Touch of Magic

by Carin Rafferty

  Unless Moira had somehow endowed him with powers.

  Shana shook her head. That was impossible. But the last Tarot card Moira delivered was The Magician. Perhaps it didn’t mean Ryan was a control freak. Perhaps its meaning was more literal.

  The Magician . . . So powerful because he knew how to combine his magical abilities with his earthly knowledge to get what he wanted. If Moira had somehow managed to grant Ryan even a modicum of power, it would make him extremely dangerous. Not only was Lucien sure to pick up on his abilities, but Ryan wasn’t trained in magic. As he had with the wand, he could inadvertently create situations of potential disaster, and she couldn’t intervene. She was powerless.

  Don’t create catastrophes where none exist, she told herself firmly. It’s possible that Ryan’s activation of the wand was just a fluke.

  But there were no flukes in magic. She knew that. So at least at the moment he’d made his wish, Ryan had had some magical ability. As distressing as that was, some good had come out of it. The wand had given her a clue as to what was going on. Ryan was here to repeat a cycle. Now she had to figure out what that meant. Since the enchanted Tarot had been stored in the repository, she was sure the answer could be found in the reference books on the room’s second story.

  She cursed the fact that Ryan was insisting that she go to bed. When he had made the demand, she had considered ignoring him. Then she had realized that if she stayed in the repository, so would he. After the incident with the wishing wand, she knew she had to get him out of there. There were too many objects that carried harsh penalties for their use, and he was already going to suffer the consequences of his wish. Regardless of his claim to the contrary, there was something important to him that would be painful to lose or the wand wouldn’t have worked. Damn! Why had she let him stay in there in the first place? If she had made him leave, he wouldn’t have found the wand.

  But that was a fait accompli that she couldn’t do anything about, so chastising herself over it was a waste of time. What she had to do was get Ryan out the way so she could get back to the repository and continue her research. Unfortunately, she could think of only one way to guarantee his noninterference. She was going to have to give him a sleeping potion.

  “You’re supposed to be going to bed, Shana. Why are you coming in here?” Ryan demanded when she entered the kitchen.

  “I’m too keyed up to rest, so I’m going to fix myself some tea,” she answered, walking toward the stove. “Would you like some?”

  “No. What I’d like is for you to get to bed.”

  “And I’ll do that as soon as I have some tea,” she stated, cursing silently as she filled the tea kettle and set it on a burner. How was she going to give him the potion if he didn’t have any tea? “Are you sure you won’t have some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Won’t you just try it? It’s a special blend I make myself, and I’m sure you’ll like it.” When he didn’t respond, she glanced toward him. He was watching her through narrowed eyes, and his expression was unreadable. Uneasy with his veiled scrutiny, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’ll try some of your tea,” he replied.

  “Good,” she said, opening a cupboard and getting out the teapot and two tea cups.

  “What was that room we were in?” he suddenly asked.

  “It’s the coven’s repository,” she answered, retrieving her tin of tea and the vial containing the sleeping potion from another cupboard. Thankfully, they were stored on the same shelf, and the vial was so small she could easily shield it from him.

  Deciding that keeping him talking would be to her advantage, she continued, “Every family within the coven is tasked with a responsibility. Centuries ago, my family became the guardians of items that are either sacred or considered too dangerous for use. These items are stored in the repository, and we maintain a reference library that lists what the item is and what magical capabilities it possesses. This was particularly important when the covens practiced the Old Ways and their magic involved the dark forces.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “The Old Ways? Dark forces? Are you talking about black magic?”

  “Yes, but probably not in the context in which you’re referring,” she answered while spooning tea leaves into a tea ball. “We are followers of nature, and there are what we call light forces and dark forces. We believe that both must exist for nature to be in perfect balance.

  “The dark forces, however, are dangerous and can turn into evil if handled improperly,” she explained. “You must be very devout to resist their temptations, and some witches and warlocks were seduced by them and used their powers inappropriately. That’s what started the witch hysteria. About two hundred years ago the council of high priests—that’s the high priests from all the covens around the world—banned the practice of the Old Ways. After that, not many items were put into the repository, so now I just more or less keep an eye on what’s already in there.”

  “And many of those items are banned from use because they involved the dark forces?”

  The tea pot began to whistle. She took it off the burner and poured the water into the teapot. “Yes. During the practice of the Old Ways, an item was often imbued with destructive powers that could only be controlled by the witch or warlock who created it. Thus, when they died, the item had to be put into the repository so that someone else wouldn’t use it and bring harm to the coven.”

  “Why wasn’t the item just destroyed?”

  “That’s one of the complications of working with the dark forces,” she replied, surreptitiously popping the cap off the sleeping potion vial. Using the guise of rinsing the cups out at the sink, she poured the clear liquid into one of the cups. Then she began placing everything on a tray while continuing, “Once they’ve been activated, it’s almost impossible to deactivate them. You have to know exactly what spell the creator used, and many spells practiced in the Old Ways can’t be undone. Once they’re cast, they are in effect forever.

  “That sounds pretty damned ominous.”

  “It is, and that’s why we have the repository,” she said, carrying the tray to the table. Pouring tea into the cups, she placed the doctored one in front of him. “Would you like anything else?”

  “Some sugar.”

  “Of course. I keep forgetting that mortals like sugar in their tea.”

  As she walked back to the cupboards, he said, “Moira’s Tarot deck was in the repository, wasn’t it?”

  Caught off-guard by the question, she stopped and glanced warily over her shoulder at him. “How did you know that?”

  “That’s easy. You told me earlier tonight that you broke coven law to use it. You also said you ignored the curse. It makes sense that if her cards carried a curse, they would be in the repository. Why did you use the deck?”

  She frowned, trying to decide how to answer his question. “Because I felt like my life was going nowhere, and I wanted to know if my future was going to be better.”

  “And you couldn’t wait for the future to unfold like everyone else?”

  She resumed her trek to the cupboards. “At the time I didn’t think I could. I know that probably sounds . . . immature, and I guess it was. It’s just that . . .”

  “It’s just that what?” he encouraged, when she stopped speaking.

  She took the sugar bowl out of the cupboard and got a spoon out of the silverware drawer. Carrying both back to the table, she handed them to him and sat down.

  She took a sip of tea before saying, “I’ve always felt like an outsider in the coven. We have a very strict and structured patriarchal society. There are so many rules to be learned and obeyed, particularly if you’re a witch, and I’ve never been very good at following the rules.”

  She paused and took a sip of tea. “It wasn’t so bad when I was a ch
ild and my parents were alive, because I had the security of their love to keep me . . . balanced, I guess. After their deaths, everyone in the coven looked after me. But it seemed that the harder they tried to make me feel a part of them, the more separate I felt from them, and the more I wanted to escape them. I used to read everything I could find on the mortal world, and I’d sit and daydream about going out into it.”

  “So why didn’t you?” he asked as he finished putting sugar in his tea and took a sip.

  She shrugged. “Pure, unadulterated fear. A witch cannot leave coven boundaries without permission from the high priest. If I left without permission, then I would never be allowed to return. So, if I got out into the mortal world and discovered that I hated it, I’d be stuck.”

  “They why didn’t you just ask for permission to leave?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have been granted. I’m a witch, which makes me one of the most valuable commodities within my race.”

  He eyed her over the rim of his cup. “How could a person be considered a commodity?”

  “One of the reasons we’re on the brink of extinction is because we have a serious procreation problem,” she answered. “A warlock can sire only one child during his lifetime, and a witch can bear only one child. To make matters worse, there are more warlocks born in every generation than there are witches. The disparity in numbers isn’t staggering, but it is sufficient enough to cause concern. The loss of one witch before she’s given birth could be the beginning of the end of our race. Or at least, that’s what we thought until the truth about Lucien came out.”

  “The truth about Lucien?” he repeated curiously.

  “Lucien’s mother was a mortal, which is why he has to use the crystal to augment his powers,” she expounded. “For years we all thought that made him inferior to us. Only recently did we learn that because he’s half mortal, he can sire as many children as a man. By mating with Ariel, who is a mortal, they can have as large a family as they want. Since our survival has been in question, that aspect of his breeding makes him superior to us.”

  “But isn’t there a chance that his children won’t have powers? And if that’s true, won’t they be considered inferior?”

  “Lucien’s mother is a geneticist, and she says that we have an additional gene that is dominant, so all children of mixed blood will have power,” she replied. “It’s true that they won’t be as powerful as a normal witch or warlock, and, like Lucien, they will have to use crystals to augment their magical abilities. When you weigh the pros of having more children against the pros of maintaining a pure race, however, it’s pretty obvious which situation is the winner. That’s why the council of high priests has decided to let members of our coven seek mortal mates. If we are successful, then other covens will be allowed to do the same.”

  Ryan gave an amazed shake of his head. “Don’t take offense, but all of this sounds like something out of a science fiction novel.”

  “I suppose it does,” she said with a wry smile. “How do you like your tea?”

  “It’s great,” he said, lifting his cup and draining it. It’s also time that you get into bed, so you’d better drink up.”

  “You’re a worse nag than a familiar,” she murmured, wondering how long it would take for the sleeping potion to go into effect. Because she wasn’t sure what his constitution could handle, she hadn’t given him a full dose. But he should be showing signs of drowsiness shortly.

  “Familiars are nags?” he asked.

  “The worst,” she answered, startled when she found herself yawning. “I’m sorry. I must be more tired than I thought.”

  “Well, I’m sure the sleeping potion is going to make you sleep like a baby,” he said. “And before you fall asleep on the table, we’d better get you to the closest bedroom.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did, she stared at him in horrified disbelief. “What do you mean you’re sure the sleeping potion is going to make me sleep like a baby?”

  He grabbed his crutch and stood. Staring down at her, he announced, “I switched teacups with you when you went to get the sugar. You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to drug a guest. I would have thought that a witch would have better manners than that.”

  Shana shook her head, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to accept what he was insinuating. “How did you know I was giving you a sleeping potion?”

  He smiled grimly. “I seem to have developed the ability to read your mind.”

  “You can read my mind? That’s not possible!”

  “Well, it must be possible, because not only can I read your mind, I’m in tune with your body.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Lucien was right. You aren’t seriously injured, but I’m surprised that you can even walk with that headache. Now, you can sleep it off.”

  Shana opened her mouth, but closed it when she realized she didn’t know what she wanted to say. If what he was claiming was really true . . . It couldn’t be true!

  The future is mine, and now yours will be mine!

  As Moira chanted her familiar litany, Shana felt something brush against her hand. She glanced down and her eyes widened in horror. Lying beside her cup was the card of The High Priestess. The face was a woman’s, but it was oddly blurred so that Shana couldn’t distinguish the features. She knew instinctively, however, that it was Moira’s face, and The High Priestess was the appropriate card in which to make her appearance. It very simply meant that hidden influences were at work.

  At that moment, Shana was forced to accept the unacceptable. Somehow Moira had endowed Ryan with powers, and he had just plied her with her own sleeping potion. Soon she would be asleep, and he’d be left unsupervised in a house filled with enough dangerous objects to destroy Sanctuary in the blink of an eye.

  Chapter Nine

  The Hierophant Card (Reversed)

  Unconventionality, Unorthodoxy

  I CAN’T GO TO sleep until I figure out a way to neutralize Ryan! Shana thought frantically, but already a mind-numbing lethargy was seeping through her. Thankfully, she hadn’t given him a full dose. With the differences in their bodies, it would take the potion slightly longer to work on her than it would on him. However, she was still looking at probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes, which meant she had to do something fast. But what?

  She looked up at Ryan. He was staring down at the Tarot card with an expression that she could only describe as mesmerized.

  “My God, she’s beautiful!” he suddenly said in awe. “Who is she?”

  He reached for the card. When he did, the significance of his words jelled in Shana’s already sluggish brain. Moira’s image might be blurred to her, but he could see it!

  “Don’t touch the card!” she yelled, grabbing it off the table a mere second before his fingers reached it.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asked, frowning at her.

  “Moira is manipulating you, Ryan. You must not touch this card under any circumstances.”

  She quickly struggled to her feet and stuffed the card into her back pocket with the others, but she knew it was only a stopgap. Once she went to sleep, he could take it and all the other cards, for that matter. She considered hiding them, but then realized that Ryan could read her mind, so he’d know where she put them.

  Damn! What am I going to do?

  “Shana, you’re swaying on your feet. You must get to bed,” Ryan said, before she could ponder the question. “And don’t worry about the damn cards. I don’t want anything to do with them.”

  “What you want isn’t the point,” she argued. “It’s what Moira wants, and she obviously wants you to have the card. Since she does, that means it’s dangerous for you to have any of them.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I already have . . .”

  “It’s not ridiculous,” she interrupted, rubbing
her hands across her eyes, which were becoming difficult to keep open. “I have to figure out a way to neutralize your powers.”

  “What you have to do is go to bed,” he rebutted.

  “I can’t go to bed yet,” she replied, stumbling toward the door. With her own powers on the fritz, there was only one way she could make sure he didn’t get into trouble while she slept. She had to use something from the repository and pray that it wouldn’t backfire on them.

  Suddenly, Ryan appeared at her side. “Where are you going?”

  She peered up at him through eyes so heavy-lidded she could barely see him. “If a man on a crutch can catch up with me, I really am in bad shape. I can’t believe that you gave me the sleeping potion.”

  “I can’t believe you were going to give it to me,” he countered irritably. “And you can’t keep stumbling around. You have to get to bed before you fall flat on your face.”

  “For months I’ve dreamed of a mortal wanting to get me into bed,” she said around a huge yawn, “but I expected it to be more romantic. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Ryan, but you’ve turned out to be a big disappointment!”

  “Yeah, well, don’t take it personally. I’ve been a big disappointment most of my life.”

  He made the statement with such quiet vehemence that Shana stopped walking and looked at him. She intuited that he had just revealed a critical part of his personality, and she wanted to pursue it. The better she understood him, the better chance she’d have of ascertaining why Moira had a hold on him. To her frustration, however, her eyes began to close the instant she stopped moving.

  “I have to keep going,” she mumbled, making herself resume walking. “I can’t go to sleep.”

  “Shana, you’re fighting a losing battle. You can barely keep your eyes open, so go to bed.”