused me from my thoughts. “Anyway, have you thought about where you’d like to work?”

“Where?” I repeated.

“Yes, where.” Arthur climbed back up the ladder he’d been on when I arrived and started arranging books. “You could study vampires in New Orleans, shamans in Africa. With a man of your talents, it would be easy to name your preferred location and be sent there in a heartbeat.”

“You mean I get to choose?” I walked over to the bookcase.
I thought I’d have to spend a great deal of time in London, but if I could go to Rome right away . . .
“I thought the head of the PIA would just station me wherever they send the lowest-level members.”

Arthur chuckled. “No, no, no. I know I said you’d have to work your way up, but we’re not as bad as all that. There are plenty of openings around the globe. And the PIA has no official head; just a group of senior members, as I mentioned. Like the other members, they’re based all around the world, meeting only when necessary.”

Perfect. Diffused power. This PIA thing will be a cinch, as they say. Perhaps I’ve been worried over nothing.

“Well, I am interested in ancient cultures,” I said casually, handing Arthur a book he was groping for on a lower shelf. “Something in Italy, perhaps?”

“Ah, it’s Rome then for you, my boy,” he said with a wink, putting the book I handed him in its place.

“Rome?” He’d just come out and said it like that? I couldn’t believe my good luck.

“Of course, Rome. Where it all began. Before the New World, before the British Empire, there was Rome.” He paused in his shelving, as if remembering some past Roman life. “It’s always been my favorite too. I’m particularly fascinated by one Roman general. Built my entire career on him, in fact. Both vampire and witch he was . . . and some say still is. Fascinating; very rare.”

My stomach froze, but I tried not to show any reaction. Instead, I picked up a small jade elephant to study.

“Really?” I said slowly. “What was his name?”

“Titus Aurelius,” Arthur replied. “Why? Is that name familiar to you?”

I carefully replaced the jade elephant on its metal stand, then looked at Arthur and smiled politely.

“Never heard of him.”

Chapter 8

I left Arthur’s office with a temporary identification badge, key, and instructions to return to my hotel, where I would soon receive information about going to Rome. As I once again traversed the dimly lit halls, I racked my brain trying to figure out Arthur’s angle, if he had one. Was he playing with me? Did he know I was Titus’s son? If so, how on earth did he find out?

In the end, I decided it had to be a coincidence. Perusing Arthur’s thoughts revealed he possessed no overt knowledge of my connection to Titus. In addition, the PIA was known for being secretive, and for handling threats swiftly. If anyone here suspected who I truly was, there would be no benefit in trying to trip me up. I would simply be . . . dealt with.

Still, it had been disconcerting to hear my father mentioned like that. And I wondered if perhaps Arthur sensed the familial relation, at least subconsciously. It was another reminder of how careful I’d have to be in order to conceal my true identity.

The hallway was eerily quiet as I made my way back. In fact, I didn’t see any other members of the PIA, as I had on my way up. Parts of the building were so dark, it was difficult to imagine it was still daylight outside. I couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel. I’d just turned the last corner before the staircase when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. Was I being followed?

No, that was impossible. PIA members had every right to be walking around here, the same as I did now. There was no reason to believe someone was following me just because they were ambling about. Still, I paused to examine a portrait on the wall, then narrowed my eyes in the direction I heard the footsteps. They’d stopped when I did, but I saw only shadows. I took a deep breath and kept walking. The footsteps started up again. I
was
being followed.

I whirled around. “This is ridiculous. You’re not fooling anyone. Who are you and what do you want?”

Out of the darkness stepped a slightly overweight man, perhaps a few inches shorter than me. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a round face and pink skin. He wore a three-piece suit with the waistcoat buttoned all the way up, and a tie tight at his throat. His blond hair was neatly parted in the middle and slicked back, round glasses covering his piercing blue eyes.

“I do hope you’re not referring to me,” he said humorlessly.

I wasn’t in the mood for games. “Well, unless I’m talking to the portraits, you and I are the only ones here.”

“You’re the newest member, aren’t you?” he asked. “Joshua something.”

“Alderman.” I removed my own glasses so I could look the man in the eye.

“Philip Grant,” he replied, his accent marking him as someone from an old English family. “Lifelong member. Pleased to meet you. Though I must say, I was surprised they let you in. I had the
privilege
of reviewing your file. Quite the itinerant, aren’t we?”

I folded my arms in front of my chest. “What difference does it make to you?” I asked. “And why were you looking at my file anyway?”

“That is of no consequence,” replied Philip, taking off his glasses to polish them.
Wonderful. The spy is being spied upon
. “I just want to say that although the other members may be impressed with your background, I myself have some doubts.
A posse ad esse non valet consequentia
.” He put his glasses back on.

“From a thing’s possibility one cannot be certain of its reality,” I said.
There is no way this prick knows Latin better than I do.
I learned it from Titus the same time I learned English from Abigail.

Philip seemed annoyed I’d translated so quickly. “Yes, well . . . let’s just say you’ll have to prove your worth as a member of this organization. It’s not as though you’re the only multilingual member of the PIA.”

Though I am the only offspring of a vampire and witch that I know of.
Really, was that all this was? A bit of jealousy? I truly did not have time for this petty little man. I gave him a slight smile.