Night Magic (4 page)

“Devin and Keelan have been asking after you. They’re starting to worry.”

“Tell them I’m fine.” He hated that his voice was thick. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

His father didn’t move. “Where have you been?”

Brian Tremaine knew the good little Prince of Wales wouldn’t refuse to answer him. Brian Tremaine was never wrong. But at least Kemble could skirt the issue. “I took Jane home. Her mother isn’t well.” He tried to make it casual.

“Oh, well, then. Come back out and have a piece of cake.”

Kemble flashed on watching Devin and Keelan cooing over each other. Or his sister Drew holding her husband Michael’s biceps in that intimate way that said they were life partners who shared a satisfying physical and soul-deep relationship. Or Tristram riding little Jesse around on his shoulders, pretending to be one of the muscle cars he restored while Maggie watched fondly. They’d each met their Destiny.

He couldn’t do it.

“Maybe later,” he said. Okay. His voice was more in control now. “I . . . I should look at those reports on the energy credits from the wind farm.”

“They can wait. We’re celebrating a wedding today.” Now, even in the semi-darkness, he could see his father’s sharp expression as he examined his son.

The air was thick in the room with the drapes closed. That must be why Kemble couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t Senior just accept that Kemble didn’t want to be there?

Of course not. “What’s wrong, son? Whatever it is has been coming on for a while, so don’t bullshit me with some superficial answer.”

Kemble felt a weight on his chest. “Not important,” he managed. “Just out of sorts.”

“Astonishing. You didn’t even bother with superficial. Am I that hard to talk to?”

Kemble wanted to laugh but he couldn’t. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Senior pushed past him and went to the window. He pulled open the drapes, suffusing the room with the rosy glow of the setting sun
, and turned. The piercing blue eyes were much in evidence. Kemble’s own were pale in comparison. “I’m not leaving until you say something meaningful.” He went to sit in Kemble’s desk chair and motioned to the bed magnanimously. “You might as well sit.”

Kemble had absolutely no desire to have a “chat” with his father. Chats had a way of becoming cross-examinations. He wanted to get angry. He’d had his first shouting argument ever with his father a few months ago. It had felt good. But he’d lost the argument. Or rather he was just wrong to begin with. Worse. Maybe that’s why he just couldn’t find any anger. He got that distant feeling again, like he’d had before his father walked in. Suddenly that felt even better than getting mad. Distance was good.

He didn’t sit. His father just waited.

Okay, if that’s what he wanted. Might as well get it over with. “I’m never going to get magic.” He saw his father start to speak. It would be platitudes about needing to wait, that of course he had the Merlin gene
. . . blah, blah. So he held up a hand. To his surprise, his father didn’t just bulldoze over him. He looked pensive. “If I were going to find true love, it would have been sometime in the last twenty years among the thousands of dates arranged by Mother or at the clubs I used to frequent or the circuit of benefits and fundraisers and exhibit openings, ad nauseam. But it didn’t happen and I’ve accepted that it’s not going to.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have a destined partner with the gene because I don’t have the gene. I won’t have a power. I’m just sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

If he expected his father to say
, “You could never be a disappointment,” he would have been disappointed. But he didn’t expect that. So it was okay when Senior looked out the window and said, “It was unfair to put such a burden on you children, telling you you’d all find true love and get magic because you had the Merlin gene. Brina and I talked it over early on, when you and Tristram started grade school, before Drew came along. But to let it strike you unprepared seemed cruel. And we couldn’t let you worry about whether the gene was recessive in you. That would just be an extra layer of anxiety. Brina thought it best to focus on the positive, make sure you thought it would absolutely happen and when it did it would be wonderful.”

That pretty much put the nail in the coffin. Even his father knew he was right. A bar of lead sat in Kemble’s gut. After a minute, he said, “So what do I do from here?”

He father gave him a weary smile. “You continue your work at Tremaine. You find a woman you want to settle down with. You raise a family and get on with life.”

“So
. . . suck it up?” Was that all there was?

“It’s what life is, son. It goes on. You do the best you can with the hand you’re dealt, and you keep moving. And when the time comes, you’ll take over Tremaine Enterprises and continue our work.”

Kemble swallowed. “I’ll never be you.”

His father chuffed a laugh. “Why would you want that?” He rose and put his arm around Kemble’s shoulders. “An expert at faking it? The only thing I was really suited for was being a con man, and your mother wouldn’t let me continue down that career path.” He guided his son toward the door. “Let’s get you a stiff drink.”

Except Senior didn’t “fake it.” Whatever he did, he was the best at. Ever.

Kemble felt like he was walking toward his execution.

*****

Jane could tell by the setting moon it was getting on toward dawn. Unlike her mother, snoring inside, she couldn’t sleep. She’d worked until she was exhausted, cleaning up the dreadful mess, as if she could scrub away her shame that Kemble had seen the whole thing. But exhaustion didn’t seem to equal sleep. So here she was, out on the deck in the small backyard, a sweater pulled around her body against the chill of the wee hours. She liked the darkness. It was comforting.

The neighborhood was quiet now. The house was the only thing her mother got in the divorce from Holmby. If her mother would sell it, there’d be enough money for rehab and the care she needed. Even without alcohol, she might need care. Which had come first, the alcohol or the mental illness? Even her mother’s doctor didn’t know. And she refused to see a psychiatrist.

What was Jane thinking? Her mother would never agree to rehab or counseling. That would be trying to make something of
herself and her life, and her mother was beyond that.

Jane felt numb. Would Kemble tell any of his family about what he’d seen? God, she hoped not. Maybe she should quit going over to
the Breakers at all.

But could she give it up? Being around a boisterous and loving family had provided Jane with an anchor. Between her mother, cycling down into alcoholism and mental illness, and the problematic “fathers” rolling into and out of her life, she’d needed one.

But her life at the Breakers was also excruciating. She’d lived with her hopeless love for Kemble Tremaine since she was maybe fourteen. Of course, he wasn’t for her. There were the damn Tremaine genes, for one thing. He’d meet someone who had that matching gene, and poof! True love. It was tough to compete with magic when she was about as ordinary as girls got.

But it was more than just the magic that put him out of reach. The Tremaines were bigger than life. The girls were beautiful, as in really stunning like their mother. Tall. Skin to die for, pale and fine. Amazing hair, no matter the color. And the men
. . . . Big, handsome, dark hair, piercing blue or green eyes. Except of course, for adopted Devin. He was their blond, brown-eyed changeling, but devastatingly handsome nonetheless. They got into the best schools. Well, except for Tristram, and that was just because he refused to go. They all had talents. Senators, governors, Hollywood producers, and the glittering literati were friends of the family.

And we weren’t even talking about the magic yet. After they met their destiny? Brina was a Healer. Drew could tell the future. Her husband Michael could
Find things—like anything, anywhere, as long as he knew what it looked like. Keelan, the artist, got an ability to . . . well, what would you call it? Remake reality, like an illusion you couldn’t escape. And so it went. Tristram drew energy from the earth to power machines. Maggie could Calm people or animals right into a coma practically. And there was Brian, of course. Way larger than life.

Jane
. . . wasn’t. Why had Drew latched on to her all those years ago? Drew, who was so urbane and dramatic, had no need of plain Jane. An audience? A backdrop for her beauty? But that wasn’t all it was. Drew was generous to a fault, a staunch defender of her mousey friend, under that demeanor of drawling sophistication. The Tremaines took Jane in and enveloped her in love without a second thought.

Jane was thirty now. She should be moving on. But how could she? Her mother kept her here, of course, but there was also Kemble’s pain. She couldn’t leave him stranded in despair. She’d tried to comfort him once, just as a friend. Hadn’t done any good. Why would he listen to someone who didn’t have magic? But she wanted to do something for him.

Her only consolation was that no one had any idea she was in love with him. Being part of the wallpaper for so long had its advantages.

So, here she was, in limbo, the life she led torn and tattered, but no way to change it. She’d never been a force for change anyway. Wallpaper never was.

The hills to the east of the house obscured the dawn, but the sky was definitely lightening. Maybe a shower would relax her enough to get a couple of hours of sleep.

*****

Kemble sleepwalked through the next day. He had a head, of course, after how much Scotch it had taken to numb him to the celebration and pass out so he wouldn’t dream. The house was back to normal, all the tables and chairs for the party removed, the trash bins full to overflowing. Back in the conference room of the office wing, Kemble had a call with the curator and the contractor on the game plan for security at the exhibit of eighth-century artifacts at the museum. The Tremaines were sponsoring the opening event on Friday night. The artifacts, on loan from countries all over the world, would be coming in during the next days, and security had to be tight. The Tremaines would normally have gone to the opening gala themselves, but these days that was impossible.

In the afternoon, Kemble was back at the task of looking for Talismans. They were replicas of the suits of the
tarot, which Merlin also invented. So with the Wand and the Sword found (and in Morgan’s hands in spite of their best efforts), he knew the two remaining artifacts must be a Cup and a Pentacle. Who knew what a Pentacle even was? On the tarot cards his mother used pentacles were depicted as coins with five-pointed stars on them. But there were no coins of that description he could find. That tarot card design was done only in this century, so a pentacle might have been something else entirely in Merlin’s day.

He felt sorry for Merlin. All that magic, and he couldn’t pass it to his progeny. It dissipated into the gene pool and was lost. Well, almost lost. It still lurked in the DNA of his descendants. Why it was coming back together now, after more than fifteen hundred years, Kemble didn’t know. But it was drawing those who had the magic together to create offspring with even more magic. Maybe it was just the right time. Lord knew the world needed magic. Too bad it wouldn’t get any from Kemble Tremaine.

Kemble was just depressed. Who knew what Morgan Le Fay (as she called herself, after her ancestor) could do if she possessed all the artifacts that amplified her power and those of her followers? Kemble’s failure might cost the Tremaines their lives. What would it cost the world?

By six, he was ready to pack it in. Michael and Drew had emerged from the library. Drew looked pale and Michael was hovering. Had she drunk that much at the wedding, or was she having visions again? They were coming down the stairs as he left the office wing. He heard chatter in the kitchen. Maybe Jane was there. She’d have come over sometime today to get her cheek
Healed. Since Jane was privy to the family’s secret, she never needed to be sick or in pain. He headed that way.

Most of the Tremaines were in the kitchen making dinner or kibitzing with a glass of wine in their hand, or in Tristram’s case, a beer. No Senior, of course. He wouldn’t stop working until the last minute before dinner. And no Jane.

“Hey, Kemble, what are you drinking?” Devin asked. “Or are you swearing off the demon drink after the damage you did last night?”

“Uh, I’ll have a glass of red if you’re pouring. Where’s Jane?”

“Haven’t seen her today,” Drew said. “The wedding probably wore her out.” Drew was really looking very pensive and drawn.

He looked to his mother, who was rolling out pasta dough
, and raised his brows.

“Maybe her mother had a doctor’s appointment.”

Jane hadn’t come for Healing. “She didn’t call?”

Shaking heads.

“Nobody knows how she is, or when she’s coming?” Didn’t they even care about her?

“It’s not like she reports to us,” Tamsen said, carrying a stack of plates with herbs painted on them out to the dining room.

Kemble controlled his temper with difficulty. Tamsen was right. And he hadn’t exactly checked up on her himself. After leaving her in horrible circumstances last night. Suddenly, he felt almost sick with anger at himself. This confusing ball of emotions he couldn’t quite sort out was making him even stupider than usual.