“Oh, yeah?” Call raised his eyebrows. “Take a good look at his face and say that again.”
Tamara studied Aaron for a long moment. Aaron was trapped in conversation with a skinny old mage in a pink suit, and his eyes looked glazed. “Fine. I know where we can go.” She dumped the plate Call had made her and grabbed hold of Aaron’s sleeve. He turned toward her in surprise and then shrugged helplessly at the adult talking to him as she dragged him away from the conversation and toward the house.
Call abandoned his half-finished food on a stone banister and hurried after them. Tamara gave him a brilliant, crazy grin as they pulled Aaron inside, Havoc trotting behind.
“Where are we going?” Aaron said.
“Come on.” Tamara led them through the house until they reached a library lined with richly bound books. Mullioned windows set with colored glass let in sparkling beams of light, and deep-red rugs covered the floor. Tamara crossed the room toward a massive fireplace. A stone urn stood at each side, carved out of multicolored agate. Each one had a word inscribed on it.
Tamara took hold of the first one and twisted it around so that the word faced them. Prima. She moved to the second urn and twisted it until the second word faced them as well. Materia.
Prima materia, Call knew, was an alchemical term. It meant the very first substance of the world, the substance that everything that wasn’t chaos — earth, air, fire, water, metal, and souls — came from.
A sharp click sounded, and a section of the wall swung open onto a well-lit stone hallway.
“Whoa,” Call said.
He wasn’t sure where he’d been expecting Tamara to take them — to her room, maybe, or to a quiet corner of the house. He hadn’t expected a secret door.
“When were you going to tell me about this?” Aaron said, turning to Tamara. “I’ve been living here for a month!”
Tamara looked delighted at having kept a secret from him. “I’m not supposed to show anyone. You’re lucky to be seeing it now, Makar.”
Aaron stuck his tongue out at her.
Tamara laughed and ducked into the hallway, reaching up to pull a torch down from the wall. It glowed a bright gold green and gave off a faint smell of sulfur. She set off down the corridor, pausing when she realized the boys weren’t right on her heels. She snapped her fingers, her curls swinging. “Come on,” she said. “Move it, slowpokes.”
They looked at each other, shrugged, and headed after her.
As they walked, Havoc huffing along after them, Call realized why the hallways were so narrow — they ran through the whole house like veins beside bone, so anyone in any of the public rooms could be spied upon. And at regular intervals there were small hatches that opened into what looked like air ducts, covered by ornate ironwork registers.
Call opened one and peered down into the kitchen, where the staff were making up fresh pitchers of rosewater lemonade and placing tiny squares of tuna onto individual leaves that rested on large glass platters. He opened another and saw Alex and Tamara’s sister cuddling on a sofette beside two brass statues of greyhounds. As he watched, Alex leaned in and kissed Kimiya.
“What are you doing?” Tamara called back, under her breath.
“Nothing!” Call slid the hatch closed. He went a little farther without succumbing to temptation but paused when he heard Tamara’s parents. As he paused, he heard Mrs. Rajavi say something about the guests at the party. Call knew he should follow Tamara, but he itched to eavesdrop.
Aaron stopped and turned to look at Call. Call made a beckoning gesture and Aaron and Tamara joined him at the hatch. Aaron slid it open quietly with nimble fingers and they all peered down.
“We probably shouldn’t …,” Tamara began, but curiosity seemed to overcome her objections partway through her sentence. Call wondered how often she did this by herself and what secrets she’d learned that way.
Tamara’s mother and father were standing in their study, a mahogany table between them. On it was a chess set, though Call didn’t see the usual knights, rooks, and pawns; instead there were shapes he didn’t recognize.
“— Anastasia, of course,” Mr. Rajavi finished. They’d come in in the middle of his sentence.
Mrs. Rajavi nodded. “Of course.” She picked up an empty glass sitting on a silver tray, and, as they watched, it filled itself with some pale liquid. “I just wish there was a way not to invite the deWinters to these things. That family believes that if they pretend long enough it’s still the glory days of magical enterprise, maybe no one will notice how threadbare their clothing or their conversation has become. Thank goodness Tamara cooled on their son once school began.”
Mr. Rajavi snorted. “The deWinters still have friends on the Assembly. It wouldn’t do to put them off entirely.”
Aaron looked disappointed that they were just gossiping, but Call was delighted. Tamara’s parents were awesome, he decided. Anyone who wanted to keep Jasper out of a party was A-OK by him.
Mrs. Rajavi made a face. “They’re clearly trying to throw their youngest son into the path of the Makar. Probably hoping that if they become friends, some of the glory will rub off on him, and their family by extension.”
“From what Tamara has said, Jasper has failed to endear himself to Aaron,” said Mr. Rajavi drily. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, dear. Tamara is the one in Aaron’s apprentice group, not Jasper.”
“And Callum Hunt, of course.” Tamara’s mother took a sip from her glass. “What do you think of him?”
“He resembles his father.” Mr. Rajavi frowned. “Unfortunate about Alastair Hunt. He was a promising metal mage when he studied under Master Rufus.”
Call froze. Aaron and Tamara were both looking at him with apprehensive expressions as Mr. Rajavi went on.
“He was driven mad by the death of his wife in the Cold Massacre, they say. Putters about not using magic, wasting his life. Still, there’s no reason not to extend a welcome to his son. Master Rufus must have seen something in him if he chose him as an apprentice.”
Call felt Tamara’s hand on his arm, pulling him away from the hatch. Aaron closed it behind them and they moved on down the hall, Call with his fingers tangled in Havoc’s ruff for reassurance. His stomach felt a little hollow, and he was relieved when they came to a narrow door, which opened silently into what looked like another study.
The gold-green light of the torch showed big comfortable couches in the center of the room, a coffee table, and a desk. Along one wall was a bookshelf, but the tomes here weren’t the beautifully bound and curated volumes Call had seen in the library. These looked older, dustier and more worn. A few spines were ripped. Some were just manuscripts, tied with stained string.
“What’s this place for?” Call asked as Havoc jumped up on one of the couches, circling a few times before dropping into a napping position.
“Secret meetings,” Tamara said, her eyes sparkling. “My parents don’t think I know about it, but I do. There are books about dangerous magical techniques in here, and all sorts of records dating back years. There used to be a time when mages were allowed to make money off magic, when they had huge businesses. Then they passed the Enterprise Laws. You weren’t allowed to use your magic to make money in the normal world anymore. Some families lost everything.”