(Author's Note: Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm sorry for the bit o' confusion last chapter about Aryavare being Fiske's granddaughter. I hope this chapter clears it up! Please read and review! Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues...sadly.)
Chapter 11
Late
"Well if it isn't the Royers!" Mr. McIntyre croaked from his hospital bed.
"Hello, Mr. McIntyre," the older of the two who had just walked in greeted. The girl next to him nodded in agreement as she pulled some chairs up for herself and her brother. Both visitors wore black jeans and graphic t-shirts that looked like tuxedos. Only part of the shirts showed though, considering the pair wore black sweaters. They also were extremely light, in skin color, weight, and hair color. Their hair was a very light blonde, though they had both added some color with red dye. The girl's red hair was at the end of her bangs, and at the tips of her hair. The boy's hair was dyed with red streaks. The girl had a bruise-like blotch on her neck, which was shaped oddly like the letter 'C'. She didn't seem to notice Mr. McIntyre's eyes graze over the uncanny blotch.
"Well then, how nice of you to visit, Hayden," Mr. McIntyre nodded to the young adult," Caller," he smiled kindly at the girl. "I'm sorry you've arrived rather late for dear Grace's funeral, but none the less, I'm glad to see you."
"We are sorry for that. The announcement was rather short-notice and it is a long drive from Iowa," Caller explained. Hayden stepped on her foot. "Wha-oh! Nice to see you, too, Mr. McIntyre," she added.
"I see," Mr. McIntyre bowed his head, "In being late, you two have missed such an event to behold." Hayden and Caller exchanged confused glances.
"You mean the fire?" Caller asked. She hated herself for talking so nonchalantly about the fire. That house had been beautiful, a pure work of art. Hayden, too, wore a pained expression on his face. Grace's home had held many model airplanes and topographical maps that had held his interest.
"No, I don't, actually," the old man twiddled his thumbs. The Royer siblings waited patiently for more.
"Caller, would you mind fetching my suit trousers from earlier today? They are on that chair over there," William McIntyre lifted a weak finger towards a white folding chair in the corner of the room. Caller obliged. She handed William his requested gray pants.
"Thank you," he inclined his head towards Caller and began to rummage through his trouser pockets. He soon came forth with a stack of Post-it Notes and a calligraphy pen.
"It woes me to tell you two that what I was meant to give you was destroyed in the burning of Madame Cahill's mansion." William explained.
"Now, I have something very important to say," he continued. Caller slouched in her chair, sensing a boring, not to mention long, story approaching.
"It's about your family. Your whole family," William noted. Caller straightened as if zapped.
Our family? She asked herself, wanting to make sure she had heard correctly.
"You may not know this, but-"William began.
"Do you mean Mom and Dad? Or the bigger family?" Caller interrupted. Hayden elbowed her in annoyance; he was anxious to hear what McIntyre had to say.
"Both, to some degree," William answered. "Mainly the latter, though, I assume you two know of your Cahill ancestors? This will make my job much easier," he muttered, rekindling his thumbs in their twiddling.
"Are you kidding?" Caller asked incredulously. She and Hayden both rolled up their sleeves to reveal tattoos of dragons, wolves, bears, and entwined serpents. Their unusually pale arms were almost completely covered, except for Hayden's one metallic arm. Mr. McIntyre realized that the purplish blotch on Caller's neck was yet another tattoo. It was the Cahill family crest. He looked impressed.
"Are you not partial to your own branch?" he inquired. Hayden and Caller simultaneously stuck out their tongues in response. William thought they were being ignorant before he realized black ink on their tongues. The ink easily resembled a bear poised for attack.
"Ah, Tomas, are we?" he asked.
"Yes, but we do not understand why Cahills are so evasive of each other. We are all family, after all," Hayden replied quietly.
What an odd thing for a Tomas to say, William pondered. Then he remembered.
"Ah, I had almost forgotten! What I confide in you two, must stay with you two. Unless, of course, you would like someone to come and listen as well. But this cannot be just anyone. Firstly, someone you can trust. Secondly, someone you would be willing to have in your company nonstop. Lastly, they must be a Cahill."
Both of the Royers' thoughts drifted to their impatient cousin, who was waiting in Hayden's rundown car outside. Caller had persuaded her to stay in the car because she did not know William McIntyre as they did.
"Not a single person," Caller said. Hayden nodded in assent.
"Very well, I suppose I should get this over with. You know the Cahill family is very important," William began. He took a deep breath. The Royers leaned in. The old lawyer opened his mouth to speak when-
BOOM!
Mr. McIntyre winced. In the doorway stood a very irritated girl. All five feet of her. The girl looked twelve years old, at the least, to Mr. McIntyre. She wore fitting brown corduroy dress and chunky black boots. She had darkish skin and an Asian look to her eyes. On her small hands she wore off-white gloves with some triangular shape leading up to a blue spot. She stared around the room, knowing she was the center of attention.
"You weren't planning on telling me this?" she fumed, turning on Hayden and Caller.
"And you are, miss?" William prompted.
"Aryavare Anne Berkelley. Five feet, exactly. Student council prez three years and counting. Fourteen in two months, seventeen days. I'd be pleased to make your acquaintance if I wasn't so worried about accidentally massacring my favorite cousins," the girl seethed.
She stood in the doorway of the hospital bedroom glaring at Hayden and Caller, twin tornadoes raging in her stormy gray eyes. Mr. McIntyre blinked, speechless. When he finally spoke, all he said was, "Do you update that daily?"
"What?" Aryavare turned her whirlwind eyes towards him.
"Your birthday countdown. Do you really keep track so vigorously?" William propped himself up on the hospital mattress.
"Yes, she does," Caller answered for Aryavare, clamping her pale hand over her cousin's mouth, "Arya can be very obsessive. Please don't encourage her," she warned. William shrugged, and continued to question Aryavare.
"I believe I've heard of you before. Have we met prior to this day?" he asked her.
"I don't think so. What would make you think that?" Aryavare answered, narrowing her eyes.
"One of my, ah, acquaintances, has mentioned someone under the name of Berkelley," he mumbled.
"Who?" The sharp-tongued Aryavare demanded.
"Fiske Cahill," William cowered awkwardly under her furious glare.
"My grandfather," Arya replied, now bored. Hayden and Caller threw each other 'what can you do?' sort of glance. The usually uncontainable talking machine they knew as their cousin, had a habit of going surprisingly quiet when her grandfather or mother was mentioned.
"Grandfather?" William frowned in confusion. "Mr. Cahill was never married and he surely did not have children."
Aryavare blew on her newly-done black nail polish. "Ever heard of adoption, Mr. McIntyre?" She asked warily.
"Oh. Then how on Earth are you of Tomas descent?" He inquired, actually quite interested to know.
"My father, old man. My mother, grandfather's adoptive daughter, married a Tomas. We clear?" Arya summarized, looking very bored.
"Oh. Erm, yes, we are clear, Ms. Berkelley," William replied quietly.
The 'old man', Aryavare, and the two Royers sat uncomfortably in silence. Finally, William could no longer take Caller's eyebrow's expectant arch.
"Are you ready for me to begin?" he asked," I doubt Ms. Berkelley will like being asked to leave very much."
Caller and Hayden had to agree, reluctantly.
"I'm afraid Madame Cahill's original words cannot be read at this time. Madame Cahill's alternate will was destroyed in the burning of her home," William explained. Caller and Hayden both took sharp intakes of breath, in memory of the wonderful mansion. Aryavare folded her arms, indifferent.
"I am inclined to tell from my memory, seeing as a copy of Madame Cahill's alternate will is not accessible to us at this time," he gestured humbly at his frail self in the hospital bed. Caller smiled. Despite the old lawyer's injuries, he was perfectly willing to carry on with his work.
"Your family, the Cahill family, that is, is very powerful. They have helped over the ages to shape human society. Much impact on civilization, you see. More so than any other family, ever. Madame Cahill devised a contest before she passed that will lead to stupendous power. If you choose to accept the challenge, the opportunity of a lifetime, I am to give you the first of thirty-nine clues that will lead to this power.
"Each of the other funeral attendees who were chosen as most likely to succeed had a choice of one million dollars or the first Clue. You do not have that choice, because of your tardiness. I am sorry for that. What will you choose?" Mr. McIntyre smiled weakly. Caller grinned, despite the seriousness of the conversation; McIntyre's smile was quite contagious.
The Royer siblings were beside themselves.
"The opportunity of a lifetime," Hayden repeated in an undertone.
The Challenge… The words echoed restlessly in Caller's mind.
Aryavare grinned wickedly.
Stupendous power? Now you're talking. She popped her pink chewing gum thoughtfully. Hungrily.
"We're in," Caller told Grace's executor confidently.
William McIntyre smiled and scribbled on the Post-It Note pad. Without a word, he handed Caller Royer the first Clue.
(Author's Note: Thanks for reading; please review!)