“We ran. We ran down through that rickety ruin of a mansion, tripping over seals and slipping in their scum. And then we ran out across the rocks. They were shooting at us before we reached the water — bullets, not fire. One of them hit me in the shoulder. I fell on the rocks and was knocked unconscious.
“Your father must have carried me, because when I came to, I was washing around in the bottom of our sinking boat — the frigid water had stopped my bleeding. The waves were pounding us through the jagged boneyard just off the cape, and the hull was cracked and cracking further. Cold water was rushing in. Your father was slumped over the wheel. He’d been shot in the back. More than once.
“I tried to reach him, but the hull was splitting fast, and the swell was towering. Before I reached him, we rolled beneath one final monstrous wave, the boat shattered, and I was left clinging to flotsam. Your father was gone.
“The boat flipped and sank not far from the cliff. The wash of the next wave slammed me up on the rocks, and I managed to grab on. Then I climbed.
“That night, while we were being chased, Skelton palmed the tooth. The next morning, knowing Phoenix would uncover his betrayal, he went on the run. If I had died, he would have felt no grief, no guilt at all. But your father, he loved. And that is the reason why you were there when his running ended, the reason why he made you his Acolytes and tried to leave you everything, the reason why he placed that tooth in your hands, Cyrus Smith. Your father died for it. And I will not be the one to take it from you.”
Cyrus bit his lip. His eyes were blurry. His hand was at his throat, gripping the sheath. Antigone’s thumbnail was bleeding. She still chewed, staring at the big man, the man who had taken her father to his death.
“He didn’t drown?” she asked quietly. “I always pictured him drowning, shivering in the water. I had dreams.”
Rupert shook his head. “He did not drown.”
Cyrus shut his eyes. He felt cold and sick in his stomach, hot and angry in his head. His pulse drummed in his temples.
“My mom,” Antigone said quietly. “She tried to swim out. In freezing water.”
Rupert lowered his head. “I know.”
“Dan pulled her out. She never woke up.”
Rupert nodded.
Cyrus jumped to his feet, wiping hot tears from his face, stepping forward. “You did nothing for us! Our dad saved your life. Two years and you never said anything! You never even told us what happened.”
“I did several things,” Rupert said quietly, “none of which make up for what you lost. I was the one who bought your California house. That money has kept you alive these two years.”
“Why didn’t you buy the motel?” Antigone said. “We hated the motel. That’s what we wanted to get rid of. We all cried when Dan sold the house.”
“It was better that you be closer to Ashtown. In violation of a number of protocols, I sent Eleanor Eldridge to inhabit the Archer Motel and protect you.”
“That didn’t work,” Antigone said coldly. “Now she’s dead, too.”
“Yes. And these hands will bury her.” Rupert’s jaw pumped. “I thought the Archer could provide for you. When it didn’t, I left what money I could for Daniel to find.”
“You came into the Archer?” Cyrus asked.
Rupert nodded. “It had belonged to Skelton — he used it as a club for his more rebellious understudies and recruits. He gave the motel to your parents when your father was first expelled. It was all they had. Your father gave me a key. Because of your mother, I had never used it.”
Antigone sat down. “Why didn’t you just tell us every thing?”
“Your father wanted you to know nothing about the O of B, and to have nothing to do with it. When I became a Keeper, I offered to bring Daniel in as my Acolyte. Lawrence nearly threw me through a window. Katie, your mother, hated me, too. To her, I was a traitor. I represented all that had been stolen from her husband as a result of his love for her. It was difficult for me to accept, but I honored it.”
“That’s really dumb,” Antigone muttered. “Our dad was dead, our mom was in a coma, and poor Dan, trying to take care of us. Forget what they wanted, you should have just done what you thought was best.”
Rupert Greeves met her eyes. “Miss Smith,” he said calmly. “That is exactly what I did. But now you are here, and many things have changed.”
Cyrus swallowed hard. “Why don’t you just take the tooth? I don’t want it.”
Rupert sighed and shook his head. “Maximilien is dead. Later, I will take you to the Brendan. He can decide the tooth’s fate.”
“The Brendan?” Cyrus asked. “Who is he? Where is he?”
“You will know soon enough.” He glanced at Antigone. “Today, the two of you should meet with tutors. Without Mrs. Eldridge, I am now your Keeper. I will train you both, but not in every field — I know too little myself. Nolan — when he shows his face again — is more than capable with languages.”
“Shows his face?” Cyrus asked. “What do you mean? How bad was he burned?”
Rupert smiled. “Nolan is fine. He peels quickly. But he hates hospitals and doctors, and he disappeared last night. I asked him to go on the run for a while — act like he stole something important.” He turned to Antigone. “Did Eleanor, Mrs. Eldridge, mention any available tutors?”
Antigone nodded. “Diana Boone, Llewellyn Douglas, somebody called Jax, you, and some others I don’t remember.” She looked at her brother, and then at the few retrieved papers and semicharred Latin books beside Cyrus’s jacket on the floor.
“That’s good enough for a start,” Rupert said, standing. He stiffened and cleared his throat. “Acolytes, your Keeper, Eleanor Elizabeth Eldridge, lies in the chapel, awaiting burial. We shall not all die, but we shall all be changed.” Stepping forward, he gripped Cyrus’s shoulder with one hand and Antigone’s with the other. Surprised, Cyrus began to twitch against the strong grip, but stopped himself when he saw the man’s face. Rupert’s eyes were soft with grief, his voice was a chant.
“Who brought us to birth? In whose arms shall we die? He that keeps us neither slumbers nor sleeps. He is the Keeper of souls.”
Rupert exhaled and looked from Cyrus to Antigone. “I owe a debt to your father. I will repay that debt to you.”
Dropping his hands, he ducked through the hole in the wall. The planks sighed beneath him as he left.
Cyrus looked at his sister. For the first time, he knew exactly how his father had died, and it made him feel raw, peeled like an orange. In his head, he could see Rupert Greeves in the truck. The last man to see his father smile? To hear his laugh? To see him move? No. That would be the men who’d shot him — the killers. Had any of them died in the Archer’s parking lot? He hoped so. And Mrs. Eldridge … she was really dead. All the way dead. Not coming back. Gone. He hadn’t liked her enough, hadn’t been kind enough to her, and that made it worse.
Antigone tucked back her short hair and squinted at him out of one eye. She obviously didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want her to cry.
“Should we go to the chapel?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “And then food. And then we’ll find that Douglas guy.”
Dennis Gilly sat on a thirteen-inch stone ledge, with his knees tucked tight beneath his chin. When the other porters were on break, they played cards in one of the porters’ closets. When Dennis was on break, he perched above the kitchen’s garbage stoop, staring at the lake.