The Chalice of Immortality by Erica Kirov Page A

refreshed!”
    Lady Daphne led them into the kitchen of the bed and breakfast. A long wooden table of knotted pine stood near an immense fireplace with a crackling fire, its flames licking large logs. Above the fire hung a bubbling cauldron. Nick tried to avoid staring. Was Lady Daphne a witch?
    She caught him looking and seemed to read his mind. “No, I am not a witch, you little rascal. It is my world-famous English beef stew with suet dumplings.”
    â€œSuet? What’s that?” Nick’s stomach growled with hunger.
    â€œWhy, it’s raw beef fat.”
    Nick’s stomach flip-flopped.
    â€œOr sometimes mutton fat. It’s the best fat too, the hard fat surrounding the kidneys . My goodness, my mouth is watering just thinking about it.”
    Nick wanted to throw up! What was it about Magickeepers and really gross food? “So you make dumplings …out of fat? ”
    â€œOne bite and you’ll be a convert, lad. Now, sit down for tea.”
    Lady Daphne prepared the table with a dainty porcelain sugar bowl containing perfect cubes of sugar, a small pitcher of thick cream, and teacups painted with portraits of famous Magickeepers.
    As she set cups in front of each of them, she began, “Now to be sure, I have no idea what Harry Houdini may have had to do with the chalice, or what Sir Arthur Conan Doyle might have done with the chalice, for that matter. But I can tell you about the fairies.”
    â€œFairies?” Isabella said, exchanging a look with Nick that said, Even for a Magickeeper, Lady Daphne is a bit crazy.
    â€œYes. Fairies. Two little girls—Elsie and Frances—took photographs of fairies in their garden. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was absolutely convinced that they were real. And Harry Houdini was absolutely convinced they were a hoax. Though Houdini and Doyle had been friends, they had a falling out. A real row, from what I’ve heard.”
    â€œWere the fairies real?” Nick asked.
    Theo laughed.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNow you’re going to tell me you believe in fairies? Little creatures with wings?” He playfully slammed his hand on the table and chortled.
    Nick furrowed his brow. “Theo…since I came to live with you, I’ve seen tame polar bears in a swimming pool, Shadowkeepers disappearing into oil slicks, snow falling in the desert, and a sinkhole swallowing an entire building—and just now, I watched Isabella tame a pack of wild wolves. Fairies? Why not?”
    â€œWell, ducky,” Lady Daphne clucked, “the fairies were not real, I’m afraid. They were a hoax. But the falling out? That was real. Go to Surrey, the home of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Follow the chalice there.”
    They drank their tea, which Nick decided had the taste of honey…and oranges…and mint mixed with cream…and something magical that tickled his tongue. Then they went up to their suite. Isabella had the small bedroom, which was an explosion of tiny roses on wallpaper—even the ceiling had roses. Nick, Boris, and Theo took the larger bedroom, in which the theme appeared to be blue stripes.
    Nick slept on a striped couch. Boris snored all night long. And it wasn’t just snoring—it was a loud sound like a buzz saw that kept Nick up all night. He tried putting a pillow over his head. He even considered putting a pillow over Boris’s head, but he knew he’d be taking his life in his hands if he did. Finally, near dawn, Nick slept for what seemed like ten minutes.
    But Lady Daphne’s tea must have worked, because the next day, Nick wasn’t even tired. By midmorning, he and his three companions stood on the lawn of Undershaw Estate.
    â€œIt’s kind of sad-looking,” Isabella said.
    Nick nodded. The house had once been a hotel, but now it had fallen on hard times. The grasses surrounding it had grown long—they almost looked like wheat fields, and they rustled in the breeze.
    Theo cast a