Hey Readers! If you haven’t already, be sure to check out other posts here to read previous chapters of The House On Astor Street. Enjoy!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jason walked slowly down the stately hallway alongside Margot towards the room of flash tunnels. Several times, she would look over at him and smile, sending a dulled pounding through his heart and stomach. The events of the past two days continued to turn over in his mind, enchanting him, making him question reality. Margot, his mother, back from the dead, smelled sweetly of vanilla and roses. For a few seconds, Jason simply listened to the sound of his breathing, to the fading voices in the parlor, to the rhythm created by their shoes on the stone floor. As they got close to the door, Jason asked, “Where are we going?”
Margot opened the door for Jason and they walked into the room with the circular couch. She made her way over to the door immediately to the right and put her hand on the knob. With her other hand, she grasped Jason’s shoulder softly, then pulled the door open. “After you.”
He took a step forward into the dark closet and reflexively reached for Margot’s hand. He wasn’t quite used to this method of transportation yet, but knew that he did not want to get stuck in some in-between universe or lost in some space-time continuum. Margot stepped in next, squeezing Jason’s hand back affectionately. She pulled the door closed, then, seconds later pushed it open to reveal a magnificently lit, palatial vestibule with hallways leading off in all directions. “Welcome to my home” she said with a wide smile.
Jason let go of Margot’s hand and wandered in, taking several large steps to get to the center of the room. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes staring at the six intricately carved wooden columns adorning the circular room. In between each of the columns were rich wood paneled walls, topped with thick crown molding. Above the panels were large plaster reliefs depicting cats in various poses and positions, their eyes staring down protectively at whoever found themselves looking up. The wooden columns and plaster reliefs thinned as they curved up nearly three stories and met in the middle of the domed ceiling. Hanging in the center, illuminating the colorful tiled spiral floor, was a massive chandelier with ribbons of electric pink, yellow, and white light dancing around its bulbless arms.
“Do you want a snack or something to drink?” Margot asked as she walked up to meet Jason in the center of the vestibule.
“I could definitely go for a glass of water.” His voice quivered, his throat dry.
Margot lifted her hand slowly and produced a thin strand of lavender light. The light jumped up and shot down the hallway to the left. Margot looked over at Jason calmly and said, “Why don’t we go to the library and have a chat.” She smiled warmly, then walked down the hallway to the right, Jason following her sweet flowery sent.
The hallway was long and beautifully decorated with photos of a young Margot with various colleagues, friends, and family members. He noticed that several of the photos included younger versions of the members of the Harcava he had just met, looking like a group of mismatched friends. Every few yards, a crystal wall lamp with the same array of colorful ribbons of mezmora shined brightly. There were a number of large doors with similarly carved wooden columns Jason had seen in the vestibule framing them, each complete with a small plaster relief of a cat on top. Jason continued following Margot, door after door, listening to the echoes of their footsteps, getting lost in the photos of her life.
She stopped in front of two doors with large brass doorknobs. Jason noticed a spaghetti thin ray of white light dart out of the palm of her hand into the keyhole. Metallic tinkering noises rang from the door until the louder click of the lock unfastening echoed in the hall. The doors creaked open slowly, revealing a two-story library, complete with a wooden spiral staircase, crystal and marble figurines of cats, plush leather chairs, and various brightly colored paintings. As they walked in, Jason again found himself gawking in awe of the masterpiece that was Margot’s home. Looking around at the volumes of books, he noticed the wonderous mezmora lamps he had seen throughout the house. There was something missing, however. Something he didn’t notice before, but in Margot’s library, it became starkly obvious, “Where are all the windows?”
She laughed softly. “Well, when you live where I live, windows aren’t really an option.”
A look of confusion developed on Jason’s face.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Come on in, Matilda,” Margot called. The door creaked open again slowly as Jason turned to see who the guest was. Standing in her hodgepodge of garments, as colorful as a rainbow, was the homeless woman from the Madison Street bridge. Her hair was combed and her teeth noticeably less yellow, but he was sure it was her, just standing there smiling as haphazardly as her outfit. “Matilda, I think you’ve met Jason before.”
“Certainly have!”
Jason was dumbstruck. “You know her?” Jason directed his question at Margot, but didn’t take his eyes off Matilda.
“Of course. Matilda and I are old friends from my time working with the Crawford Family Foundation. She was one of our star pupils, in fact.” Margot smiled lovingly at Matilda, the way someone would smile at their sister. “After everything, I invited her to live here with me and help out around the house.” She paused. “And to keep an eye on you.”
“That’s right! When you started working down there in the city, I posted up next to the Opera House.” Matilda looked over at Margot and winked, “I thought there was something sort of special about that place.” She looked back at Jason and shrugged.
“So, do you also have the magic powers?” Jason asked.
Matilda let out a huge laugh that almost scared Jason, “Magic powers?” She continued laughing for a few more seconds. Looking over at Margot, she pointed her thumb towards Jason, “Margot, are you sure he’s your son?” She laughed some more.
After a sympathetic chuckle, Margot explained, “No, Jason, she does not have mezmora.” She emphasized the two syllables in a joking way. “In fact, most of the people I’ve had looking after you don’t. A few do, though. Do you recall ever seeing a man sitting outside your gym every morning, drinking a coffee? Long hair, usually in a ponytail? Big mustache?” Jason stared back blankly. “Well, that’s Phil Dodger, an old family friend, and he does have mezmora.”
“Okay…” Jason was wracking his brain, trying to think if he’d seen this man before.
Matilda jumped in, “Oh, what about Penelope Springer! Really fit lady. Where did we put her again, Margot?” She pinched her chin like she was deep in thought. “Oh! In the park. She’s usually there for your basketball games or when you’re running or just lounging around. She also has magic powers.” Matilda made air quotes as she said “magic powers” and roared with laughter again.
Jason walked over to one of the chairs and plopped down, bewildered by everything he was learning. Margot glided over to the chair next to him and sat down softly. “We’ve had people with you for as long as you could remember. Teachers in elementary school all the way through college.” Jason thought that his math teacher his sophomore year of high school was always a little different. “Old co-workers, old bosses…”
“Wait, is Shane McCoy with us?” Jason interrupted.
“Oh, absolutely not. I cannot stand that man… but your father insists he is a necessary professional colleague…” She shook her head at the thought. “Honey, the point is, you have been my priority… all of our priority… since the day you were born.” Jason could see tears forming in her eyes. “And it kills me to know that I couldn’t be there myself.”
Jason looked back at Margot sympathetically and smiled.
Margot cleared her throat and looked up at Matilda. “Matilda, darling, could you grab us some water and something to eat? I think it’s going to be a late night.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I was just making some pasta. Chicken alfredo, coming right up!” She turned and made her way out the door, Jason watched as the last of her colorful garments disappeared into the hall.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I know you’ve got a million questions swirling around in your head, but please, let me start from the beginning.” Margot was sipping on some tea while Jason took another bite of Matilda’s chicken alfredo. They were in two large chairs facing each other, with a small table in between them. Jason could hear the soft ticking from a grandfather clock on the far end of the room, along with the low hum of the mezmora floating around in the lamps. His eyes continued to explore the windowless room, attempting to do some useless math to determine approximately what time it was. “Our story, Jason, begins with my grandmother.”
Over the next hour, Margot relayed the story of her grandmother to Jason, the very story she told Adam nearly twenty-five years ago. Jason listened intently, at times enthralled by her words, other times finding himself disbelieving the tales. Margot explained how death had found her family on a number of occasions and that it was her belief that the Domenicians had a hand in it. She talked about her grandmother’s immense gifts and respective paranoia. She talked about the nightmares that haunted her grandmother and how she believes her dreams weren’t so much dreams as they were omens.
Margot recalled her parents, Jason’s grandparents, and explained the heartbreaking tale of when she had to send them away to a remote community in Montana, erasing their memory of her and their former lives. She knew that the Domenicians were tracking her closely and that they would take away everything and everyone Margot ever loved and cared for. She knew that by sending them away, with no knowledge of their earlier selves, they could live out their days in happiness and safety, even if that meant she would never again feel their love and affection. She talked about her delicate balance between her life of celebrity and notoriety and then her life in the world of her Harcava. She talked about love. The love she shared with Adam and the subsequent birth of her son, Jason.
“It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made in my entire life.” Margot went silent, looking off at the shelves of colorful books and marble busts behind Jason. Her eyes were misty and somber, the weight of the history of her decisions resting fully on her mind. “I knew that the news of your birth would paint a target on your head. The Keeper of Stories had made his prediction and already, there were rumors of gangs hunting children and babies, it was an awful and terrifying time. I couldn’t expose my only son to that danger.” She paused again and looked at Jason as she took a sip of her tea. “I hid from the world for months until you were born. Being a staple in the society magazines and papers, I had to hide my pregnancy and, when you were born, your father and I agreed that he would raise you as his own and you would be told that your mother passed away when you were an infant.”
Jason was motionless, the air locked in his chest. He didn’t think he would get emotional, but learning that his whole life was a lie was far more to take in than he was capable of. His voice was soft and his tone a mixture of resentment and dejection, “Then why did you fake your death at the opera building? Hadn’t you already made it clear to the Domenicians that I didn’t exist?”
Margot let out a deep breath. She knew this would be difficult to tell and even more difficult to have to understand. She had been waiting years to tell Jason the truth and he deserved to learn it all. “It was always thought that, if the Keeper’s prediction were true, the hero would be a son or daughter of a prominent Altruite family. In our world, my family line is thought to be very prominent. Every move I made was being watched and, although we were able to hide you from them, getting rid of me would guarantee that they would never suspect you. Afterall, how could a dead woman that no one knew was pregnant have any children?” Margot got out of her chair and started pacing around the shelves of books, the tips of her fingers gliding over the leathery spines. “Sam, who you met earlier, is a dear friend and a brilliant man. He helped me formulate the plan.
“We would use the talents of everyone in our Harcava to fake my death, along with a big dose of mezmora. Your father, as you could imagine, was not fully supportive of faking my death. If the world believed I was dead, he would have to go through life without me by his side. I would be alive, of course, but in every aspect of living as a family, I would be gone. I think he knew that it was the best way, the only way, to save your life, so he eventually came around.” Margot stopped in front of a large picture of the Civic Opera House, something Jason didn’t notice hanging there previously. As if she was talking to the picture, she went on. “We needed the event to be a spectacle. We needed it to be highly visible, impossible to miss, and we needed it to be caught on tv. We also needed to ensure that we were in full control of the situation, from beginning to end.”
Margot walked back over to her seat and stood next to it, looking down at Jason. “Steve, or Officer Campbell, as you may know him, was to be the first responding officer to the scene. He would set up the roadblock and take command of the situation. Rachel, back when she was a new reporter for the local news, conveniently found herself just a few blocks from the building, and was able to get a perfect view of the roof. Actually, it was her reporting that night that set her on the fast track to an anchor position. The last of the group to arrive at the scene that night was Audrey. At the time, she was an EMT and, while no body was ever recovered, as the legend goes, we needed her there in case anything went wrong. And so, without causing any suspicion, four members of the Harcava were there, in plain sight, to help show the world that I died.”
“But how did you actually do it? How did you do the jump?” Jason was confused.
Margot smiled and sat back down in her chair. She crossed her legs, leaned forward, and said excitedly, “Bavooa.” She sank back into her chair, her smile wide, proud.
“What is Bavooa?” Jason tried repeating the word, exactly as he heard it.
“Bavooa is the name of a particular ability. Think of it like a projection of yourself, a clone even, but constructed entirely out of mezmora. It is by no means an easy ability, but it can be learned. Some of the greatest Altruites and Domenicians have mastered the ability of bavooa. For the weeks leading up to the gala, Sam worked with me on this particular skill. We knew it didn’t need to be perfect, but it had to be passable. The conditions were in our favor, it was dark out, bitterly cold, the roof was high and far away from the cameras and people…” Margot took a sip of her tea. “I never actually went out onto the roof. When I got out of the elevator, I ran over to a small janitorial closet where I stashed an outfit I could wear to sneak out. Once I changed out of my gown, I conjured up my bavooa. It looked identical to me, albeit, maybe a little glowy.”
“So, the footage from the roof isn’t really you?”
“Not at all. After I sent it up the stairs to the roof, I ran to the opposite wing of the building and down the stairs to Sandy and Arthur, who were waiting in a car a few blocks away. They drove me back to my house, where I grabbed an already packed bag, then jumped into a flash tunnel to my friend Renaud Robicheau’s home outside Paris. I planned to stay there until the news died down and to work with our French counterparts to create a tactical alliance of sorts.” Margot paused again, a rush of emotion flashing across her face. “Those were difficult days. I felt alone. I felt sad. I didn’t know if I did the right thing.” She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “Regardless, we pulled it off. We convinced the world that Margot Crawford was dead.”
