Daddy Warlock (11 page)

“So I—” Harry took a deep breath. “I know Chance
said I shouldn't, but I put this idea in the captain's mind. Like that the front of the school was on fire. He started shouting to the other guys to hook up the hoses, and then, wham! There was water everywhere! They even got the principal!” It had been awesome. “Only, they're kind of mad now.”

“Honey, you couldn't have put an idea in the captain's mind.” Mom let out a sigh. “You have to tell me the truth.”

“It is the truth! Ask Chance!”

“What's he got to do with this?” She wore a tight, unhappy expression that scared Harry a little.

“He's been helping me. You know how I made the fork turn around in the air? Well, I can do other stuff, too. Really neat stuff with people's minds, but Chance says I shouldn't. He can explain it better than I can.”

She shook her head. “I can't sort this out right now, Harry. I certainly can't contradict a fire captain who was an eyewitness.”

She stood up, and Harry felt as if he were stranded on Mars with his last link to Earth cut off.

He heard his mother apologizing to the other grownups. Then the principal said the word
suspended
a couple of times and gave his mother a paper to sign.

Finally, Mom took Harry's hand and led him out of the office to her car. He turned toward the school yard and saw his classmates lining up for lunch. Two of the kids were fighting over who got to stand next to Al.

At least he'd done some good today.

O
N THE DRIVE HOME,
Tara couldn't begin to make sense of what had happened. Why was Harry lying to her, and what did Chance have to do with it?

Her son's muddled explanation kept getting mixed up
with the strange feelings she'd experienced in the tower room. She couldn't stop thinking about Chance's words a few nights earlier:
People can do things that defy scientific principles.

Had he been conducting experiments with her son? It was unthinkable.

Then she nearly couldn't find the house. For some reason, she kept wanting to turn left where she should have turned right. It was Harry who pointed out the landmarks and got her headed in the right direction.

With mixed feelings, Tara pulled into the driveway and saw Chance's car sitting in the open, as if he'd been in too great a hurry to put it in the garage. Was something wrong at work? She didn't think she could handle another crisis at the moment.

The front door stood open. With Harry on her heels, she hurried through the living room and into the courtyard.

She was heading toward the rear office when she saw Chance standing on the curved stairs, as if he'd just emerged from the tower. Anger flashed from his eyes.

“What were you doing up here?” he demanded. “The computer beeped me. It's programmed to do that when anyone enters the tower.”

“I didn't know it was off-limits.” The way he held himself, erect and imposing, rang bells in her mind. He had stood this way before, and she had watched him from this angle. Unable to pinpoint the memory, Tara rushed on. “Harry got into trouble at school. He claims you were working with him on some kind of—of mind games.”

Chance's anger turned cold. “Harry?”

“I didn't mean to!” the boy blurted. “Honest, I didn't. I just talked Al into turning on the siren and he was going
to get in trouble so I made the fireman think the school was on fire! That's all.”

“What's he talking about, ‘making' the fireman think something?” Tara gritted her teeth with impatience as Chance descended the stairs.

He regarded her assessingly, his gaze hooded. Mistrust flooded through her. Always before, the man had struck her as frank and honest, but now she saw only calculation in his manner.

He
was
up to something. But what on earth could it have to do with her son?

“Harry,” Chance said, “if you'll go into my private den, there's a new video game you can play. Your mother and I need to talk.”

The boy brightened. “Cool! Now that I'm suspended, I'll have lots of time to play!”

“Suspended?” Chance said.

“Go on, Harry.” Tara shooed him away. “Mr. Powers is right. We do have a lot to talk about”.

They went into the office. Its windowed length was flooded with sunlight, but today it seemed full of shadows.

Sitting stiffly in a straight-backed chair, Tara recounted the morning's events. She expected Chance to dismiss her son's story, but he listened with resignation.

“Something like this was bound to happen,” he said when she finished.

“Something like what?”

“The boy's gifted, Tara. Remember those special abilities we were talking about? I know you don't want to believe in them, but for Harry's sake you must”

She gripped the arms of the chair, fighting a wave of disbelief. There were no such special talents, whether
they involved making forks dodge in midair or planting hallucinations in people's minds.

“I believe one thing,” she said. “You've been putting ideas in my son's head. What were you doing, working with him behind my back? All the time you made me think you cared about him.”

“I do.” Chance leaned forward on the couch. “I was trying to break the news gently because I knew it would be hard to accept.”

“What news?” she said.

His jaw worked, and she could see he was choosing his words with care. “My hiring you wasn't entirely a coincidence.”

“You did see him on television!” The man's duplicity took her breath away. He lived in a beautiful house and spoke soothing words, he was respected and admired by his entire staff, but he'd been using her to get to Harry. “You imagined he had some hidden talents and you wanted to subvert them!”

“No!” The denial rasped from him. “Just the opposite, Tara! I want to protect him and teach him how to control his ability. If I don't, someone like my father
will
exploit him.”

She stood up, hoping he couldn't see her hands trembling. “We have to leave. I can't trust you around my son anymore. He has no magical abilities, but for some reason that I can't fathom, you believe he does. He's just an ordinary little boy with a vivid imagination.”

“He does have gifts, and they're going to create more trouble if he doesn't learn to harness them,” Chance said.

“Why do you keep insisting on this?” Tears threatened to wreck her composure, but Tara pressed on. “It's outrageous! Just leave us alone!”

“I can't leave you alone,” he said. “I'm responsible for Harry. I'm his father.”

A chill robbed her of movement. She couldn't even shout a denial, because, incredibly, his claim made sense.

That was why she kept remembering this house and the courtyard and the tower. Chance was the Magician. For some perverse reason, he believed he really could work sorcery, and so could his son.

His son.
Fury and pain raged ihside her. After all these years, how dare he come forward?

He had seduced her and then made no attempt to find her again. Nor had she tried to find him, but that was because her memory had been so clouded and confused.

What had Chance done to her that night? She hadn't felt drugged, exactly, but rather as if—as if—

As if he were controlling my mind.

The possibility frightened her more than anything that had happened today. Tara took a step toward the door. “You have no right to him,” she said. “I won't let you have him.”

“I have no intention of seeking custody.” Through his grim expression shone a hint of concern, but she knew it must be feigned. “I only want to help him. And you. Tara, I'm sorry I haven't been around all these years. I didn't know he existed until I saw him on television.”

“Well, forget you ever found out,” she snapped. “Forget you ever met us!”

Then she ran for the door before she could embarrass herself by breaking into tears.

C
HANCE'S HANDS CLENCHED
as he listened to the sounds of departure. Tara had packed in record time and was now dragging her protesting son out of the house as if the forces of evil were right behind them.

When Rajeev peered into the room questioningly, Chance shook his head. They couldn't stop Tara, not today. Catching his glower, the housekeeper beat a swift retreat.

His son's future was the most important matter Chance would ever confront, but he must not let his concern overwhelm his judgment. He couldn't let himself think about Tara and how much he wanted to hold her again, either.

In the short run, it might be possible to touch her mind and make her stay. But to manipulate her would be to prove himself unworthy, and to ruin any possibility of a lasting relationship with his son.

For now, he had to let her go. Bringing her back would test every ounce of his self-restraint, but he was going to do it fair and square.

Tara circled a classified ad on the paper spread across Denise's kitchen table. It didn't give a company name, just a post office box.

“I'm getting to the point where I don't trust anyone”, she admitted to her friend, who was stirring a pot of spaghetti. “How do I know Chance didn't place this ad just to lure me back?”

“It's only been two days. He wouldn't have had time to get it in the paper,” Denise pointed out, shoving a strand of red hair behind her ear.

Tara glanced across the tiny kitchen to the living room, where Harry lay on the couch studying his favorite picture book. Had it really only been two days since she'd stalked out
of Ma Maison,
or
Mi Casa,
or whatever name the house had decided on?

It seemed much longer. With Harry suspended from school, it was difficult to seek work. Her problem would be compounded by the fact that she had left her most recent job abruptly.

Thank goodness for Denise. Otherwise, Tara didn't know where she would have gone. But she couldn't presume on her friend's hospitality for too long.

“If I haven't found a job by the time Harry's back in
school, I'm going to apply to a temporary agency”, she said.

“I've got a better idea.” Denise emptied a jar of spaghetti sauce into a microwave casserole. “Chance is rich, isn't he? Sue him for child support.”

Tara shuddered. “He said he wouldn't seek custody, but if I sue him, he might change his mind.” She lowered her voice. “I don't even want Harry to find out who his father is.”

“If he had any honor, he'd send you money without being asked,” asserted her friend.

“He did.” A check for several hundred dollars in severance pay had arrived by messenger that morning, with a note indicating that Chance's lawyer would be drawing up a trust fund for Harry. “I don't want to take it, though. It means maintaining a link with him.”

Tara hadn't even intended to reveal where she was going, but Vareena had insisted on getting the address in case any possessions were left behind. Knowing how children managed to lose toys under cushions and behind furniture, Tara had reluctantly agreed.

She knew, of course, that sooner or later she would have to tell her son the truth. But the older he got, the firmer a grip he would have on reality, and the better able he would be to reject this nonsense about magic.

From the refrigerator, Denise fetched a bag of salad mix and poured it into a bowl. “I'm not sure you can avoid contact. The way this guy believes in hocus-pocus, he's probably trying to work a Vulcan mind-meld over the telephone lines. You really found yourself a doozy, kid.”

In the living room, Harry let his book fall to the floor and sprawled across the sofa, his little face a picture of
misery. “When are we going back to Chance's house?” he whined. “I miss him, Mommy.”

“'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is/ To have a thankless child!” Tara was surprised she recalled the line so clearly; she must have memorized it in high school. “Isn't that Shakespeare?”

“Beats me.” Denise poured the spaghetti into a strainer. Tara got up to set the table. “Hey, you did everything last night. It's my turn!”

“There's two of us and one of you,” Tara pointed out. “The least I can do is set out the plates.” A sharp buzz at the door startled her. “Were you expecting anyone?”

Setting the colander on the counter, Denise pointed her forefingers at her temples and made a high-pitched. “woo-woo” noise. “I'm getting a picture now. Someone is in the hall. It is either a man or a woman. He is short or she is fat. How am I doing?”

Before Tara could answer, Harry flung the door open. After a brief, disappointed pause, she heard her son say, “Who're you?”

Please don't let it be a lawyer,
thought Tara as she hurried into the living room.

To her astonishment, the woman standing there was Lois Powers, sleek and dressed for success in a navy linen suit and pin-striped blouse. “Hi! I'm not intruding, am I?”

Tara's first notion was that Chance had enlisted his cousin to try to win her back, but she dismissed that idea almost at once. He would have chosen Rajeev or Vareena, not someone allied with his father. “Please come in. What can I do for you?”

The young woman stepped inside, her dark eyes flicking across the worn furniture and outdated carpet. The
decor was a painful contrast to her own penthouse, Tara supposed, and wondered why she felt so defensive.

“I dropped by Chance's house, and Rajeev told me you'd left.” Lois flashed a smile that seemed a trifle forced. “When I told Raymond, he was curious to know what had happened. Although they don't spend much time together, he's always concerned about his son.”

Warning alarms sounded in Tara's brain. Most likely Lois intended to pump her for information about Chance's business dealings and perhaps learn more about his supposed intuition.

The danger was that Lois and Ray, who for some incomprehensible reason appeared to believe in magic, might find out that Harry was Chance's son. If they did, what would they try to do with that information?

“There's nothing to be concerned about,” Tara said. “We didn't work well together after all. I don't mean to be inhospitable, Lois, but we were about to eat.”

“You could join us,” piped Denise from the doorway. Tara wished that she'd briefed her friend better on the eccentricities of Chance's relatives.

She couldn't avoid introducing the two women, and the next thing she knew they were all scrunched around the small table, downing their spaghetti and salad. Or rather, three of them ate with gusto while Lois picked at her food.

“You're Chance's cousin?” Harry asked. “Can you do—”

“Harry!” Tara didn't dare allow her son to finish that sentence. “You haven't touched your salad.”

“It needs more dressing,” he protested.

As Tara tapped out some more, Lois said, “Chance is a cool guy, isn't he, Harry? Did he ever show you any tricks?”

“He can make funny waves” in the pond, and one of the ducks kept ruffling its wings like he was tickling its bottom!” the boy said through a mouthful of spaghetti. “I can do it, too!”

“You can?” Lois asked.

“By throwing pebbles,” Tara interjected. “Isn't that right, son?”

“Mommy, I'm not supposed to tell lies.”

“That's exactly my point.”

Making a face, her son began picking the shredded carrots out of his salad.

To Tara's relief, Denise launched into a description of a moisturizer that she swore would give Lois's hair even more sheen. She also suggested a perm to add body, and soon the two were deep into a discussion of a new process for strengthening fingernails.

Obviously, Denise had grasped the fact that Lois was as hooked as her cousin on the subject of mental powers. Being a beautician provided a convenient means of distracting their guest, for which Tara was grateful.

As soon as he finished eating, Harry cleared his place and retreated to the bedroom to watch television. Tara felt herself relax for the first time since Lois had arrived.

“I'll drop by your salon and get some of that moisturizer,” the dark-haired woman promised as she set aside her napkin. “Now I'm afraid I've got to run. I'm glad to see you're all right, Tara, although I suspect Chance didn't treat you very well. He's a selfish man, you know.”

Denise accompanied them to the front door. “At least he's going to set up a trust fund.”

“Excuse me?”

Tara tried to shoot her friend a warning look, but Denise
didn't notice. “Well, because of his being Harry's—” She stopped, finally realizing she'd said too much.

“Harry's what?” Lois took in Denise's dismay and Tara's alarm. “Wait a minute. When Harry was talking about making waves in the pond, he wasn't kidding. He's Chance's kid, isn't he? How did that happen?”

“In the usual way.” This was getting messier by the minute.

“I'll bet you have a very unusual little boy there.” Lois glanced toward the bedroom. “Does he know he's got a grandfather and a whole bunch of other relatives?”

“He doesn't even know he's got a father, and you're not going to tell him,” Tara growled. “I don't want to be rude, Lois, but there are some matters that simply don't concern you
or
Raymond Powers. My son belongs to me. Period.”

“Well, of course.” Lois couldn't repress a hint of smugness in her smile. “Denise, thanks so much for dinner and the beauty tips. I'll be going now.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Tara collapsed on the sofa. “I'm sorry,” moaned Denise. “I didn't realize it was so touchy.”

“Just promise me you won't let her anywhere near Harry when I'm not around.”

Denise's eyes narrowed as if she were facing an enemy. “I'll chop her nails into nubs and dye her hair orange. But what would she do with him?”

“I have no idea,” Tara admitted. “That whole family is crazy.”

H
ALDEN OF THE FAR VISION
hadn't led a very happy life, Chance reflected as he snapped shut the aging volume. He was glad at least that the sad story had kept him distracted for part of an evening.

It was Thursday night and Tara had been gone for two days. Two days and seven hours, to be exact.

During that time, Chance had worked hard, giving his clients the concentration they deserved but afterward remembering nothing of what he'd done.

He had rented two movies and watched neither. Sat in front of his new video game and failed to make heads or tails of the tumbling figures. Eaten a viciously spicy dish of Rajeev's by mistake, and nearly had to undergo a stomach transplant.

The one thing he would not do was to interfere with Tara's life until enough time had passed for her anger to wane. Clearly, he would have to approach her with great care and restraint.

What he wanted to do was drive over to Denise's apartment and beg, demand, cajole and exhort Tara to forgive him. But to do so might inspire her to flee the area entirely.

Chance's attention returned to the book on his desk. Poor Halden had turned out to be a kind of Cassandra, able to foretell the future but unappreciated by those he advised.

One nobleman, told that he would contract a disease if he didn't stop taking mistresses, had tried to burn the man at the stake when the prophecy proved true. It hadn't been much of a prophecy, really, Chance thought, since the likelihood of contracting a disease in those days must have been overwhelming.

The leader of a rebellion, informed that he would lose both a battle and his head, went after Halden with a pickax. Only, the mysterious appearance of a lightning bolt had frightened the attacker away.

Had Halden planted a hallucination in the rebel's
mind? The book didn't say. It didn't explain whether the prophecy about losing his head had come true, either.

Frustrated, Chance strode from the tower, the book clamped under his arm. He'd skimmed the thing from back to front, but without dates or many recognizable place names, he had a hard time accepting it as anything more than a collection of myths.

Yet if Valdemar and Ardath were imaginary, why had he experienced such a vivid memory of perishing in a fire? He reminded himself that even a stopped clock was right twice a day, so maybe the book had gotten a few things correct.

In any event, he felt a strong urge to return it to Aunt Cynda. So strong an urge, he realized, that she must be summoning him. Couldn't she just use the telephone once in a while?

The evening was pleasant, the spring air crisp and touched with promise. Chance might have enjoyed the drive if his car hadn't reminded him at least three times that it needed a tune-up.

Aunt Cynda answered the door on the first knock. She regarded the book with a frown. “I didn't send for you because I wanted this back. You can study it as long as you like.”

Chance followed her into the cluttered room and set the book on a table. “I'm done with it”.

“Men! Always impatient.” She settled onto a velour love seat

“Does the reason you want to see me have anything to do with past lives?” He felt too restless to sit, so he leaned against a high-backed wing chair. “Or have you seen something in your crystal ball?”

Aunt Cynda had tried for most of her life to predict the future, with unimpressive results. She certainly hadn't
inherited Halden's far-seeing. But, Chance reflected, there was a first time for everything.

“Past lives! Fortune-telling! Pooh!” she said. “My granddaughter was here this afternoon and I heard it right from her lips that you have a son. A son! Imagine! You didn't even tell me! How am I supposed to keep the genealogical records up-to-date?”

Chance stared at her. How could Lois know about Harry? “How did she find out?”

“She said she went to see Tara and that girlfriend of hers mentioned something about a trust fund,” snapped his great-aunt. “How long did you plan to keep this a secret?”

Tara had barely moved out of his house, and already she and Harry were in danger. Although he didn't think his father would intentionally harm either of them, Ray was likely to act first and think later when he had a major business deal at stake.

“Aunt Cynda, I didn't want my father to know,” Chance said. “I wasn't trying to keep it from you.”

Understanding softened the elder lady's face. “That does make sense. He hasn't been good for Lois, and he won't be good for your boy, either. Can't you work your mind control on him, for goodness' sake? Give the man some ethics!”

It would have been a tempting thought had such a thing been possible. “I can't change anybody permanently,” Chance said. “Besides, Ray's got enough ability of his own that he'd be able to block me.”