Heart of the Sorcerer

by P. L. Parker

  "If you could wish for something, and know it would be granted, what would you wish for?” Granny abruptly asked, surprising her.

  "I ... don't ... know,” she stuttered.

  "Yes, you do,” the old woman snapped, uncharacteristically. “I asked you what you'd wish for."

  Surprised by Granny's vehemence, Annalisa answered quickly. “I'd wish for my parents to be alive, for you to be healthy, and to find a forever love,” she admitted truthfully.

  Granny nodded, pleased by her response. “We can't change what happened to your parents, or make me young and healthy, but we can fix the ‘forever love’ part."

  "How do you plan to do that?"

  As thought she had not spoken, Granny continued. “Have you ever wished you could live in another time?"

  Annalisa nodded hesitantly. “Doesn't everyone?"

  "Not me,” Granny's voice sounded disapproving. “I'm right where I want to be, and I lived the life I always wanted. Can you say the same?"

  Hemmed in by Granny's question, Annalisa fought to reply honestly. “Truthfully? No! If I had my way, I'd live in my dream world, with my dream man. At least there, I'm happy. I feel loved, even if it's not real."

  "You'd take a dream world over the life you have here?” Granny's head tilted curiously as her eyes bored into Annalisa.

  Something was happening, Annalisa decided, more than a simple question and answer period.

  "Yes, I would! Especially if something happens to you. I can't even begin to imagine my life after you're gone."

  Annalisa watched as the old woman's face grew lax, her hands drumming an uneven staccato on the wheelchair arms, lips moving noiselessly, staring into space. Seconds later, Granny visibly straightened. Unexpectedly, she broke the silence, causing Annalisa to start.

  "Go find the fan I gave you,” she demanded tersely.

  "Not on your life,” Annalisa protested. “That thing stays hidden until I can get it into a safe deposit box."

  "It's not going to be put in a safe deposit box,” Granny said softly. “You're taking it with you."

  "I'm not going anywhere—or am I?"

  Granny's eyes glowed. “Yes,” she said dreamily, “you are."

  "Where? Do you want me to take the fan someplace safe?” Maybe that's what she's getting at in a roundabout way, Annalisa decided.

  Granny nodded. “It'll be safe with you. I've no doubt of that."

  Annalisa moved to the armoire, opened the drawer and drew out the delicate fan, the silk rustling as she carried it back. Nodding in approval, Granny motioned to the painting over the fireplace.

  "Now get me the picture!"

  "I thought I wasn't supposed to touch it,” Annalisa argued.

  "You weren't before, but now you need it. You need to take it with you."

  Grumbling, Annalisa stepped to the fireplace and stood on tiptoe, reaching for the painting.

  "No, wait!” Granny yelped. “You need this!” she exclaimed, holding out the delicate fan.

  "Let me get the painting down first and then I'll take it."

  "No!” the old woman shouted. “You ... Need.... The ... Fan ... First."

  "Oh, for heaven's sakes,” Annalisa grumbled. “Does it really matter?"

  Nodding, the old woman replied, “Yes, it really does. Now take the fan and then get me the painting."

  Hoping to placate Granny, Annalisa took the fan and carefully stuffed it into her shirt front, freeing up her hands.

  The old woman beamed approval. “Now you can get the painting. Everything's as it should be."

  This was definitely too weird! Annalisa stood on tiptoe, reaching toward the painting. As her fingertips came in close proximity, the air grew still, noises became muffled and distant-sounding, objects began shifting and motion slowed as her hands finally touched on the painting. Sparks of electricity danced off her fingers as colors swirled together, crashing in a riotous kaleidoscope of every hue. The ground buckled and rolled, as if in the throes of a tremendous earthquake. Frightened, Annalisa frantically clutched the painting, tremors shaking her entire system, teeth chattering in terror. Whirling, she ran to Gran, only to abruptly halt, staring dumbfounded as the old woman faded back, as though viewed through the wrong end of a telescope, and then disappeared into the distance.

  "Granny Jean,” she screamed, her voice echoing hollowly in the void. “Granny Jean! What's happening! Where are you?"

  Dizzy she fell to her knees, gripping the painting for dear life, watching in horror as the whirlwind of colors continued. Glimpses of the outside world flashed by, spinning wildly and constantly transforming, but her conscious mind couldn't decipher the images fast enough to make sense of them. It was like riding on the downhill side of a rollercoaster, too fast to really see what was rushing by. Roaring wind assaulted her senses, whipping long strands of hair in every direction, almost blinding her at times. Crouching, tears flooding her cheeks, she braced one hand on the vibrating floor, praying for deliverance, more afraid than she had ever been in her entire life.

  Slowly, the maelstrom subsided and then, with a loud thump, everything came to a standstill. The cottage creaked and groaned and, finally, silence. Unnerved, Annalisa hunkered down, too distraught to move, waiting breathlessly for the tempest to resume.

  After several seconds of relative quiet, she hesitantly stood up. Relieved to find she was still in one piece, she scanned the room. First, and most alarmingly, Granny Jean was missing. Second, the room was completely different than it had been just a few long minutes ago. Everything, including Gran and her wheelchair had disappeared. Instead of Granny's comfortable parlor furniture, easels and canvasses were strewn haphazardly in every niche and corner, while spots of paint dotted the now bare wooden floor. Austere in its simplicity, the room matched the previous one only in size and shape. Stunned, she fought a growing sense of panic. Where was Gran? Why was everything so different?

  "Hello!” she called. “Hello! Is anybody here?” Her voice echoed eerily in the now empty cottage.

  Nervously, she stepped into the hallway leading to the kitchen. Again, though the basic construction of the building remained the same, nothing appeared as she remembered. Dragging her feet, she followed the short dark hallway to the kitchen. Opening the door cautiously, she stepped in. Once again, everything had changed. In what used to be the kitchen, horse tack and saddles lined the walls and floor. The only explanation was she had finally gone crazy—or maybe she was dreaming! That's it! She was dreaming again! Only it didn't seem like a dream! Every detail stood out with stark clarity. She could smell the saddle soap and leather, overlaid with the smell of old sweat, she could feel the uncomfortable coolness of the room, her breath steaming as she exhaled. Shivering, she backed out, closing the door, heading back to the relative warmth of the former parlor. A single stool stood near a half-finished canvas and, sitting down, she strove to make sense of the unbelievable events.

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  Chapter Ten

  Annalisa chose to sit and wait, deciding that doing nothing was the best course of action in case the earth, or whatever it was, shifted again. At just about the time her courage returned and she moved towards the door to investigate further, the faint sounds of a galloping horse sounded in the distance. Apprehensively, she waited, perspiring nervously as they pounded nearer. When they finally stopped by the cottage, the back door slammed open. Footsteps strode hurriedly across the room. Fearfully, she sought a place to hide as the kitchen door opened, and the footsteps continued down the hallway. The canvas in the far corner provided the best cover and, flying across the room, she crawled behind it, holding her breath with nervous foreboding—willing this dream to end now. From her vantage point, she could barely see the boots as they stalked into the room. They stopped, spinning as the wearer searched the room.

  "Come out,” a male voice coaxed softly. “I know you're in here somewhere. I can smell you."

  It was a ploy, she warily decided. She'd bathed t
his morning and as far as she could tell, she didn't stink! Besides, you can't smell things in dreams, everyone knew that!

  He continued. “You smell like jasmine and clean woman.” Casually, his feet stepped nearer. “And the smell is stronger over here. I wonder which painting you're hiding behind."

  Annalisa swallowed convulsively. Two more steps and he would be standing directly in front of her miserably inadequate hiding place.

  "I won't hurt you, you know,” he crooned seductively. “Why would I? There's nothing in this world I've wanted more than to have you here with me."

  Barely daring to breath, her heart thumping so loud she was afraid he would hear, Annalisa waited breathlessly, knowing it was only a matter of time before she was discovered. Frankly, she admitted angrily, he already knew exactly where she was and was indulging in some sort of sick cat-and-mouse game.

  A shadow darkened the small opening. Huge yellow eyes glowed as the stupid black cat meowed in welcome, sniffing her foot, tail wagging. Shooing him away, albeit unsuccessfully, she cringed as the canvas lifted, revealing her nemesis. It was him! The man in the painting! Her dream lover!

  Smiling in amusement, his startling white teeth shining in the murky gloom of the small parlor, he reached down, offering his hand.

  "You'd be more comfortable out here,” he said pleasantly, his beautiful dark eyes twinkling with suppressed humor.

  "You ... you can't be here,” she stuttered, disbelief stamped on her features.

  "Why not?” He grinned again. “This is my studio. I spend a lot of time here."

  Motioning her to stand up, he again offered his hand, the long slender fingers gesturing enticingly. Studiously ignoring his proffered hand, she perused the room.

  "What are you, an artist or something?"

  "Or something,” he nodded. “Art is a big part of my life. Come now. Stand up like a good girl."

  Feeling like an absolute fool, Annalisa slapped his hand away, pushing to her feet.

  "If I hadn't been so scared, I wouldn't have been down here hiding,” she growled in disgust. “And since I have a lot of questions, you'd better have a lot of answers!"

  "You have only to ask,” he responded reasonably. “I'd have many questions in the same situation."

  She tripped over the cat. “And you, you turncoat,” she scowled. “You gave me away!"

  "I knew where you were. Malachi only confirmed it,” he laughed.

  "What happened to Granny?” She awaited his answer with trepidation.

  "First, let me formally introduce myself. I'm Alec Spencer, the Earl of Sunderland."

  "Fine, you're the Earl of Sunderland, now we know who you are! Where's Granny?” she ground out.

  His eyes darkened. “If you mean Jean, she's still in the cottage."

  Annalisa's teeth clenched. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this the cottage?"

  "It is,” he said, “but not as you believe.” He paused, “Jean's health is failing, and she wanted you to be with me."

  His cryptic remark only heightened her frustration. “I know she's sick, and I should be with her!” Annalisa almost shouted. “She needs me!"

  "She won't last much longer,” he whispered gently. “She knows it and she's ready. Her last wish was to see you happy."

  She knew he was telling the truth. Granny had seemed so frail and sick that morning. Grief washed over her in growing waves. Wailing in anguish, she bent over, clutching the painting and sobbing hysterically.

  Pulling the painting from Annalisa's clenched fists, he enfolded her in strong arms, rocking gently as she cried.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't here right away to greet you,” he murmured against her brow, “but I didn't realize Jean would send you through so suddenly. She promised she would give me time to get here. I was on the far side of my estate when I felt your presence."

  He continued to croon soothing words of comfort, cupping her face in his strong hands and planting small loving kisses on her forehead and cheeks, brushing the salty tears away with his thumbs. Annalisa's heart was breaking but, deep inside, a warmth spread, responding to his touch.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she pressed shaking hands against his chest, pushing back, forcing his release.

  "Just where am I? Why am I here?” she hiccupped.

  Alec exhaled slowly. “This is exactly the spot where you were earlier. That hasn't changed. What has changed, and I know you won't understand, is that the year is now 1782, long before your expected birth."

  If she hadn't just experienced some pretty outlandish events, she might have been more inclined to argue, but too much had happened in a short span of time for her to dispute the issue.

  "Okay,” she began, “assuming I believe you. I ask again, why am I here?"

  "Why don't we go back to the manor first and get comfortable, then we can discuss the whole thing."

  Shaking her head no, Annalisa retorted, “I'm not going anywhere with you unless I know the reason. So forget it!"

  "Okay,” he nodded, “let's start at the beginning. I'm sure Jean told you I have some special powers."

  Annalisa nodded. “She mentioned that."

  "What she didn't tell you is that every ounce of that power has been directed toward bringing you to me. I knew the moment you were born, I knew the day you became a woman. Every single thing you experienced, I felt."

  "How is that possible?"

  "Do you believe some people are blessed with the gift of second sight or precognition or ESP—I think you call it in your time?"

  Annalisa nodded uncertainly.

  "I have that ability, and I can use that talent to connect with those I care about,” he continued, “and I care about you, I always have. Everything I ever worked for was with you in mind."

  Annalisa's head dropped. “That's a pretty sad goal."

  "Not at all!” he protested. “It has been the greatest joy in my life to prepare for you."

  "What do you mean—prepare?"

  He paused briefly. “I had to figure out how to bring you back. I knew I couldn't go forward. My essence and my powers emanate from here."

  "What about me,” she sharply objected. “What about my life? It isn't here. It's there in the future."

  "That's what Jean was trying to determine—whether you'd be better off there or here with me. I, of course, always knew you should be here."

  He said it with such confident male arrogance, Annalisa was unwillingly impressed, even though she was somewhat outraged by his ego.

  Her mind drifted back over the last few weeks. Granny's questioning had been specifically aimed at Annalisa's life, her wishes and whether she would be happy somewhere else, questions which, at the time, seemed out of context and even irrational. Now, though, she was beginning to understand the old woman's determination.

  "She could have told me,” she grimaced. “I might have listened."

  "Might is the telling word. From what I heard and envisioned, you weren't interested in listening or believing anything she told you."

  Guiltily, Annalisa acknowledged that truth.

  "I still had the right to know and to make my own choice based on the facts,” she huffed. “You still haven't told me how you made this happen. All I know is that I was caught up in some sort of storm. I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz or something."

  "I don't know this Dorothy or this Wizard of which you speak."

  "Never mind,” she growled in exasperation. “Just tell me how this happened."

  He led her to a long bench against the far wall and moved aside the canvasses until there was room enough for both to sit. When she was comfortably settled, he returned to his story.

  "I told you I have always known you. I made it my life's work to find all I could about you and the things that mattered to you."

  She nodded, her eyes alight with curiosity.

  "I am the last of an ancient sect who were the guardians of the portal. Some call me a sorcerer or wizard, but in truth, I am neither. The
re are those in my family who wield certain powers, and we have always been the protectors of the gate, though now the portal is failing and soon it will close forever. It has taken every ounce of my strength to keep it open, but from the time I first saw you in Jean's parlor, I knew you were meant for me, and I don't say that lightly."

  "Why me?"

  His generous lips curved humorously. “If you'll remain quiet for a few minutes, I'll explain."

  Face flushing red, Annalisa pressed her lips tightly together.

  "My paintings are an extension of my powers. I painted the portrait Jean kept so you would know me. I also painted a likeness of you as my heart saw you."

  "Where's the painting now?"

  Frowning, he reminded her. “I am not finished telling the story."

  "Oops,” she apologized, face flushing again. “Go on. I promise not to interrupt again."

  Laughing softly, his fingers lightly caressed her lips. “I doubt that you can keep such a promise, but no matter."

  "Originally, I painted your likeness as you looked when you were but a young girl, but over the years it has changed. It once graced my study. Now it hangs in the main hall of the big house, in a place of honor, wearing your betrothal gown."

  "Betrothal gown! I don't have a betrothal gown!"

  He scowled in mock consternation. “You will have one. The seamstress even now works on it."

  "Is it the one I saw in my dream?” she sniffed as more tears threatened to spill, shivering slightly in the cool of the studio.

  "The very same. I was trying to help you see what life with me would be like. The dreams were to that end."

  Noticing her tremors, he snapped. “You're cold! We should go to the manor house. It's much more comfortable there."

  Another painful wave of grief washed over her, and Annalisa could feel the wetness staining her cheeks. “I need to stay here,” she whispered. “What if Gran comes back?"

  "She won't,” he murmured, caressing her cheek. “She's happy in her time."

  He stood up, retrieving the painting she had so relentlessly clutched during the earlier turbulent episode.