Magic In The Storm (34 page)

Jack took a few steps back while he was
thinking, and leaned himself against the wall. “Hmmm. That’s a
tricky one, ain’t it? Never heard o’anythin’ like that happenin’,
not that I know a lot of Vallen, mind ye.”

He thought for a moment, then said, “I’ve
always thought the power came from within. There must be somethin’
changin’ within ye. What is it, inside of ye, that’s changin’?”

Morgan shook his head, thinking hard. “I
don’t know.”

“Well, when ye figure that one out, then
ye’ll know where the power’s comin’ from.”

What was changing within him? Morgan stood
back and began to think about this. So many things had changed
within him recently. It could be his self–confidence, it could be
Adriana, it could be his determination not to wait for his destiny
to come to him, but to go and seek it out on his own, it could be
so many different things.

He looked up suddenly. The calming presence
that Jack exuded was gone. Morgan looked down the alley, but it was
deserted.

How had he done that? Morgan hadn’t even
heard him walk away.

He hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask him
about his destiny, although he had a suspicion the man wouldn’t
have known anything. And he also didn’t warn him to stop using his
powers to rob people.

How did his mother do that, he wondered. Did
she mesmerize them? Put a suggestion into their minds? Use force?
No, he couldn’t see her doing that. It had to be done with
magic—powerful magic. Magic that Morgan now possessed. Which he now
needed to learn how to use.

F
or the hundredth
time Morgan’s eyes slid over the bare wash stand, the dresser, the
small window of his bedroom through which the day’s feeble muted
light shone. He should be happy. He should be feeling light and
energetic. He only needed to figure out what it was within him that
was changing and then he would know why his powers were increasing.
From there, it was just another small step to knowing what his
destiny was.

He nearly laughed. What inside him wasn’t
changing? Never had he experienced so much in his life, never had
he known so many people, had so many friends, been so
self–confident—and then there was Adriana.

That stopped his train of thought. Adriana.
Goodness, she’d been so upset the day before at Lord Byron’s. She’d
nearly been in tears when she’d told them about her guardian taking
away and burning all of her paintings. Morgan couldn’t say that he
blamed her. He wished there had been something he could have done
to help her. Thank goodness, Lord Byron had been able to help.

He wondered if what Lord Byron had proposed
had worked, if things were better with her now. Morgan wanted so
much for her to be happy. He wanted so much for her to be here,
with him.

Well, if she couldn’t be here, then he could
certainly go to her.

Morgan got himself up and dressed in a flash,
and was on his way to Adriana’s house within half an hour. But then
that damned butler of Devaux’s wouldn’t let him in. Not at home to
callers? He didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.
He didn’t like that at all.

He was beginning to get a very bad feeling
about this. His need to see her grew imperative.

Finding a convenient tree just outside of the
back garden wall was perfect. A quick, easy climb and he was over
the wall and in the garden. He scanned the windows of the house.
Which one was hers? He hoped most fervently it faced the back of
the house and not the front. Or maybe she was in the drawing room,
it led out into the garden.

He began to approach the back door when
Adriana came rushing out of it. “Morgan! What are you doing here?”
she said in a loud whisper, as if she was afraid someone within the
house could hear her even through the closed doors and windows.

“I had to see you. I had to see that you were
all right,” he said. As she came nearer, Morgan reached out and
took her hands. They were cold.

“No. You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees
you, I’ll get into trouble.”

“Why? That nasty butler of yours said you
weren’t at home to visitors. I told him that I was certain you
would see me, but he still wouldn’t let me in.”

“I’m not allowed any visitors,” she said,
blinking a little too fast, as if she were trying to hide
tears.

“Didn’t Lord Byron get here in time to save
your work?” he asked gently, worried of what the answer might
be.

Adriana closed her eyes for a moment, and
then with a sniff said, “Yes, he did. Lord Devaux was furious when
he got home and found all of my work gone before he could destroy
it himself. Every pen, pencil and scrap of paper has been removed
from the house to ensure that I can’t draw. All of my paints and
brushes have been disposed of.” She stopped abruptly and lowered
her head and closed her eyes again. She was trying so hard, so hard
not to cry, Morgan could feel it in his own throat. His own anger
rose up in her defense.

“That isn’t fair. That isn’t right,” he said,
his voice coming out low with anger.

But she, brave thing, just shook her head.
“It is only what Lord Devaux said he would do if I refused to marry
Vallentyn. I can’t fault him for carrying through with his threat.
I knew he would.”

“But this isn’t right, Adriana! You love to
paint and draw.”

She gave him the saddest little smile—a
smile! “It’s my life. I feel... I feel as if my right arm has been
cut off. The pain... it’s almost too much.”

In one sweep of his arm, he crushed her
against his chest. Fury didn’t come close to describing how he
felt. This was wrong. How could Lord Devaux do this to her? What
sort of man could punish someone in this way?

But Adriana separated herself. “No, Morgan,
please.”

Never had he seen anyone hurting so much, and
trying so hard to be strong. Adriana was an incredible woman.

He wracked his mind for something he could
do, something he could say that would help her. Was there nothing
with which he could cheer her, at least?

“I have good news,” he said, attempting to
lighten his voice.

She blinked a few times and looked up,
hopefully.

“I have learned that my powers come from
something within me, something that has changed. I don’t know what
it is yet, but I’m trying to figure it out.”

Adriana didn’t say anything.

“And I’ve also learned that whatever my
destiny is, it involves helping people. I don’t know how yet, but
I’m determined to find out.”

She still said nothing, but the hopeful look
in her eyes had faded.

“I’m thinking that perhaps I can find more
Vallen, maybe with Lord Byron’s help, and question them,” he
continued.

Her lips began to purse together, as if she
was holding something back.

“And you do remember that we are invited to
the theatre on Thursday? That’s going to be...”

“How can you be so cruel?” she whispered
fiercely, finally bursting out with it.

Morgan stopped. “Cruel?”

“Throwing your freedom in my face? Is it not
enough that I’ve had my drawing taken away from me? You have to
remind me that I am a prisoner as well? You know that I can’t go to
the theatre with you. I can’t leave this house. I have no freedom
to move about as I please. My God, I’m lucky I’m allowed to leave
my room at all, and that is only because Lord Devaux still expects
me to run his house for him and I can’t do that if I’m locked into
my room.”

Morgan didn’t know what to say. He was
stunned by her words, but even more so, by her anger. It seemed to
be directed at him.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, Adriana. I want to
help.” And then he had a wonderful idea. “I know, I can bring you
pencil and paper...”

“No!” She looked away for a moment as if
trying to figure out how to speak to this idiot—to him. “If you do
that, and I’m discovered with them, Lord Devaux will think
Henrietta brought them to me and she’ll be sent away. I couldn’t do
that to her!”

Oh. He hadn’t thought of that. “Well, is
there nothing...?”

“No. There is nothing that you can do.”
Adriana’s breathing became harder, more labored, as if she had just
been walking too quickly. “All that you can do is to go away,
Morgan. Take your freedom, and your magic, and get away from me. If
it hadn’t been for you showing me what you can do—if you had never
told me to be careful of your mother, that she might hurt me—I
would never have broken off my engagement with Lord Vallentyn. I
would be happily living in ignorance. I would, at least, have had
some chance at freedom. Now, because of you, I have nothing.”

He stood rock still. He wasn’t even certain
he was breathing or his heart was still beating. She wanted him to
leave? She blamed all this on him? But...

“Leave, Morgan,” Adriana said, a cold, hard
expression in her glaring eyes. “Go away, and never come back!”

<><><>

He didn’t need her. He had Kat, and Cosmina,
and Nestor. He certainly didn’t need Adriana.

But she had no one, a voice quietly whispered
in his ear. And now, she didn’t even have her painting.

He could only imagine what she must be going
through. No wonder she had lashed out at him. No wonder she was
hurt and angry.

But she needn’t have hurt him. He’d only
wanted to help.

But how could he?

Maybe she was right. Maybe it would be better
if he never saw her again.

Morgan leaned his arms on the edge of Lord
Byron’s theatre box, and tried to pay attention to the play. It
wasn’t easy. Paying attention to anything hadn’t been easy for the
past three days. Adriana was all he could think about. The pain
inside of her had been intense. He’d never felt anything like that
before. And her anger—all of it directed at him, as if it had been
he who had taken away her drawing materials, as if he had locked
her into that house.

But she shouldn’t have treated him the way
she had. It wasn’t his fault. He had tried to help her, to soothe
her, but what had he gotten in response? A slap of angry words.

No, he certainly didn’t need that.

Cosmina had said he was better off without
someone who would hurt him and who clearly only thought of herself.
Nestor had agreed, but only because Adriana couldn’t do anything to
help with his magic.

He hadn’t told Kat. He knew she and Adriana
were friends, and although he was sure her loyalties would lie with
him, he didn’t want to put her into an awkward situation. But
Nestor and Cosmina’s reassurances hadn’t made him feel any
better.

Perhaps nothing would make him feel
better—nothing but putting Adriana and her sweet smile behind him.
Yes, that’s what he would do. He didn’t need her, after all.

A gentle slap on his back startled Morgan out
of his reverie, and he noticed everyone was standing and
applauding. The play must be over. He had dreamed his way through
the entire thing.

“Well? Magnificent, isn’t he?” Lord Byron was
saying.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely,” Morgan agreed, just
for politeness’ sake.

“Had you completely enthralled, I could
tell,” Lord Byron laughed. “You hardly moved a muscle the entire
time.”

Morgan gave a noncommittal little shrug of
his shoulders and smiled ruefully. He could never admit he hadn’t
paid the least attention to the play.

“Come, let’s meet Kean.”

Lord Byron led the way out of the box and
down the hallway in the opposite direction from the rest of the
crowd. They slipped through a door, and then down a flight of
stairs.

The space behind the stage was crowded with
actors going here and there, members of the crew carrying pieces of
scenery and he didn’t know what else.

Lord Byron pulled him away from the hubbub
and down a slightly quieter corridor. A knock on a door, and they
entered a room that looked very much out of place in a busy
theatre. It looked to be more like a comfortable parlor than
anything else. Mr. Kean stepped out from behind a screen in the
back of the room, partially dressed.

“Ah, Mr. Vallentyn, Byron! Good evening to
you! Good evening,” Mr. Kean welcomed them warmly, his arms open
wide. “Tell me, how did you like our little play?” he clapping his
hands together and looking pointedly at Morgan.

“Er, I liked it very much, thank you. Very
much, indeed,” Morgan lied.

“He didn’t move a muscle throughout the
entire performance, Edmund,” Lord Byron laughed.

Mr. Kean burst into laughter as well. “Good!
Good! That’s the way I like my audience, paralyzed with rapt
attention.”

He laughed at his own joke.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted him,
and one of the most lovely women Morgan had ever seen walked into
the room. She looked a bit shy at first, but stole a glance up at
Morgan.

He suddenly felt as if every drop of blood in
his body had dried up, but then, just as quickly, it reappeared,
churning and rushing through his veins like the stream after a
heavy rain.

“Sarah, what a pleasant surprise!” Mr. Kean
said warmly to the young woman. “What may I do for you?”

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, Mr. Kean,”
she said in a slow, quiet voice that slid like liquid silver over
Morgan’s skin. “I couldn’t help but notice you had guests this
evening,” she glanced over at Morgan. “I was wondering if you would
honor me with an introduction?”

Mr. Kean raised his eyebrows and gave her a
little knowing smile. “I would be happy to.” He turned toward Lord
Byron saying, “My lord, you have had the pleasure of meeting Miss
Jordan, have you not?”

“On many very happy occasions,” Lord Byron
said with a small bow.

“It is good to see you again, my lord,” Miss
Jordan said, giving him a little curtsey. She then took a few steps
closer to Morgan and the room suddenly seemed to be much too
overcrowded for Morgan’s taste. “And who is this handsome
stranger?” she asked.