Zachary’s Day Out #7
“When I met you,” he said, “first at school and then when you moved here, you weren’t that different from him. Except, I suppose, you couldn’t yet grow the mustache.”
“I am a bit jealous of the mustache,” Alastair admitted.
“Do not grow a mustache,” Thomas said doggedly. “My point is, you were like Zachary is. You said it yourself.”
“Demanding?” Alastair said wryly. “Supercilious?”
“Defensive,” said Thomas. “That’s what I saw, after a while—that all of your bluster and hardness was to defend yourself.
Against the world, against your father. But I started to see through that to the boy you really were within yourself, who wanted desperately to love and to be loved.
Even though you’d grown up too fast. Because your father didn’t want to deal with a child, so you tried to make yourself an adult.
What you said to Zachary before, about it being terrible to miss those years—I know you missed them.
And it’s your love for Zachary that makes you not want that for him.
Tell him you love him, all right? Even if he drives you mad. ”
Alastair’s look had softened. He leaned in and kissed Thomas. Thomas let himself fall into the kiss for a long moment, feeling the warmth of Alastair’s mouth against his, the flutter of his eyelashes against Thomas’s cheek.
Reluctantly, after a moment, Alastair pulled away. “We’d better go find him.”
“Wherever he might have gone this time,” said Thomas.
Alastair nodded slowly. “I think I know.”
—
“You see?” Alastair said. “I was right.”
A ten-minute walk or so had brought them to Trafalgar Square.
It was crowded as always, a combination of tourists come to see Nelson’s Column, lawyers and bankers cutting across the pavement with resolute impatience, and small children running about.
A few older mundanes sat on the benches scattered here and there, resting or watching the crowds.
One of them was selling bags of birdseed for tuppence each, and Thomas wondered who on earth would want to attract more pigeons to the square than the estimated ten thousand already present, but he bought a bag of birdseed from the ragged, hungry-looking seller anyway, and stuffed it in his pocket.
“We came here with Zachary the last time Mother was in town,” Alastair explained as they crossed Charing Cross Road, “and that was all he wanted to do.”
Thomas followed Alastair’s gesture to the nearest of the four massive stone lions that were placed at the cardinal points around Nelson’s Column.
Zachary, hat atop his head, was perched on top of the lion.
He had acquired a newspaper somewhere, and was pretending to read it, the umbrella tucked under his arm.
“Mother wouldn’t let him,” Alastair said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have, either; this was before he could walk. I’m still not sure it would be a good idea at his, er, usual size.”
They approached with caution, not wanting to spook Zachary.
Around the lion he was sitting on were a few irritated-looking mothers and nannies and their young charges, waiting their turn.
Thomas led Alastair through them, “pardon me”-ing his way.
He could hardly blame Zachary. He remembered that he’d loved to sit on top of the lions himself when he was not much older.
As they got close, Thomas could hear that Zachary was emitting an ongoing stream of “Hm!” and “I say!” and “Dear, dear, things these days” as he turned the pages. Thomas thought of Alastair reading the morning paper; he tried to hide his smile.
One of the nannies was lecturing Zachary, who was ignoring her. “You’ve been up there quite long enough! It’s Teddie’s turn!”
“No, it isn’t,” Zachary said.
Alastair pushed closer to the lion. “Zachary!” he called up to his brother.
Zachary peered down at him. “Go away!” he said shortly, and returned to his newspaper.
“Zachary,” Alastair tried again, “you’ve had your turn. It’s time for some of these other children to have theirs.”
“Never!” Zachary cried. “I live here now. It is my home address!” He waved a free hand at the column. Thomas frowned as he noticed that the sun was starting to set in the distance, the sky darkening to cobalt. Sunset was coming.
Alastair opened his mouth to shout back; Thomas put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “You have to go up there,” he said. “We won’t get anywhere, both of you yelling like this.”
Alastair sighed. “I’m going to bring him down,” he told the annoyed nanny, and then swung his way up onto the lion himself. Thomas thought he probably should have done so in a less acrobatic, Shadowhunter way, but he understood time was of the essence.
Alastair sat across from Zachary on top of the lion; Zachary gave him a sour look and began folding his newspaper primly.
“Listen, Zachary,” Alastair said, his voice calm. Before Zachary could protest again, he held up a hand and went on. “I do like you the way you are. And if I seemed displeased earlier, it’s not because of you. I was displeased with myself.”
To Thomas’s relief, Zachary didn’t immediately answer.
Alastair took the pause as a good sign and went on.
“You didn’t ever know our father, but he—well, he tried, but he wasn’t the best father to me.
Or to Cordelia. And for some reason I’d convinced myself that I had to step into his shoes, where you were concerned.
How he behaved was how I knew to behave, so I imitated him.
And in doing so I forgot the most important thing: that I am your brother, and I love you. ”
Zachary seemed almost to shrink a little inside his clothes. As if he were getting smaller. “Nelson,” Zachary said quietly. He patted the flank of the lion under him. “Lion.”
“The lion and Nelson are friends, yes,” said Alastair. “They can be friends at our house, too, if you want. Or they can fight—whatever you like.”
Zachary looked suspicious, but let Alastair continue.
“I didn’t get to have a childhood, the way I ought to have.
But you—you will have that. You do have that.
So I would be very sad if you continued on at the age you are right now, and so would Cordelia, and so would Mother and so would Thomas, and all the other people who love you.
We would miss many years of playing with you.
“Also,” he added thoughtfully, “if you were your usual size, I could give you rides on my shoulders. I can’t do that if you’re bigger than me.”
Zachary cautiously peered over the side of the lion. Then he held out his arms toward Alastair. “Down?” he said.
“I’ll help you,” said Alastair. “But it’s hard with you this size.” He drew the mirror out of his pocket and exposed a bit of its surface, careful not to touch it himself. “If you’ll just look in this again,” he said, “you’ll be back to how you usually are, and I can carry you down.”
He shot a worried look at Thomas, who understood immediately what he needed to do. He took the bag of birdseed he’d bought out of his pocket, and hurled the seeds onto the pavement.
A wave of pigeons flapped toward him, dive-bombing the paving stones. Several nannies screeched and tried to wheel their prams away from the sudden storm of birds. Thomas glanced up at a flash of light: It was the setting sun reflecting off the mirror that Zachary now held in his hand.
The face reflected back was a child’s face—chubby-cheeked, with curly dark hair.
There was a rush of wind and light, and where the middle-aged man had been was Zachary again, in the same clothes he’d been wearing.
The hat, now much too large for him, fell from his head, and the umbrella rolled off the side of the lion and fell.
Alastair climbed quickly down the lion, Zachary held against his shoulder.
Alastair, Thomas, and Zachary hurried away from Nelson’s Column very quickly; Thomas was fairly sure several of the nannies were pointing after them and wondering where the grown-up madman with the umbrella had gone.
They hadn’t noticed Zachary’s actual transformation, though, and as far as Thomas was concerned, that was good enough.
When they reached a safe distance, Thomas thought Alastair would put the little boy down, but he kept him in his arms. Zachary’s eyes were drooping, as though he’d grown very tired.
Which, Thomas thought, he very well might have.
Now that Zachary was back to normal, he found he’d grown quite tired himself.
—
“So, did he behave himself?” Sona asked.
Thomas and the Carstairs boys had gotten back to Cornwall Gardens with a good hour to spare.
This was lucky, as Zachary had lost his suit when he transformed back, but not the sticky residue from all the candy he’d eaten and rolled in; he’d had to be cleaned with a towel, a process he did not enjoy but did at least tolerate.
“It’s good practice,” Thomas had told him as he squirmed under Alastair’s careful hand. “You’re a Shadowhunter, and we get all kinds of terrible things on us as a matter of course. Blood and ichor, mostly. The sugar comes right off.”
Then Thomas had had to run back to Charlotte’s to retrieve the pram and return Henry’s mirror.
There he found Charlotte still napping and Mrs. Paisley feeding the twins an early supper, so he slipped in and out as quietly as he could, giving the three of them only a quick wave.
When he returned to Cornwall Gardens Alastair and Zachary had gone back to the coffee table and seemed to be having a better time with the toy soldiers than before.
Mrs. Killigrew was busy in the kitchen, so when Sona arrived it was Thomas who opened the door for her.
“Oh, he was fine. We had a very uneventful day,” Thomas said airily. “We took him to a sweetshop and then to see the lions at Trafalgar Square.”
Sona’s brow furrowed. “I hope you didn’t let him have too many sweets. It makes him fussy.”
“Hardly any sweets at all,” Thomas said, leading her into the sitting room.