by Ann Macela
He was about to dismiss her when the familiar oozing of his Stone’s magical energy began to seep through his bones. With it came an impression of a command: Look at her.
Calling up the Sabel woman’s information, he started reading. Address—hmmm, the Center. Why out there? Education, age, profession—yes, her business as an event organizer. Level ... ten. Ten?
How on earth did she become a level ten? Her previous level was a five.
Bruce swiftly read through the rest of her listing. No clue there.
While he stared at her photo, he felt his Stone flare and its energy flow become more rapid. The power heated his blood from slightly warm to boiling hot to molten lava, and a furious wrath permeated his consciousness. Every cell in his body hated the woman in the picture, and every molecule wanted to annihilate her. His gaze alone should have burned a hole in the computer screen. With an effort that left him limp, he gained control over himself and his Stone before he threw a fireball at the monitor.
Here was the thief. As if to prove his contention, his Stone sent him images of the destruction of its stolen section. Horrible, terrifying, hideous, tragic images. From inside his own piece, he experienced the other’s defense and his own’s valiant attempt and devastating failure to counter the onslaught of Sword and Defender power—led by Irenee Sabel.
The woman was a Sword. Oh, yes, she was the bitch Alton had named in his throes of agony.
“Irenee Sabel will pay,” Bruce said aloud. In his head, his Stone laughed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Nooooo!”
Jim sat straight up in bed as the echo of his cry reverberated in his bedroom.
“Oh, shit,” he panted as he tried to catch his breath and control the shakes left over from the terror of the nightmare.
Irenee was in danger. He dreamed it, he felt it, he knew it, and every hunch antennae and even the strange area under his breastbone agreed.
The red clock numbers showed 2:10. Hell, he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. He grabbed her card and his cell phone off the bedside chest, read the card by the glow of the phone screen, and punched the buttons.
The phone rang three endless times.
“Hello?” her sleep-laden voice mumbled.
He sagged back against his pillow as relief jellified his backbone. “Are you all right?”
“Jim? Jim Tylan?” Her voice rose on his last name. Had she forgotten him already?
“Yeah. Remember me? Tall guy, wild talent, magic man, Hunches ‘R’ Us?”
“What’s the matter?” She definitely sounded awake and alert now.
Hell, what was he going to tell her? He’d had a bad dream? On the other hand, she was the perfect person to understand—if he used the right words. “Nothing here, except I suddenly had a hunch something was wrong with you. It was so strong it woke me up.”
“Oh.”
He could hear her moving and the sheets flapping. Of course, she was in bed.
The mental picture of her snuggled into her blanket, all warm and gorgeous and with her red hair spread across her pillowcase, immediately turned him hard as granite.
“Are ...” He had to stop to clear his throat. “Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. What kind of hunch?” Her voice sounded scratchier than it had a second ago, sort of lower and sultry and ...
He had to stop his line of distracting thinking. Concentrate on the immediate problem, dammit.
“Look, I’m sorry I woke you, but this hunch came out of nowhere. I’ve never had one wake me up before. It wasn’t just a bad dream. All my usual hunch reactions are still going off. You’re in danger.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m at home in the Center. Alone. Not a threat around, and believe me, my condo is well protected. What was going on in the dream?”
Her question brought it back in startling detail, and worry replaced relief. “There was a big, black void or shadow about to grab you. In the center was ... a flame, a really strange one because it wasn’t red or yellow ..”
“What color was it?” she asked in an excited whisper.
“Black. I don’t know how a flame could be black, but it was flickering lighter and darker than the void. Seeing it made my skin crawl. It was reaching out, or the void was. You were standing there, too close, and I couldn’t get to you. You had something shining in your hand, and you pointed it at the flame, and there was a big flash, and I woke up.”
Reliving the dream broke him out in a sweat. He wiped his face with his hand, then used the sheet to dry his chest.
“Oh, wow, oh, wow! You have to be more than a simple practitioner.” Her excitement came right through the phone.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you feel anything else? Like a sensation of good or bad or ...”
“Yeah, it all ... felt evil.” Almost embarrassed to say them after ridiculing the idea, he blurted out the last two words in a rush.
“Oh, double, triple wow!”
What was the matter with her? She sounded almost happy. “What was it? You know, don’t you?”
“This could be great, our chance to catch him. Jim, you have to get to the Center as soon as you can tomorrow. I have to call Glynnis and Fergus and see if one of them picked up—”
“Stop!” He slapped his hand on the bed, but of course she couldn’t see it.
She stopped, and he could feel her excitement coming through the phone.
He spoke carefully. “Take it slow, and tell me what I dreamed.”
“You described what could have been our fight with the first Cataclysm Stone remnant. There was a black flame in the middle of it, too. I wonder if your dream means the holder of the larger section brought the bigger piece out of hiding. I want to call to see if the sensitives felt its emanations.”
“Wait. Hold on a minute. You were alone in my dream fight. That flame thing was about to eat you alive.”
“Oh, it was just a dream,” she scoffed. “I was definitely not alone in the real fight. I’d never go up against such a powerful item by myself. Besides, I do know what I’m doing. I am a Sword.”
“Hey, remember me? The guy who doesn’t know anything yet? What I saw is what you actually faced destroying even a little piece of the thing? How could you put yourself in such awful danger? How can your father let you do it?”
There was a small silence on the other end. When she spoke, it was with a calm, slow, implacable voice. “Listen to me, please. I am a Sword. Swords destroy evil items. It’s our mission. Yes, it can be dangerous. That’s why we do it in teams. My father is a Defender. He is aware of all the risks. He’s very proud of me, and he would never, ever try to keep me from doing my duty and following my calling.”
“Okay, I understand, but—”
“You’re not one of those men who always think they have to protect the ‘little woman,’ are you?” She gave the question a distinct edge—a sharp one, like on a sword.
Hell, even if he probably was one, he knew enough to say, “No, but—”
“I’m sure you’ve put yourself in danger many times. What if I asked you those questions, Mr. DEA Agent?”
“Point taken,” he said quietly. He’d evidently hit a hot button, and this wasn’t the time for an argument. Especially when he didn’t have enough info to win one. To bring them back to the original subject, he said, “You think my dream could have come from Ubell’s actually using the Stone?”
Another little silence. He could almost feel her shifting gears.
The excitement had returned when she answered, “I think it’s possible. Even allowing for the strange way dreams change reality, yours was so accurate, especially about the black flame. That’s exactly what I thought was inside the piece we destroyed. I hope someone picked up on its use besides you so we can find out where the Stone is. No matter what, however, Fergus will want to talk to you about your experience.”
“Speaking of Whipple, do you have any more ideas about what I’m going to do tomorrow? Wha
t kind of test he was talking about?”
She paused, then asked, “Have you decided you are one of us? You might be able to do magic?”
“I’m still getting used to the idea,” he answered. It was the truth. To forestall more questions, he said, “I’ll get to the Center as soon as I can, but when depends on the meeting and my boss.”
She didn’t pursue the subject, only replied, “Give me a call when you’re on your way?”
“Will do. You stay safe in the meantime.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a groan. “You, too. Bye.”
Jim put the phone down and lay back in his bed. What in the hell was going on?
First, he had hunches that scared him half to death with black flames. Complicated by a prickly woman who’d sounded like she wanted to kick his ass for questioning her right to throw herself at the exact same hideous fire. A gorgeous redhead he wanted to keep safe—right here in his bed.
Second, his investigation had gone, if not totally bad, definitely weird, with an even weirder villain. Ubell had to be the one with the Cataclysm Stone, an evil magic item, of all things. Assuming Sabel was correct about the guy’s ability to warp financial records, how were they going to make a case against him? How was justice to be brought to bear on Finster and Ubell?
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?”
