Winds of Change

by Christine Pope

  “Connor seemed pretty emphatic at our meeting yesterday,” I said. “I mean, he was the first one to point out that we wouldn’t be following Trident’s mission statement if we didn’t try to bring Randall Lenz into the fold, so to speak.”

  From the way Jake appeared to deflate at my remark, it seemed obvious enough to me that he’d conveniently forgotten that part of the discussion. But he didn’t try to argue with me. “You’re right. But he might not be quite so idealistic when faced with the reality of having to confront Lenz on his home ground.”

  “Maybe not,” I allowed. After all, Jake had been around Connor his entire life, and obviously knew my half-brother a lot better than I did. But I’d seen the steady resolve in Connor’s eyes, the way his gaze had shifted to Angela for just a second as he’d spoken during their meeting, as if they’d already come to an agreement that they’d reach out a hand to Randall Lenz, no matter how problematic doing such a thing might be to them personally. “I still think we need to let him know what we’re thinking.”

  “Okay.” Jake picked up his mug of coffee and took a large swallow, then broke off a piece of his bagel and smeared some cream cheese on it. It was the second bagel of the morning for him, and so I had the feeling he was occupying himself with his food so he wouldn’t have to say anything else until he’d gathered his thoughts. A bit of silence while he chewed, and then he said, his expression a little brighter, “Do you know where Lenz is from? I mean, there isn’t any chance he’s a Wilcox, is there?”

  Those questions made me realize why Jake suddenly looked a little cheerier. Yes, we’d have to deal with Randall Lenz in the interim, but there probably wasn’t much chance of us having him in our lives in the long term, not if his family turned out to be a witch clan on the East Coast. “He made it sound as if he grew up somewhere in New York,” I said. “I don’t know the clans at all, so I have no idea what family that would be.”

  “The Van Horns, I think,” Jake replied. “I’d have to check with Jeremy to be sure. Actually, I only know that much because the original Wilcoxes hung in New York for a while before they headed out to Arizona.” *

  “Couldn’t hurt to ask,” I said. “But yeah, I’m pretty sure Randall Lenz is an East Coast guy. I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

  Jake seemed to relax at those words, and lifted his coffee mug to drink down the last couple of swallows it contained. I took that as a signal to finish my own meal, so I picked up the remnants of my bagel and took a bite. At the same time, some of the tension in my shoulders began to ease. We might not have resolved everything, but I could tell that at least we’d gotten the beginnings of a plan formulated, and we could go from there.

  Maybe I was being crazy. And yet…

  …and yet I was still so new to knowing I was a witch, was part of a clan full of people just like me, that I knew all too well what it was like to feel like I was a freak, someone who could never fit in. Maybe Randall Lenz didn’t deserve the sort of acceptance I’d met among the Wilcoxes, but I realized I didn’t want to be his judge and jury. Better to give him the opportunity to learn what he really was. What happened after that was up to him.

  It didn’t seem like the sort of conversation we should have over the phone, so Jake got in touch with Connor and asked if we could come over and discuss the Randall Lenz problem in person. To my relief, Connor said it would be fine for us to drop in, so we headed down to the house where he lived with his family when they were spending their half of the year in Flagstaff.

  I supposed I was expecting something similar to the house he and Angela shared in Jerome, but their place in Forest Highlands was much newer, a sprawling two-story home with a big stone fireplace and soaring ceilings and enormous windows that provided amazing views of the woodlands that surrounded the property. Almost as soon as Jake and I entered, we were pounced on by the kids, who wanted to know where the “little dog” was and why we hadn’t brought her along. Jake and I gave each other a helpless glance — we hadn’t even thought about bringing Taffy with us, since this was going to be a quick visit — but luckily, Angela came to our rescue and said we needed to have a grown-up talk, and maybe the dog could come along next time. She ended by ushering the children outside to play in the yard, showing the patience and skill of long practice at doing that sort of thing. Eventually, though, she joined Connor and Jake and me in the living room.

  “They’re playing hide and seek, so with any luck, that’ll keep them occupied for a while,” she said, settling down on one of the sofas next to my brother. “Of course, Miranda sometimes has trouble keeping up, but the other two try not to take too much advantage.”

  I wondered why there was such a big gap in their ages — the twins looked like they were about four years older than their little sister — but I had a feeling that wasn’t the time to ask. Instead, I smiled awkwardly and reached for the glass of ice water Connor had fetched for me. “Sorry to barge in like this — ” I began, but Angela only shook her head.

  “You didn’t ‘barge in,’” she said. “You called and checked to make sure it was all right if you came over. That’s completely different.”

  “And we wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t important,” Jake said. “But we had an idea about how to deal with Randall Lenz.”

  At once, the pleasant smile Angela had been wearing vanished, and she glanced over at Connor. His expression had also sobered at the mention of Lenz’s name, but all he said was, “Go on.”

  “Well, since it seems as if everyone’s on the same page about letting him know he’s a warlock, Addie and I thought the best thing to do was be proactive.” Jake ran his hands over the knees of his jeans, as if they might have been damp with nervous perspiration. A breath, and he continued. “We thought you should take us to his house in the middle of the night when he won’t be expecting us. And we figured we might as well do it tonight before he gets too far with any investigations he might be conducting into who was behind Addie’s rescue.”

  Connor settled against the back of the sofa, expression dubious. “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea. I mean, I know we need to do something about him, but aren’t we just asking for trouble if we show up on his home turf?”

  “Better than him showing up on ours,” I replied. “I mean, we think we’re protected here, but we don’t know that for sure. Like Jake said, I think it’s better to be proactive. Once we’ve gotten through to him, then he can work to shut down anything on his end that might lead them to Flagstaff and the Wilcoxes.”

  “If we get through to him,” Angela said. “That is, I know both Lucas and Genoveva Castillo claim that he set off their witchy senses, but we still don’t have any idea what his power might be.”

  “We do,” Jake told her. “Or at least, Addie and I have a feeling that his talent is the same as Lucas’s.”

  “Luck?” Connor inquired, left eyebrow lifting slightly. “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a combination of things,” I said. “He told me he had hunches, which makes me think his magical intuition was doing its best to guide him even before my lightning bolt really activated his talent, so to speak. And there’s the simple fact that he survived getting hit by lightning, which isn’t exactly guaranteed. We’re just making educated guesses, but it’s what Jake and I think.”

  Silence for a moment as Connor and Angela exchanged another one of those glances. What they were thinking, I couldn’t begin to guess. For all I knew, they both thought that Jake and I had gone completely off the deep end. After all, we’d only made a series of educated guesses. We couldn’t know for sure that luck was guiding Randall Lenz. His talent could be something else entirely, and we just hadn’t been able to figure out what it was because we hadn’t been around him enough to truly see it in action.

  “If that turns out to be the case,” Connor said, his voice musing as he spoke. “Then it’s going to be even harder to get him to prove his talent is real. It’s not like he can summon a storm or move some
thing with his mind or…or create an illusion, or whatever other talents can be clearly manifested.”

  Right. I supposed I should have thought of that, but I was still new to all this witchy stuff. Worried, I glanced over at Jake, but he didn’t seem put off by the monkey wrench Connor had just thrown into the middle of the situation.

  “It’s still not that big a deal,” Jake said. “We can get him to conjure a flame or unlock a door or something. Those are little talents that every witch and warlock has, but which I doubt he’s ever used. I had to show Addie how to do it, mostly because she’d never had any reason to believe she possessed those sorts of skills. But it should be enough to prove to Randall Lenz that he isn’t exactly the guy next door.”

  Angela’s striking green eyes lit up at Jake’s suggestion. “That’s a great idea. Because you’re right — no ordinary person can make a candle light just by looking at it, but if we can get him to do that, then he’ll know we’re not making things up just to get him off our tail.”

  “Well, we hope he’ll understand that,” Connor put in, still not looking entirely convinced. “I mean, the guy doesn’t seem like the type to abandon years of work just because a candle flame appeared out of nowhere. More likely, he’ll suspect that one of us did it.”

  Damn. I hadn’t even thought of that, and, judging by the way Jake’s mouth tightened, neither had he. But he looked back at Connor and said, his tone level, “Maybe. I think we could probably sit here and come up with arguments all day as to why none of this will work. And if that’s the case, then maybe we should give up and just wait around until he shows up again to make our lives miserable. Your call.”

  I could tell my brother didn’t like that comment very much, because his posture stiffened and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. However, he didn’t take the bait, only sat there in silence for a few seconds before he replied, “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do this. I’m just saying we need to think about any complications we might face so we’re prepared.”

  “We are thinking,” I said. “But in the end, it comes down to whether or not we’re willing to make the leap. And it sounds like you’re okay with our plan.”

  Connor rubbed the scruff on his chin and didn’t respond for a moment. Then he said, “I’m not sure if ‘okay’ is the right word. It’s more that I hate not knowing what the guy is up to. At least by going to face him tonight, we’re getting it over with.”

  “I’m not sure if ‘getting it over with’ is the best criteria to be using for something like this,” Angela put in. Then she let out a breath and knotted her fingers together over one jean-clad knee. “On the other hand, I kind of feel the same way. So…let’s do this. I can send the kids to stay with Lucas and Margot again.”

  “I doubt we even have to get that elaborate,” Connor told her. “Let’s just have someone over to watch them — this is going to be a quick trip, and I don’t want to impose on Margot and Lucas so soon after they had the kids overnight. I can call Tory.”

  I didn’t know who Tory was — yet another in an endless supply of Wilcox cousins, most likely — but if she was willing to come hang out at Connor and Angela’s house while we did a lightning raid on Randall Lenz’s place in Virginia, then that was one problem solved without too much muss or fuss. “What time?” I asked.

  “Um…ten?” Angela suggested, not sounding too sure of herself. “That would be one in the morning on the East Coast, right?”

  “Right,” Jake said. “Lenz should be asleep. I suppose there’s always the off chance that he isn’t, but that’s a risk we’d be taking no matter what time we went.”

  A nod, and Connor said, “Ten it is. You can come over a little before then, just so we get all our ducks in a row. The kids will be fast asleep by that hour, and I’ll come up with some sort of explanation for Tory as to why you’re showing up so late.”

  His comment seemed to put a cap on things, and Jake and I left soon afterward, promising again that we’d be at the house a little before ten. He maneuvered his new Jeep Wrangler out of the upscale subdivision where Connor and Angela’s house was located, and headed north on the highway.

  For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. I could tell Jake was keyed up, and I didn’t know what to say to ease the tension that was so thick, I almost sensed it as a tangible thing hovering in the air between us.

  But since he didn’t seem inclined to say anything, I figured I’d better do what I could. “I know this is hard,” I said. “But we’re doing the right thing.”

  His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead of us, even though there weren’t many people around. “I hope so.”

  “I know so,” I told him, although deep down, I couldn’t help experiencing a flicker of doubt. Maybe we were rushing headlong into a confrontation we honestly didn’t need to face. For all I knew, Randall Lenz had reached a complete dead end when it came to discovering how I’d been stolen out of my room at the SED facility, and we were all going to a lot of unnecessary trouble.

  Not unnecessary, I told myself. He needs to know what he is.

  If he really was a warlock at all. Damn it, my brain kept going in the same annoying circles.

  “And I love you, Jake,” I went on. “I love that you’re doing this, even though you’re not convinced that Lenz deserves this kind of consideration.”

  Something in the taut lines of his jaw relaxed slightly, and Jake let go of the steering wheel with his right hand so he could reach over and give my fingers a gentle squeeze. “You think he does, and that’s enough for me, even if I still don’t completely understand why.” A pause before he added, “I love you, too, Addie. I want — I want everything to work out for us. I want to get past this so we can just be together with nothing getting in our way.”

  God, that was exactly what I wanted as well. Pretty much the entire time I’d been with Jake, I’d had to be looking over my shoulder or making plans I knew would never pan out, thanks to the specter of Randall Lenz looming over everything we did. I supposed I thought in my heart of hearts that if we could just get him settled, could make him understand that he was just the same as we were, then he’d be forced to change his ways, and Jake and I could get on with our lives.

  Was it really so much to ask, after all? To be together, to enjoy our future without worrying about having it torn from us at someone else’s whim?

  Maybe. My experience had taught me that there weren’t a whole lot of happy endings in the world, although they seemed to abound in the Wilcox clan. My own brother and the woman he loved had beaten a curse that lasted for more than a hundred years. What was one overly dedicated federal agent compared to that sort of accomplishment?

  That thought helped to reassure me a little as Jake guided the Jeep along Route 66 before turning off into the neighborhood I was already starting to think of as home. Tall green trees, lovingly restored houses, and cheerful flowerbeds surrounded us on all sides, and I could feel myself begin to relax. It was going to be okay. Jake and I would go with Connor and Angela, and working together, we’d be able to convince Randall Lenz of his inborn powers. He’d go off to live with his own witch clan — the Van Horns, or whoever they turned out to be — and Jake and I could come back to this lovely place and concentrate on our shared future.

  It was going to be fine.

  “We are going to get past this,” I said, and gently let go of his fingers so he’d have both hands to maneuver the Jeep into the driveway. “We’re Wilcoxes, right?”

  As I’d hoped, that comment made him flash a quick grin, the expression lighting up his dark eyes and banishing the shadows of worry from his face. We parked in the garage and got out of the car, and I waited to one side as he pushed the button to close the garage door. Afterward, we walked hand in hand to the back porch and mounted the steps.

  A moment later, we were inside. By reflex, I looked down, expecting to see Taffy trotting over to us, tail wagging, even though it was nowhere near any of her mealtimes. However, I didn’t see any sign of the
dog, and I glanced over at Jake.

  He seemed to interpret my confusion correctly, saying, “Usually, Taffy is underfoot as soon as I walk in the door, but not always, if she’s conked out in the house somewhere. I’m sure she’ll perk up as soon as we go out into the living room — she tends to crash in there because she likes the rug.”

  That seemed like a plausible enough explanation. I nodded, and we headed toward the living room.

  Only to stop short at the sight of Randall Lenz sitting in one of the armchairs, a short, snub-nosed pistol lying casually against one thigh.

  “Hello, Adara,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  * * *

  * That story is related in Bad Blood (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill: Book 12).

  17

  Randall Lenz had eventually gone to sleep after his phone call with Agent Dawson ended, mostly because he’d realized that it didn’t matter how long he sat there and beat on his recalcitrant brain — the information about Jake Wilcox’s residence would surface when it wanted to and not a moment sooner. He might as well get some rest while waiting for that all-important piece of data to emerge from his gray matter.

  “Rest” was a relative term, unfortunately, as he’d tossed and turned for most of the night, sleeping in fits and starts, twenty minutes here, a half hour there. When his eyelids flared awake in the pale gray light of pre-dawn and he saw it was barely five-thirty in the morning, he knew there was no point in continuing the charade any further.

  He got out of bed and showered and dressed, then made himself a pot of strong coffee. By that point in his existence, he was used to getting by on only three or four hours of sleep, even if he wished he could have gotten a bit more. Maybe then the fog in his brain wouldn’t feel so thick.

  Eggs and toast and fruit, just because his body needed the fuel a decent breakfast would provide, since sleep had been denied him. As he ate, he reflected on the silence of the house, broken only by the humming of the refrigerator and the occasional whoosh of an early car passing by on the street outside. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if he should get a dog. His family’s retriever Charlie had been a mainstay for a big chunk of his life, and when Charlie passed away a year after Graham Lenz died in the North Tower of the World Trade Center, Lenz had vowed to himself that he would never have another pet. Those two losses so close together had — at the time, at least — felt like too much to bear.