Your Magic or Mine? (35 page)

He kept looking straight ahead and said only, “Let’s get through the event first, okay?”

She didn’t bother to answer him, but she wondered what excuse he’d use to get out of seeing her.

Marcus took his seat as soon as he climbed onto the stage. He busied himself with his papers and ignored Gloriana. Or he tried to. That was impossible, his body told him. He was aware of her every movement, her every breath—especially her smiles at other men. In the dining room, it had taken all of his control not to throw her over his shoulder and take her where they could be alone—after he punched out Schmidt.

As he sat at the table, his thoughts turned to what he’d learned in the past two days. The results were not encouraging, but he knew he’d been right to get out of Austin early. Staying home wasn’t an option when he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from going to her. They’d only make love again, and that would put them much closer to the actual bonding mating, according to all the soul-mate rules. Bonding was the absolute last thing either of them needed. Therefore, he’d dropped off Samson with Evelyn and George and flown to Atlanta.

His hopes of finding evidence to bolster his conviction to resist and reject, however, deteriorated into discouragement and finally despair flavored with panic. No hard facts about successful mate rejection existed. On the contrary, copious notes, diaries, biographies, letters, and even keepsakes abounded, all proclaiming the wonder and glory of finding and having a soul mate.

Patterns emerged: A woman often didn’t take to the idea of her mate at the beginning of the relationship and had to gain trust in the man before she would agree to the connection. A man, on the other hand, usually actively pursued his mate, right from the time he first saw her. Marcus had almost laughed at his discovery. He and Gloriana seemed to be going about the experience backward.

What brought together a woman and a man, what calmed the woman and excited the man, was the
process
. More than simply the lust factor—which aided but didn’t foreordain the ending, even for the man—the determining developments were getting to know each other, recognizing the trustworthiness and inherent qualities of the other, coming to realize how interesting the other was, how they fit together on many aspects of life. The sameness in attitudes, beliefs, and opinions helped, but wasn’t truly necessary.

What mattered at the heart of the situation was exactly that:
the hearts of the mates. Love
.

He realized as the last word passed through his brain that he was frowning at the audience. He carefully wiped all expression from his face and brought his gaze down to his notes. Neither action stopped his thoughts from returning to his soul mate.

What did he think of Gloriana? She was intelligent, gorgeous, funny, perceptive, straightforward, and downright interesting. They did have things in common besides their dogs—academic careers and running came to mind. They both sincerely wanted to help practitioners improve spell-casting. They’d probably find more in common if they talked about it. Come to think of it, they hadn’t really talked about much except the debates and the soul-mate mess.

What about their different ways of doing magic? He’d really like to discuss that subject with her. She’d explained her strength spell in terms of his formula. Therefore, she had to understand part of what he was calling for. In fact, when he thought of her exact words, it certainly sounded like she had actually
used the
formula to cast the spell. Interesting, and potentially significant. If she had, they definitely needed to talk.

For his part in the discussion, exhibit A, the plant she’d rescued from dehydration. He’d bought that little ivy in the supermarket because he somehow couldn’t help himself. It had called to him to take it home. Wednesday night, he’d looked on the practitioner Web site for that strength spell of hers. In a spell book for novices, he’d found a plant growth spell, and feeling more than a little foolish, he’d actually tried to cast it on the ivy. That attempt failed, and he wasn’t surprised because the book warned that the spell was talent-specific.

He did succeed, however, in finding and casting strength on himself. What a feeling of power and exhilaration had engulfed him when he picked up his couch as a test. He’d also gained insight into calibration for his equation, although exact measurement remained a problem.

If he could learn to cast her spells, maybe she could learn some of his, and, at the same time, he could use her intuitive spell-casting to refine his measurement efforts. He almost laughed at himself for that idea. He might be a theoretical mathematician, but he was becoming a practical wizard.

Maybe, given all that compatibility on all those levels—and the mind-blowing lovemaking—being soul mates with Gloriana Morgan would be more wonderful than the matings depicted in the archives.

Wait. He was forgetting something. Mating led to children.

Glori’s children. He could almost see her, round with child, holding a baby, playing with a toddler. He couldn’t see himself in that picture. He could never, would never take the chance. Given his experiences and upbringing—probably his very nature, thanks to his parents—how could he be a father worthy of Gloriana’s children?

As the enormity of that obstacle struck him, he felt like crying right there in the ballroom. To distract himself from his whirlpool of thoughts, he watched the audience file in. The usual suspects were present. Attendance had grown with each debate, and tonight was crowded with four extra rooms to handle the overflow—and partly to keep combatants separate. Four Swords plus John Baldwin would stand guard in the main ballroom.

Baldwin came onto the stage, motioned to the three of them, and they stepped to the rear with him. The Sword spoke in a low voice. “A few minutes ago we caught one of the people posting the flyers.”

“Who?” Ed asked.

“A woman named Bambi Kemble. Have you heard the name?” When all shook their heads, he continued, “She’s one of Gordon Walcott’s group. She was spitting mad that we caught her, and she spewed a lot of his nonsense. She refuses to identify other posters, of course. The flyers she had in her hands were the milder, vaguer kind, but some of the others we’ve found tonight talk of ‘ridding practitioner life of heretics and evildoers’ and repeat the violent threats you’ve been getting. She claims we can’t hold her because all she’s doing is exercising her right to free speech. The thing is, she’s correct. We’re going to keep her until the debate is over, though, no matter what she says.”

“Do you think someone will try to disrupt us tonight?” Gloriana asked.

Baldwin scanned the room before replying. “I hope not. Something’s in the air, and I can’t decide if it’s normal excitement or more sinister activity. In addition to the Swords, I’ve stationed security people outside the room, and we’re ready for whatever comes. Oh, and Walcott’s here, by the way, hanging out in the THA overflow room. He’s quiet at the moment, but if the Traddies disapproved of his outburst, you can’t tell it. Everybody’s coming up to shake his hand. Kemble said she has no idea what his plans may be, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to speak.”

“We’ll let him talk as long as he abides by the rules we set after his last rabble-rousing speech. Otherwise, we’ll take what comes,” Ed said. “Come on, let’s get started.”

Marcus and Gloriana took their seats again, and Ed called the meeting to order. Marcus studied the audience while they settled themselves. The Traddies were on Gloriana’s side of the hall, and the Fomsters were on his, as usual. The middle outnumbered both factions put together tonight, where previously the split had been about equal. When the latecomers were finding chairs, Walcott and two men slid into the room through a side door on the far right. Immediately three people on the front row gave the newcomers their seats and moved to the back. Uh-oh, that maneuver was certainly planned in advance.

Ed was standing slightly back from the table, so Marcus leaned forward and looked around him to Gloriana. She turned to him at the same time. He glanced at Walcott and raised his eyebrows, and she nodded her head and shrugged. They both faced front again.

The debate began in the usual manner: Ed made his opening remarks, Marcus and Gloriana made theirs, and Ed opened the floor to discussion.

Prick spoke for the FOM, mostly rehashing his earlier statements. At least he called for more research into the equation—while taking credit for most of it. He also proved he’d been listening by incorporating past comments from teaching masters. Well and good, thus far.

Horner rose next, but added nothing new to his “THA call to action.” He sounded only marginally more strident in his warnings against the formula than in the past. His side cheered, however, as though he’d brought them to salvation.

They were all becoming more like politicians, giving the same stump speech at town after town. Totally boring and more than a little soporific. Marcus suppressed a yawn and tried not to think about sleep.

A teaching master for elementary magic education made some erudite remarks, a fellow told a story of trying to use the equation and his results, and a woman asked about the possibility of using the formula to cast spells higher than a practitioner’s usual level. Marcus didn’t think the last was feasible, and neither did the teaching masters present.

He started to doodle on his pad, until he realized he was drawing little flowers and plants instead of his usual mathematical symbols. Shifting in his seat to keep awake, he nonchalantly snuck a peek at Gloriana. She, however, was looking at Walcott, who conferred with one of his fellows.

“Who’s next?” Ed asked.

When Walcott stood, a rustle of movement and murmurs rippled across the audience while the usher brought the microphone to him. Marcus saw the Swords come alert at each end of the two main aisles, and Baldwin moved to a position in front of the stage. Walcott took his time, waiting for quiet, before sneering, “Thank you very much for allowing me to speak, Mr. Hearst.”

“I hope you remember our last conversation, Mr. Walcott,” Ed answered.

“Oh, I do. Indeed, I do.” Walcott faced the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, the last time I spoke to one of these gatherings, I was almost forcibly restrained from speaking.”

“Stick to the facts,” Ed interjected in a low voice.

Walcott smiled, a small quirk of his lips. When he spoke, his tone oozed with reasonableness. “Almost. Why? Why do some people not want to hear what I have to say? There’s a simple answer. Because they aren’t interested in the truth about Forscher’s ‘magic formula.’ Because they want to impose their way of thinking, of working magic on the rest of us.”

Ed leaned forward, opened his mouth, but Walcott kept talking and gestured at him.

“Mr. Hearst here will say that’s not true. That their goal is not imposition of an incomprehensible system or destruction of spell-casting as we love and revere it. I say that it is. I say certain powers within the High Council want us to follow these pied pipers of regularization down a modernistic road to a veritable wasteland of casting.”

He held up his hands as if to calm opposition, even though no one said a word. “Those people, and we know who they are, would deny such a plan. Look, even the Fomsters are attempting to placate our concern by calling for research, for testing, for trial. The very members of the FOM who scorned us, who consider us outmoded, old-fashioned, and anachronistic, and who trumpeted praise for the new, modern, and twenty-first-century methods, all of a sudden change their tune and tell us our ways of spell-casting still have merit, should be kept, and will continue.”

Walcott wagged his finger at the audience. “Don’t you believe it! They are lying to you. They are leading you down a garden path to a cesspool of dark complexity, pernicious modernity, and spell-casting chaos. Those of us who use the old methods will be cast out, useless, unable to cast even a simple
lux or flamma
spell without fear of the
spell police
chastising us.”

“Walcott!” Ed barked. “We’re not forcing anybody to do anything. That’s enough distortion and lies for one evening. Your time is up. Sit down.”

“Is this what you want?” Walcott boomed into the mike, waving his free hand at Ed again. “To be silenced?”

“No!” someone in the audience yelled from the right.

“To be cast out like the garbage?”

More
no’s
, again from the Traddies.

“To be deprived of your rightful place in the practitioner world?”

“No!” “Never!” “Tell it, brother!” “Amen!” The calls came from the right—and surprisingly from the middle of the hall.

Ed stood, called for order, and told Walcott again to sit down.

“We must fight for our heritage!” Walcott shouted. “Join me, and we will prevail! “

A large number of people in the middle and on the right stood up, cheering and shaking their fists at the Fomsters. Prick’s adherents jeered and responded with catcalls. Wads of paper and a few plastic water bottles began to fly between the groups.

The Swords drew their weapons and rushed to put themselves between the Fomsters and the larger middle section. Their blades flashed as they disintegrated the missiles.

Baldwin did not bother with a sword. Instead he took Walcott by the shoulders, spun him around, and forced him into his chair. Snatching the mike from the speaker’s hand, he tossed it to an usher.

When the first paper wad flew, Marcus jumped to his feet to go to Gloriana, who had also risen, and they came together behind Ed. Marcus pulled her toward the back of the stage and put his arms around her while security officers entered to help the Swords.

They both watched Baldwin, who pushed Walcott down in the chair again when the tall thin man tried to stand up. The demagogue glared and sat still. The two men were shouting at each other, but the noise from the crowd drowned out their words. Even Ed’s shouts for order through his microphone were lost in the cacophony.

People in the center section began to force the missile throwers among them to sit down, and security officers moved in to help. A couple of fistfights broke out, however, then a few more.