The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales (14 page)

The reason the skirmish hadn’t gone worse was probably for fear of invoking Titus’s wrath. But it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be future incidents—some of which might not turn out so well for me. You can imagine how unhappy my father was when I called with the news.

“For the love of Fate, can you do nothing right?” Titus groaned. I could hear the sound of girlish giggles and coos all around him.

“And I suppose it’s my fault that half the Council ambushed me?” I asked, indignant. “Really—I may be a mage, but fortune-telling is not one of my talents. There was no way I could have predicted this.”

There was a long pause, during which I heard the sound of more women laughing, and then splashing water. “C’mon!” a female voice called. “Come join us!”

“Yes, join us!” called another. “What’s so important you have to be on the phone all the time?”

“Just try to continue the investigation without any more incidents, all right?” Titus sighed. “I have to go.” And the line went dead.

“I’ll bet you do.” I squeezed the receiver and placed it back in its cradle. “Money to make, women to seduce. Never mind that the most important person in your life was kidnapped, and is possibly dead.

“A follower of the Old Ways never would have treated women like this,” I grumbled as I rearranged my investigation notes on the hotel’s stationery. “Bouncing around with a bunch of floozies instead of trying to find a missing wife.” The Old Ways held that women should be treated as equals—sacred, even. Titus probably viewed women as pleasurable objects at best, and distractions at worst. At least he did until he met Abigail Silver.

I think, for a brief time, she actually changed his views on the subject. Abigail was the only person I knew who wasn’t afraid of my father. She certainly wouldn’t take any crap from him. And I knew he admired her bravery and loyalty. Though you may be wondering why
she
—as moral a person as one could hope for—was attracted to
him
, a power-hungry opportunist. It’s a rather interesting story, but one that will have to wait for another time.

I likened the relationship of my parents to that of the Jesuits and the Catholic Church. The Jesuits were basically free to do what they wanted, but when the Church called on them, they were there. It was a dance of mutual respect, wariness, and antagonism. But now that Abigail was gone, Titus seemed to have gone back to his former ways. Of course, I had no proof of that besides a few giggles, but still . . . so much for his valuing loyalty.

Having exhausted all avenues of research regarding the crystal, I concentrated on trying to find Ferox’s tomb instead. My conversation with the Council led me to believe that if someone wanted to use the crystal to help Ferox, then naturally, they had to know where he was. Find Ferox, find my mother. Easy.

The morning after I called Titus, I walked through the doors of the PIA tired and bruised, but ready to begin the investigation again—this time centering it on Ferox. No sooner had I crossed the threshold than I heard the laugh of the receptionist and a familiar voice. I walked towards the front desk and saw Arthur and Philip standing before it.

Oh bloody, bloody hell
.

“Ah, Signore Alderman!” The receptionist, Marcello, waved to me, for once smiling and roused from his apathetic stupor. I suppose Arthur’s good nature had that effect on people. “
Buongiorno
. I was just telling Signore Hartwood that you would arrive any moment.”

“Ah, yes.” I forced myself to smile. It wasn’t that I disliked seeing Arthur again, but his presence could be a hindrance to my research. I also had no idea what he was doing here. Could he have gotten wind of the true nature of my inquiries? I couldn’t imagine how. Then there was Philip, whom I could barely stomach at all, and certainly not this early in the morning.

“Hello, hello!” Arthur said, shaking my hand as warmly as when we’d first met. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see me again so soon. And, erm, Philip as well.” I thought I detected a hint of apology in his voice.

“Surprised?” Philip asked with a smile. He looked like he’d already caught me in some illicit act.

“Ah, yes!” I said. “Quite surprised—pleasantly so, of course.”
Rather like spontaneously having ice cubes dropped down the back of one’s shirt
.

“We just got in and came straightaway from our hotel,” said Arthur. “So where are you staying?” he asked me.

“Oh, ah, at a little place a few blocks down.” I coughed.

“The Hassler,” Marcello piped up. “Mr. Alderman had me send files there a few days ago.”

“The
Hassler
?” repeated Arthur, his eyes bulging.

Philip’s smile vanished. “Well, aren’t we the swanky one?” he remarked in a sour voice.

If Arthur noticed Philip’s tone, he said nothing about it. Instead, he clapped me on the arm. “Good on you, lad! I hear it’s awfully nice. Philip and I aren’t staying at quite as posh a place as all that, but I daresay it’s fair enough.”

“But what brings you to Rome?” I asked. “I was under the impression you were both staying in London for the time being.”
In fact, I was counting on it
.

“We got an anonymous tip that there was heightened paranormal activity in the area,” Philip said, raising his chin slightly and looking at me. “Since everyone else was already occupied with other assignments, we were chosen to go.”

“I daresay the London branch can manage itself for a short while till I get back,” Arthur agreed.

“ ‘Heightened paranormal activity?’ ” I repeated, furrowing my brow. “Sounds rather vague. And an anonymous tip?
That
sounds suspicious. I mean, most people aren’t supposed to know the PIA exists. Don’t you have any way to trace the call?”

Philip rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a police procedural drama. The caller ID said it came from somewhere inside the Palace of Westminster. You know, where
Parliament
meets? It could have just come from a former member who doesn’t wish to reveal his identity. We’ve had several minor government officials as PIA members over the years. So there’s plenty of reason to believe the tip is genuine, and that’s good enough for us.”

Parliament . . . Lord Ashdown
. I gritted my teeth. I just
knew
the Council was behind this. When confronting me didn’t work, they decided to give the PIA a ring under false pretenses.

“Well, you never know,” I said. “It could always be a prank. Does it really pay to go running all over on the basis of one phone call?”

“Oh, it will be wonderful!” said Marcello, as if it were the best idea in the world. “Signore Hartwood hasn’t been to Rome in ages, yes? Signore Alderman would be happy to show him around.”

“Fantastic!” Arthur said, then turned to Philip and me. “What do you boys say to a spot of sightseeing?”

“I don’t know,” I started. “I still haven’t finished translating those records on, er . . .” “And I want to start looking into whatever paranormal activity might be occurring,” said Philip. “Is the equipment in the same place it used to be?” he asked Marcello.

“Oh, come now!” Arthur protested. He turned to me. “I’ve heard glowing reports that you show up early every morning and work late into the night. Surely you’ve earned a little break, eh? And you, Philip—your investigations can wait a few hours. What’s the point of having a job that allows for travel if you don’t take advantage of it?”

“I will get maps and things for you,” said Marcello, and disappeared to look for them.

I sighed. I didn’t see any way of getting out of taking Arthur and Philip around Rome. I had to act like I was one of them—a real PIA member.

“Well, all right,” I said. “Maybe just for the morning?” Philip looked like he wanted to throw me into a meat grinder.

“Splendid!” Arthur said. “I’ll go help Marcello with the maps, and see if he can’t rustle us up some breakfast. You two stay put.” Arthur went behind the counter and through the door in back.

“Thought you had it all worked out, didn’t you?” Philip said.

“Excuse me?” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“Thought you’d come here for a little vacation, fool people into thinking you’re working. What you’re really doing is sitting around on your . . .
laurels
. . . while others pick up the slack.”

“Ah yes,” I replied. Now I was trying not to smile. “You’re onto me.”

Philip didn’t catch the sarcasm. “Just as I suspected. Well, after our little sightseeing trip, you’d best be careful.” He took a step forward and stood almost nose to nose with me. “Because I’ll be watching you. One wrong move and . . .” He swiped his finger across his neck.

I raised my eyebrows. “You’ll send me to the guillotine? How very French Revolution of you. And here I thought the English and the French didn’t get along.”

Philip was just about to reply when Arthur and Marcello reemerged. “Good news,” Arthur called. “Marcello found the maps. And some sandwiches!” He threw us pieces of soggy-looking bread wrapped in plastic. “Let’s go, lads! I can’t wait to get that Roman air into my lungs.”

“If you like air filled with smog,” muttered Philip.

“Take care, Marcello.” Arthur waved to him as we walked towards the door. “See you when we get back.”

“Have a nice time on your mini-vacation,
i miei amici
!” Marcello called. Philip gave me one last glare and followed Arthur out the door. When I was certain Marcello wasn’t looking, I glamoured a pig’s tail onto Philip’s rear end, then just as quickly removed it. It felt good to do some magic behind Philip’s back—literally. And I should have left it there. It suited him.

After choking down our soggy sandwiches, which Arthur didn’t seem to mind, we toured a few ancient relics. I really wanted to get back to my investigation, but Arthur seemed content to drag us from one tourist attraction to another, explaining things as he went.

“And here is the Arch of Constantine,” he said, “built to—”

“Commemorate Constantine I’s victory over Maxentius at the Battle of Milvian Bridge in 312,” I finished. I hated to interrupt, but I’d do anything to speed things along.

Arthur stopped, and he and Philip looked at me. “Yes, but . . . how did you know that?” he asked. “Oh—you’ve been at the guidebooks, haven’t you?” He tapped the side of his head. “Smart lad.”

“Ah, yes. Guidebooks.” I nodded. “That’s it exactly.”

“Well, I admire your diligence, son,” Arthur said. “You’ve done your research.”

“Trust me,” Philip said, “there are a great many things in Rome you can’t learn from guidebooks. You need firsthand accounts.” He pulled on the lapels of his blazer and smirked at me.

Yes, like those from a father who’s an ancient Roman
.

“Luckily,” he continued, “there are those of us who are always watching, always waiting. As soon as something happens . . . BAM!” He slapped his hands together inches from my face, causing me to jump back a little. “You’d better believe we’ll be there to record it.” He gave me a dead-eye stare, which I returned in kind.

Arthur was barely paying attention. “Yes, yes—come, lads,” he said. “I want to see the Circus Maximus. ‘Once a Roman racetrack, it’s now a public park popular with sun-worshippers,’ ” he read from a brochure.

I broke from Philip’s stare and shrugged at Arthur. “The sun is nothing to worship,” I said. “Just an enormous ball of hot gas burning millions of miles away.”
Rather what my father would look like if we shot him into space
.

“Actually, numerous ancient cultures worshipped the sun, and some modern ones still do,” Philip said, still glaring. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Of course I knew that,” I said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. I couldn’t wait for the morning to end.

***

I updated my father on the situation by phone that evening, which went even worse than I feared.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” Titus said. I could hear static on the line. I wondered if the desert winds weren’t causing problems with the phones again, as they so often did in Nevada. “Two PIA members have essentially followed you to Rome—”

“Well, not followed
me
, exactly,” I said.

“Right,” replied Titus. “Followed an anonymous tip likely given by Lord Ashdown, and now they are at the PIA’s Roman branch. One of them is an expert on—of all things—me, and the other seems hell-bent on exposing you for something.
Anything.
”

I rubbed my forehead. “That about sums it up,” I said. “And one of them isn’t too happy I’m staying at the Hassler, the jealous little twit.”

“Will you forget about your petty rivalries?” Titus barked. “We have much larger concerns at the moment. Really, Joshua—I don’t think you could have made a bigger mess out of things if you tried.”

“Yes, Father, that’s what I’m trying to do. Make as big a mess of things as possible.” I attempted to calm myself by looking out the window of the hotel and counting passing cars. There were quite a few nice ones—it’s no secret that Italians love their automobiles. Little wonder that some of the most expensive cars in the world got their start in Italy: the Lamborghini, the Ferrari, the Maserati. My father would certainly love to see all the latest models. Or perhaps he already owned a few—the man did have a garage full of sports cars.