The Magickers (25 page)

“No.” She shook her head. “Oh, no.”

“I won't give up, but . . .” He paused, and leaned on his cane as if he actually needed it to bear his weight. His deep blue gaze swept over all of them. “We know that once lost like that, retrievals are . . . difficult, at best. If not impossible.”

Dr. Patel said softly, “It
was
Bailey. I saw her clearly, though only for a moment.”

Jason only half-listened, because he already felt sure he knew who the ghost was. What he didn't know was . . . where had the cookie gone? If he'd missed snatching it back, where was it on the ground? He shuffled his feet a bit in the night and saw . . . nothing.

Gavan nodded. “I won't give up easily.”

Jason stood stock-still, as something brushed the back of his ear. The evening breeze had come back, and the trees stirred around him, but he heard something ever so faintly. He thought he heard someone say, “Saves mine . . .”

His blood went cold. Or was it . . . you're mine? As the creature had promised him.

FireAnn picked up her candles and said briskly, “Everyone should be in bed. If you can't sleep, I'll send a draft of chamomile by. Tomorrow, as they say, is another day, and now that we know it's our missing lass, we can take steps.”

“Are you all right, Jason?” asked the doctor softly. Standing beside him, she was hardly taller than he was, and the faint smell of incense clung to her silken sari.

“Yeah.” He shivered. He'd have to think about this later, when he was warmer, and the night wasn't pressing on him. The back of his hand twitched and as he covered it with his other, he winced at new tenderness. “We can't lose Bailey. She's . . . she's . . . special,” he finished lamely, for want of a better word.

“You're all special,” Gavan said. He bowed to FireAnn. “I think we should follow our own advice, and this time, young man, I won't ask why—”

A howl tore his words in half. Another one followed it, sharp and coming nearer. The noise swirled down on the clearing like a whirlwind, and he could almost hear the running of the pack, the gnashing of their teeth as the howlers bore down on them. The throbbing in his hand quickened as though keeping pace with their thundering strides. Jason wobbled, nearly overwhelmed by it.

“Wolfjackals!” Gavan swung about, his cane in his hands. “I should have known they'd sense the breach. FireAnn, get Eleanora and Anita back to the Hall, quickly!” He pulled at Jason. “You, stay with me.” He seemed not to notice Jason's pain as he took the boy's elbow and tucked him in close.

FireAnn linked arms with Eleanora and Anita Patel. “Back to back,” she said to Gavan Rainwater, and to the others, she added, “Here we go, duckies. One step at a time. They'll not take us all on at once!”

Gavan stepped in behind the women, turning, and they moved as one unit, FireAnn leading the others ahead and Gavan and Jason walking backward, on alert, watching the woods fringing the campground.

He would ask what wolfjackals were, but he already knew. Sweat beaded Jason's forehead.

“Got your crystal on you?”

“I—yes,” Jason got out. His throat creaked as he tried to talk.

“Good. Take it out. Hold it tightly. And, mind you, don't drop it!”

“No, sir.”

“I'm going to draw on you. If you get to feeling really faint, call out. Otherwise, just stay with me, stand firm, and I'll keep us all from harm, no matter what it looks like is going to happen. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jason faintly. He already felt weak. How could he give any strength to Gavan? But if he said anything, if he showed him the mark, how much more trouble would he be in? He clamped his jaw shut and took a deep breath. The backs of his calves ached as they walked backward faster and faster to keep up with FireAnn leading a brisk retreat.

“Our energies are spent, but the wards on the cottages should hold. We're the only ones in danger for the moment,” Gavan muttered to Eleanora as they trotted toward the main hall. His hand gripped Jason's shoulder tightly.

Then came the moment which he knew, if he lived beyond it, he would never forget. From the darkened sky itself, they seemed to come, running down out of the clouds and iron mountain peaks and alighting onto the common ground of the camp, their eyes shining green, their teeth like white, sharp slivers of the moon. With howls and growls, they emerged one by one and fanned out into a pack. Five of them descended onto the pathway and slowed to a stop, their tails wagging low and stiff from side to side, their jaws agape. The wolfjackals lowered their heads, and he had not a doubt they could rip his throat out whenever they wished.

A sharp tear went through the back of his hand. It felt damp, as though bitten, but he could not look at it. He could not do anything but stare at the hunting pack just as they stared down their prey.

“Away with you. You are denied,” Gavan called out. His statement might have been more convincing were they not backing up quickly, to keep at the backs of the three more vulnerable women.

The pack trotted slowly to keep even. The air smelled of them, hot furred beast, coppery blood tang, musk, saliva, sharpened teeth, eagerness to run them down.

The leader's head twitched, jaws widening, crimson tongue lolling. His head jerked about again, as though birthing a voice with great difficulty. “This is open land. We hunt.”

“No. No, this is our land, and you know it. Our manna seeps into the very earth joints here.”

“I know nothing. We hunt here. If you would deny us, close the Gate.”

Gavan muttered something under his breath. He cupped his left hand, clutching Jason's fist where he held his crystal tightly. He inhaled. “You are denied! Leave now!”

“Or . . .” The wolfjackals trotted closer yet. “Your threatssss seeeeem empty.”

Gavan raised his cane. A searing blue beam shot from the end of it, blackening the ground. Dirt and crushed grasses sizzled. With a yelp, the beast jumped out of range. Gavan inhaled tightly, and a second bolt shot from the cane. It zapped one of the beasts. The wolfjackal rolled with a yelp, and the smell of burning fur filled the air.

The pack leader whirled about, snapping. Then he lowered his head, facing Gavan again. “For that, I will have blooddddd,” he grimaced and snarled out of ivory-toothed jaws.

Gavan jumped forward with a great stamp, and two of the wolfjackals bolted away in sheer reaction. They circled and came back to the rear of the pack, heads down as if embarrassed. Their packmates snapped sharply at them for their cowardice.

Fiery pain crept up Jason's hand to his arm and into his neck. He concentrated on breathing, on Gavan's words. He felt as though he were leaking. As though everything inside of him faded away . . . They continued to walk backward, one slow steady step at a time. A soft glow behind told him they were close to the building.

But he had been close to the building when bitten. So they weren't afraid of the lights and such. They weren't entirely wild. They were . . . beyond his knowing. The one spoke. The others milled about with a savage intelligence. His heart thudded in his breast as though the only thing in a vast, hollow drum. It hurt to feel it pounding so hard.

Something pale and white flitted past them. Jason barely caught sight of it, but he felt it. The wolfjackals did as well. The pack wheeled about in sudden confusion, smelling new prey and yet not quite sighting it. “What is thissss?” the leader snarled, and snapped at empty air. Hot saliva dripped from his jaw in eagerness.

With a fear for more than himself, Jason thought he knew. They saw, sensed, what he could not. And alone, she was in even more danger than he was! He yelled, “Run, Bailey!” with all the air left in his lungs.

The wolfjackals scattered, leaping after the faint ghostly apparition. They howled in fierce joy at the new hunt. The white wisp darted away, out of reach. It bobbed back and forth, almost frantic seeming, just in front of the snapping wolfjackals. The beasts whirled and spun and lashed out again and again.

Gavan called out, “NOW!” He bodily picked up Jason by the waist and they all lunged for the Lake Wannameecha Gathering Hall.

Once inside, FireAnn bolted the door, and Eleanora let out a sharp, crisp curse before heading to her office. “I can't leave the Ghost to them!” She came back with a very large, clear crystal in her hands. “Now,” she said firmly. “They'll be sorry.” She took her place near Gavan who gently set Jason back on his sneak ered feet.

Wobbly, Jason sat down.

Eleanora tossed her head and linked her arm with Gavan's. She threw the door back open and the two of them stepped into the golden courtyard as the five wolfjackals lunged into sight.

Jason saw only a brilliant flash of light. He heard the yelps and snarls and then—nothing. He didn't know if it was because they'd won . . . or he'd keeled over as he felt his mind go blank and his body slump down. The only feeling he had anywhere was in his hands . . . pain in the left one where the scar felt newly ripped open, and pain in the right one where he held his crystal so tightly it cut into his palm. Then the dark snarled around and enclosed him.

17

I
CY cold. He woke up shivering, teeth chattering, as if he'd been dunked in a tub of ice water. Dr. Patel was gently unfolding his fingers from around his crystal, saying softly, “Just relax a bit, Jason.” He tried to, but his body reacted on its own, jerking about like a puppet on loose strings. It took him a moment to realize he was staring at the ceiling of Lake Wannameecha Gathering Hall, and not the sky, or his own cabin, or even his very own attic room, so far away. She frowned at the bruising and tiny cuts around his crystal, but only said, “We'll have to wash the grit out of those. Your crystals aren't polished and cleaned yet.”

Dr. Patel leaned over him, and so did FireAnn, a worried look knitting her cinnamon brows together. Her hair had come unbound again, and surrounded her face in a hazy, burnished cloud of red. “You're tough, laddie,” she said quietly. “Just take a deep breath.”

Jason nodded.

FireAnn shook his shoulder. “Dinna nod at me, laddie, breathe!”

He inhaled deeply. The warm air burned inside his lungs. He knew he'd never be warm again. Why was he so cold? Dr. Patel laid her silken shawl over him and despite its lightness, it seemed to blanket him with soothing heat as she tucked it about him with a few words of a language he did not recognize, then added, “What happened?”

“Ah, well.” FireAnn looked up briefly. “We're nay sure yet! It's a battle of wills out there.”

“What happens if we lose?” Jason forced words out through teeth determined to chatter.

Anita Patel hissed, and then gently added, “We can't be losing. This is not the kind of battle we can afford to lose.” She helped him sit up.

He dared a glance at his scarred hand, saw nothing and tucked it under him. He could have sworn the skin had broken anew, the blood freshly running down his hand and trickling off his fingers from a jagged gash. But he saw nothing in his quick glance.

Not too quick for Dr. Patel to catch, though. She grabbed his wrist firmly. “Let me see that hand, Jason.”

He yielded to her because he had no choice. Fire began to creep through his body as the feeling came back, prickly heat pinching and poking numb places. He clenched his jaw tightly to keep his teeth from chattering. She spread his fingers to examine the scar carefully.

“I think it's time you told me the truth about this, Jason.”

He couldn't meet her level gaze.

“What is it?” asked FireAnn.

“A bite or scratch. He wasn't quite sure when he came in at first. Scratch, we decided, and it looked like it, though deep but closing quickly. He had babbled a bit about a wild animal first, then let it go. Do you remember the night?”

The cook rubbed her head, fiery hair moving about her like smoke. “Without a crew to help with the kitchen, I was a mite distracted. Gavan was hounding me to get the Draft concocted. There was someone lost near the toilets . . . I canna say I remember that being you, though, Jason. Lad, we're a chain that's only as strong as the weakest link. If there's something we need to know, you should be telling us.”

He squirmed. Dr. Patel smoothed her fingertips over the crescent scar. She already knew, he sensed. He sighed. She let go of his hand.

“I didn't know what it was then. It jumped me . . . you scared it off.” He stared beseechingly at FireAnn.

FireAnn let out her breath in a gust. She smelled faintly of spearmint. “Oh, lad.”

Dr. Patel frowned. “They've been here since the first night? That's not good, FireAnn. I had no idea, and I don't think anyone else did.”

Cook laid a hand gently on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“It took hold of me. I . . . well, I couldn't pull loose, so I shoved my fist down its throat. It let go in surprise, I think. Then it heard a clatter from the kitchens, so it growled at me and left.”

“Well. I was scarin' more varmints than I knew, eh?” FireAnn looked faintly pleased.

“I washed up. It hurt a lot but by morning, the gash had nearly healed up. Just looked like a bad scratch, but still, I was worried. I mean . . . rabies and stuff. I didn't know what to think, but you seemed very calm about it, and it didn't look that bad in your office. Maybe I had jabbed it into a branch when I fell.”

She nodded solemnly.

He exhaled. The moment had come, he knew it. With all that he had been through, he would be sent home. “I'm sorry to have been so much trouble,” he said.

FireAnn poked him gently. “The most Talented are often the most troublesome. Dinna you think Gavan Rainwater knows that? Why, as a lad himself—” She rolled her green eyes.