"It must have been Tully who lit the fire at our house in Guerneville," Jeremy was explaining to Uriel, between healthy bites of pancakes and syrup. The night before, Father Dominguez had brought the youth home, insisting that he go directly to bed.
After seeing the young warlock embarked on much needed sleep, Father Dominguez had explained as much as he could and Danny had filled in a few pieces although the young ghost was, himself, strangely quiet and tended to disappear to look in on his sleeping friend.
The end result was that there were more than a few questions left open, waiting for Jeremy's recovery.
"I don't know for sure," Jeremy continued. "whether he was looking for me to get even by fighting me or whether he planned to start a fire. Maybe, since the door wasn't locked, he came in looking for me and, when he couldn't find me, decided to start the fire or what.
"Anyway, I guess he got caught in his own fire. That had to be him I saw inside but I didn't know ... until last night."
Jeremy worked on the pancakes while trying to sort the facts out. "I guess he became some kind of ghost, like Danny, but different. He's been dying in that fire for a week. No, longer.
"Any how, the last time he'd seen me was when I'd vanished his clothes. And I'd been scared and mad then. Danny says I ... ah ... taste different when I do it then. So, later, when the truck driver was ... well, when I vanished his clothes, Tully smelled it, just like Danny, and came running ... except that it took him longer and I'd already run away so he couldn't find me.
"Maybe he felt me when I tried to put the fire out, too. Maybe that's why he wanted me to help him. I don't really know. But he scared me. I could feel how much he hurt."
Jeremy was silent for a moment, pushing a piece of pancake around the plate.
"What about at the warehouse," Uriel prompted gently. "And the place where the arms were stored?"
"I was scared then too ... and mad ... both times." Jeremy considered. "But he was too late then too. I'd already gone. At the warehouse, I was already running as fast as I could and he couldn't find me. And at the arms stash, I'd blipped out so he couldn't find me then. I mean, when he did find me ... last night, when I wasn't running ... he didn't try to hurt me. He just wanted ... help ... even from me."
"Well, you did help him," Uriel reminded him.
"No," Jeremy corrected, "I didn't. I mean, I tried ... but I couldn't reach him. It was Danny. He's the one who took the fire away from Tully. I ... I thought Danny was burning and ..."
"I was," Danny admitted quietly. "I don' ever want'a do that again ... but he hurt so much ... I had to ..."
"An act of contrition," Jeremy remembered. "The penance Father Dominguez gave you."
"But that wasn' why ..." Danny protested. "He hurt ... I had to ..."
"I don't believe it matters why," Uriel suggested. "What matters is that you did ... I wish I could hug you, Danny. I'm very proud of you."
"So am I, Danny," the young warlock seconded.
"Uh ... but ... I ..." Nobody said anything as the ghost's voice trailed off.
"Flight 603 for the Grand Cayman Islands is now boarding first class passengers only," the flight attendant's voice announced.
If the stewardess found anything unusual in a priest flying first class - clergy tended to fly coach - she said nothing but showed him to the forward compartment where he took a seat across the aisle from a well-dressed young man who appeared relaxedly excited. "There's two who will be no trouble," she judged from a wealth of experience before turning to settle a mother / daughter pair who also looked happily relaxed. The fifth member of the group escaped her notice entirely and was already inspecting the cockpit - quite unnoticed by the pilot and co-pilot as well.
"Actually," as she told a co-worker a while later, "I wish all our passengers were as nice as these. You'd think they knew each other. It's like a party up front - the nice kind."
The driver from Caribe Limos was waiting when the four - or five - disembarked. Since they had no baggage - "Why bother with luggage?" the young man asked. "It just slows you down." - the four were passed through the terminal without hindrance. After all, nobody smuggles anything into a free port - unless it's in shipload quantities - and these were certainly not people likely to be found on the 'unwelcome' list.
The party's first stop was the Cayman Merlini. As the four entered, the young man thanked the driver in fluent Spanish, asking him graciously to return in two hours and suggesting that he have lunch while waiting. His suggestion was enforced with a gratuity which assured the driver that these tourists would be a pleasure to drive for ... regardless of what they asked for. Besides, was not one of them a priest.
Two hours later, it was the young man who was to be driven ... but who was accompanied by three hired guards who kept careful watch as the hotel concierge directed two bellmen carrying rather bulky - and obviously heavy - aluminum suitcases.
As the driver remembered quite well, the four had arrived without baggage - beyond two purses, but he said nothing. Not merely was he well paid for his services - and even better tipped - but there were also people who rewarded wagging tongues with a different variety of generosity.
"245 Camino Del Gato," the young man instructed as he entered the car. Two of the guards entered after him while a third took a seat up front by the driver - that much, at least, was reasonable and proper.
On the street of the cat, the address given was easily located if only because it occupied most of the block with a multi-story glass facade, broad doors standing open ... and its own armed guards, quite attentively waiting for their arrival.
In addition, a middle-aged gentleman approached as the limo stopped. The young man exited, quite thoroughly unconcerned with his escorts or his surroundings. "Seņor Reisenfen?" the waiting gentleman greeted the younger. "I am Jose Rodriguez, your servant." A brief gesture brought two others with a small cart, ready to manage the aluminum cases. Obviously, the young man was expected ... and welcome.
"Shall I wait, Don Reisenfen?" the driver inquired, according his passenger the title of hildalgo.
"If you would be so kind," the courtesy Don responded, again speaking in his easy if oddly accented Spanish.
The next day, the driver regretfully delivered his four passengers to the terminal as they left with as little luggage as they had arrived - despite the fact that he, personally, had carried several packages for them during their explorations of the city's markets.
It had been a most enjoyable afternoon. The priest and the young hildalgo both spoke fluent Spanish and haggled like natives before making any purchase. The younger lady had not spoken Spanish but, none the less, had entered into the game with relish and seemed to have an almost eerie knowledge of the actual lowest price the seller would accept. The older lady had bought little but had watched all with great amusement.
And then they had decided on dinner - there in the market, chatting happily with the owners of the various food stalls and acting not at all like typical norte tourists. Indeed - might the Mother of God, herself, bear witness to the truth of his statements - these tourists had even insisted that he join them ... treating him with cordiality and perfect equality.
His regret at their departure was quite genuine ... despite his grief having been assuaged quite generously and with genuine gratitude.
When Jeremy met the elder Mr. Blume at the airport, he was, himself, particularly grateful for the presence of both Ms. Geller and Father Dominguez, fearing that otherwise, his father might have wondered seriously about the young man's sanity.
Explanations were long and laborious ... as were Jeremy's plans for the future. But, as the older Mr. Blume noticed early, these were Jeremy's plans and were well considered and quite sound ... particularly under the present circumstances. After all, as the boy's father commented, in many societies, his son would already be considered an adult and expected to assume an adult's responsibilities ... as he had, indeed, already done.
"I'd imagine," he'd offered, "that it would smooth matters if I let it be known both that you are all right and, since the house burned, that you'll be returning to South America with me. I can have your school records copied and sent to me care of the company. As for the other loose ends, I think you've already tied up most of them very neatly.
"However, if you'll accept a poor father's advice?"
"Of course," he'd been assured by the younger man.
"Don't grow up too far ... or too fast ... Okay?"
"Okay," the younger Blume had agreed, for a moment, a very young man again.
Wall Street analysts puzzled as increasing West Coast demands for methadone sent pharmaceutical companies stocks soaring. The market was rife with rumors about large stashes of cocaine suddenly proving to be high-grade pharmaceutical sugar.
Two investment firms openly began subscribing to the U.S. Inquirer.
Wise investors bought early and cashed in before demands dropped as supplies of the 'real stuff' were brought in from other areas of the country.
Wiser investors bought and held on to stocks, profiting handsomely as the DEA, ATF, FBI and local agencies embarked on an unprecedented series of raids, significantly drying up supplies of drugs of all types, all over the country.
Coffin sales increased markly in certain Los Angeles neighborhoods, then steadied and dropped in following weeks. This trend was not, however, noted as significant by market analysts.
"If I may remind you," the Chancellor addressed the board room, "an endowment of four million dollars a year is not a pittance - even in these inflated times. The fact that there are conditions attached - even strange ones - are hardly grounds for refusal. After all, to endow a Chair, even for such an unusual subject as Theoretical Languages, and to include admittance specifications for certain courses does not prevent us from using the balance of the endowment for several other purposes."
"I don't care," one of the board members insisted. "I still say we're being bribed to conduct a special series of classes for a restricted enrollment. And it's paid though a Cayman Islands bank? That money could be coming from anywhere."
"I agree," the Chancellor responded. "But there is a price for everything. And we're being bribed to teach? That is the purpose of this institution, isn't it. If I recall the wording of our charter, I believe that is our purpose. Aside from it being a very handsome bribe."
"Also, I've taken the liberty of contacting Dr. Nordstrom at Oxford and he has expressed an interest in assuming the position. Thus, that part of the stipulations are easily met. Of course, the effects on the prestige of this institution, having Dr. Nordstrom on our faculty ..."
"I think Mom got the letter this morning." Jeanne mentioned, watching the glass of water turn back to ice as the heat left it. "Of course, she doesn't want to mention it until she and Dad have mulled it over but they'll go for it. I mean, what can they say? After I showed them my GED certificate, they could hardly tell me I needed to finish high school. So," she melted the ice again, drawing heat from the air in the room, "I guess we're all set for this fall."
"My man," Danny greeted the young warlock. "How was Bolivia?"
"You should know," the young man grinned. "You were there often enough."
"So," Uriel nodded. "You're ready for school to start?"
"Can' t wait. With Dr. Nordstrom's help, maybe we can finally have the words to talk about what we're doing ... or not doing. At any rate, we can't be worse off than we are right now. Hey, why's Danny suddenly talking up-town Harlem, anyway?"
"What do you want?" Uriel asked. "He's exploring his heritage. But, if you ask him, he'll be glad to switch to Jamaican. Besides, his accent's no worse than yours."
"I beg your pardon," Jeremy replied in the clipped, sing-song English of the Oxford-influenced accent spoken through half of India. "We do not speak with an accent. It is only those beastly colonials who are so improper."
"Ladies, gentlemen, Father. Welcome to Theoretical Languages 101." Professor Nordstrom looked over his star class - all five of them ... even if he could only see four.
... but it wasn't really the end of anything ...
... it was more like the beginning ...