The Chalice of Immortality (6 page)

That night at Lady Daphne's, Theo attempted to place a ball-to-ball call to Damian. Sergei's head popped into the crystal ball Theo was using—a round ball on a small pedestal with claw feet that actually walked.

“Cuz!” Sergei boomed. “I hear you're in England! So am I! I have a performing monkey act on the subway—um, the tube, as they call it here. The crowd loves it. I mean, who does not love a monkey, right? Except when they poop. But my monkeys are well trained. I have a no-poop guarantee during performances.”

Isabella and Boris were both asleep, and Theo and Nick were sitting in a small carpeted parlor on the top floor, each in a chair with a small table between them on which stood the ball. The walking pedestal paced back and forth like a nervous dog.

“I should turn you into a monkey for giving Nick and Isabella fleas!” Theo said.

“You sound like your crabby brother, Damian. He says crazy things like that.”

“Oh, do I now?” Damian's face crowded into the ball too.

“Hey!” Crazy Sergei yelled. “This is my call!”

“No, it's not!” Nick snapped. “We were trying to reach Damian.”

“Well, who said it's not a party line?” Sergei asked.

“Sergei,” Nick sighed in frustration, “call back later. We need to talk to Damian.”

“All right. But if you are staying with Lady Daphne, I bet you're hungry. How can you eat suet? Suet dumplings? She is a crazy woman. I would worry that she puts some kind of…monkey meat in those sausages of hers. If you are hungry, you call me. I'll bring Chinese food.”

With that, Sergei's head disappeared, and Nick and Theo were face to face with Damian, the world's most famous magician. Damian was always pressed and perfect. His show uniforms gleamed with whiteness and sequins under the house lights of the theater where they performed. He never had a hair out of place—and his long locks made women swoon. He was always freshly shaven. That was why Nick couldn't believe what he saw. His cousin Damian looked horrible, with deep, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, which were anything but bright and clear.

“How's my dad?” Nick asked, feeling like his heart was in the back of his throat instead of in his chest.

“Not well, Kolya. Not well. He's grown thinner, and his breath's shallower. Any clues?”

“Some, brother,” Theo replied. “But the trail is cold, and it takes time.”

“Tell me what you know so far.”

Nick and Theo repeated all that had happened since they left.

“Tsk, tsk,” Damian said, shaking his head. “It sounds as if poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fell victim to the chalice. His attachment was too strong.”

“So, now what?” Nick asked.

“Actually, I can research Harry Houdini from here, see if I can discover anything about the chalice after he left Undershaw. I will report back tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Damian.”

“And don't order Chinese food from Sergei. I hear his kitchen has cockroaches.”

The ball filled with burgundy smoke, then went dark and cold.

“What did he mean about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle being too attached?” Nick asked.

“Remember when you first came to the Winter Palace and you learned you could Gaze?”

Nick nodded.

“Well, Kolya, when you first learn about your gift, the temptation is to use it all the time—to rely on it and not your own natural smarts. What if…you didn't make
any
decisions without first Gazing? In fact, what if you stopped deciding whether to eat borscht or fried pelmeni for lunch?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Honestly? I wish I would be able to decide between pizza and cheeseburgers, not beet soup and fried dumplings with sour cream.”

“Yes. Okay. But what
if
you could not decide until you asked your crystal ball?”

“I wouldn't get anything done, I suppose.”

“Precisely. But with magic, an unnatural attachment can form between a person and an object. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle kept sipping from the magical chalice, believing, perhaps, that he got his inspiration and ideas from the chalice and not from his own mind. Or perhaps after a time, he realized the chalice's magical properties stopped his aging. Perhaps he thought the chalice would make him immortal, which would be even more tragic, because immortality is not the natural order of things. Either way, the chalice began to dominate his thoughts. To consume him.”

“Could the chalice make someone immortal?”

“It was designed to mimic death, and then to heal with a single drop. But drinking from it every day would invest the person with an incredible energy and life vitality. Drink from it every day, and yes, you could be immortal. But you would also be a prisoner to its power.”

“Do you think Harry Houdini took it because he wanted to be immortal, too?”

“No. Harry Houdini, I believe, knew the dangers of the chalice. The temptations. Humans are such foolish creatures. Houdini knew, and he wanted to save Doyle from the chalice. He wanted to save Doyle from himself.”

“Let's hope we can find it in time to save my father…” Thinking about his dad made Nick wonder about his mother, Tatyana. “Tell me about my mother. Before she left the family. When you knew her.”

Theo's face took on a wistful quality. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Well, as a little girl, she was as stubborn as Isabella. She used to insist on trying to do everything Damian and I did. If Damian flew from rooftop to rooftop, she would, too.”

“Isabella said she didn't have the animal arts gift. Right? What were her gifts?”

“Your mother was from the other side of our family tree. Her gift was as a spell-caster. She apprenticed with Madame B.—learned how to mix potions and to cast very powerful spells in the most ancient of languages. But I am sure Madame B. never told you that.”

Nick shook his head, in shock. “Not once. Why wouldn't she tell me?”

“Sometimes,” Theo said, “people believe children are best shielded from the pain of existence. But pain is part of life. It is part of death. It is part of the world of magic and shadows.”

“So what? Did my mom use all that weird stuff Madame B. uses? Whale's milk and bat wings and tree frog saliva and all the crazy stuff in her jars?”

Theo nodded. “But she was more than Madame B. She…you know what intuition is, right?”

“Yeah. When you feel something in your gut.”

“Yes. She had this amazing ability to listen to someone, to study them, and then know precisely what spell to cast, how to help them, how to nurture them. She could look at some of Madame B.'s ingredients and know how to combine them in some new way. She
invented
new spells—something almost unheard of, since we have so many ancient ones to draw from. She had power deep down that probably only rivaled Damian.”

“What about you? The Grand Duchess told me you were more powerful than Damian once. Still are.”

Theo's eyes stared off, as if he went far away. “Maybe,” he whispered. “But—we all make choices. My choices are for the clan.” He looked back at Nick. “I loved your mother—the way she laughed. She didn't laugh like anyone in the whole world. Her laugh was deep and loud and came from inside her heart. And no matter who you were—even Damian on his most impatient day—you would just stop and laugh with her. She had that effect on people.”

“I wish I remembered her better,” Nick said. “I feel like every memory I have is from Gazing—not a real memory.” He stared at Theo. “If you had the Chalice of Immortality then…could it have saved her?”

“Maybe.”

“Would you have used it to save her?”

“Not after she was gone. Once someone goes to death, they cross a barrier that should not be recrossed, Nicholai. Your father is in an in-between state, which is a different case. And had I reached your mother
before
she died, I would have done
anything
to save her. But perhaps—perhaps it's…better I never find out what I would be capable of. Immortality goes against nature, Kolya. It is precisely why Rasputin, our enemy, is as evil as he is. He not only promised immortality to the tsarina, but he has been trying to seize immortality for himself.”

Nick sighed. “If we find the chalice, how do you know that one of us won't try to become immortal?”

“A sip will restore your father to health, but after that, we must hide the chalice. Yes, the temptation will be strong, but we must not give in to the Shadows. It is why we guard our hearts, Kolya—why we remain true.” Theo studied him. “I see you thinking. Your mother was a great thinker.”

Nick ran his hands through his hair. “I don't know. I'm just worried about my dad right now. And—if I could have saved my mother, I would have. Even if it meant messing with the Chalice of Immortality.”

“Immortality means watching anyone you ever loved grow old and die while you never age.”

The Grand Duchess had watched her entire family be executed when she was a girl. “Like the Grand Duchess.”

“Somewhat. But for different reasons. Unfortunately, in the realm of magic and the realm of the mortal world, people are blinded. They are blinded by greed. Hatred. Skin color. By lies. By arrogance. And in our world, by magical relics.”

Theo stood. “I'm going to go to bed. We'll resume our search tomorrow. Good-night, Kolya. That is enough thinking for one night.”

Theo walked into the bedroom and shut the door, leaving him alone in the parlor. Nick couldn't stop thinking, though. He sat there for hours, pondering his mother and his father and the things that blind men's hearts.

The next morning, after a breakfast of bangers and mash with the awful red onion gravy, Nick, Isabella, Boris, and Theo stared at a huge map of England. The map was as long and as wide as the bed it was spread out on, and because it was a Magickeepers map, arrows moved and roads faded and then reappeared as magical routes superimposed themselves over human roads and tourist attractions. Letters swam and reconfigured in Cyrillic. Occasionally, a person appeared in black ink, but moving. One woman in a babushka—a Russian head covering—waved at them.

Theo spoke to the map, explaining they were searching for an artifact—a chalice. But none of the arrows on the map pointed to anything in particular. The four travelers tried to decide where to search next. Suddenly, they heard a banging sound from inside one of the closets. The closet door opened, and Damian stepped out, patting his black cloak, which was covered with dust.

“This woman is a horrible housekeeper,” he said as he coughed. “Albeit a wonderful sausage maker.”

Nick's heart skipped two beats. “Damian! Is my father—?” He wanted to shut his ears, wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“He is still with us,” Damian said solemnly. “Nevertheless, I'm here to bring you back home.”

“Home?” Nick said. “But we haven't found the chalice yet.”

“The trail, like so many trails, leads back to the desert.”

Magickeepers had their origins, Nick knew, in ancient Egypt. It seemed like sand was a part of them. Sand was part of the Eternal Hourglass—now safely stored in the vault underground in their casino. Sand had been part of the Pyramid of Souls, with its chattering hieroglyphics. The first time he ever Gazed with Madame B., he saw ancient Magickeepers in Egypt beheading birds and then reattaching the heads—dangerous and powerful magic. As Grandpa used to say, one slip-up and…good-bye head full of brains.

“When you say
home
, do you mean
Egypt?
Or…?”

“I mean Las Vegas. The Las Vegas desert.
Our
home. The Winter Palace Hotel and Casino. Come, collect your things.”

Our home.
Nick liked the sound of that. He and his dad had lived like Las Vegas nomads, moving from hotel to hotel over the years. Now, he had a home. And a family. For real.

The four of them did as Damian told them and then went downstairs to say good-bye to Lady Daphne. However, the ground floor of the bed and breakfast was silent. All they found was a note pinned to the front desk:
Duckies, I've gone round to the sausage shop. Ring me if you need something.

“We can't leave without saying a proper good-bye,” said Isabella.

“I thought you were frightened she would put you in a meat grinder, buttercup,” Boris snorted, mimicking the motions of someone grinding sausage. “Now you want to say good-bye to the lady.”

“I don't worry about being turned into sausage now. She's actually rather nice.”

The five of them walked over to the shop, which was bustling with people buying sausages and meat pies. Nick stared. A wolf lay across the mat near the back entrance. Other people probably thought it was a dog—or maybe even a wolf hybrid. It was one of the wolves from the night before. Nick elbowed Isabella, whose eyes widened. She walked over, knelt by the wolf, and whispered to it. The wolf licked her hand, then nodded. Nick wished he had that power. It was just so cool.

When she rejoined Nick, she said, “The wolf is grateful. He says that the Shadowkeeper who imprisoned them was seen on the streets of London. The news was brought by an eavesdropping fox.”

“Was it Rasputin?” Nick asked. The evil monk still lived, and he was determined to destroy Nick and his family.

She nodded. “They are going to take turns guarding the shop now. They will ensure that Lady Daphne and her bed and breakfast are safe.” She grinned. “The sausage treats are a bonus.”

Nick smiled at the wolf but felt someone else studying him. He turned and saw the same woman as the other day with the long white scarf and the tanned face sitting at the same small table with a simple cup of tea. She stared at him intently, but her gaze didn't feel angry or even dangerous. Still—his head hurt, which sometimes happened when he Gazed or when he encountered Shadowkeepers. He couldn't decide if she was a Magickeeper or not. He was going to ask Damian but stopped. After all, it didn't matter. He was going home.

Lady Daphne waddled out from behind the counter, her green apron covered in sausage guts. “Well, I'll be a Mad Hatter!” She grinned. “If it isn't the one and only Damian.”

He nodded. “And if it isn't the best sausage maker in the world.”

“You look after this one,” she said, pointing at Nick. “Her, too,” she added, looking directly at Isabella. “They've been through a fright. Now,” she smiled, “you come give your Aunt Daphne a kiss, duckies.”

Nick glanced at Isabella. The thought of kissing and hugging the sausage lady with her messy apron…
ick
. But they walked to her, and each pecked her on the cheek. She grabbed each of them and gave them a bear hug. Nick looked at his shirt afterward.
This will have to go in the wash.
He flicked off bits of sausage.

Lady Daphne pressed something into his hand.

“What's this?” Nick asked. It was a silver ball on a chain. The ball had tiny holes in it.

“A ball of my magic tea,” she whispered. “I make it from my own magic herbs that I grow in the back of the bed and breakfast. This will help. Give some to your father. It will sustain him a little longer until…until you find the chalice.”

***

Nick's father looked dead.

If it was possible, his dad's skin had grown more translucent, as if Nick could see through it. His cheeks were sunken, seeming to cling to his skull. Gray circles formed beneath his eyes.

Nick touched his dad's arm. It felt like ice water was in there. He turned his dad's arm over and looked at the veins—the ones near his wrist. Instead of a bluish tinge, the veins were silver. Nick heard a choked-off sound rise in his throat, and he pushed it down. He had to be brave.

He walked over to his bedroom door and opened it. A samovar floated in with hot water. A teacup followed on a floating saucer with a silver spoon. Nick shut the door and watched as the samovar—an ornate Russian water boiler—landed on his dresser. The teacup positioned itself under the spigot, which turned and filled the cup with hot water.

Nick took the silver tea ball that Lady Daphne had given him. He held it up, and it dangled back and forth on its chain. He placed it in the cup. The silver spoon floated over and then began stirring. The water turned a soft pink color, almost the hue of cotton candy. Then it darkened and turned violet. Then it shifted to crimson and thickened a little, like half-done gelatin. Then finally, it changed to pure liquid again, transforming color one last time to jet black.

Nick brought the tea over to his father. He inhaled and prayed that Lady Daphne knew what she was doing. Gently, he cradled his father's head and brought the teaspoon to his mouth. His father's mouth opened with a small sigh, and Nick spooned a few drops of liquid onto his tongue. He returned the spoon to the teacup, then helped his father close his mouth. Nick massaged his dad's throat until he was certain he had swallowed the tea.

For an hour, Nick repeated the spoonfuls over and over until all the tea was gone.

Nick returned his father's head to the pillow. His father's cheeks gained a little pink hue. Nick thought he saw his dad's eyelids flutter.

He leaned down and whispered in his father's ear. “It's Kolya, Dad. And I am going to save you.”

Nick walked over to his dresser. He had an old music box of his mother's that played “Dark Eyes,” a Russian folk song. When he was a baby, his mother would hum it to him. He wound up the box and placed it on the nightstand close to his father's head. The music box played harp-like notes. As it played, Nick sang softly:

Ochi chornyye, ochi strastnyye,

Ochi zhguchiye i prekrasnyye.

Kak lyublyu ya vas, kak boyus' ya vas,

Znat' uvidel vas ya v nedobryi chas.

When the song was over, Nick wound the music box's key again and left it playing. He stood at the door to his room and looked at his dad one last time. He remembered once when he was little and first learning to skateboard, he fell, broke his arm, and got a concussion. After he got out of the hospital, the doctors told his dad to wake up Nick every hour to see if his pupils dilated to make sure he wasn't getting worse. All that night, every time Nick awoke, there was his dad,
never
leaving his side.

Theo was right. His father wasn't a failure. He was a wonderful man, and Nick couldn't wait for his dad to get better so he could tell him that. Swallowing hard, he whispered, “Good-night, Dad.” Then he went down to Damian's library, where his cousin had promised to tell him all he had learned about the Chalice of Immortality.