Night Magic

by Susan Squires

  A hospital waiting room rose around her, as clear as if she were standing there. Ahead were double doors, and she knew what she wanted was behind them. She pushed through the double doors. Beyond was an ICU. Beds in a circle. A doctor came up. He had one of those funny hats they wore to surgery. A mask dangled from his neck. “Who are you here to visit?” He looked grave. Drew knew that wasn’t good. But she didn’t know whom she was here to visit, so she couldn’t answer him.

  Drew moved forward, but it wasn’t like she was walking. More like drifting slightly above the linoleum floor, like you do in dreams. She was drawn to a bed across the circle. She recognized Kee’s fall of dark brown hair and her mother’s black knit dress. Part of her was thinking that she was probably really going to hate this vision, knowing that it was a vision, and part of her was wondering whom they could know well enough to visit who would be in a hospital. Wouldn’t her mother just Heal Edwards and his men (now that they knew about her power), or Mr. Nakamura? And none of her family had ever been in a hospital. Why would they? Who was in that bed? Kee and her mother blocked her view.

  At least whoever it was, was alive. So this was better than the vision of the funeral.

  Kee was staring down at the occupant of the bed. Her mother was holding the patient’s hand. It was a big, male hand. Her mother turned her face up to Drew. She looked horrible. She’d been crying. Her eyes were red and there were dark circles under them. She looked much older than she did today. Whom would her mother cry for like that?

  The sound of her own huge gasp brought her out of her trance. She jerked upright as though she’d been underwater until her lungs were bursting. Michael gathered her into his arms, holding her head against his chest and murmuring soothing words. It was a minute before she could catch her breath. Lanyon was standing over her. Tris and Maggie were coming in from the kitchen, looking worried. Kee and Devin crouched on another sofa, gripping each other’s hands.

  “What was it?” Tammy asked. “What did you see?”

  What could she say? That sometime in the future, she didn’t know when, someone they all knew and probably loved, a man, was in a hospital bed and was gravely ill? It could be one of the men in this room. She couldn’t just blurt out that one of them was going to be gravely ill. Or dead. God, was this the precursor of the funeral she’d been seeing lately? Someone was going to die. Someone they all cared about. And she didn’t know who. That meant she couldn’t say anything. Every one of them would start guessing who it was. Fear, pain, anxiety for themselves or the ones they held dear would result. Why should anyone else live with that? She knew firsthand what it could do to you. Drive you nearly mad.

  The hospital, the bed, the faces kept echoing through her mind. Wasn’t her mother older in the vision? Yes. There was no question about that. So it wasn’t going to happen right away. She took a breath. That made her course clear.

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It was just a swirl of colors. Not . . . not bad. Just exhausting.” She looked to Michael, pleading with her eyes.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said, reading her like a book. He held up a hand when Tammy started to protest. “No more questions now, guys. She’s been having trouble controlling them lately. She just needs more rest.”

  Drew was embarrassed as heads nodded in concern. She’d just lied to them. She hid her head in Michael’s shoulder as he led her from the room.

  The cold sea air hit her when they stepped out the side door to the path over to their house. Would it ever get easier to live with the “gift” she’d been given? When she’d actually been of some use to the family as they rescued Devin and Kee last fall, she’d been hopeful that she would. She’d saved lives, and her direction had ensured the demise of those things in the gardens. That was good. But seeing visions she could do nothing about, that didn’t give her enough information even to be useful to the family—it just seemed like torture.

  *****

  Morgan sat near the dimly lighted displays of the Talismans. She was most comfortable in their immediate vicinity. They made her feel alive, flush with power. The others in the Clan had started to feel their powers grow as well, just from proximity. Jason no longer had to touch something to Cloak it. And Rhiannon could start a rain shower with the flick of a finger.

  Morgan was flipping through the pictures of Thomas on her iPhone, trying to pass the time until the next portion of her plan ignited. The boy had a delightful body. Looking at those pictures never failed to get her juices flowing. Perhaps she needed to take a consort. Even when she brought Thomas here, he wouldn’t be available for that kind of use, though she could think of other, very stimulating games to play with him. Now that she was younger, she needed a sexual outlet. Not one of the Clan. That would only cause internecine squabbling. No, just a regular, non-magical male with an attractive body that was strong enough for hard use.

  Hardwick came in with a sheaf of papers, head down. No one wanted to test whether Hardwick’s powers were expanding. The pain might just drive mad anyone who dared. She’d have him find her a boy toy, but he was busy with other things, or should be.

  “What have you found?”

  “I had some luck. They just confirmed that the site near the ancient city of Amphipolis, three hundred seventy miles north of Athens, really is the tomb of Alexander the Great.” He flipped through his sheaf. “Cambuskenneth Abbey is said to house the remains of William Wallace. Apparently the monks had to gather the pieces from points around Scotland after he was drawn and quartered. And Genghis Khan is buried in Mongolia at what was once his palace. That one is about a hundred and fifty miles east of Ulan Bator.”

  “What the hell is Ulan Bator?” she barked. But she was secretly jubilant.

  “The capital of Mongolia, as it turns out,” Hardwick replied, unruffled. He glanced up at her from his sheaf of papers. “You’re not even likely to get a complete set of bones, you know.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said, thrusting herself up to pace to stand between the cases that held the Sword and the Wand. “I’ve grown in power.” The electric energy of the Talismans seemed to actually course through her veins. She breathed in, inhaling power.

  “What will you do with them?” Hardwick asked. As always, it wasn’t a challenge, more curiosity.

  “Why, build an army, of course. Nothing can happen with the Talisman until Saturday actually, I suspect. So you have time to start planning a world tour.”

  *****

  At one the next afternoon, Jane had just finished cleaning up after their lunch. The light filling every square inch of the kitchen had been almost painful, but the BLTs had never tasted so good. It just had to be all the sex they’d been having. In spite of her reserve after seeing so clearly that she was a disappointment to him last night, when they were together sex seemed inevitable. She just had no control. Was this normal? She’d thought that after a couple of times you slowed down. But she couldn’t get enough of him, and he was ready for another round in what she thought must be record time, every time. How many rounds had they done last night? She’d lost count. Not that each wasn’t memorable. Kemble was very inventive. The whole experience was changing her in ways she was sure she didn’t yet understand. Her shyness about her body, and his, had all but disappeared. After making that much love, how could she be shy? Besides, she liked knowing how every inch of his body felt. Of course there were the obvious favorite parts. But she also loved how her palm fitted over his hipbone, and the silky skin in that little indentation between his shoulder muscle and his biceps. Then there were his nipples. She just loved the feel of them tightening under her fingers. All this was not to mention the feel of his big hands on her body.

  Goodness. She had to stop this. She was getting wet again just thinking about it. Where was he, anyway? Oh, out by the front entry. She’d relented this morning, as he sneaked into his computer and did a quick search for chalices in Athens’ museums. Funny, he’d actually asked her permission. And she knew he was worried a
bout what Morgan was doing there. He was true to his word. It had been no more than an hour. And fruitless. His dejected look made her wish she hadn’t agreed.

  She heard the front door open.

  “Come in, come in,” his deep voice sounded, cheerier than before. “You’re right on time.”

  Right on time? Who? What was this about?

  She came out into the foyer to find three women and a very tall man with a shock of auburn hair shaved at the sides of his head but falling over one eye. The other eye had eyeliner.

  “Trevor Vale,” he said, taking Kemble’s outstretched hand and pulling him in for an air-smack of a kiss in the vicinity of his cheek. Jane saw Kemble’s eyes go round. “You will just love what we have for you, Mr. Tremaine. Where is the lucky lady?” His eyes fell on Jane and his mouth made a little moue of disappointment. “Oh, my.”

  Jane felt her eyes get big. Trevor was dressed all in black, except for a vest that looked like some little girl had spilled her turquoise and chartreuse pick-up sticks all over it. The three women were bringing in armloads of very long suit bags. Only one was young. The other two were probably in their fifties. But all were dressed in what Jane guessed to be the latest fashion. This apparently involved lots of twisty scarves and knitted layers with ragged edges in shades of taupe and black. Well, the young one had a very turquoise, very wide belt and teetery chartreuse spike heels. Did she call Trevor to coordinate colors before she came?

  Jane didn’t need to glance down at her khaki chinos and crisp white blouse or her loafers to know that the man’s dismay was for her clothes as well as her person. Nor did she have any doubt what was in the long bags. So this was what Kemble had been up to last night. He was playing fairy godmother. Jane felt an intense blush creep up her throat. He felt he had to dress her so she wouldn’t embarrass him tonight. So she didn’t fit in with the Tremaines. Not as though she hadn’t already been acutely aware of that. She sighed. Better to let him dress her than embarrass him. He was looking smug and excited. At least that was an improvement over dejected. And he wasn’t alone in this. After all, what did Kemble know about fashion houses?

  “My crew,” Trevor said, as he pointed to each. “Giselle, Chloe, and Patrice. Where shall we set up? We’ll need a mirror, of course.”

  Kemble pointed to the vast living room. One wall was mirrored, just like the bedroom. And it was flooded with midday sunlight. This was going to be a very uncomfortable afternoon for Jane, for several reasons.

  Her worst suspicions about whose aid Kemble had enlisted were confirmed when Drew breezed in behind the bustling crew.

  “You can’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do this, Jane,” she said, taking Jane’s shoulders and bending to place a kiss on her forehead. “I’m so glad you’ve finally come around.”

  Jane tried to say something, but all that came out was a gurgle.

  “Relax, dear. I gave them your sizes and your height and strict instructions to avoid anything too fashion forward.”

  Did Drew think this was making her feel better?

  Drew turned toward Trevor. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “Carolina and Elie were most cooperative,” Trevor assured her. “Your name is just an ‘Open Sesame,’ ” he smirked. Then he frowned. “That dreadful David over at Gucci made my life hell for about twenty minutes, but he knew he was going to cough up the good ones in the end.” Trevor sniffed. “Why he thought he had to remark on whether chartreuse really goes with my particular shade of auburn, I have no idea.”

  “You said you liked Carolina Herrera and Gucci,” Kemble said, eyes gleaming.

  “And I added Elie Saab, because he does things that will just be fabulous with your figure,” Drew added, motioning the ladies with their bags through to the living room.

  “Giselle, would you have Martin bring in the shoes?” Trevor called. Then he motioned to Jane impatiently. “Come here, my little doe. Let’s get you out of those dreadful . . . clothes.” His distaste advertised that he wasn’t sure they even qualified.

  Drew was unzipping bags. “What have you got for us?”

  “Oh, you are going to love these, Ms. Tremaine.” He giggled. “Oh, it’s Mrs. Redmond, now isn’t it?”

  “Just call me Drew, dear.” She took out what looked to be a pile of sparkles. “Look at this. Fabulous.”

  “Carolina has just outdone herself this season. Wait ’til you see the black tulle.”

  “Oh, I think black will overwhelm her, don’t you?” Drew held up the hanger and champagne-colored sequins spilled in a sinuous fall. The big room was filled with activity. Shoeboxes got piled on the coffee table. More long suit bags were laid on one of the many couches, that is until one of the women rolled in a clothes rack and began hanging them. Drew and Trevor continued to talk about her as though she wasn’t there.

  Jane was just about to break and run when Kemble came up behind her and put both big hands on her shoulders. “Steady as she goes,” he whispered in her ear. “It’ll be fun.”

  She looked up at him and saw a soft light in his eyes. The smug look was gone, replaced with—what? Some kind of caring, maybe. Her mind flitted over the conversation at dinner last night. Had he realized that she felt a little wistful for Drew’s long-ago discarded dresses she could never hope to own? “You shouldn’t have done this,” she whispered back.

  “Why not? You’re my wife. If I can’t buy clothes for my wife, whom can I buy clothes for?” He brushed her ear with his lips. He had to bend to do it, so it was definitely on purpose.

  She took a breath and calmed down. He might be embarrassed about what she’d be likely to wear tonight. But it didn’t matter. At least in part, he’d arranged this for her because she’d inadvertently let him know that she liked pretty dresses, and she’d never really had the means to have them. And now she did. Or he did. And anyway, she was going to let them dress her like a doll here, in front of six people, because it wasn’t nice to burst into tears and run from the room when someone had gone out of their way to try to make you happy. Suck it up, Jane.

  She managed a wry smile. “Don’t think they’re going to let me go into the bathroom to try them on in private, are they?”

  “Nope. But I don’t think anyone here cares about seeing you naked but me. And you wouldn’t deny me that small pleasure, would you?”

  Jane sighed. Those dresses weren’t exactly going to be worn with a bra. “Maybe they’ll let me keep my panties on.” She squinted as the sequins on another of the dresses caught the sunlight.

  *****

  Kemble knew just what this little gathering needed. He strode into the kitchen to the wine cooler and got out two bottles of Tattinger champagne. Good, there were four other bottles in there. Jane liked champagne. She’d been interrupted in the middle of her glass at the Kee/Dev Consortium wedding by her damned, demanding mother. So now he’d make it up to her. Glasses? Check. Above the bar. He’d need six. Ice bucket(s). Of course this house had two ice buckets. Actually a round half dozen stood in a row behind the glass cabinets to the left of the bar, each with its own tiny tongs. Tray. He’d need a tray to carry all this stuff out. He swiveled, scanning the kitchen. He didn’t have time to make an extended search. He might find Jane barricaded in the coat closet if he didn’t get back out there to support her. Okay, the big beaten-copper rectangular plate under that plant would have to do. It didn’t match the rest of the decor, so maybe it was Jane’s. He lifted the plant off the tray, gave it a quick wipe with the bar towel, and presto chango, he had a tray. Mr. Nakamura would be proud.

  He got back to the living room just in time to avert disaster. Jane had on a red strapless satin gown all tight over the hips and thighs and then flared at about her knees. The bodice was heart-shaped and hugged the body with some stiff lacy stuff that outlined the heart. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she was gorgeous. All that creamy white skin of her shoulders and breasts . . . Jane really had first-class breasts, and much of them were visible in this little number. She looked
like a cross between a mermaid and a very sexy flamenco dancer.

  And in her eyes was raw panic.

  “Fab-u-lous,” Trevor trilled.

  “Jane, that is just ravishing on you,” Drew said, standing back with one manicured finger to her lips. “A little tightening at the waist, and it’s perfect.”

  Jane was teetering on shoes he couldn’t see for the gown, but that may only have been the effect of the hyperventilation she was obviously engaged in.

  “Hey, everybody, champagne. I’ll uncork,” Kemble said, to draw everyone’s attention away from Jane. “Drew, will you pour? Or, wait, Trevor, I’ll bet you know your way around a champagne bottle, would you do the honors?”

  “How did you know I was parched?” Trevor asked rhetorically as he turned away from Jane and motioned Kemble to toss him the bar towel. As he went for the champagne corks, Kemble made his way through boxes and bags to his wife. She cast wide eyes up to him.

  “Not the one, huh?” he asked. “You do look ravishing. But it might be hard to walk in.”

  She nodded convulsively.

  “Plus, it doesn’t seem like a color you’d really wear.”

  Suddenly she was hit by a wave of giggles. “You think?”

  He started to laugh with her. “Red. Not so much.”

  “Not just red,” she managed. “Crimson.”

  He shook his head, pretending to consider. “Valentine red, I’d say.”

  “Or bordello red,” she snorted.

  Drew came over to hand them glasses of champagne. “You two have the giggles before we’ve even gotten to the champagne. I’m glad you’re having such a good time.”

  Kemble and Jane tried to suppress their giggles, which only resulted in more snorts.

  Drew narrowed her eyes. Then she sighed. “So, nix to the red?”