The Ability (Ability, The) (34 page)

“Admit it, Frizzo, you’re just jealous. You can only dream of having half the superpowers of Rex King.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” said Lexi, looking over at the pile of leftover marbles on the grass. Immediately they rose up into the air, then hovered for barely a moment before flying directly into Rex’s open mouth.

Rex spluttered, his face red with surprise, and the marbles flew out of his mouth as the others burst out laughing.

“Now,
that’s
funny,” said Philip, smiling as he walked off toward the exit.

•  •  •

The dining hall had been decorated by Maura for their Christmas lunch in a sea of red and green streamers, baubles, and fairy lights, and the landscape surrounding them had, for the first time, been replaced by a snow-covered scene of crisp white hills and pine trees.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” said Daisy to Chris, who nodded in agreement and smiled as he looked out over the sumptuous feast that Maura had prepared for them. Chris had never seen anything like it, and he took note of everything on the table so that he could try to replicate it for his mother on Christmas Day.

“Now that’s what I call lunch!” said Rex, pushing his way past Chris toward the table, where he grabbed a sausage and stuffed it whole into his mouth.

“Hands off, young man,” said Maura, walking into the room with a large dish filled with steaming vegetables, which she struggled to find a space for on the table.

“Thorry,” said Rex with his mouth full. Maura tutted gently, smiling, then turned her back to the children to rearrange the dishes on the table, at which point Rex grabbed another sausage and gulped it down in two bites.

“You are like a swine,” said Sebastian, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Dad,” said Rex, walking over to the plate of Yorkshire puddings.

“Right, we’re nearly there,” said Maura, rubbing her hands on her apron and looking very pleased with herself. “Why don’t you all sit yourselves down; the teachers will be here in a moment.”

“There’s no way I’m sitting next to Ms. Lamb,” said Chris, taking a seat quickly between Daisy and Philip. Suddenly panicking, the others jostled among themselves to try to avoid an empty seat next to them, until they were interrupted by Sir Bentley entering the room, followed by Mr. Green, Miss Sonata, Professor Ingleby, and a dour-faced Ms. Lamb, who took a seat as far from the children as possible, much to the relief of all of them.

“Excellent, you’re all here already—my goodness, Maura, you’ve excelled yourself!” said Sir Bentley.

“Thank you, sir,” said Maura, blushing furiously as she pulled out the chair for him at the head of the table.

Everybody standing took their seats, while Maura rushed round, serving them all drinks.

“Before we begin our lunch, I just wanted to say a few words,” said Sir Bentley, standing. “It’s been an incredibly busy first term at Myers Holt, and I wanted to thank you all, pupils and staff, for your tremendous hard work over the last few weeks. I know last night was difficult, but I hope you’ll all keep in mind that, at the end of it all, we had a very successful outcome. Because of you, we now have the answers we needed and Dulcia Genever in custody, and none of you,” he said, looking over at Chris, “should feel guilty about what you had to do.”

Philip nudged Chris and gave him an
I told you so
look. Chris smiled and turned back to Sir Bentley.

“Next term will be very different and far less intense, you’ll be glad to hear. You’ll resume normal studies with Miss Sonata. PE will continue with Mr. Green, who I believe will be incorporating the use of the Ability in your lessons, is that right?”

Mr. Green nodded. Chris grinned as he imagined them all playing soccer forty feet in the air.

“Excellent. As for the Ability, you’ll be moving on to the next chapter of your training, which Professor Ingleby has prepared for you in the think tanks—is there anything you’d like to say about that, Professor?”

The professor stood up eagerly, knocking over his glass of wine in the process.

“Drats!” he said, mopping up the table with his napkin. “That’ll have to do,” he said finally, giving up. “I must say, this has been a wonderful project to work on. I myself have learned so much, and I hope that next term’s training will test your Ability even further. I am on the verge of completing the mind-map scenario for you all to explore on your return, and I have a few other tricks up my sleeve that I think you’ll rather enjoy. I’ll say no more, except bravo, all of you, and I hope you have a well-earned rest over the next few days—you’ll need it!”

There was a round of applause as the professor sat back down.

“And last but not least, of course, you will continue your lessons with Ms. Lamb—is there anything you’d like to say about what you have in store for our young agents?”

Ms. Lamb looked unamused to have been asked to speak. She pushed her chair out and stood up reluctantly
as Chris tried desperately not to think of any horrible thoughts that might cause a repeat of the Hermes incident.

“Yes, well,” said Ms. Lamb, curling her lip at the pupils. “We’ll be testing your pain limits with mild torture and hopefully carrying out Inferno on each of you. That’s all.”

Chris and the others looked horrified, except Rex, who burst out laughing.

Sir Bentley shot Ms. Lamb a disapproving look. “I guess some of us are not quite in the Christmas spirit today. I think what Ms. Lamb meant to say is that you’ll be exploring some more advanced Mind Access techniques and moving onto level two suggestion. Is that right, Ms. Lamb?”

“Yes, I suppose we could do that too,” said Ms. Lamb, taking a sip of her drink without looking up.

“Wonderful! And now I won’t keep you from the fantastic feast that Maura has prepared for us a minute longer, except to say . . . merry Christmas!”

Sir Bentley raised his glass and everybody else followed. He was about to say something more when the sound of the door opening interrupted him, and the whole table turned to look, their glasses still raised.

“Sorry we’re late,” said John, walking in stiffly. Beside him stood Ron, with his sunglasses on and a huge smile on his face.

“John!”
screamed all the children. Chris jumped up, followed by the rest of them, and ran over to John, who winced only slightly as they hugged him. He put his arms around the group and smiled.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas!”
they all replied, grinning.

•  •  •

The drive back to Hammersmith was a long one, delayed by Christmas traffic and seasonably awful weather, which gave Chris a chance to look back over his time at Myers Holt. He had been surprised at how sad he’d felt saying good-bye to his classmates, even though he was going to see them all again in a few days’ time. For the first time since his arrival, Chris had felt like an outsider—the only one of the children not to have been collected by his family. Daisy had left first, her two younger sisters clinging to her legs, a frenzied ball of pink squealing in excitement. Lexi’s father had arrived with her three older brothers, who greeted Lexi with punches to her arms. Chris could tell that she was dying to use her Ability on them, but she had resisted—Sir Bentley’s warning about using the Ability in the outside world was still fresh in her mind. Philip, another only child—possibly the reason that Chris got on so well with him—was collected by his parents, both professors at Oxford University. Rex had failed to contain his giggles as they’d watched Philip shake hands with his father, an identical version of his son, except taller.

It had been Chris and Sebastian’s turn to laugh, however, when Rex’s parents turned up, showering him with hugs and kisses as he struggled to pull away. Then, finally, Sebastian had left, collected by his parents and sister, who had been shocked to be greeted with a Shakespearian sonnet. That had left Chris, standing alone with Miss Sonata in the rain. She gave him a warm hug and waved him good-bye as he was driven away.

•  •  •

Chris stepped out of the car and waited as Ron—who, much to John’s frustration, was not letting John do anything until he was fully recovered—took his suitcase out of the trunk. Then he shook hands warmly with both of them and watched as they got back into the car and drove away. It was only then that he looked around him, at the street he was so familiar with, and his nerves suddenly disappeared, replaced with the excitement of being back home and seeing his mother.

He ran to the front door and rang the bell. After a few minutes and still no answer, Chris fished out the spare set of keys from under the flower pot and let himself in. He looked around, amazed by the transformation. The house had been painted while he’d been away, and the light in the hallway was burning bright under a new lampshade. Brand-new carpet covered the floor and stairs, and there wasn’t a mousetrap to be seen! He dropped his bag and opened the door to the living room. His heart sank. The room had also been decorated, but it wasn’t immediately obvious under the layer of grime and mess that covered it. Mugs filled with mold were crammed on the table, fighting for space with old television guides, unopened letters, and junk mail. The television was on, blaring, and, in the corner under a blanket was the curled-up figure of his mother, asleep in the armchair. Chris picked up the remote control and turned the television off. He walked over to his mother, lifted the blanket over her shoulders, and leaned over to give her a kiss. His mother stirred and then opened her eyes slowly.

“Merry Christmas, Mum,” said Christopher. “I’m back.”

Chris’s mother didn’t say anything. Instead she sat up and looked around, as if she were trying to remember where she was. Slowly she turned toward him, and her face hardened. Her eyes were cold, her face blank. Chris smiled. His mother looked at him for a moment longer, her expression completely unchanged, and then she turned her head away. At that moment, all the excitement Chris had felt about returning home washed away. He couldn’t understand it; he had been sure that everything would be different. They hadn’t spoken much while he’d been away, but when they had, she had sounded better—or, perhaps, he now realized, that was just what he had wanted to believe.
Maybe
, he thought,
she hasn’t really woken up yet, and when she does, she’ll realize how happy she is to have her son home
. But then she spoke, and with that all hope of a new chapter between them completely disappeared.

“Turn the television back on and get me a cup of tea.”

Chris opened his mouth to reply. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to tell her that he needed her to look after him, to comfort him after what he had been through. He wanted to share all the good things that had happened too: everything that he had learned, meeting the prime minister, being invited to the Antarctic Ball, and, most important, that for the first time in his life he had friends. Everything was different for him, but he now knew that for her nothing had changed—her world, whether the house had been decorated or whether he was there or not, was exactly as it had been the day that he had run away. And there was nothing that he could say to change that.

Chris turned away from his mother, picked up the
remote control, and switched the television back on. Then he walked out of the room without a word.

•  •  •

As the sun began to set over the graveyard that lay deep within the grounds of Darkwhisper Manor, Ernest Genever shoveled the last mound of earth over the grave of his brother and leaned on the spade, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Mortimer. I’m so sorry,” he wept, kneeling down on the ground.

In his mind he saw the face of the boy who had killed Mortimer—the boy whose name he had managed to extract before escaping with his brother’s body—and his face twisted with rage.

“I swear to you, Mortimer, wherever you are, that I’ll get my revenge. Christopher Lane
will
die.”

Ernest looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, and a wave of grief and fury washed over him. He opened his eyes and screamed, and the gravestones around him exploded with his anger, sending shards of gray stone raining down over the grave of Mortimer Genever.

MARGARET K. McELDERRY BOOKS

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2013 by Monica Meira

Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Iacopo Bruno

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C
E
LDERRY
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OOKS
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