Chp. 3
Making our way back to the front door of the mansion was difficult once people began to recognize me. They swarmed around Ivy and me cheering, offering us beer and other beverages, radically slowing our progress towards the entrance. I started to panic a little; the entire high school seemed to be in our way, but Ivy was masterful at deflecting their attempts to stop us completely. Somehow without being rude, she managed to pull me through the crowd, passed friends, acquaintances, and people I didn’t even recognize, only slowing when we made our way into the line of people waiting to get inside the mansion. Toby would have been proud.
The inside of the enormous Queen Ann style manse was truly amazing. Built in England and brought stone by stone to America before the civil war began, it was elegant beyond telling and was rumored to have over seventy rooms. Huge, twin marble staircases wide enough for Toby to drive his vintage truck up, elevated from either side of the large foyer to a second floor landing where a string quartet stood playing something that I couldn’t hear over the noise of the crowd inside. An incredibly big, glittering, crystal chandelier hung from the domed ceiling above a huge, beautifully carved marble statue of a satyr playing a flute.
We pushed our way through the amazing foyer, past groups of teenagers talking and laughing, avoided servants buzzing around like bees as they offered sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres to Brianna’s guests, and finally made our way into a colossal room lined with red streaked stone columns.
Throngs of excited teen-agers were gathering around a gear filled stage at one end of the room. Others stood in large and small groups on the shining marble floor in anticipation.
From a door behind the makeshift stage a DJ emerged only moments after we entered the room and shouted out to the crowd gathered inside.
“Ready to get this party started?”
A raucous cheer went up echoing through the cavernous room.
Across the frescoed ceiling small chandeliers identical to the one in the foyer suddenly dimmed and laser beams started swirling through the room in time to thumping rap music.
Ivy continued to pull me through the cheering crowd to its center, where we found my enormous friend swirling around with a grace uncharacteristic of his massive bulk. Carla had stored her nerd glasses and was rocking out with him.
“We’re going to find someplace quieter!” Ivy shouted up at Toby, not letting go of my hand. She had to repeat herself several times before he nodded, then spun a few times and did a leg kick ala Michael Jackson. Despite the pressing, jostling crowd around me I couldn’t help but laugh as Toby hammed it up.
Ivy pulled me through the crowd again, searching for an exit. After a few claustrophobic minutes she found a pair of tall, paneled doors and turning the handle pulled me inside.
“I hate that music,” Ivy said, locking the door then rubbing her ears. She was obviously relieved that the thick door and walls muted the driving bass.
“I don’t know,” I grinned, relieved to be out of the crowd. “JZ isn’t that bad.”
The room we fled into was an ornate study of some kind. It was much, much smaller than the room we exited, but still mind bogglingly large. The walls on either side of the rectangular room were lined with bookshelves that reached all the way up to the ceiling, twenty feet or more above the floor. I was shocked by the amazing wealth displayed before us. Thousand upon thousands of old leather bound tomes packed the rich, cherry bookshelves.
“Wow!” Ivy gasped. She loved books. The room must have been like heaven on earth to her.
“You can say that again!” I breathed taking it all in.
At the far end of the room, a large fire blazed in a massive stone hearth lighting the study in flickering gold. Two medieval suits of armor stood poised on either side of the door we’d just entered, the polished metal reflecting the light and heat of the fire.
“I had hoped this would be my refuge tonight,” came a tired, ancient male voice from one of four high-backed, leather chairs facing the fire. It was then that I noticed the smell of chocolate-laced pipe smoke.
“Sorry to intrude…” I winced by way of apology.
“We were just trying to escape the crowd,” Ivy added as we shot each other a resigned look and turned to brave the pounding music and crowd once more.
“With good reason, Ivy,” the old voice chortled. “Come sit with me, Jake.”
Chills shot down my spine, and my throat suddenly felt dry. Ivy grabbed my hand in a death grip as we turned back towards the voice. She leaned nearer to me and breathed.
“He knows us?”
“Brianna’s father?”
“I don’t think so,” Ivy whispered grabbing my arm tighter.
“Come children, you’ve nothing to fear. Humor an old man,” the raspy voice continued.
I stepped in front of Ivy and steeling my nerves, began walking towards the chairs. For her part, Ivy stayed close to my back, peering around my shoulder.
“No time like the present,” the ancient voice giggled.
With each step towards the fireplace I felt my anxiety build. My heart started racing faster and it became harder and harder to breathe. I tried to calm myself, going through my ritual to fight panic attacks and told myself I was being silly. So what if an old man knew my name, Ivy’s name. There was probably some simple explanation.
I drew in a deep breath as we stepped between the chairs to face the owner of the voice.
Smiling up at me was the oldest man I’d ever seen. Wispy, sparse white hair flowed down around a pale winkled face unto the front of his food stained, blue robe. Piercing blue eyes, rheumy and wet with age regarded me with an intelligence that was at odds with his childlike smile.
“Finally,” he snickered.
His toothy grin widened and with an effort, he raised his arm and held out his right hand out to me.
I tentatively stepped forward and reached out to shake his trembling hand. I could hear Ivy suck in her breath, still pressed against my back as I put my hand in his soft, frail grasp.
The panic attack I’d barely been holding in check suddenly slammed through me like a tidal wave. Disoriented, I did my best to continue the shake, and tried to take a breath, but my lungs wouldn’t respond. The desire get away shook me to the core of my being and I let go of the old man’s hand, staggering back. The world spun around me as my heart hammered loudly, faster and faster.
“You’d better get him to a seat, young lady,” the old man sniggered. “I believe he’s going to faint.”
I heard his words as if from the far end of a tunnel. I needed to run, to escape, but my feet had turned leaden. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Black spots swam before my vision.
Somehow Ivy got me into one of the other chairs.
“What did you do to him?” she cried out.
“Just gave him his birthright, dear Ivy,” the old man said, controlling his giggling long enough to answer her. Then everything went from gray to black.
I woke up covered in sweat. The heat from the fire in front of me had made my clothing uncomfortably hot. Bringing a trembling hand to my face I wiped the sweat from my forehead and leaned forward in the chair. Taking a deep breath, I rocked forward out of the chair and got to my feet completely and utterly embarrassed.
“Jake!”
My ribs protested in agony as she suddenly pressed against me tightly, but it helped to clear my mind. I hadn’t passed out from an anxiety attack in over a year. The after effects of all that adrenaline made me feel weak and wobbly.
“Sorry, Ivy,” I whispered, returning her embrace.
“You’re sorry?” she asked, as if perplexed by my apology.
“Yeah, I had a bad attack and…”
“No Jake, “ she breathed, “it wasn’t a panic attack, he did something to you!”
“What? No, Ivy,” I shook my head, “Just a wicked panic attack...”
“Your birthright,” the old man interrupted pulling my attention bac
k to him.
“Excuse me?”
Ivy saw me staring and stepped back.
“This is Sir James Nisbet. He’s an…”
“Immortal,” supplied the old man with a grin, “or rather, I was until a few minutes ago.”
I shook my head in confusion. It was one of the craziest things I’d ever heard, and it wasn’t the greatest thing to experience after having an anxiety attack.
“Ivy… what gives?”
“I can’t explain it Jake…” Ivy said looking into my eyes.
Whatever was going on I could tell Ivy believed it, which while not totally out of character, was still hard to understand.
“I can… youngster,” wheezed the ancient man, his breath ragged and much weaker than it had been before I passed out.
Ivy pulled me over to his chair and knelt beside him. This was too weird for me, but seeing as how I’d just made a complete fool of myself, I reluctantly went along with it and knelt beside her.
His blue eyes regarded me warmly.
“I’ve waited such a long, long time… to give you this birthright, Jake.” He breathed with difficulty and took a long drag from his ornate pipe. “You might say… I’ve only been holding it for you.”
The fire behind me popped loudly, startling my already frayed nerves.
“What birthright?”
“Why your immortality of course! Aren’t you listening?” said the old man, his eyes dancing merrily.
I stared at him dumbfounded.
“My immortality?”
“That’s what I said, child. You... young people don’t listen well at all,” he laughed, then coughed deeply. His breathing stopped for a moment, but then continued laboriously. “I don’t have much time, so listen more closely, if possible.”
“You think… I’m immortal? As in I can’t die?” I smiled rocking back on my heels.
“Quiet Jake!” Ivy hushed.
“Oh you can die my boy, in fact, if you live out the year... it will be a miracle,” he said and took a deep pull on his pipe. “We are all immortal beings, Jake, we don’t fade into nothingness when we die, but that’s a long lecture I have no time for. Your immortality is different however; you won’t get any older, if you don’t want to that is, you will never get sick, and you will most likely heal from anything that doesn’t kill you outright.”
“Ok then…” I said, getting back to my feet. “You don’t look so well, Mr. Nisbet. Is there someone we can call to…”
“Silence boy!” the old man growled, coughing. “If you don’t hear what I have to say, you won’t stand a chance.”
I took a deep breath and just nodded, too shaken from my anxiety attack to argue. It wouldn’t hurt me any to pacify the crazy old man; he obviously wasn’t fully sane.
“Your immortality comes… with gifts,” he spoke haltingly, each word an effort, “What they will be for each new immortal is uncertain. I can’t tell you what yours will be Jake. You will discover some of the gifts over time, and choose others. You must choose carefully; any you deny will be lost to you forever. Above all you must leave behind your disbelief, it will get you killed, or pulled unwittingly into evil.”
I did my best not to sigh out loud as I listened. Being asked to believe in something utterly unbelievable was ridiculous enough without the death threat.
“There are ten immortals at all times, at least… on our side there are,” he continued. “If one is killed, another is born. The other side can make theirs, so their numbers are nearly limitless, but enough about them. Ivy’s mother can tell you about...”
“My mother?” Ivy Interrupted. “What does my mother have to do with it?”
The old man drew a reluctant, ragged breath and rolled his eyes, “Well, perhaps you should ask her young magi. Where was I…” he paused for another pull of his pipe. “Yes, yes… you are one of the ten now. ‘The Ten’ battle the forces of evil and balance creation. Watch your back, Jake, because evil will come for you now that your birthright is upon you. It will be drawn to you like a moth to flame. Not all will be as it seems. Be wary and constantly vigilant. Trust completely only those worthy of your trust.”
I nodded down to him, wondering if we should call him an ambulance. He had obviously lost it.
“I’m so… tired,” he said, struggling to get another breath into his failing lungs. Giving up the effort, he smiled up at me. “Good luck, Immortal.”
I started to respond, but he had stopped breathing. I stared down in shock as the spark of life left his eyes.
Neither of us moved for several minutes. I’d never seen anyone die before in real life and didn’t know what to do. I thought about trying to revive him but something told me it wouldn’t work. Not knowing what else to do, I tentatively reached forward to close his eyes. My trembling hand was halfway there when I noticed that he seemed to be glowing despite the bright light from the fire behind me. I pulled my hand back and involuntarily gasped as the old man’s body shimmered brighter and brighter blue.
“Ivy!” I shouted, pulling her to her feet and away from his chair. With a brilliant blue flash the old man’s body collapsed in on itself in a puff of white sparks. The pipe dropped onto the leather chair. Of the old man, nothing remained.
Ivy and I just stood gawking at the empty chair. I was in utter shock. Had that really just happened?
I was looking around trying to figure out where he’d gone when Ivy stepped forward and picked the pipe up off of the chair.
“Don’t…” I groaned.
Ivy turned and offered me the pipe, her slender hands shaking slightly.
“Take it.”
“No way!”
“It’s yours now.”
I can’t say why I took it from her. Maybe I wanted proof that what I’d seen really had happened. All I know is that one minute I was holding the old man’s pipe and the next I was coursing with adrenaline again and running in panic, fleeing from the insanity of the room.
I don’t remember much about leaving the party and I can’t say how long I’d been running when I started coming to my senses. I was numb, concentrating on my breathing and the steady pounding of my feet. A part of my mind wondered at how quickly the soreness from the football game faded from my muscles, but I reasoned it as a side effect of the endorphin high that running gave me.
I felt my cell phone buzzing in my pocket occasionally, but I ignored it. The cool night air felt good on my face. I jogged down unfamiliar streets until one of them joined up with a street I knew. I corrected my course and ran for home.