Magic In The Storm (33 page)

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Are they always someone famous? Or someone
who does something important like that?”

“Not always. Well, I imagine the most
powerful usually become famous because of what they do,” he
answered, thinking it through. “And then there are those like this,
who become infamous.” He handed Morgan the newspaper that had been
neatly folded on the table next to him.

It was turned to a short article about a
robbery.

Lord and Lady Windmere were relieved of their
jewels, watch and purse while on their way into London yesterday.
No shots were fired, and the couple themselves were completely
unharmed, if a bit dazed by the events.

“We aren’t quite certain what happened,” Lord
Windmere admitted to authorities who questioned him about the
robbery. “We simply found ourselves handing over all of our most
precious possessions to this masked man when he asked for them. I
don’t believe he even had a weapon.”

This is the eighth instance of such an
occurrence this month. Authorities believe this to be the work of
the notoriously sly criminal, Jack the Lad. Any further information
on this nefarious criminal should be directed to Mr. John Cummings,
Bow Street.

“But this is terrible!” Morgan said, standing
up. “Do you think this Jack the Lad is Vallen?”

Nestor gave a small nod of his head.

“And he’s using his powers to rob people of
their money? This cannot be allowed! This is wrong. Completely
wrong.” Morgan began to pace around the room. He wanted to run
right out, find this fellow, and stop him. Now. He couldn’t let
this continue. “Where can I find him?”

“Morgan! Calm down,” Kat said, moving over to
him. She placed a calming hand on his arm and flowed gentle,
calming feelings into him, but Morgan pulled his arm away. He
didn’t want to be calmed. He wanted to be agitated and upset. This
wasn’t right.

“No, Kat. Now is not the time to be calm.
This Vallen is using his powers to harm people, to take advantage
of innocents. Something must be done about this.”

“Yes. And I’m certain that it will. Your
mother will handle it.”

That stopped him. “My mother? My mother is
going to face this thief and stop him from using his powers to rob
people?”

“Yes,” Kat said, leaning into the word. “That
is what she does. That’s why she is so powerful. It is her job to
ensure that Vallen only use their powers for good, to help society,
and not for their own personal gain.”

“What? My mother?” Morgan didn’t believe
this. Not for one moment. “My mother is obsessed with using her
powers for her own personal gain.”

“Oh, Morgan, that is not true,” Kat
protested.

“She has always taught me that it’s important
to be powerful,” he argued.

“Yes, it is important for her to be powerful
because without her power she couldn’t stop others from misusing
their own.”

That made Morgan stop and think. It did make
sense. “But then... She has always worked hard to make you
powerful. Is it because she wants you to take over her role? Is
that my destiny, to ensure that Vallen only use their power for
good? Is that why I was supposed to be powerful and why she was
upset that I wasn’t?”

Kat shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

But it didn’t feel right to Morgan. “No,
there needs to be more. There is something more that I am destined
to do.” He walked over to the window. “I definitely think that this
Jack the Lad needs to be stopped, and I feel as if I should be the
one to stop him, but there must be...” He turned to face the others
in the room. “All of these other Vallen—Mozart, Wellington and so
on—they all use their powers to better society, and you, Kat, just
said that it is my mother’s job to see that Vallen only use their
powers for that purpose.”

“That’s right. That’s why we have powers,”
Kat nodded.

“What are you getting at, Morgan?” Cosmina
asked.

“I don’t know exactly. I feel as if I’m on
the edge of something. If I can just reach out and catch hold of
it, I’ll know what my destiny is.” He paused to try to think—to
reach out with his mind. “I’ve always used my own powers to help
people and animals. I’ve always been able to heal.”

“And you’ve always known when someone was in
need of your healing powers and have gone to them,” Kat added.

“Yes, except when my mother stopped me,”
Morgan agreed. “I’ve always felt the desire to help people.”

“That sounds perfectly normal to me,” Nestor
put in. “You are Vallen.”

“Yes. But all this time, I’ve been thinking
that I needed to become powerful because it was important to be
powerful and for that alone. That’s what my mother taught me. But
it’s not right. I need to be powerful so that I can help people
more than just healing them.” He turned and faced his friends. “I
want to help people.”

“This is very good,” Cosmina said, nodding
her head approvingly.

“But with my increased powers, I no longer
know how I can help people. I don’t know what I can do, or what I
should be doing. When I could only heal, it was easy, that’s what I
did. But now...”

“It’s all intertwined—once we know what you
can do, we’ll be able to figure out your destiny and once we know
your destiny, we’ll know if you have all the powers that you need,”
Kat said.

Morgan shook his head. It was a horribly
tangled knot. “Yes. But how do I find out the answers?”

Morgan looked around the room, but no one had
an answer for him.

“Maybe Jack the Lad?” Cosmina offered.

Morgan nodded. “Well, I need to find him
anyway.”

<><><>

Morgan’s boots sloshed through something he
would rather not identify. London was a filthy city. It almost made
him wish he was back home in the woods at Vallentyn where at least
it smelled nice—he twitched his nose—unlike London.

He was grateful for the cover of darkness
that hid most of the filth from his sight, if not his nose. On the
other hand, it added a level of unease to his walk, especially
since he was unfamiliar with this area.

Nestor had called it the Rookeries, and said
it was where the poorer elements of society lived—where he was sure
to find a thief. Nestor had opened Morgan’s eyes to a number of
unpleasant aspects of humanity before allowing him to venture here
alone—prostitutes, pickpockets and, of course, drunkards.

A hand reached out from a doorway and caught
hold of his leg. “Got a ha’penny, govna?” a child’s voice reached
up to him.

Morgan squatted down next to the filthy
child. His heart burned to see one so young like this. “Does your
mother know you’re out this late?”

“Motha?” the boy asked. “Ain’t got one,” he
added almost proudly.

Morgan closed his eyes for a moment to hide
the pity in them. With his eyes closed, he remembered why he was
here in this awful place.

“Do you know where I might find Jack the
Lad?” Morgan asked. “There’ll be a whole penny in it for you if you
can lead me to him.”

The large blue eyes opened wider and the
small bundle of gray rags was gone before Morgan could say another
word.

“Wait! Am I to follow...?” Morgan started
running after the child, but he disappeared down an alley and was
quickly swallowed by the dark.

“’Ere now, whatcher scarin’ the child for?” a
woman said, poking Morgan in the chest with a bony finger.

He turned to face his accuser. He quickly
decided she must be a prostitute. The neckline of her dress was
untied and only just barely concealed her small breasts. “I didn’t
mean to scare him,” Morgan said. “I just asked him if he knew where
I might find Jack the Lad.”

The woman pulled back. “Eh? Ye don’t want ta
know that. Ye go back on ‘ome, back to where ye belong.
Ye don’t bother with the likes o’Jack.”

“But I need to speak with him,” Morgan said.
“Do you know where I might...”

“No, I don’t, nor do I want ta. An’ if ye’re
smart, ye won’t either.” She then turned her back on him and
sauntered away.

Morgan turned and walked in the opposite
direction, not entirely sure he was heading the right way. He
wandered in and out of streets, asking anyone and everyone he
encountered where he might find the notorious criminal. He scared
quite a few people and got a number of nervous looks, but no
answers.

He also got himself hopelessly lost. He was
beginning to miss the quiet, genteel streets near his boarding
house.

Nestor had been absolutely right—he could not
have brought Adriana here. He wasn’t entirely sure he should have
come himself. Only his drive for answers buoyed his nerves and set
his determination.

A man bumped into Morgan, neither one of them
watching where they were going.

“Sorry,” the man hiccoughed, reeking of
spirits.

“I beg your pardon,” Morgan said at the same
time and then resisted the urge to cover his nose. He stopped and
asked, “Do you know where I might find Jack the Lad?”

The man seemed to lose his balance, but
regained it quickly enough. But then, oddly enough, he began to
laugh. “Jack the Lad? Ye be wantin’ to find Jack the Lad?” He
staggered on, laughing as if Morgan had just told him the funniest
joke.

Morgan continued on, asking anyone he found,
and trying desperately to keep his mind on the task at hand, rather
than letting it wander back to Adriana. It was so much more
pleasant to think of her than to pay attention to the filth that
surrounded him. A chill ran through him at the thought of living in
such squalor.

He walked on, down a particularly dark and
narrow alleyway, but a creeping sensation made its way under his
skin, giving him an abrasive chill.

His boots sounded loudly against the paving
of the street, and he noticed it had become oddly quiet. He slowed
his walking. And then he heard it. It was no more than a whisper
and at first Morgan couldn’t make out what it was.

He stopped walking, and tried to peer through
the darkness.

“I hear ye’re lookin’ fer me,” the voice said
again, deep and slow.

Morgan turned around, but couldn’t make out
from which direction the voice had come. It bounced off the walls
of the buildings that lined the narrow street. Shadows jutted out
here and there, but there was no light to speak of, just the waning
moon overhead. He could see no one.

“Are you Jack the Lad?” Morgan asked, his
voice sounding much too loud amidst the silence. The chill made its
way up his spine to sit at the base of his skull as he waited for
an answer.

“I might be,” the voice said slowly. “Why?
What do you want?” The words whispered like death in Morgan’s
ear.

Morgan shook himself and continued to look
around for the source of the voice. “I want to have a word with
Jack the Lad. If you are him, I’d appreciate it if you would show
yourself.”

A step sounded very quietly behind him and
Morgan spun around to face a tall thin man with long, pale blond
hair pulled back into a queue. His arms hung by his sides, but
everything about him told Morgan he was ready for anything. “Here,
now, what are ye wantin’ with the likes of Jack?”

Morgan eyed the man warily, but somehow a
feeling of lethargy stole over him. “I want to speak with him. I
think he may have some information I need.”

As the man got closer, Morgan could see his
eyes were an odd pale brown color, almost gold. They pierced into
him as the man said in a soft, almost sing–song voice, “Ye don’t
want to speak with Jack. Ye don’t want anythin’ but to get back
home to yer comfortable bed.”

Morgan took a step back away from the man as
he approached. He did just want to go home, he thought, fighting to
stifle a yawn. There would be nothing nicer than shucking off his
clothes and climbing into his warm, comfortable bed.

“That’s right,” the deep, voice soothed. “Go
on home now. Yer bed is a–callin’ to ye.”

Morgan took another step backwards. He could
almost feel the soft sheets as they caressed him, the soothing
softness of the mattress as he sank down...

“No!” Morgan flung his arms out and the man
went flying backwards, hitting the wall on the opposite side of the
alley.

Morgan’s energy began to burn inside of him
once more as he strode over to the fellow and picked him up by his
coat lapels. “You are Jack the Lad. Now, you are going to give me
the answers I want,” Morgan said, shaking him violently.

Morgan was furious. He had nearly been caught
in the man’s mesmer. He couldn’t believe he had fallen for that. By
God, the fellow was horribly good!

The man threw up his arms, dislodging
Morgan’s hands and putting him off his balance. He turned and
ran.

“Stop!” Morgan called, throwing out his arm
and using his magic to enforce it. He’d never stopped something
from moving before, it took a great deal of mental and magical
strength to do so.

Jack stood frozen for a moment while Morgan
ran up, grabbed hold of him and released his magical hold.

“Who in the name of hell are ye?” Jack asked,
as Morgan turned him around to face him.

“I am Morgan Vallentyn, and I want answers.
You
will
answer my questions,” he said, infusing his own
voice with magic.

The man pulled his arm free of Morgan’s
grasp, but didn’t attempt to run away again. “Vallentyn? I’ve heard
o’that name.”

“My mother is the high priestess of the
coven.”

“Right. That’s right. Never been to one of
them meetin’s.”

“Neither have I,” Morgan admitted.

“Whatd’ye want then? I ain’t got no answers
for ye, whatever it is ye’re after.”

Morgan’s heart began to sink once more, but
refused to give up. He’d gone through too much trouble to stop
now.

He briefly explained about his growing
powers, and then asked, “Have you ever heard of this happening to
anyone else? Do you know where my powers might be coming from?”