The Copper Gauntlet (5 page)

“They’re moving it to a more defensible location.” The woman’s voice again. “They were fools to keep it on display in the first place.”

“Until we’re sure it’s secure, the safety of our Makar must be our highest priority,” the first speaker said.

Aaron had gone still where he sat, the burbling water of the fountain loud in Call’s ears.

“I thought having a Makar around was supposed to make
us
safer,” said the nervous voice. “If we’re busy guarding him, who’s guarding us?”

Call stood up, struck by the thought that they were about a second away from overhearing one of the mages say something bad about Aaron. Something even worse than just speculating about the Enemy’s plans for killing him.

Call wished he could tell Aaron that he was pretty sure the Enemy of Death hadn’t tried to steal the Alkahest — whatever that was — and also wasn’t currently planning anything worse than revenge on Jasper.

Of course, he had no idea what Master Joseph was up to. So maybe the minions of the Enemy of Death
were
behind the attempted theft, which was less reassuring. Master Joseph had plenty of power on his own. He’d been managing without Constantine Madden for thirteen years, however much he said he needed Call.

“Come on,” Tamara said loudly, grabbing Aaron’s arm and hauling him to his feet. She must have been thinking along the same lines as Call. “I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Sure,” Aaron said, although Call could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Nonetheless, he followed Call and Tamara to the buffet table and watched while Call piled three plates with towers of shrimp and scallops, sausages and cheese.

People kept coming up to Aaron, congratulating him on his control of the chaos elementals, wanting to invite him to things or tell him a story about their involvement in the last war. Aaron was polite, nodding along with even the dullest anecdotes.

Call made Tamara a cheese plate, mostly because he was sure that Evil Overlords didn’t make other people cheese plates. Evil Overlords didn’t care if their friends were hungry.

Tamara took the cheese plate, shrugged, and ate a dried apricot off it. “This is so boring,” she whispered. “I can’t believe Aaron isn’t dead from boredom.”

“We have to do something,” Call said, throwing a breaded shrimp up into the air and catching it in his mouth. “People like Aaron act all nice until suddenly they explode and banish some annoying geezer into the void.”

“That’s not true,” Tamara said, rolling her eyes. “You might do that, but Aaron wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yeah?” Call raised his eyebrows. “Take a good look at his face and say that again.”

Tamara studied Aaron for a long moment. Aaron was trapped in conversation with a skinny old mage in a pink suit, and his eyes looked glazed. “Fine. I know where we can go.” She dumped the plate Call had made her and grabbed hold of Aaron’s sleeve. He turned toward her in surprise and then shrugged helplessly at the adult talking to him as she dragged him away from the conversation and toward the house.

Call abandoned his half-finished food on a stone banister and hurried after them. Tamara gave him a brilliant, crazy grin as they pulled Aaron inside, Havoc trotting behind.

“Where are we going?” Aaron said.

“Come on.” Tamara led them through the house until they reached a library lined with richly bound books. Mullioned windows set with colored glass let in sparkling beams of light, and deep-red rugs covered the floor. Tamara crossed the room toward a massive fireplace. A stone urn stood at each side, carved out of multicolored agate. Each one had a word inscribed on it.

Tamara took hold of the first one and twisted it around so that the word faced them.
Prima
. She moved to the second urn and twisted it until the second word faced them as well.
Materia
.

Prima materia
, Call knew, was an alchemical term. It meant the very first substance of the world, the substance that everything that wasn’t chaos — earth, air, fire, water, metal, and souls — came from.

A sharp click sounded, and a section of the wall swung open onto a well-lit stone hallway.

“Whoa,” Call said.

He wasn’t sure where he’d been expecting Tamara to take them — to her room, maybe, or to a quiet corner of the house. He hadn’t expected a secret door.

“When were you going to tell me about this?” Aaron said, turning to Tamara. “I’ve been living here for a month!”

Tamara looked delighted at having kept a secret from him. “I’m not supposed to show anyone. You’re lucky to be seeing it now,
Makar
.”

Aaron stuck his tongue out at her.

Tamara laughed and ducked into the hallway, reaching up to pull a torch down from the wall. It glowed a bright gold green and gave off a faint smell of sulfur. She set off down the corridor, pausing when she realized the boys weren’t right on her heels. She snapped her fingers, her curls swinging. “Come on,” she said. “Move it, slowpokes.”

They looked at each other, shrugged, and headed after her.

As they walked, Havoc huffing along after them, Call realized why the hallways were so narrow — they ran through the whole house like veins beside bone, so anyone in any of the public rooms could be spied upon. And at regular intervals there were small hatches that opened into what looked like air ducts, covered by ornate ironwork registers.

Call opened one and peered down into the kitchen, where the staff were making up fresh pitchers of rosewater lemonade and placing tiny squares of tuna onto individual leaves that rested on large glass platters. He opened another and saw Alex and Tamara’s sister cuddling on a sofette beside two brass statues of greyhounds. As he watched, Alex leaned in and kissed Kimiya.

“What are you doing?” Tamara called back, under her breath.

“Nothing!” Call slid the hatch closed. He went a little farther without succumbing to temptation but paused when he heard Tamara’s parents. As he paused, he heard Mrs. Rajavi say something about the guests at the party. Call knew he should follow Tamara, but he itched to eavesdrop.

Aaron stopped and turned to look at Call. Call made a beckoning gesture and Aaron and Tamara joined him at the hatch. Aaron slid it open quietly with nimble fingers and they all peered down.

“We probably shouldn’t …,” Tamara began, but curiosity seemed to overcome her objections partway through her sentence. Call wondered how often she did this by herself and what secrets she’d learned that way.

Tamara’s mother and father were standing in their study, a mahogany table between them. On it was a chess set, though Call didn’t see the usual knights, rooks, and pawns; instead there were shapes he didn’t recognize.

“— Anastasia, of course,” Mr. Rajavi finished. They’d come in in the middle of his sentence.

Mrs. Rajavi nodded. “Of course.” She picked up an empty glass sitting on a silver tray, and, as they watched, it filled itself with some pale liquid. “I just wish there was a way not to invite the deWinters to these things. That family believes that if they pretend long enough it’s still the glory days of magical enterprise, maybe no one will notice how threadbare their clothing or their conversation has become. Thank goodness Tamara cooled on their son once school began.”

Mr. Rajavi snorted. “The deWinters still have friends on the Assembly. It wouldn’t do to put them off entirely.”

Aaron looked disappointed that they were just gossiping, but Call was delighted. Tamara’s parents were awesome, he decided. Anyone who wanted to keep Jasper out of a party was A-OK by him.

Mrs. Rajavi made a face. “They’re clearly trying to throw their youngest son into the path of the Makar. Probably hoping that if they become friends, some of the glory will rub off on him, and their family by extension.”

“From what Tamara has said, Jasper has failed to endear himself to Aaron,” said Mr. Rajavi drily. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, dear. Tamara is the one in Aaron’s apprentice group, not Jasper.”

“And Callum Hunt, of course.” Tamara’s mother took a sip from her glass. “What do you think of him?”

“He resembles his father.” Mr. Rajavi frowned. “Unfortunate about Alastair Hunt. He was a promising metal mage when he studied under Master Rufus.”

Call froze. Aaron and Tamara were both looking at him with apprehensive expressions as Mr. Rajavi went on.

“He was driven mad by the death of his wife in the Cold Massacre, they say. Putters about not using magic, wasting his life. Still, there’s no reason not to extend a welcome to his son. Master Rufus must have seen something in him if he chose him as an apprentice.”

Call felt Tamara’s hand on his arm, pulling him away from the hatch. Aaron closed it behind them and they moved on down the hall, Call with his fingers tangled in Havoc’s ruff for reassurance. His stomach felt a little hollow, and he was relieved when they came to a narrow door, which opened silently into what looked like another study.

The gold-green light of the torch showed big comfortable couches in the center of the room, a coffee table, and a desk. Along one wall was a bookshelf, but the tomes here weren’t the beautifully bound and curated volumes Call had seen in the library. These looked older, dustier and more worn. A few spines were ripped. Some were just manuscripts, tied with stained string.

“What’s this place for?” Call asked as Havoc jumped up on one of the couches, circling a few times before dropping into a napping position.

“Secret meetings,” Tamara said, her eyes sparkling. “My parents don’t think I know about it, but I do. There are books about dangerous magical techniques in here, and all sorts of records dating back years. There used to be a time when mages were allowed to make money off magic, when they had huge businesses. Then they passed the Enterprise Laws. You weren’t allowed to use your magic to make money in the normal world anymore. Some families lost everything.”

Call wondered if that was what had happened to Jasper’s family. He wondered if the Hunt family had made money like that, too — or if his mother’s family had. He realized he knew almost nothing about them.

“So how
do
mages make money?” Aaron asked, looking around the room, clearly thinking about the massive estate they were in and the party they’d just attended.

“They can either work for the Assembly or they can get a regular job,” Tamara said. “But if you had money from before, you could invest it.”

Call wondered how Constantine Madden had made his money but then figured he probably hadn’t thought the Enterprise Laws applied to him once he went to war against the other mages. Which brought Call right back around to the reason he’d come to Tamara’s in the first place: “Do you think any of the people at the party are headed back to the Magisterium?” Call asked. “Maybe I could get a ride with one of them?”

“A ride? To the Magisterium? But no one’s even there,” Aaron said.

“Someone’s got to be there,” said Call. “And I’ve got to stay somewhere. I can’t go home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tamara said. “You can stay here until school starts. We can swim in the pool and practice magic. I already worked it out with my parents. We set up a spare room for you and everything.”

Call reached over to pat Havoc’s head. The wolf didn’t open his eyes. “You don’t think your parents mind?”

They’d all heard her parents talking about him, after all.

Tamara shook her head. “They’re happy to have you,” she said in a voice that made it clear they welcomed Call for good reasons and less good reasons.

But it was somewhere to stay. And they hadn’t said anything bad about him, not really. They’d said Master Rufus must have chosen him for a reason.

“You could call Alastair,” Aaron said. “So he won’t worry. I mean, even if he doesn’t want you to go back to the Magisterium, he’s got to want to know you’re safe.”

“Yeah,” Call said, thinking of his father slumped against the wall of the storage room, wondering how dedicated he was to chasing after Call and killing him. “Maybe tomorrow. After we find out more dirt on Jasper. And eat all the food at the buffet. And swim in the pool.”

“And we can get some magic practice in,” said Aaron with a grin. “Master Rufus won’t know what hit him. We’ll be through the Second Gate before everyone else.”

“As long as it’s before Jasper,” said Call. Tamara laughed.

Havoc rolled onto his back, snoring gently.

S
PENDING TIME AT
the Gables gave Call a new appreciation for what it was like to be rich.

A bell woke him in the morning for breakfast, which was eaten in a big sunny room overlooking the garden. Though Tamara’s parents ate simple breakfasts of bread and yogurt, that didn’t stop them from putting on an impressive spread for their guests. There was fresh-squeezed juice on the table and hot food like eggs and toast, instead of dry cereal and milk. There was butter in creamy little pats, instead of a crumb-encrusted brick that got brought out meal after meal. Havoc had his own bowls, with chopped meat in them, although he wasn’t allowed to sleep in the house. He slept in the stables, on fresh hay, and made the horses nervous.

Call had a hard time believing he was staying at a place where there was a stable with horses out back.

There were clothes, too — bought in Call’s size from a department store, and ironed before being hung in the wardrobe in Call’s room. White shirts. Jeans. Swim trunks.

Tamara must have grown up like this. She talked to the butler and the housekeeper with an easy familiarity. She called for iced tea by the pool and dropped towels on the grass and left them, certain someone would come and pick them up.

Tamara’s parents had even been willing to tell Alastair that Call was on a trip with them and they’d bring him directly to the Magisterium once they got back. Mrs. Rajavi reported that Alastair had sounded perfectly pleasant on the phone and wanted Call to have a good time. Call didn’t actually think that Alastair had been happy to get the call, but the Rajavis were powerful enough that he didn’t think Alastair would come after him so long as he was in their care. And once he was at the Magisterium, he’d definitely be safe.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do at the end of the school year, but that was far enough in the future that he didn’t need to worry about it.

Despite Call’s uneasiness about his father, he let the days slip by in long sunshine-filled hours of swimming and lying on the grass and eating ice cream. He’d been self-conscious the first time he’d come out to the seashell-shaped pool in his trunks, realizing Aaron and Tamara had never seen his bare legs before. His left was thinner than his other leg, and covered in scars that had faded over the years from angry red to light pink. They weren’t so bad, he’d thought anxiously, sitting and looking at them in his room. Still, they weren’t anything he liked to show people.

Neither of them had seemed to notice, though. They’d just laughed and splashed him and pretty soon Call was sitting out on the lawn with them and Alex and Kimiya, soaking up the sun and drinking iced mint tea with sugar. He was actually sort of getting a tan, which hardly ever happened. Not that that was unexpected, considering that he went to school underground.

Sometimes Aaron would play tennis with Alex, whenever Alex could be pried away from Kimiya’s face. Magical tennis seemed a lot like regular tennis to Call, except that every time the ball went wide, Alex summoned it back with a snap of his fingers.

Though they’d promised to practice magic, they didn’t get a lot of practicing in. Once or twice they went out beside the house and called up fire, shaping it into burning orbs that could be safely handled, or used earth magic to pull iron filaments up out of the dirt. Once, they practiced heaving big stones out of the ground, but when one flew perilously close to Aaron’s head, Mrs. Rajavi came out and scolded them for endangering the Makar. Tamara just rolled her eyes.

One afternoon — late, when the hazy air was full of droning bees — Call was walking from the breakfast room toward the staircase and overheard Mr. Rajavi speaking in one of the parlors. His voice was low, but as Call crept forward, he heard him cut off by an exclamation from Alex. Alex wasn’t yelling, but the rage in his voice carried. “What exactly are you trying to say, sir?”

Call edged closer, not sure what kind of conversation he was eavesdropping on. He told himself that he was doing it in case it turned out they were talking about Aaron, but in fact, he was more worried they’d discovered something about
him
.

Could Alastair have said something else to Mrs. Rajavi on the phone, something she hadn’t told Call? The magical world already thought Alastair was nuts, but whatever he said about Call would have the advantage of being true.

“We’ve enjoyed having you as our guest,” Mrs. Rajavi was saying. “But Kimiya is still young and we think you’re both moving too fast.”

“We’re just asking you to take a break for the school year,” Mr. Rajavi said.

Call let out a breath. They weren’t talking about Aaron or Call or anything important. Just dating.

“And this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that my stepmother opposed your last Assembly proposal, right?” Alex sounded furious. Call decided that maybe it was important after all.

“Watch yourself,” Mr. Rajavi said. “Remember what I told you about respect?”

“What about respecting what your daughter wants?” Alex asked, his voice rising. “Kimiya? Tell him!”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Kimiya said. “I just want everyone to stop yelling at one another.” After many years of arguing with his own father, culminating in the terrible argument that he couldn’t even think about without feeling sick to his stomach, Call knew this wasn’t going anywhere good. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the room and looked at the four of them with the most confused expression he could muster.

“Oh, hey,” Call said. “I’m sorry. This house is so big that I keep getting turned around.”

“Callum,” Mrs. Rajavi said, forcing a smile.

Kimiya looked ready to cry. Alex looked ready to hit someone; Call recognized the expression.

“Oh, hey, Alex,” Call said, trying to think of a good reason to drag him out of there before he did something he regretted. “Can you come with me for a second? Aaron wanted to, uh, ask you something.”

Alex turned that furious expression on Call, and for a moment Call wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision. But then Alex nodded and said, “Sure.”

“I’m glad we had this talk,” Mr. Rajavi told him.

“Me, too,” Alex said between gritted teeth. Then he walked out, forcing Call to scramble to catch up.

Alex stalked out onto the lawn, heading toward the stone fountain. When he got to it, he kicked it hard and yelled something Alastair had forbidden Call to ever utter.

“I’m sorry,” Call said. In the distance, he could see Aaron and Tamara throwing sticks to Havoc on one of the far lawns. Fortunately, they were out of earshot.

“Aaron doesn’t really want to see me, does he?” said Alex.

“Nope,” said Call. “Sorry again.”

“So why’d you pull me out of there?” Alex didn’t look angry now, just curious.

“Nothing good was going to happen,” Call said firmly. “That wasn’t the kind of fight that anybody wins.”

“Maybe,” Alex said slowly. “They just — they make me so angry. They’re all about putting on a show. Like they’re perfect and everyone else is less.”

Call frowned. “What do you mean?”

Alex cut a glance toward Aaron and lowered his voice even further. “Nothing. I don’t mean anything at all.”

Alex clearly thought that Call couldn’t understand. It would be useless to explain that it might seem like Tamara’s parents liked him, but they wouldn’t if they knew the truth. They might not even like Aaron if he wasn’t the Makar. But Alex would never believe that a little kid like Call had big enough secrets to matter to anyone, even if he did.

It was only a few days later that Call had to pack up his new clothes and get ready to head back to school. He stuffed himself with sausages and eggs at breakfast, knowing it was going to be a while before he saw non-lichen-based food again. Aaron and Tamara were already wearing their green second-year Magisterium uniforms, while Alex and Kimiya were in fourth-year white and glowering at each other.

Call sat there in his jeans and T-shirt, feeling very out of place.

Alex gave Call a pointed look, as if to say,
You’ll never be good enough for them either
.

Mr. Rajavi looked at his watch. “Time to go,” he said. “Call?”

“Yeah?” Call turned toward Tamara’s father.

“Take care of yourself.” There was something in his voice that made Call unsure if the words were kindly meant, but maybe he was just letting Alex get to him.

Everyone headed for the foyer, where Stebbins, his bald head gleaming, was assembling their bags. Aaron and Call both had new duffels, while Tamara and Kimiya had matching sets of snakeskin luggage. Alex had a suitcase with his initials, ATS, on it. He picked it up and headed for the door.

Once outside, Alex started down the driveway. Call realized with a jolt that a white Mercedes was waiting at the end of the drive, its motor running. Alex’s stepmother had come.

Kimiya gave a little gasp. Stebbins looked wistful.

“Nice car,” Call said.

“Shut up,” Tamara muttered. “Just because you’re obsessed with
cars.”
She gave Stebbins an odd warning look, which Call didn’t have a chance to parse. Too many other things were happening at once.

Kimiya was chasing after Alex, oblivious to the fact that everyone was now gawking at the two of them. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she caught up to him. “I thought you were going to ride with us on the bus!”

He stopped in the middle of the drive and turned on her. “I’m
keeping my distance
, just like your dad wanted. Anastasia is taking me to the Magisterium. Summer’s over. We’re done.”

“Alex, don’t be like this,” she said, looking stunned by his anger. “We could talk about it —”

“We’ve talked enough.” He sounded as if he were choking on hurt. “You should have stuck up for me. You should have stuck up for
us
,” he told her, hoisting his bag up on his shoulder. “But you didn’t.” He spun away, stalking off down the driveway.

“Alex!” Kimiya shouted. But he didn’t respond. He reached the Mercedes and climbed inside. It sped away, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Kimiya!” Tamara started to run toward her sister, but her mother caught her by the wrist.

“Give her a moment,” she said. “She probably wants to be left alone.”

Mrs. Rajavi’s gaze was bright and hard. Call decided he had never been so uncomfortable in his life. He kept remembering Alex saying, “Kimiya, tell them,” and Kimiya not saying what he’d obviously wanted her to say. She had to be afraid of her parents. Call wasn’t sure he blamed her.

After a few minutes, a yellow school bus pulled through the gates of the Gables. Kimiya came back into the house, wiping her eyes against her sleeve and sniffing brokenly. She grabbed her luggage without looking at anyone.

When her mother reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, Kimiya shrugged it off.

Call knelt down to unzip his bag to make sure he had everything. He zipped it back up, but not before Mrs. Rajavi had caught sight of his knife, glinting atop his clothes.

“Is that Semiramis?” she asked.

Call nodded, zipping the bag up hastily. “It was my mother’s.”

“I know. I remember when she made it. She was a very skilled metal mage.” Tamara’s mother cocked her head to the side. “Semiramis is named for an Assyrian queen who turned into a dove when she died. Callum means
dove
, too. Doves stand for peace, which is what your mother wanted more than anything else.”

“I guess she must have,” Call said, feeling even more uncomfortable that her scrutiny had turned to him, and also a little sad that this woman had known more about his mother than he did.

Mrs. Rajavi smiled down at him, brushing a lock of his ink-black hair out of his eyes. “She must have loved you very much. And you must miss her.”

Call bit the inside of his cheek, remembering the words his mother had carved in the ice of the cave where she died.

She must have spent a long time picking out the name Callum. She’d probably made a list, argued back and forth over a half dozen favorites with Alastair before settling on Callum. Callum, which stood for doves and peace and the end of the war. And then Constantine Madden had killed her child and stolen that small body for himself. Call was the opposite of everything she’d ever hoped for.