Page 51 of The Grip of Death
I nodded, forcing a small smile. “They’ve spoiled me enough as it is.”
Whitby twittered, an odd sound I never recalled hearing from him before. “Jackson? I just ran some searches through my archives. They must have been buried under the blast. There appears to be all this footage of your parents working at their workshop, back in the Halls of Making. Dozens and dozens of files. Hundreds of hours, if I’m not mistaken.”
I blinked, heart thumping in anticipation. “So it’s just footage of them doing artificing stuff?”
“Correct. This must have been from far before the accident, but there’s plenty of it. Look at this.”
A beam of light emanated from Whitby’s crystal as he projected a wavering image on the far wall. It was one of the original workshops, back in the days of the old guild. Dad sat at his workbench with his perpetually mussed hair, scratching the side of his head with a pencil as he stared blankly at his schematics. Mom sat on the opposite end of the table, gazing out into space while absently munching on some crackers.
“It seems like awfully unexciting stuff,” Whitby said, “but I can tuck it away into long-term storage for you. Maybe edit together some highlights?”
“Yes,” Lore offered softly. “Like Dominique and Sable. I can help. It’ll be our favorite show.”
“No,” I breathed. “Keep it all just the way it is. It’s perfect.”
One final gift from the Prydes. It was all I ever wanted, to have a little more time with my parents. Just silly, ordinary slices from everyday life. Whitby’s projection flickered. Succumbing to boredom, Dad wadded up a ball of paper and tossed it at Mom’s head. She glowered, then laughed, then tossed it right back in his face.
I buried my face in my fists and bawled like a baby.
Xander was kind enough to let me weep for a few more minutes, then gently reminded me that we had an appointment to keep.
“Right,” I said, wiping at my eyes. “Guildhall. Gods, I wish we didn’t have to do this.”
“It’s called Guildhall for a reason, Jack. It’s where you go to officially become guild master.”
Everything we’d worked for, it had all come to this. The Halls of Making needed a new leader. Fine. Well and good. I could put on my big boy shoes and be a grownup for one afternoon.
Actually, those Hermes shoes Hecate gave us were pretty nice. Xander and I put on our matching white sneakers, which went well with my nice slacks and that one nice button-up shirt I owned. Whitby zipped out the front door to follow us, then Lore, too. Lore locked up, leaving a fraction of his consciousness at home for the security system.
And with all four of us complete, our odd little crystalline family, we marched off to Guildhall.
I wasn’t expecting the roaring applause and all the cheering in the waiting room. Our buddies!
“Xander,” I whispered, quaking from every congratulatory pat on the back. “Did you arrange this behind my back?”
He winked as he pushed me right into the room. Preston, Beatrice, Sedgewick, Niko, Reza, Kaoru, Vikhyat, Lobelia, Irina, Giuseppe, hell, even Madame Hecate Grayhaven had shown up to witness my dubious ascension. It would be so painless, too,or so Eleanor Grouse explained. There was just a sheet of paper with a line I needed to sign.
“Now, traditionally,” she said, “a guild master uses their first name after the title. Makes them seem friendlier, I think, and more approachable to their apprentices. That’s the custom, but we won’t hold you to it. How would you like to be addressed?”
I’d given this plenty of thought. Guild leadership at the Halls of Making, it wasn’t just about me. It was about what we’d all done together, my friends and I, but especially my family. This was our legacy. I would live my life by my parents’ example, embodying the pride of the Prydes.
“Master Pryde will do just fine,” I finally said.
Eleanor Grouse smiled her rare smile. “Sign here.”
And so I did. The room went wild. Eleanor Grouse groused. Xander beamed, unable to contain his pride for his Pryde.
He tugged gently on my collar, smoothing out the creases in my shirt. “I don’t know about this Master Pryde nonsense. You’ll always be Agent Rock Hardman to me.”
“And you’re Agent Skunk Baby. Remember?”
Xander laughed and shook his head fondly. “You got me there. I’m glad I married you. You and all your quirks. You and your silly little games.”
“We’ll be playing even more of them together. You’re stuck with me forever, Alexander.”
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He raised his hand, pressing his palm again mine. With our fingers interlocked, it was a perfect fit, two pieces of the same puzzle.
