The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales (10 page)

“I only hope my skills—unique or not—will benefit the PIA for as long as I’m here.”

“We’ll see how long that will be.” Philip sniffed the air sharply. “Don’t think that just because you come from money means you can march in and do whatever you like.” I scanned Philip’s mind for threats, but saw mostly the tedium of his work at the PIA and his irrational dislike of me.

“Funny—I thought that’s exactly the sort of thing money allowed you to do.” I knew I shouldn’t be engaging in this childishness, but Philip’s comments were irritating me more than they should. “Although I do plan to be a productive member of the organization, unlike some who spend their time skulking in dark hallways and stalking people. Tell me, do all the supernaturals you secretly observe catch you as easily as I did? I find it hard to believe you’d still be alive, if that were the case.”

Philip’s face twisted in anger, and he was about to say something when Arthur came walking quickly towards us, a little out of breath.

“Oh good, I caught you,” he said to me. “I forgot to give you these.” He handed me a folder filled with glossy leaflets. “I’d collected some brochures on Rome a while back—I thought they might be helpful.” I saw Philip’s jaw drop. “Of course, I’m not sure how old they are.” Arthur scratched his head. “But maybe they’ll help you get your bearings once you’re there.”

“Thank you so much.” I tucked the folder under my arm. “I’m sure they’ll come in handy,” I lied. The brochures couldn’t contain any information I didn’t already know about the city.

“He’s going to Rome?” Philip asked in a tight voice. If there was any possibility of his being civil to me before, it had certainly disappeared now. “Arthur, may I have a word with you?” He took Arthur by the arm and they stood off to one side. I pretended not to eavesdrop.

“Rome, Arthur?” Philip hissed. “He only just arrived. Now he’s being sent to a foreign office? I’ve never seen that happen before.”

“Calm down, Philip,” Arthur said. “These are special circumstances.”

“Special my arse!” Philip said loudly. His eyes flashed to me, and he lowered his voice. “Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean . . . that is, don’t you think there’s something . . .
odd
about him, Arthur?”

I froze. This was what I’d been afraid of. Was it the clothes? The way I ingratiated myself into the PIA so soon? I cursed myself for not doing something—
anything
—differently. Would Arthur be swayed by Philip’s questioning? What if it prevented me from going to Rome? This might be one of those times when I’d have to use a bit of mind magic.

“Not right?” Arthur furrowed his brow. “Don’t be silly, Philip. Besides, you’re in London and he’ll be in Rome for now. If you don’t like him, you don’t even have to see him.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like—”

“You didn’t have to, Philip.”

“I mean, he just arrived and already he’s doing fieldwork?” Philip nearly threw out his arms. “I had to study and shelve books for
years
before I received my first assignment.”

“It’s not fieldwork; not exactly,” Arthur assured him. “Although anything else would seem a misuse of his talents.” Philip opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur stopped him. “What’s done is done, Philip,” Arthur said firmly. “I suggest you concentrate on your own work and forget about it.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. At least Arthur still didn’t suspect anything—yet. Which was odd, considering I thought him the more intelligent of the two. However, I’d long since learned that when it came to the supernatural, intelligence and intuition were very different things.

Philip stared at Arthur and pursed his lips. Then he glared at me.

“Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Alderman.” His voice seethed with resentment. “I do hope you enjoy your stay in Rome.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will.”
If you’re not there, it will be the most pleasant place on earth.
“A pleasure meeting you as well.” I gave Philip a big smile, mostly for Arthur’s benefit, but also to annoy the little twerp.

Philip turned and walked away very quickly. Right after he left, Arthur gave me an apologetic look.

“You’ll have to forgive Philip,” he said.

Oh?
Will I?
“Why’s that?” I asked as Arthur walked me out.

“He’s a decent lad, but with a bit of a chip on his shoulder,” Arthur explained.

“And here I thought he didn’t like my sparkling personality,” I said.

“No, no.” Arthur shook his head. “It’s nothing you’ve done. Philip always feels he has something to prove. His grandfather was an RAF pilot in World War II. Saved his entire squadron in some daring maneuver that nearly got him killed. Won a medal for it too. Ever since then, his family, well . . . they haven’t done anything nearly as worthwhile. Not in their eyes anyway, though both his father and grandfather were proud to work at the PIA.”

Ah, so that’s what he meant by “lifelong member.”
“I see,” I said to Arthur as we walked down the stairs.

“I think every generation of his looks to the next to do something that spectacular again,” said Arthur, his hand running along the gleaming bannister. “But there’s not much chance of that happening here. We’re just observers, after all. Still, I suppose Philip doesn’t relish what he sees as competition to do something exciting.” We’d reached the bottom of the staircase; from here I could see the bored receptionist, who was still flipping through her magazine.

Arthur ran his hand through his hair. “Anyway, try not to take it personally. If you end up working with Philip in the future, it’ll just take him a bit of time to warm up to you, that’s all.”

Yes, I’ll look for that when hell freezes over
. But I couldn’t blame Arthur for Philip being a prick.

“It’s kind of you to say so.” I took Arthur’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Thank you again for all you’ve done. I enjoyed meeting you.”

Arthur shook my hand back and smiled. “Think nothing of it. As they said in Rome, ‘
Optimum est pati quod emendare non possis
.’ ”

“It is best to endure what you cannot change,” I translated. I hoped Arthur was wrong on this one point. My mother’s fate depended on my being able to do a great deal more than endure.

***

“How’s Londinium?” Titus asked. I stared out at Green Park from my hotel room window, trying to decide what to tell him.

“Not too bad,” I replied. “From what I’ve seen of the PIA so far, they’re not living up to their reputation. Rather a harmless bunch, really. Then again, they have no idea who I really am, or what my true purpose is here. I imagine if they did, they’d be decidedly less friendly.”

“Best not to forget that,” Titus said, as if I needed reminding.

“There’s more good news,” I added. “I managed to secure a seat in Rome in the very near future. I’m awaiting further instructions on that now.” I didn’t mention that the manager of the London branch was singularly obsessed with Titus. One, it might not be relevant, and two, his ego didn’t need the boost. And Philip Grant didn’t warrant a second thought.

“Fine, then,” Titus said. “Oh for gods’ sake!” he cried.

“What is it?”

“Not you,” he said, seemingly annoyed. I could hear bells and whistles from the casino in the background, the shouts of winners and losers. “Look, I have to go. Just let me know when you land in Rome.”

That was it? No “Good show, Joshua?” I shook my head and pulled the window’s curtain closed. After all these years, what did I expect?

“Until then,” Titus said, “keep your head down and your nose out of trouble.” I heard a
click
.

“I always do, Father,” I replied to the dial tone. “I always do.”

Chapter 9

We are on a train bound somewhere I don’t remember. Like me, my mother made herself stop aging; in my mind, she is always in her forties.
Her hair is done up in a mess of bobby pins, several curls falling over her forehead. She is wearing one of her typical outfits: floral-print blouse, ankle-length skirt, shawl, and lots of earthy jewelry. Her enormous leather bag with the tassels is next to me, but I know better than to start playing with them. Instead, I am immersed in a brainteaser she gave me. I love secrets and puzzles, the latter of which are good things to give a precocious child on a long ride. It is night, and my mother is drowsy and goofy.

“I know a secret . . .” She leans over and grins conspiratorially at me.

I drop my puzzle. How could she have kept this from me? Why didn’t she tell me earlier? “What is it?” I ask.

My mother looks around at the other passengers, but most of them are asleep, or caught up in their own books and electronics. Still, she puts her head close to mine, cups her mouth with one hand, and whispers in my ear, “I love you.”

I wrinkle my nose. I can’t believe she got me all excited for nothing. “That’s a stupid secret,” I said. “I don’t like it.”

I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face.

How I wish I could go back in time and cut out my tongue. I’m sure she forgave my puerile reply, but would it have killed me to tell her I loved her too?

Would I ever get the chance again?

***

Believe it or not, I’d never actually been to Rome. You may find that odd, with my father being, well . . .
Roman
. Maybe he didn’t want me to see what he considers his former glory. Maybe he just didn’t want me on his turf. Regardless, the result is the same: I’d never been to Rome, though of course I’d consumed countless books and films on the subject.

No sooner had I arrived at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport than I knew something was different. But there was nothing unusual in the immediate surroundings, mind you. As soon as you get out of Roma Termini, the main railway station, you are accosted by people with all sorts of pamphlets in hand. Most are selling accommodations at hotels, hostels, and occasionally brothels. But as I stepped out into the street—past the seediness and the fumes from passing buses and cars—it hit me.

Roma Aeterna. They call Rome the Eternal City. They say all roads lead here. I suppose I always knew I’d come someday. I’ll freely admit the magic was palpable; I was fascinated, entranced. I swore I could
feel
the city whispering its ancient stories to me.

Rome has a mild climate. At this time of year, it’s not cold like New York, hot like Las Vegas, or rainy like London. I wouldn’t be surprised if heaven based its weather on Rome’s. This makes walking in the city a pleasure—doubly so, since certain streets ban cars during daylight hours. Strolling down them feels like it must have decades ago, complete with cobblestones, intimate cafés, and shuttered windows.

The majority of Rome’s ancient architecture lies on the east side of the Tiber River, which meanders through the town. Since the east side also houses the train station, I elected to get a hotel room close by.

“Where are you staying?” my father asked. I was on the phone with him a few days after my arrival, beginning to feel like a schoolboy placating his chaperone.

“The Hassler,” I replied. “You’d like it, actually. It’s one of the most elegant hotels in Rome. ‘Right at the top of the Spanish steps, and next to one of the most exclusive shopping districts in the world,’ ” I read to him from the brochure in my room. “ ‘With its gilded furniture, silks, and antiques, the Hassler is as renowned for refinement as it is for attentive service.’ ” Although that last bit could be a problem—I didn’t want them
too
attentive. Alert staff could pose a problem to one trying to carry out things in secret.

“Yes, well, don’t enjoy yourself too much while you’re there,” grumbled Titus. “You’re not on holiday, after all.”

I rolled my eyes. I chose the Hassler because it was close to the train station—and to the PIA. What more did Titus want?

“How’ve you been settling in?” he asked. “Everything going according to plan?”

“If the plan involves running around to several different government offices, trying to accomplish a single task,” I replied, “then yes. It’s going swimmingly.” I didn’t know how long I’d be staying in Rome, so I figured it didn’t hurt to put in for a visa. However, it’s not uncommon for Italian visas to be rejected two or three times for minor issues. There’d been quite a bit of going back and forth to different offices, pacifying cold, indifferent clerks and their silly rules. Even using all my sorcery and mind-powers, it was a tedious business.

But a few lucky things had happened that made me wonder if some other magic wasn’t at work. Several documents became available more quickly than I expected; one or two higher officials were more accommodating than anticipated. I smiled to think that perhaps the land was in love with me. It recognized its long-lost son, home at last. Still, no need to tell my father that. Let him think I was undertaking all sorts of burdens on our behalf.

“I imagined as much,” he said. “I can’t begin to contemplate what the mortal stupidity and paperwork is like over there.”

“I’ll give you a hint,” I said. “Have you ever been flayed alive?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he answered.