The Face in the House

21

Teddy helped Malcolm carry Owen's body through the kitchen and down the steps to the basement. It was slow, clumsy work. She was surprised by how heavy he was, despite being so thin.

Dead weight, Teddy thought, then scolded herself. She wanted to throw up.

She worried that this was somehow her fault, but she scolded herself for that thought too. A boy was dead, and she felt like throwing a pity party for herself.

When they reached the basement, Poole was already in his lab, tinkering with bottles and instruments. He looked up at them when they reached the landing.

"Place the body here," Poole said, his voice clinical, without warmth. A scientist at work.

They placed Owen on the floor as directed, as gently as they could manage.

Poole produced a vial of amber-colored liquid, it glowed in the candlelight. He strode over the where Owen lay and bent to observe him. As the butler poked and prodded at the body, Teddy felt Malcolm stiffen beside her.

Looking at Malcolm made her want to cry, so she tried not to look at him. It made her hate herself. But the pain on his face looked a little too familiar to her, took her back to a place she never wanted to go again. Again, she scolded herself for her selfishness. She took a deep breath and took Malcolm's hand.

"Cause of death?" Poole asked.

"I'm not sure, but he's . . . sick," Malcolm sputtered. "Er, he was. He's in remission, uh, from leukemia."

Poole shook his head, observing the body. "That is not ideal," he said.

Malcolm said nothing. Teddy held her breath to stop herself from cursing at Poole.

"You say you know me," Poole continued in that same even voice.

Malcolm gulped. "I know you lived hundreds of years ago. I know you made the spider live forever. I know you were working on the Philosopher's Sto—"

"I see," Poole cut him off. "So you know what you ask of me?"

Malcolm nodded. "Bring him back. Please."

"So you must know that he will be like me," Poole said, darkness washing over his face. "Not quite alive, but a soul freed."

Teddy saw the boy nod from the corner of her eye, but she wasn't convinced he understood the complexity of the concept. She wasn't confident she quite understood it, either.

"Malcolm," Poole said, and Teddy felt the boy flinch at the sound of his name. "Your brother will not be able to leave this house."

The boy ripped his hand out of hers and turned to face the wall, his hands covering his face. He hissed in a panicked breath.

"It is your choice—"

"There's got to be another way!" Malcolm shouted, cutting Poole off. He approached the butler with angry confidence, his shoulders squared, his finger pointing. "You're telling me you haven't . . . discovered anything in the last two hundred years?" He gestured wildly to the cluttered laboratory.

Teddy watched Poole face for any sign of anger, but his face remained calm. He watched, listened to Malcolm with a patience she had never seen in him.

Poole walked back behind his desk and shuffled through his papers, looking for something. When he found what he was looking for, he looked Malcolm in the eye, stared at him for a long time.

"There may be something I can try," he said carefully. "But I cannot promise you it will work."

Teddy's heart pounded. She suddenly felt like she was intruding on a private conversation, but she couldn't bring herself to move her feet.