Wilder Mage

by CD Coffelt

  “But the bond keeps us from turning the world into chaos, this damping of emotions. You can’t have wizards popping off, blasting anything they want just because they’re pissed at something,” Dayne said. He still wouldn’t meet Justus’s eyes. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,” he continued, but with less conviction.

  “Hey, dude, that’s where the Imperium steps in, cuffs the wiz, and reads him the standard ops,” Bert said. He slid off the barstool.

  Dayne gave Bert an even look, and Macy started laughing.

  “Oh, Dayne, settle, please.” Macy couldn’t completely stifle the chuckles. “It doesn’t really matter. What’s done is done. Bert seems trustworthy enough.”

  It was Bert’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “And maybe he can help somehow,” she continued.

  Dayne muttered. “Yeah, like two days after forever…”

  Justus stirred. “I wanted to tell you about the emotional impact of magic without Tiarra’s bonding, but didn’t want to get you upset.”

  “I am so glad you managed to almost do that,” the hunter half-growled.

  “So okay, what’s the worst case ever?” Bert said.

  “She turns Sable,” Dayne said reluctantly.

  “And uses her against him,” Macy said, gesturing toward Justus. “Then it is—”

  “Game over,” Bert said. He cupped his chin in one hand, tapping his long fingers on his jaw. “I betcha Sable keeps her head covered and doesn’t let her emotions get away from her. No way she lets this biotch change her. Turn her. Whatever. I bet Sable has her about ready to circle back and give it another try.”

  Macy was nodding, but Dayne didn’t seem so sure. The hunter looked hard at Bert. “You know about the turning of her too, huh?” Dayne said, disgusted.

  Bert shrugged. “Like I said before I was so rudely interrupted, I bet she’s being a total pain.”

  Dayne barked a laugh. “I would not call Tiarra simply a ‘pain.’”

  Bert was shaking his head. “Not talkin’ about the witch.”

  She clenched her teeth into a silent sneer, but when Tiarra’s eyes glimmered with hope, Sable cooled her emotions, tamping them into submission again. Testing, always looking for the chink in her mental shield of will.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Sable said. She lifted her chin. “Having this talent isn’t what I call a gift anyway. It’s crap. I never wanted it.”

  “Magic has a mind of its own. One way or another, it will erupt,” Tiarra said mildly.

  She brushed Sable’s cheek with the back of cool fingers before Sable could jerk away. The woman’s cheeks turned deep red, and her eyes hardened. Indecipherable emotions chased across her face before disappearing. Anger, Sable thought, but something else as well, chilling her senses. She fought to control her face. But most of the time, Tiarra read her expressions accurately. As she did now. The woman nodded with a sliver of a smile on her painted lips.

  In a suite bigger than most houses, Sable sneered inwardly at the luxury of the furnishings, opulent to the point of vulgarity. The mauve room smelled of the perfect roses on the table by the foyer, the scent like that of a funeral and death. The polished surfaces of tabletops gleamed with the cold indifference of service staff paid to keep it that way.

  Her captor ignored the soft knock on the door of the large apartment. Tiarra’s hooded eyes didn’t move from Sable’s face.

  “It will take you, little one,” Tiarra whispered. “Eventually.”

  Sable leveled an even look at her.

  “Enter,” Tiarra said louder.

  The door opened and the footsteps hesitated just inside the room. “Excuse me. Where would you like the refreshments?”

  Tiarra shifted her gaze to the glass-topped coffee table between them and gestured with lithe fingers. “There.”

  Experience told Sable that release from the predator’s stare gave no relief from the silent battle, not when Tiarra’s smile widened as it did now.

  The assistant, Sable’s personal servant, slid the enameled tray across the table. The tray squealed across the polished glass surface, parting the unseen battlefield.

  Tiarra’s smile tightened. Languidly, she sat back and extended her arm. In another tiny screech, the fluted crystal left the tray to glide into her open hand. Unlike the fears caroming around in her belly, Sable noted the effervescent liquid didn’t slosh against the sides of the glassware. Tiarra sipped from the thin crystal edge, her eyes on Sable.

  “Taz tells me you can see the magic,” Tiarra said. The assistant started, but Sable didn’t look at her. “Is that not so? Very rare. Do you know, even I do not have that ability?”

  Slit, predator eyes sought to trap Sable in their gaze. Peripherally, she was aware of Taz’s reaction, the small shake of her head.

  Sable lifted her chin. “Is that so? Can’t see ’em, huh? I gotta say, sucks to be you, don’t it?”

  The flash of anger across Tiarra’s face was her reward. Sable tipped her head. It was her turn to smile. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look all kinds of constipated right now. Maybe you need a dose of prune juice in that glass, do you think?”

  Clinically, Sable watched for the woman’s reaction, anticipating she would snap the delicate crystal stem in stiffened fingers. But Tiarra didn’t break the stemware. Her reaction was at once more chilling, frightening to Sable when Tiarra’s face went blank, eyes unfocused. It was the look of an entity without a soul, alien.

  The door to the suite opened, and a male adept entered. He did not look at Sable. “Ma’am? Three of the security team have reported and been interrogated as ordered. They sustained minor injuries, but nothing permanent.”

  “Pity.” Tiarra sipped again from the crystal.

  The assistant licked his lips and continued. “They all say the same thing: They were incapacitated by this rogue wizard, and the Imperator was gone when they came to. He was participating in the fight, giving as good as he got, but the wild mage took them all on, and they don’t know what happened to him, other than he disappeared.”

  The assistant took a breath and waited. It was as if Tiarra was the only one in the room. He ignored Sable and Taz.

  Tiarra pursed her mouth. “They will recover, you say?”

  He nodded, and Sable saw he was beginning to sweat.

  “My Imperator is missing. And his wife as well. There has been no word, no touch of their signature by anyone?”

  “No, mistress,” he said and swallowed noisily. “We have other mages in the area now, but they feel nothing.”

  Without speaking, Tiarra set the glass on the tray and stood to leave, motioning for the man to pass through the entrance before her. As Tiarra walked through the open door of the apartment, Sable saw mages pause in their duties like a strobe light freezing all movement into a single frame.

  Tiarra turned with a smile that held no warmth. “Enjoy what is left of your day.”

  The door closed.

  “Sable, I didn’t say anything to her, nothing,” Taz said. She sat in Tiarra’s chair opposite Sable, shaking her head. Her maroon-streaked bob clashed with her dark hair, but matched exactly the color of her short vest. She flipped her hand, nails bitten to the quick, at the door. “Really, no one even asked me.”

  Sable stroked the lip of the other fine crystal glass, and a single musical note hummed from under her finger. “These are meant for champagne, for a wedding, not for seltzer water,” she said. Sable found herself mesmerized by the tiny bubbles rising to the top of the glass. The stem was cobalt blue, twisted crystal, not unlike the sun catchers in the window of the antique shop.

  Another life. Another existence. She looked up.

  “I know you didn’t tell her,” Sable said, her voice flat. She jerked her head to the closed door and raised one hand to cup an ear. Taz’s mouth opened into a round “oh.”

  Taz was twenty-two, cheerful, and had been ready to befriend Sable from the first minute they met. Sable was hesitant, but they’d struck up
a friendship right away, comparing and commiserating about their lives. The other assistants avoided Sable when she spoke to them, shying away or ignoring her. They guarded her, but did not converse. Not like Taz.

  The camaraderie was a unique experience to Sable. Always on the run, avoiding attachments, human and wizard, since learning of her abilities made for poor relations. Despite the misgivings, Sable had allowed her self-imposed wall to drop enough to let the punk-haired girl enter.

  Taz told Sable she would help her. She said she wasn’t afraid of Tiarra, and she didn’t believe the stories about the head of the Imperium. No one could be that evil.

  Sable had many things in common with the young woman. They were about the same age, bonded to Tiarra at nearly the same time. The biggest difference was their magical talents. Taz had only mediocre ability in Water, enough to clear a mirror of condensation, but not enough to empty a glass of liquid. And Taz was different in another way. She was a full wizard, with all her abilities.

  “But why?” Taz had asked. “Why don’t you want to have and use all your abilities?”

  The explanation had made no difference and only resulted in Taz shaking her head in confusion. Taz could never understand why Sable worked so hard to control her emotions to keep the sentient magic at bay.

  Sable left the fluted glass on the tray and stood. The smell of the funeral roses closed in around her, and for a moment, her will crumbled. Sable choked, cupping her hand over her mouth before Taz could hear the sob. She went across the room and stood hugging herself in front of the window. It faced a park, and she stared down at the tiny figures moving like chess pieces on a board. People with dogs on leashes. People with lives and families. Cars honking. Lights at the crosswalks.

  The window glass was thick, unbreakable. They didn’t open. Sable had discovered this on the first day. Her nightmare was waiting for her now, her imagination.

  Taz came up behind her and patted her shoulder. “I wish I could be a better friend. I just don’t know what to do.” She brightened. “But you know, Tiarra told me that when you turn, I could stay as your helper, assistant kind of. She said you would need someone. ‘An anchor,’ she said.”

  Sable felt a tendril of unease, but locating the cause eluded her. “Tiarra thinks you can help me? After I turn?”

  “Well, she said that I might help you turn, be a friend, I guess she meant.” Taz giggled. “I don’t wanna break your crayons, but don’t think it’s a girl crush I got going here. Freshettes, like you and me, we need to stick together, is all.”

  “You are unique, Tazzer,” Sable said, laughing. She sobered. “But what do you mean about the girl crush? You mean you…don’t want to?” Sable turned her mouth down in a pout.

  Taz bumped her sideways and laughed harder. “Maybe some other time, yeah. Jeez, I can’t believe you’ve never done it. That totally wastes my cookies.” She tipped her head. “Aren’t you curious? I mean aside from getting your magic, aren’t you curious about…you know?”

  Sable huffed and turned back to the window before answering. “Of course.”

  “You got a guy in mind?”

  How strange it was that just the memory of his mouth, his breath on her face, and the warmth of his chest under her cheek awakened her magic. Curls of energy flowed around her. She felt them, desired them, but withstood the temptation to touch the magic. It called to her, whispered promises of release and fulfillment. Sable shuddered and firmed her mouth.

  Taz peered at Sable’s face. She gave a short laugh. “Yep, I’d say so. Oh, well, my loss.” Taz hugged Sable around her shoulders.

  “It is good to have friends, is it not? No matter the circumstances?”

  Violently, Sable pushed away from Taz and whirled to face Tiarra. Without thought, Sable clutched the phantasms of her magic in her hands. One look at Tiarra’s smirk, and Sable squeezed her eyes shut. The magic ebbed away from her as she sucked in slow draughts. “Yes, Tiarra? Did you forget something?”

  “He is a good man?” Tiarra asked with a nod of her head.

  “Who?” Sable had played this game before. She knew the rules now.

  A tiny smile tugged at Tiarra’s lips, and then she moved to the table, where her laptop’s screen saver played the same nondescript landscape scenes. The woman pulled the laptop to her, settling into a plush chair of suede. She lifted her shapely legs to stretch them out on the padded ottoman, her black heels gleaming in the sunlight from the window.

  Sable waited, her hands at her sides.

  Taz shuffled her feet, angling for the still-open door. “If there isn’t anything else, I guess I’ll ooze on along…”

  “Oh, no, my dear. You will stay.” Tiarra beamed a brilliant smile at the young woman.

  Taz hesitated, but returned it with a tremulous one of her own.

  “It just occurred to me,” Tiarra said. “I have a much better tool to force the change on you. That man whom it seems is the cause of my Imperator’s disappearance; you know him.”

  Sable felt her mouth tighten, despite everything she could do to hold still. The tones of a cell phone made her freeze even that small motion.

  “Contact all operatives in the search area immediately and pull them,” Tiarra said. “Yes, that is correct, pull them, and wait for my instructions.”

  Breathe; let it wash away the fear. Don’t move. Stay calm.

  “Until you lost the hunters last spring, you were staying with an old couple. We know this. And you worked at a bar. The owner is a man in his late twenties. With a mother. No doubt you’ve developed human ties.”

  Sable heard a sharp inhalation and then silence. Then the cell phone again.

  “Keeper,” Tiarra said. “A wrinkle has developed in my plan. Listen carefully. Pull the operatives as I said before, but I want them in a five-mile radius.”

  She paused to laugh. “No, not around the point where my Imperator vanished. Place them around the last known residence of the tener unus.”

  Sable heard the cell phone snap shut. She gave in to her stomach-clenching tension and turned to Tiarra without comment.

  “Maybe it is time for a visit,” Tiarra said. Her blood-red nails tapped the arm of her chair. She shut the laptop and unhurriedly got to her feet. “Until then, I believe we should go at this problem from a different angle.” Tiarra’s hand cut through the streams of magic that never left her, never died. The trails spat like droplets of water on a hot surface. “Since magic can manifest during emotional outbursts, not only intercourse, I believe it is time to test your resolve. Tell me, what do you see now?”

  “Air,” Sable said dully. “Yours is deep blue with sparks.”

  And unique. Every track of your elements has its own shadow following it.

  “And now?”

  “Red. Water.”

  Tiarra swiveled her head, as if trying to catch sight of her magic. “Strange that you can see them, when every other wizard cannot.”

  Except for one, Sable thought.

  Tiarra swept a taloned hand in front of her again. To Sable’s eyes, the swirls exploded into fiery chrysanthemums. Again, she heard snapping, popping.

  Taz stood, drawing Sable’s attention. The magenta-dyed streak in the young woman’s hair clashed with the red of Water. The door slammed shut, but Taz didn’t start as Sable did. Blue-black Air joined the red Water, and the young woman rose, her feet dangling, her mouth wide in a silent scream.

  “Is it not odd how the heart rate increases with every emotion? With passion or fear, in anger or joy, it is all the same, respiration and the heart race. I find it does not matter whether it is the subject that is directly involved or merely the audience. All are affected the same.”

  Slowly twirling now, her head twisted to one side, Taz’s eyes turned inward, unfocused on the world around her. To Sable, Taz appeared on display, like a mannequin in a storefront window, turning so the customer could see all angles. The short, rib-length vest billowed as a finger of Air caught it. Her feet pointed down and he
r shoes slid off, each thump a sharp sound that broke into the room like a gunshot.

  “Stop.” Sable felt the word rasp from her throat. She turned to Tiarra, whose attention remained on the slowly spinning figure. Sable positioned herself in front of Taz, her back to the young woman. “She isn’t a part of this. Hurting her won’t get what you want.”

  But even as the words left her mouth, Sable knew differently. Taz was the means to an end, which was her friend’s task from the beginning. Taz wasn’t a spy, assigned to pass along Sable’s secrets. She’d accomplished her mission, befriending Sable without reservation or knowledge of her true mission. To create ties, emotional attachments.

  The result was to turn Sable into a full wizard by any means necessary.

  Tiarra twitched one finger, as if flicking dust. Behind her, Sable heard a sound like that of a rubber band stretched to its limit. Sable turned and the air left her lungs. One of Taz’s arms was back, bent in an impossible position, the buttons of the vest now straining, now popping free. A liquid snap and the arm swung free, but a baseball-sized lump appeared under the vest at the point where the top of Taz’s arm met the shoulder blade. Her head lolled back.

  A guttural sound left Sable’s mouth, and she lunged for Tiarra, her hands made into claws. But with the same negligent motion of her fingers, Tiarra stopped her with Air. Irresistibly, Sable felt herself pushed into the chair by the coffee table still holding the crystal stemware.

  “I cannot see your magic, but I can feel it,” Tiarra said mildly. “Give in and allow the magic to be released. It is quite simple, actually. You need do nothing but give up your stubborn attitude. Then you can have your friend returned to you. Mostly unharmed, of course.”

  Sable heard the smile in Tiarra’s voice. She kept her eyes squeezed tight. It didn’t stop the tears or her ears from hearing the animal-like moans from what was left of Taz.

  When the young woman died with a sharp crack of her neck, the delicate crystal glass shattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six