Carrie Vaughn: Dreams of the Golden Age

The complicated phone unit—the thing had more controls than a jet fighter—beeped an incoming call. She punched the button, which summoned her own receptionist to the line.

“Ms. West? There’s a call from Elmwood Academy on line three.”

She suppressed a groan. This was about one of the girls. But which one, and was it good news or bad? She could just make the caller leave a message …

“Right, okay, put it through.” The line clicked, and she announced, “This is Celia West.”

“Ms. West, this is Director Benitez, I’m so sorry to bother you”—Celia was pretty sure other parents didn’t get apologies from the headmistress of the city’s most exclusive private school—“but I thought you should know that Anna came to school significantly tardy today.”

“Define significantly tardy.”

“She didn’t arrive until after lunch.”

That late, Celia wondered why Anna bothered showing up at all, but she didn’t say so.

“Did she have a good excuse?”

“I’m not sure what would be a good excuse in this case…”

“Oh, you know, saving orphans from a burning building, that sort of thing.”

“Um. Well. No, I don’t think she had a good excuse. She said she got held up and lost track of time. She wouldn’t go into details. But as you know, Ms. West, attendance is an essential component of success here at Elmwood Academy, and Anna’s attendance may come under review if there’s another similar incident.”

She wondered if Benitez had checked the records to see that Celia had dropped out of Elmwood when she was seventeen. Probably not.

“Yes, Director, I understand. We’ll straighten this out at home.”

“Thank you.” The woman sounded relieved.

“Thank you, for letting me know. Anna and I will have a talk.”

The woman hung up quickly. Celia smiled at the phone a moment before putting it away.

Something was definitely up with Anna, but Celia refused to get too worked up about it. It couldn’t possibly be worse than the kinds of things Celia got up to at her age. Well, it could, realistically speaking. Imagination always failed to provide all the possible scenarios.

The security cameras in the lobby and elevator let Celia know when the kids arrived home. That meant they’d be in her office in about five minutes, checking in, giving the report for the day. Her little minions, returning to home base. They grumbled when she talked like that.

Her daughters. How the hell did she get far enough along in her life to have two teenage daughters? She ought to get some kind of medal for it. Wait to see if either one of them turns out to be a mass murderer. Ah, yes, there was that.

She timed it well and set aside the spreadsheet she’d been studying so that she was waiting, back straight, hands folded on the desk in front of her, when they walked into her office. Sullen, they held their backpacks slung over their shoulders, and afternoon weariness marred their features. Their neat uniforms—navy skirts, white shirts, maroon cardigans—always looked rumpled by this time of the day.

She greeted them. “Girls.”

They muttered hellos and trudged forward to sit in the two chairs that might have been put there for the purpose.

“How was your day?”

Thirteen-year-old Bethy went first. “We had a quiz today, you know that quiz I told you about, and I think I did okay, but I don’t really know. You won’t be mad if I flunk it, right? ’Cause you saw me studying for it, right?”

“I know you studied. I don’t think you flunked.”

She went on for another minute about gym class, about how she needed a new pair of gym shoes because her old ones were too small, and so on, and on one hand Celia wanted to shake her and tell her stop with the minutiae. But really, the greater impulse was to sit back, smile, and let her go on all day long, just to hear the sound of her not-quite-mature voice tumbling forth. Right now, Celia could fool herself that Bethy was still a little girl, with round cheeks, hair in a ponytail, foot swinging to kick at her chair leg. In a couple of years, she’d be like Anna, slouched in her seat, her mind a million miles away, on boys or school or the problems of the world, or maybe just wanting to get out of her mother’s crummy office and back to the sanctity of her own private life.

Bethy was strawberry blond, but Anna had inherited Celia’s own flame red hair, which she in turn had inherited from her mother. The West redheads. God help her.

Bethy finally wound down and let out a sigh. Amused, Celia said, “I know you’re not going to believe me, kid, but you shouldn’t worry so much. You’ll have plenty to worry about soon enough, don’t spend it all on a math quiz.”

Her youngeest pouted, clearly not believing her, but Celia didn’t expect her to.

“Grandma’s cooking dinner tonight. You guys’ll be ready for it in a couple of hours?”

They brightened at that, which was a comfort. Family still held some attraction for them, for however long that lasted. Gathering their bags, they stood to make their exit.

Celia said, “Anna, you mind talking to me for just a minute?”

Bethy looked at her sister with a wide-eyed expression, like someone rubbernecking at a car accident. Anna herself put on a blank face, a prisoner walking into a courtroom, and returned to her seat.

Eggshells. Celia couldn’t pinpoint the moment when dealing with Anna had become like walking on eggshells, or handling fine china. The change had happened slowly, and then one day she looked up and her oldest daughter wasn’t a little girl anymore, and Celia didn’t know what to say to her.

Treat her with respect. First rule. Celia remembered being that age, how she felt when people didn’t take her seriously. She wouldn’t inflict that on her own kids if she could help it.

“Hi, Anna,” she said.

“Hi, Mom,” the teenager answered, her thin smile a mask. Her hair was chin length, loose, the color bringing out the faint freckles on her nose. She let Celia catch her gaze, but her expression was neutral.

“I got a call from Director Benitez today. You were late to school. Very late.”

Anna sighed and looked at the ceiling. “It wasn’t that big a deal. It shouldn’t have been, I wasn’t hurting anything.”

“You sure about that?”

She didn’t answer.

“So, where were you this morning?”

Her mouth worked, as if chewing over words. “A friend of mine needed help. I couldn’t ignore that, could I?”

Celia believed her, because neither of the girls was a practiced liar. They were smart enough to know that lying wouldn’t get them anywhere, with their father the telepath around. That was something, at least.

“No, of course not. If your friend was really in trouble and if you were really the only person who could help.”

“I was.” She stated it as a challenge.

Celia leaned forward and asked, “Was this friend of yours Teddy Donaldson by any chance?”

Anna gaped. “How—” She clamped her mouth shut, then changed her mind about talking. “Did Dad tell you that?”

“I don’t think Dad knows anything about it. You haven’t seen him since this morning, have you? So how would he know?”

She went into full shutdown mode, as Celia expected, but that was okay. She had her confirmation.

“I applaud your efforts to help your friend. But next time, call me first. We can get you a permission slip or something. Don’t go haring off just because you think something’s a good idea. Got it?”

“Fine.”

“You’re still grounded for skipping school, but just for the weekend instead of till the end of the month, like you would have been if you were off smoking or something. Okay?”