more_magic | old and forgotten, this frozen sand

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caleb

old and forgotten, this frozen sand

Even as a child, Darlington understood how singular, how private, a place Black Elm was. His world was its crumbling towers and vast hallways, the ever-changing, ever growing gardens that surrounded the house on all sides, its only inhabitants himself, his grandfather, and their housekeeper Bernadette. It was all he needed, a magic he didn't have to seek to understand because it was always there.

And when things changed, when Daniel Tabor Arlington III was dead and buried and the care of the house fell to him, it was that long-practiced secrecy that kept him safe. He bolted the doors after his parents left, learned to survive in bits and pieces, selling what he could to ensure that the house--and himself, though the wearier he grew, the less important that seemed--would make it through another day, another winter, another year. Having so rarely invited friends over before, it didn't seem strange that even those scant invitations stopped, or turned into far more polite alternatives: the public library, staying late after school, refusing a ride back to Westville with a gracious smile and a thanks, but I have my bike. With no one to see the house standing empty, there were no questions he had to field about what a teenaged boy was doing all on his own, about where his parents were (New York, as always) or when they would be back (never, if he could help it).

Darlington had no problem with lying, not really, but avoiding it entirely meant he couldn't be trapped, that his secret was safe--for another day, another winter, another year.

The desperation of it faded with time, though even then he was sparing with when and to whom he showed Black Elm. It had become an outgrowth of his heart and his soul, the one thing tethering him to the world. Dean Sandow had seen it, of course, and Michelle, an act of trust towards the people introducing him to another kind of magic. Alex's invitation had been slightly forced, like so much else about knowing her there and then; both of them drenched in a thunderstorm and not that far from the house, its vast fireplace just waiting to be put to work.

That hasn't changed much in Darrow, now that Black Elm is here. Alex has opened the doors to far more people, had friends over or merely extended an invitation for some future time, while he still waits and thinks, wanting to be sure in some way he can't define. It's something that should change, and that knowledge pushes him to pick up his phone and give Caleb a call. There are repairs to be done, that perpetual fight against age and time Darlington's been aware of his whole life, and having another set of hands will only make it easier. They make plans for that weekend, a Saturday afternoon that promises to be clear and just a little chill, exactly the kind of autumnal weather he's always loved. As he waits for Caleb's knock on the door, Darlington wanders through the ground floor of the house, room by room.

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Darlington nods in agreement, laughing when Caleb smirks at him. The basement door is off the butler's pantry, inset into the wall enough that it almost blends in. When he was younger, it felt like a secret passageway, a hidden portal to someplace more exciting than the drafty, cobwebby chill of the room below. After getting the fuses, he opens the door and goes down the narrow stairs, looking back on instinct for Cosmo when he reaches the bottom. The cat had always liked to follow him in search of mice, or sit sphinxlike halfway down the stairs; it's still strange not seeing him here.

The breaker box is in the space beneath the stairs, and Darlington goes to it, fiddling with the latch on the door until it pops open. Taking his phone from his pocket, he pulls up Caleb's number and dials.

"The switch should be right next to the door," he says when Caleb picks up. "See it?"

"Got it," he says. "I am not gonna flip the switch until I know you're, like, safe. It would be just my luck if you got electrocuted on the phone with me, Dude." He laughs, idly looking around the dining room, taking in the decor.

Once, the dining room had been dominated by a long mahogany table, its surface polished to a mirror shine that glowed beneath the lights of the chandelier. Darlington had sat through many a dinner in that room, listening to his grandfather and his parents talk, then bicker, then full-on argue as the evening went on. Now the room is empty, another place he and Alex have yet to furnish, but the chandelier remains, suspended above the bare wood floor.

Darlington laughs when Caleb does, his phone tucked between his face and his shoulder as he flips the breaker off and swaps out the old fuse for a new one. "I appreciate it. God knows Alex would be far more likely to send me back through the Veil than she would you." He mimics, lovingly, her flat Valley tones. "It's your fault for being stupid and getting yourself killed, Danny. Mors irrumat omnia."

After turning the breaker back on, he takes his hands away from the fusebox entirely. "Go ahead."

"Going ahead," Caleb says. He presses the upper button on the light switch, and honestly, given the age of the house, he's expecting sparks to fly and bulbs to pop. But that's the whole point of doing this: to make sure that doesn't happen.

"Okay, so in theory that did exactly what you wanted it to," he offers. "Which is hopefully that, like, three different lights turned on at once."

The switch in there is old and stiff, another thing he'd meant to fix and hadn't yet, but there's no zap or yelp of pain on the other end of the line--and no pop of a blowing fuse on this side--and Darlington huffs a short sigh of relief.

"Nope, that's exactly what I was hoping for," he says. "Thank god."

"Just 'Caleb' is fine, really," Caleb says with a shit-eating grin. He looks around the dining room again, now that the light's on.

"Where the fuck's your dining room table, Dude?" he asks, just now realizing it's... not there.

He rolls his eyes at the joke, but he's grinning. They're already off to a promising start. "Didn't Alex tell you?" he says when Caleb asks about the table, the tone of his voice suggesting he hadn't noticed its absence up to now. "The whole place was empty when it arrived here. Nothing that wasn't physically part of the house. I even checked the damn attic."

He'd been heartbroken at first, angry and upset and grieving, unable to see it as anything more than the shell of the house he'd loved--but Alex reminded him, again and again, that it was a chance to make it new. A blank slate, not a void; a place they could turn into their own, rather than living among the ruins of four generations of Arlingtons past.

It's been slow going, but they've done well on that front so far.

"We usually eat at the table in the breakfast nook, anyway, just off the kitchen." He pauses, knowing exactly how ridiculous what he's about to say is going to sound, even if it is true. "Where you're standing is actually the formal dining room."

She had, Caleb realizes. He just hadn't really clocked what that meant. That the house had been barren when Daniel had found it. Daniel had mentioned the blueprints, but Caleb had never considered that meant furniture, too.

"Oh, my god, the formal dining room," he echoes, affecting an especially dramatic tone. "So the nook is, like, the informal dining room?"

He turns the lights off and looks at the sketched out map of the house Daniel had drawn, trying to figure out the next room to go to.

"See, you're getting the hang of it," he says. "You'll be an expert on which course goes with which fork in no time." Distantly, he can hear the click of the switch through the phone as Caleb turns the lights off, followed by the rustle of paper as he looks through the plans.

"To actually answer your question, you're right. I really only remember the formal dining room being used for holidays and things. Sometimes dinner, when my parents drove in from the city, but otherwise it was meals in the kitchen."

"Like in the movies," Caleb says, half-absently as he looks over the plans. He is paying attention, but he sounds like he's not. "Are you guys gonna do that here? Or are you gonna try to make everything a little more informal?"

"Something like that," he says, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes at how distracted Caleb sounds. It's hard to fault him, though; the sordid history of either Black Elm or Darlington's own woebegone childhood made for terrible conversation.

"But to answer your question, I'm pretty sure we'll just keep that room for...entertaining, largely. Holidays, yes, but lower-key dinners with friends as well, things like that. So, like it was before but with slightly less baggage, one can hope."

"That would actually be really cool," Caleb says, still a little distractedly. "Shit, sorry," he adds. "I'm going to the next room so you're not dying of boredom down there in your creepy basement." It's probably not creepy at all, but Caleb's decided that teasing Daniel about his house is the probably the best thing about being here today.

"Aha, now we know the real reason you offered to test the lights," he says, laughing as he hears the creak of the floorboards over his head as Caleb passes by. "Not electrocution, so much as a healthy wariness of the things that live under the stairs. Hypothetically."

The next room on their list is upstairs, far enough that Darlington starts the process of swapping out the fuse now, rather than wait for Caleb to make the trek up the stairs and down the hall.

For the sake of the laugh, as Caleb takes the stairs to the second floor, he says, "Dude, do you know what lives in basements? Rats and bats and, and fucking spiders okay?" He doesn't let on whether he's actually afraid of any of those things (okay, maybe spiders), but for the sake of the joke, he's willing to seem like he is.

"Fine, fine, spiders I'll allow," he says, the phone back under his cheek as he works on the fusebox. "Mice too, given how often Cosmo used to leave one for me to find. But if it's bats you're worried about, be glad I'm not sending you up to the attic."

In truth, there had never been bats. A family of raccoons, once, but never bats. Snapping the new fuse in, he flicks the switch back. "Let me know when you've gotten to the library."

"Ugh, attics are just as bad as basements," Caleb gripes playfully, and laughs. "Okay, library found." He steps into in the new room and starts looking around first, taking in the scenery. "Dude, you have a legit, actual library in your house. This is actually awesome."

"It'll be much more impressive once the shelves are completely full again." He says it lightly, a wry demurral, but Darlington knows the room itself is just as impressive empty as it had been with books lining the walls and his grandfather's favorite chair dominating one corner. "And I'll let you guess exactly how much time I spent in there growing up."

"Why do I have a feeling the answer is 'almost all of the time'?" he teases. Thankfully, because it is an empty library, he's able to find the light switch on the wall without too much distracting his eye.

"Too cruel, Michaels," he says with another laugh. "I spent just as much time outside. In the middle of the hedge maze. With a book." Preempting the anticipated question, he adds, "Yes, we have a hedge maze too. In the back garden. It's completely overgrown, though, so enter at your own risk."

Darlington keeps an eye on the fusebox, listening for any pop or crackle of something amiss. When nothing comes, he turns his attention back to the phone. "How's it looking up there?"

"Uh-huh," Caleb says when he explains the hedge maze. "It's looking good so far. No exploding light bulbs, or anything." He grins, checking the switch a couple times, to be sure. As he moves onto the next room, he adds, "I'd offer to help you clean up the maze, but I don't know anything about gardening."

"Good," he says. "Ballroom next." The label next to that fuse is old, practically worn off through age and neglect, and Darlington makes a note to make up a new one sometime soon. "And we'll be getting professional help with the grounds," he adds. "Hopefully. The husband of one of Alex's friends owns his own company, so I've been meaning to have him up to take a look at everything and see what can be done."

He means it all, grateful for the possibility of Newt's assistance, but Darlington's still glad there's enough space between him and Caleb in that moment to obscure the surge of distaste he always feels just at the thought of Kavinsky--no matter how vague and disconnected.

"Ballroom, got it," he says. As he walks, he listens to Daniel's explanation about the grounds, and wonders which of Alex's friends it is. "That's kinda cool, actually. He's probably not gonna cut you a deal, though, huh?" But maybe he's worth it.

"He mentioned a friends and family discount, actually, so we'll see." Darlington's still torn over whether to accept it, if it comes; there's enough that needs to be done that it's almost rude to say yes, but the money they save might well be even more useful in completing some inevitable and necessary repair somewhere down the line.

He doubts Alex has the same qualms, practical and slightly mercenary as she can be.

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old and forgotten, this frozen sand

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