Simon shook his head. “Barnes is undertaking a blood ritual in London to break the bonds of one of Pendragon’s wards. We don’t yet know what will emerge from the broken bonds, but the magical power involved is extraordinary. Pendragon’s inscription was pure Heliopolitan.”
Nick whistled. “Yeah, I heard he went in for that old Egyptian stuff. Never thought much of it myself. Too complicated. There’s always an easier way to get a job done.”
Simon leaned down and lifted a shovel. “Will you help me? I must determine whether my mother’s body is still present. If Barnes took it for some ritual reason, it will alter my approach to him.”
Nick continued to stare at Simon’s hard countenance. “Put that shovel down and stop acting like a bleeding laborer. I can commune with her.”
“No, Nick. I don’t want that. It’s necromancy.”
“I don’t care what you want. I won’t stand here while you dig up your own mother’s body when I can do my bit and touch her essence.” He started toward her grave.
“Nick, no.”
“Why not, Simon?” Kate asked. “If he can do it, let him.” Nick pointed to the tip of his nose and then at her as if telling Simon to listen to her. “And perhaps he can determine what information was given up, if any.”
Nick stood at the turned earth of the grave. “I can already tell you that she’s been deeply injured. She can’t move away.” He glanced over his shoulder and tapped the dirt with his foot. “I can help her.”
“But,” Simon argued, “communing with the dead is dark magic. I don’t want you to endure it. You said that saving me after the fight with Gretta made you mortal. Necromancy drains life, and if you have no way to restore it … I won’t be the cause of your moving closer to death.”
“Come off it. I’ve seen about all I care to see of this world anyhow.” Nick gave a crooked grin. “Look, she’s your mother. I won’t do it if you forbid it. But she’s down there alone and scared.”
Simon’s expression suddenly broke and his voice was a hard whisper of agony. “Do it.”
Nick took several deep breaths, staring down at the plot. He slowly dropped to his knees on the cold earth. He pressed the palms of his hands on top of the grave and closed his eyes. The dirt strangely gave way and Nick pushed until his forearms were buried.
Silent minutes passed. Simon waited on one knee, dark eyes locked on Nick. Kate stood near with a hand cupping the back of Simon’s head. The icy wind continued to howl, rippling his shirt. Kate draped his coat over his shoulder, but he didn’t respond. He stared at Nick.
The older magician blinked his eyes rapidly and moved his mouth as if his teeth were chattering from the cold, but that wasn’t the reason. His breathing altered from slow and steady to harsh. Nick grunted, causing Simon to tense, ready to come to his aid. Then Nick whimpered.
Simon started to rise, but froze in place, watching his friend drop forward until his forehead touched the dirt. Tortured groans escaped the man. Nick’s back stiffened, muscles rigid. Simon straddled the grave and seized Nick’s arms.
Suddenly it was a spring afternoon and Simon was surrounded by warmth. He smelled the pear trees that were blooming in the west garden as well as the hint of wet soil from a gentle rain. A soft breeze ruffled his hair. He felt the stones of the back walk under his shoes and the hard pommel of a fencing foil in his right hand. His knees betrayed the telltale soreness that came from hours of drills. Alone, without an opponent. Simon always preferred to practice alone, to master himself rather than compete with others. He turned from the green expanse of the garden toward the terrace.
There, his mother stood watching him. She was young and beautiful. She was slim, yet strong, with long dark hair that waved in the spring air. Her eyes shone with protective pride and a slight tinge of worry that was always present. She had never appeared carefree for a moment of her life, and Simon used to think she was waiting for him to trip, to fumble with each step. When he was young, he had found her expectations insulting, but only later did he realize she was merely worried that he had been born into a difficult situation that might come back to haunt them both. He came to feel sad for her and her inescapable pall. Simon lowered the foil. He desperately wanted to speak to her, but his throat locked with waves of emotion. He simply stared.
She reached up to her neck and pulled on a gold chain. The key appeared from her bodice and she held it up.
His mother said something that sounded like, “Morthul.”
The sound of her voice struck him like an epiphany. It had been so long since he had heard it, and had thought never to hear it again. All the years of her washed over him.
Then she smiled. It was a wide, exhausted smile of relief that showed in her eyes as well as her mouth. Simon had never seen her look so tranquil. She regarded him with a gratifying expression of hard-won confidence.
She turned and went back inside the house.