Unmaking Percy

Part II - III (The Hushing Manor)

He stumbled out of the music room, still recovering from that music-elephant that had crushed him in the past hours, and dragging his bewilderment behind him. How could he have been kept there for so long without even realizing it?

He took the first lit candelabra that reached his hand, too tired now to fret over whether or not it might be a cursed footman, and what he might exactly be grabbing were that the case. He wavered along the corridors of the silent house, hesitating at each turn, each door, each set of stairs, until a growing sense of panic took hold of him, lifted him up by his collar, and hurried him along the hallways. At times, he glanced behind him to ensure he wasn't followed, but the house had a ruthless stillness to it.

He reached at last a corridor that was mercifully stripped clean of the golden ornamentation that crawled over every other room. He was certain he was nearing the kitchens. At the third plain wooden door he tried, he found it. It was large, well-equipped, and deserted. Opposite of where he stood, half-hidden behind a tall glass cupboard with rows of crockery, was the small backdoor Myrtle had spoken of. He rushed to it, and noticed with exhausted relief that the key was in the lock. All he had to do was turn it.

As soon as he stepped outside, he waved the lit candelabra to frighten away the darkness of the garden. The night air felt almost brutally cold and fresh compared to the stuffy interior of the house; he was thankful for it.

He waited impatiently by the open door, wondering if his friends might have grown tired of waiting and decided to leave. It was not merely a possibility in his mind; in his mind, it had already happened. His anxieties and fears did not need to make sense: they did not, in fact, ever need to do anything at all to persuade him into believing them. He awarded them endless privileges, and allowed them to visit at any moment, with no warning, no reason, and no end in sight.

He was just standing there like a fool, waving a candelabra at an empty garden.

"Percy! Why the hell did you take so long?"

At any other moment, he would have creased and crumpled at the recrimination in Valeria's voice. As it was, he felt his body ease and thaw with that familiar sound. He watched them as they emerged from their hiding place, edging along the shadows until they reached the kitchen door.

"Listen, I was held up – it's hard to explain how exactly, but I was..."

Evans stepped towards him, with his copper hair set ablaze by the street lamplights. Halfway through the kitchen door and Percy's scattered thoughts, Evans spread his arms and plunged Percy in them. He held him tightly against his chest for a moment. Percy was shorter and scrawnier: all of him, limbs and vision and mind, was folded into that embrace. For a second, he wondered where he was; for a shorter second, he wondered if he could stay. The smoke that had risen within him earlier now scattered in Evans' whisper.

"Thank you."

There was a sincerity to his voice that frightened Percy. He had been taught to mistrust unashamed nakedness, for fear it might undress him too. He quickly slipped away from Evans and retreated into the kitchen. His thoughts lagged behind, and he cursed them for not catching up with his body as promptly as they should.

Once they were all gathered in the kitchen, Valeria took the candelabra from his hand. She held it up and took his chin on her free hand, inspecting his face with a practiced frown. She then lifted his right arm, then his left arm, and turned his head to each side.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for any injuries you might have got and which you are bravely not telling us about."