Catherine Fisher - Obsidian Mirror

Jake turned and faced his father’s killer. He felt only a coldness. As deep and numbing as if he could never be warm again.

Wharton stepped between them hastily. “Mr. Venn. Perhaps I should—”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Wharton. George Wharton. Head of Humanities, Compton’s School.”

Venn’s stare was blank. “Compton’s…?”

“In Geneva. Switzerland.”

It was enough. The anger in Venn’s blue eyes transformed to a swift wariness. He looked at Jake, who hadn’t moved. Nervous now, Wharton said, “This is Jake Wilde. Your godson.”

Venn was staring at Jake. “You’re David’s boy?”

“Yes. He is.” Jake’s silence made Wharton stammer anything to fill it. “You remember, I’m sure…the e-mail.”

Venn said, “I don’t send e-mails.”

“You did, I assure you. We, the school, that is, explained that Jake had…exceeded a few limits. Your reply was for us to send him home.”

Venn seemed to drag his gaze from Jake to Wharton. Then he turned and snarled “ Piers! ” in a voice of utter fury.

A tiny man in a white lab coat came leaping down the steps and ran hurriedly toward them.

Wharton caught the glint of a gold earring in his ear. Venn rounded on him. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”

Piers’s voice was shaky. “I did. I replied to their message. I told them to send the boy.”

Venn was breathless with disbelief. “Are you mad? Am I living in a house of maniacs? What possible—”

“I felt it was the best thing to do.” Piers shot a curious glance at Jake.

“You felt!” Venn exploded. “What gives you the right to feel anything! Don’t you think I might feel something too? About him? About David?”

Piers held his ground, folding his arms. “Yes, of course, but Excellency, you were off in the Summerland. I had to make a decision.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I was…er…I felt it was best to let them arrive. After all, it was too late to stop them.”

Wharton glanced at Jake. The boy’s silence, the intensity of his stare, was terrifying. “Look…I’m sure we…” he started, but Jake’s voice startled them all.

“Don’t think you can send me away. ” The words were low, hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Venn was still. Then he stepped closer, and they stood face-to-face. “Your father was my greatest friend.”

“Was he? So where is he now?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t care?”

“Of course I care.”

“Then where is he? What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Liar.” Jake stood cold and tall. His hands were shaking. He felt as if something was burning and heavy in his chest. “You do know. You’re responsible. He never left this house. He never got on any train.”

Venn was white-faced. Even Wharton noticed his flicker of surprise.

Jake stepped close. “He was all I had. You took him away.”

“Jake…”

He pulled fiercely from Wharton’s grip. “Did you think you could buy me off with some fancy school? You must have known I’d turn up here one day, looking for you. You must have known I’d never let you get away with it.”

Venn stood rigid. Softly he said, “What exactly do you think I did?”

“He knew too much about your secrets. You made sure he’d never talk.”

“Secrets? What secrets?”

“The Chronoptika.”

For a moment Venn’s eyes were shards of ice. “What do you know about that?” he breathed.

Jake grinned, sour. “I’m sure you’d like to find that out. That’s what you killed him for.”

Wharton, appalled, held his breath. The force of the boy’s accusation was raw, like the aftermath of lightning in charged air. The evening hushed to listen, the crows cawed over the wood, a faint warm smell of oil drifted from the engine of the car.

Venn’s response surprised them. He seemed almost relieved; he shook his head and thrust his hands into the pockets of his dark jacket and stood there, gazing at Jake. When he spoke, his voice was almost weary. “You’re so much like him.”

Jake didn’t move.

“Listen to me, boy, I loved your father. He was my only friend. You don’t seem to believe that, but it’s true. I would give anything to find out where he is.”

“You admit you’re responsible.”

“No…not in the way you mean.” Venn took a sudden step forward, his voice urgent. “David’s not dead. He’s alive, somewhere. And I’ll find him.”

Jake snorted, but he seemed shaken. “I’m not going from here until I know what happened.”

“I see.” Venn flicked a glance at Piers. “You! I suppose you’ve already got rooms ready.”

“South wing.” Piers scratched his thin scrap of beard. “But I didn’t expect an entourage.”

They all looked at Rebecca, who was standing by the car, staring at Jake. She seemed fascinated. Startled, she lifted her hands. “Oh, I’m just the lift.”

“Good.” Venn turned away. Then he swung back. “But you, Jack…”

“Jake. My name’s Jake.”

“I don’t care what your name is. Keep out of my way. Keep out of my business. Don’t go prying into things you don’t understand. You’re only staying because it’s what David would have wanted.”

There was a sting of scorn there, a whiplash of pain. With a glare at Piers, Venn turned and stalked away from the house, ducking down a path into the darkening Wood.

Piers blew out his cheeks in relief, and began gathering up luggage. “Well, I think that went quite reasonably under the circumstances. Welcome to Wintercombe Abbey, gentlemen.”

“No, wait!” Wharton turned quickly. “I’m not staying. At least…”

“Thanks for everything, and I’m sorry about messing up the play.” Jake held out his hand. “Have a great time in Shepton Mallet.”

Wharton stared at the outstretched hand and then beyond it, at the shadowy gloom of the house.

“Will you be all right?”

“Fine. Maybe Rebecca will give you a lift back.”

“Oh…right,” she said. “Why not use up all my petrol.”

Wharton hesitated. Then, over Jake’s shoulder, high in a tiny attic window, he saw a face, watching him. A small, white face, young, like a girl’s. It ducked away, and he saw that the window was barred.

He stared up. Had he imagined that? What sort of place was this dark house buried in wildwood? After all, the father had vanished here. What if the son did too? Around him the twilight had become night; there were stars in the frosty sky, and the acrid smell of wood smoke. He cleared his throat.

“Well, now…it’s rather late. Perhaps I should stay…just till Christmas. See you settled in.”

Jake dropped his hand. He managed a wry smile. “Loco parentis.”

“Sort of.”

How could he leave the boy in this godforsaken place with a man as hostile as Venn? Besides, the Head would be avid to know all about it.

Piers was already crunching over the gravel with their cases under his arms and clutched in long, spidery fingers. Jake let the monkey out of the bag; it leaped wildly onto the car, shrieking with delight.

“Hey! Watch my windshield wipers.” Rebecca put her hands in her pockets. “Did you mean all that…about murder? That is so…weird.”

“My father went missing here. That’s all I know.”

She gazed at him a moment. Then she leaned into the car and came out with a torn envelope; she scrawled on it hastily. “Look. Here’s my phone number and e-mail. I live nearby. If you ever want a drink or a chat or anything.” She held it out. “I mean, this place is pretty isolated. Give me a call.”

He took it, feeling awkward. She meant well, and so did Wharton, but he just wanted them to leave him alone. Though as he watched her drive off he felt a strange ebb of confidence, especially when the purr of the engine had faded and he and Wharton stood alone in the silent evening.