Authors: Ann Macela
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Suspense
Wild Magic (16 page)
How was he ever going to avenge his family?
By casting a spell on the bad guys? By using magic? This was really the crux of the matter. If he believed he was a practitioner, with all being one entailed—the magic, the evil, the community, the Swords—then he had to believe he and they would overcome Ubell, the Stone, and everything connected to it.
Even though he’d thought long and hard about the entire situation after he’d returned to his apartment, he hadn’t been able to come to any firm conclusions. His hunch mechanism hadn’t helped at all. It seemed to be exhausted after the evening’s workout. He couldn’t blame it—he was pretty tired himself.
His fatigue showed in his inability to keep his mind focused. Other, unwelcome memories fought their way through the wall in his mind—of his sister and how he hadn’t been able to help her and how suddenly it was too late. How much he still missed her and his parents. God, the damned addict had killed his parents ten years ago, and Charity had died five years later.
Where were his vaunted hunches when all that happened? Absent. Nowhere in sight. Either time.
They sure as hell showed up tonight.
In the midst of a bunch of “magic practitioners,” no less.
In front of the most attractive and exasperating woman he’d ever met.
Irenee Sabel. Merely the thought of her, her red hair; her feistiness; her big brown eyes; her pride; her luscious, surely kissable self; and her smile—all banished the residual loneliness he experienced every time he thought of his family. How and why did he react so intensely?
Maybe he was horny.
Duh! Of course he was horny. Irenee would turn on any man.
He couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have her in his life. Someone who cared for him and about him personally. To be part of her circle of family and friends. To have a real home again instead of a barely furnished apartment.
“Family,” his dad had always said, “is the most important thing in our world.”
His breastbone, which was supposed to have his “magic center” right under it, began to vibrate. When he put his hand on the spot, it radiated warmth, and despite all of his confusion and apprehension—and other feelings he squelched and stuck back behind the wall—he felt ... content. Yeah, that was the word.
In the middle of the chaos, confusion, and sheer, absurd improbability of his situation.
Content.
His contentment might be the weirdest thing of all.
What a position to be in—caught between his agency and this bunch of magic spell casters. If he told his boss about the practitioners, Ken Erlanger would probably take him off the case and commit him to a psycho ward. His career would be down the drain for sure. If he didn’t, he might be obstructing justice and certainly wouldn’t be doing his job or helping his team.
Would the practitioners tell his boss the truth if he dragged Erlanger out to meet them? They were obviously extremely secretive about their abilities—he could understand why. No, he wouldn’t count on even the slightest help from them with his boss.
But, push come to shove, he had to find out if he could actually be one of them. Try to discover some evidence on Ubell clean enough to use in court. Or get help from the practitioners in finding some. Maybe one of them could unhex those damned financials.
Okay. He’d go out to the Center today. If his boss didn’t have any orders, he’d ask for a few days of personal time. He’d been working nonstop for over a year and could do it without mentioning names or details.
He’d see if Whipple, Sabel, and company could prove to him he was a magic guy.
And he’d do everything in his power to get closer to Irenee.
His center hummed in agreement.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jim notified Irenee he was on his way and made it out to the HeatherRidge Center about one o’clock Tuesday afternoon. This time the guard at the gate didn’t check with anybody, simply waved him through. Irenee and Whipple were waiting for him in the lobby by the fountain, black garments of some kind over their arms.
“Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” Jim said when he reached them. She looked good enough to eat, and he had to stifle the urge to give her a hello kiss.
“That’s all right,” Irene replied. “We just arrived ourselves.”
“Let’s go where we can try a few spells,” Whipple said.
Jim followed him and Irenee through the lobby, out the back onto the terrace, and down a walk where they climbed into a golf cart. The big wizard drove them to a two-story building some distance from the main one.
“This is one of our classroom and office buildings,” Irenee said as they went in. “The offices and conference rooms are all aboveground, and the classrooms and labs are below.”
“Safer in case a spell goes awry” Whipple, led them to an elevator. “It’s primarily a building for higher levels. We have another for training novices and young practitioners, but since we aren’t sure exactly what you are, we thought we’d be prepared for any level.”
The elevator came, and they entered it.
“Whoa,” Jim said when he turned to face the door. “Lots of glow.”
“What’s shining?” Whipple asked with a grin.
“All the buttons, and they’re not the usual lighted kind, either.” He pointed to a clear square on the button panel. “That blank space is almost blinding.”
“It should be,” Irenee said and put her hand on it.
The elevator started without her pushing a single button. He had the distinct impression they descended farther than the two basement levels indicated on the panel.
When they stopped, the back of the elevator, which had not appeared to be a door, opened behind him. He turned and stood, staring at what should have been a simple corridor—if they’d been in a castle—gray stone walls, floors, ceilings, about fifteen feet wide and ten feet high. The doors were dark wood with metal latches and hinges. If there were lights, he couldn’t see them for the spell radiance. He squinted at the luminescence.
“More glow, I presume,” Whipple, said.
“Yeah, everything’s lit up, floor, ceiling, doors. Lots of colors, too.” He also took note of the gold shield and silver swords displayed on a black pentagon—more like what he’d expect to find in a magic castle.
“What you’re seeing are mostly defensive and protective spells,” Irenee told him as they walked down the hall. “The training rooms themselves are covered with particularly heavy containment enchantments. Is it too bright for you to see?”
“No, I think I’m getting used to it.” He blinked and was able to stop squinting.
“We’ll have to find a way to cut the glare for you,” she said. “I wonder if sunglasses would help until you can control it internally.”
Standing next to a bulletin board filled with announcements and notices, a man and a woman in colorful robes were talking, but they smiled and nodded to Irenee and Whipple. Jim noticed their curious glances at him.
They came to a wide door, the top half of which was open. A shelf on the lower part formed a counter. Inside the room, Jim could see a series of open cabinets containing garments on hangers. Attached to the wall, a white sign said “Wardrobe” in plain type.
Whipple leaned over the counter into the room beyond. “Tameesha? Where are you? We need a robe.”
A short, stout woman with light brown skin and short black hair came around the corner of a cabinet. “Hold your horses, Fergus. And who’s this?” she said when she spied Jim.
“Tameesha, may I present James Tylan, whom we believe to be a wild talent. We’re about to test him to make sure. He needs a practice robe. We don’t know his level yet, but it may be in the nine-to-ten range. Tylan, the imperious lady is Tameesha Washington, Keeper of the Wardrobe. She’ll be the one to make your robe when you’re ready for one.”
“Oh, my, I’m so happy to meet you, Jim. A wild talent? You’re only the second I’ve ever met. What kind of talent do you have? It’s never to early to plan a formal robe.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Jim said, “but I don’t know what my talent is.”
“This one will try your expertise, Tameesha,” Whipple said. “His talent seems to lie in having hunches. Once he learns a few spells, we may have a better idea. In the meantime, we’ll make do with the basics.”
Her brown eyes grew thoughtful, and she tapped a finger on her jaw. “I like challenges. I can think of a couple of possibilities. For practice and since we don’t know your level, however, I recommend a stronger robe than a novice.” She looked him up and down. “What’s your height and weight, Jim?”
Jim told her, and she vanished into the cabinets. Within seconds, she returned with a light gray garment and passed it over the counter to him. “Try it on. You might want to take your jacket off first.”
Jim took off his coat and laid it on the counter. No one said a word about his weapon in its holster on his belt, so he left it in place. With its hood and long sleeves, the robe looked like something a medieval monk might wear, only it was a thick cotton or linen, not wool. Around the edges of the hood, the front opening, the hem, the sleeve cuffs, and an attached tie belt, symbols flickered. Heavy in his hand, the robe was weightless on his body.
“Turn around and let me see,” Tameesha ordered. As he did so, she asked, “How does it feel?”
Jim flapped his arms and rolled his shoulders. The robe moved with him easily. “Fine. What are these little symbols?”
“You can see those? Fergus, he can see the glyphs?”
“Yes, he can see spell radiances, too.”
The wardrobe mistress grinned at Jim. “Outfitting you is going to be fun.”
“Let’s get to it,” Whipple said after Jim had thanked Tameesha and picked up his coat. The big wizard led the way along the hall, past a cross corridor and several doors to a chamber on the left. He stopped outside a room whose sign proclaimed it to be “Practice Room 3—up to and including level 15 spells.” On the whiteboard under the sign were the neatly printed words, “Reserved, F. Whipple,” and the date and time. Whipple, wrote “FW” on it while Irenee opened the door.
They entered first a small vestibule separating the hall from the room behind. Both the hall door and the one into the room itself were about three inches thick with metal handles and latches worn shiny with use. The stone-clad inner room was shaped like a pentagon about twenty-five feet across. The ceiling was high—Jim estimated fifteen feet at least. Electric fixtures on the walls lit the space, and next to them were sconces with candles—not that Jim needed the light to see with the spells glowing here.
A table against one of the walls held a full glass water pitcher, some glasses, and a number of tall, thick-bodied pale yellow candles in individual saucerlike holders. Several wooden chairs with heavily carved backs and arms stood against another wall.
“You can put your coat over on the table, Jim,” Irenee said, “and please put your gun over there too. I’d hate to have you set it off inadvertently with a miscast spell.”
He followed her instructions, carefully unloading the weapon first.
She and Whipple put on their robes. Cut on the same pattern as his, Jim saw, they were made of pitch-black, velvety, finely woven material, obviously much better quality than his gray one. Multitudinous glyphs shimmered, not only at the edges but all over the robes. Whipple’s had more than Irenee’s.
“What’s the significance of the symbols?” he asked.
“They’re spells and enchantments, designed to protect us and enhance our spells and talents. Practitioners, including Defenders, wear robes identifying their career talents. Swords always wear black,” she answered. “The more symbols, the higher in level and more powerful the person. As you may have figured out from Tameesha’s surprise, very few practitioners can actually see the glyphs.”
“The robes also help shield you if a spell goes wonky,” Whipple said and nodded at one of the walls. “Here, let’s move the chairs. We want a semicircle facing that way.”
Wondering how “wonky” a spell could go, Jim helped move the chairs and sat in the middle one as directed. Whipple and Irenee placed ten candles in their holders on the floor about three feet from the wall and separated from each other by a foot or two. They sat down also. Jim was about ten feet from the line of candles.
“Before we get started, I’d like to know if you were able to find the source or cause of my dream or whatever it was this morning,” Jim said.
“Sounds like quite an exciting event. Unfortunately”—Whipple shook his head—“you were the only one who felt any vibrations or effects.”
“What was it, then? Only a dream? Some wild figment of my imagination? Something you told me earlier that came back to haunt me?”
“Not according to Glynnis Fraser, our team member who’s extremely sensitive to evil items,” Irenee said. “She’s positively identified Alton’s piece as part of the Cataclysm Stone. She’s been investigating both how the Stone might be used and how practitioners like her perceive evil items in general.”
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