Sanctuary: The Sorcerers' Scourge: Book Two

by Michael Arches

  “You should probably give it to one of your high and mighty guild buddies.”

  “It’s mine to give, minion, and I’ll decide who deserves it, thank you very much.”

  I sat silent and watched the trees on the side of the road fly by for a minute. Then I said, “If they figure out later on that I have this thing, they may think I took advantage of our relationship to cajole it out of you.”

  “You’re my magical heir, and nobody can dispute that. As for the other Grade Sixes, my dear colleagues are too worldly. You deserve it precisely because you don’t covet it.”

  “As you wish, Master. What’s it good for?”

  “It allows you to sense someone else’s aggression.”

  I felt a bit of a letdown. “So, it doesn’t create an endless supply of gold or lemonade? Dang.”

  Gill cackled. “Oh, hot damn, I want so much to be young and cocky again. I’m going to miss you.”

  I fought a smirk. “Okay, I can see definitely see where sensing danger might come in handy.”

  “That’s more like it. Holar himself supposedly forged this amulet,” Gill said, and his voice turned hard and serious. “It doesn’t look like much at the moment. That’s part of why it has remained secret for eight thousand years. It can shrink in size to look even smaller.”

  “Good.”

  “It can read anyone’s feelings—including animals. It will sense any threat to you from any conscious being within fifty yards, and it never sleeps.”

  “So, no more ambushes. Fantastic. I still think you should keep it until you’ve gone to your heavenly reward. I’m sure Julienne will send it to me if you ask her to.”

  “For better or worse, you need this a lot more than I do. Oran Byrne hasn’t made his move, for example. Escobar has to be plotting something, too.”

  “Has the medallion helped you?”

  “You’re goddamned right it has. The reason they designated me a Grade Six Holar is that nobody can catch me by surprise.” He held up his hand to keep me from replying. “But there’s more.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “At no additional cost, you get a warning signal that would wake the dead.”

  “It rings or vibrates?”

  “You’ll wish it did, kiddo, the first time you experience it. When you encounter someone who wishes to harm you, and you haven’t already noticed the threat, the medallion sends daggers of energy into your chest. It hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  I winced.

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his chest as though he was remembering. “Holar must’ve been a really, really sound sleeper.”

  -o-o-o-

  WE ARRIVED AT THE farm before the plane got there, so I gave him one final soothing while we were waiting.

  After the plane had landed, Gill looked me straight in the eye. “Don’t forget your little trinket.”

  He took the amulet out of his pocket and placed it in my hand. Then he wrapped my fingers around it. I stuffed it into a front pocket of my jeans before anyone could notice.

  “Put it around your neck as soon as you can,” he said, “and never take it off again.”

  “Who should I tell about this?”

  “Not a single damned soul. Marie didn’t tell me until we’d been married for ten years. That’s how long it took her to convince herself that I needed it more than she did. Boy, was I pissed when I found out. Even though we’d joined magic hundreds of times, the medallion had somehow kept me from suspecting its secret. So, tell no one, but mention it in a letter to be opened up on your death by someone you really trust.”

  I got choked up and couldn’t speak for a moment. Then I said, “I can’t begin to thank you for everything you’ve done, and I’ll never forget it. This has been the best month of my life.” I handed him a first edition copy of Candide as partial thanks for his help.

  He held it and stared at the cover. “Thanks. Listen, as I said, I hate long goodbyes.” He hugged me with one arm. “So, goodbye.”

  I threw both arms around him and fought back tears. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  Then I boarded the plane.

  As soon as it had leveled off, I locked myself in the bathroom and examined Holar’s amulet. Earlier, it’d looked like weathered bronze, dull from wear.

  As I held it now, though, the medallion looked like a new gold coin two inches in diameter. It seemed to weigh a pound. The edges were serrated, and the unknown words were now sharply etched in the metal. The opposite side was engraved with the face of a man with short curly hair and a beard. Although Gill had said it was eight thousand years old, it looked freshly minted.

  The damned thing vibrated as I touched it with my fingers.

  I unbuttoned my shirt and looped the tarnished chain around my neck so the amulet would rest against my skin. After a few minutes, the vibrations ended, but it was so heavy that I was constantly reminded of its presence.

  -o-o-o-

  ELEVEN HOURS LATER, BUT still Monday morning, we landed at the ranch north of Denver. I strode into Laura’s loving arms. For a long minute, I kissed and hugged her and savored her familiar perfume. God, it felt good to hold her again.

  “Words can’t describe how much I’ve missed you,” I said. “Your face is more beautiful than I remembered it.”

  She held me tight. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  We stood there silent, holding each other for a moment. Then she said, “Time is short. We have a real problem on our hands. The hearing was three hours ago, and Judge Eastwood is livid that you weren’t there. Diana concocted some crazy story about you and me snow camping in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. I need to tell you about our adventure in case you’re questioned.”

  On the way to court, she gave me detailed description of our supposed campsite. The only problem was, she couldn’t explain one thing.

  I asked, “Why did we camp at a spot where the temperature drops down to zero degrees at night?”

  That brought her up short. She said, “We wanted the place to ourselves.”

  She drove over the speed limit, and I used her phone to alert Diana that we were heading to court.

  “Eastwood has issued an arrest warrant, so, if the cops stop you, they’ll no doubt haul you in. Nicky will meet us there.”

  “Does he know where I’ve been?” I asked, without offering any specifics.

  “Sure,” she said, and hung up.

  I could almost feel the judge’s bony fingers squeezing my heart. If he decided that I’d violated my bail agreement, I’d be sent back to Oklahoma for sure, and I’d be charged with murder for helping to kill a cop. Even my video of what really had happened might not be enough to save me from the death penalty. In Oklahoma, folks loved capital punishment.

  Laura and I flew down the Boulder-Longmont diagonal highway, and I only had enough time to summarize for her what I’d learned during my first few days in France.

  At the courthouse, I realized that I’d have to go through the metal detector, and Gill had insisted that I wear the medallion all the time, so I couldn’t leave it in the car.

  What if they take it from me? He’ll come, just to strangle me.

  Sure enough, it triggered an alarm, but when I opened my shirt to put it into one of the bins, it looked like a worn penny, complete with part of Lincoln’s profile. What a relief!

  “What’s that?” Laura asked.

  “Oh, a memento Gill gave me to remember him by.”

  She snickered. “He sure doesn’t splurge on gifts, does he?”

  I only smiled. I should’ve praised him to the skies, but he’d told me not to.

  One of the cops at the entrance escorted me to Eastwood’s courtroom and sat me down at one of the tables.

  The room quickly filled, and Nicky strode in wearing his trademark smile. He pulled me aside and said, “When Diana told me about the stunt you pulled, I almost came after you myself.”

  My face turned warm. “S
he forced me to do it!”

  I’d spoken too loud, and several people turned their heads. Then I said quietly, “I had zero choice, and I warned her that this would happen.”

  He looked at me skeptically. “How did they figure out you travelled to Brittany?”

  I shrugged. “I thought I was careful.”

  Old, crotchety Eastwood took the bench. We all stood.

  The amulet sent a stabbing pain into my chest. I coughed, wheezed, and tried to hide how much I was suffering. Gill hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d described how painful the warning was.

  “You okay?” Nicky asked me.

  I couldn’t speak, but I nodded. If I’d had any doubts before about the judge’s attitude, they were gone now. Eastwood couldn’t wait to crucify me.

  The judge pointed at me and at the witness stand. I hobbled over there, trying to catch my breath. His clerk swore me in.

  “Where the heck have you been?” the judge asked.

  I explained how I’d been snow camping up in the Indian Peaks Wilderness—still within Boulder County.

  He raised his hand to cut me off. “Who saw you there?”

  I hadn’t wanted to finger Laura, but that was the story Diana had concocted. “Laura Reynolds, my girlfriend, camped with me.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Nope. We kinda wanted to be alone for a couple of days.”

  He paused for a moment, as though he was trying to figure out how to trip me up, but then he said, “The reason I’ve summoned you here is that you took another trip a week ago. One far away.”

  I tried to look innocent. “Nope. I’ve stayed in the county, just like you told me to.”

  He harrumphed. “Then how were you photographed near Caen, Normandy, in France on November 19th?”

  Nicky burst out laughing, which kept me from feeling embarrassed. “Excuse me, Your Honor,” he said. “Did you say France, as in the country on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean?”

  Eastwood blushed. Then he passed a large photograph to his clerk, who handed it to Nicky. He examined it for a minute and then handed it to me.

  “Counsellor,” the judge said, “how do you explain that this photograph was taken by French authorities on the nineteenth but was just brought to my attention yesterday?”

  Son of a bitch! This whole anti-terrorism surveillance stuff had gotten way out of hand. No hoodlum is safe anywhere in the world these days.

  The French were apparently photographing everyone in the whole damned country, and facial recognition software was getting good enough to track me down five thousand miles from Boulder. The picture was grainy, but my face was clear enough. They’d caught me walking into a café in Caen where Gill and I had eaten lunch.

  “Sorry, Your Honor,” Nicky said. “But I really don’t see the likeness.”

  Eastwood mumbled under his breath. Then he asked, “O’Rourke, for the record, is that you?”

  “Of course not, Your Honor. I haven’t left Boulder County since you last saw me.”

  He sighed. “Make sure you don’t do it again, or you’ll be on the next Con Air flight to Oklahoma.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  I thought I’d dodged the bullet, but Eastwood said, “The French police are admirably thorough. They’re checking for you on every camera within two hundred kilometers of Caen. If they find you again, we’ll spare no effort to find out how you secretly arrived there and returned without being detected.”

  That sent a chill through me. I must’ve been photographed by the gendarmes more than once.

  Eastwood motioned for me to leave. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

  I bolted the courtroom before Eastwood could say anything else, and Nicky followed me.

  So did Cindy Paxil. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Ian, sneaking off like that. No wonder you haven’t been responding to my calls and emails.”

  Nicky put up his hand to keep me from saying anything. “No comment, Cindy.”

  Even so, I couldn’t help but add, “I’ll never talk to you. Stop harassing me.”

  “You’ll be sorry,” she said with a smirk.

  Chapter 8

  Brigid’s Community Ranch, Boulder County, Colorado

  MOST OF THE CLAN MEMBERS didn’t realize I was back home until I showed up in the dining hall. We had a great time getting reacquainted, and I particularly enjoyed seeing Christina, Katie, and Tess again. Only a few people knew why I’d vanished, but everyone had noticed that I was gone. Strangely, nobody asked where I’d been. They simply welcomed me back.

  Eventually, most folks drifted away, leaving me with Laura, Christina, and Rascal. I just smiled at them for a moment before I said, “I can’t tell you how good it feels to just sit here with my new family.”

  Laura beamed. “While you were gone, Christina took great care of the cat. She takes him to school, which is much more interesting than lying around the apartment alone.”

  The four of us got reacquainted over a bowl of popcorn, and I gave them presents from the shops in Ploubalay.

  Late in the afternoon, I headed out to the barn to see the outdoor critters. During the month I’d spent in cool and rainy France, it’d apparently snowed like mad in the Rockies. I walked on a plowed path to the barn, with the snow on each side coming up to my waist.

  Lazarus screeched a greeting from high in the sky. He dropped like a stone and then flared his wings so he could land several feet in front of me on the path. I picked him up and stroked his feathers.

  He’d made a full recovery from his wound, and he seemed to be in perfect health. I carried him and connected with him mentally until I got to the barn. Then I tossed him back into the air. His powerful wings beat with rhythmic whooshes that slowly took him higher. I maintained the connection until he was hundreds of feet above me.

  I found Hercules in his heated stall, and, after he noticed me, he whinnied loudly several times to say hello. That choked me up. I gave him a good brushing, the musky odor from his coat reminded me of how much I’d missed riding him.

  “You would’ve loved meandering along the beaches in France. Always cool, and no snow.”

  Herman had carved out a series of trails that wound across the meadows and through the forests at the edge of the ranch. The ground was frozen, too slippery for Hercules to run safely, but we walked through the empty pastures. My mind connected with his, and it was touching to feel how much he enjoyed our time together again.

  The wolf pack followed us, led by Washta, and from time to time I merged thoughts with him, too. We all stayed on the paths because some of the snow drifts were taller than I was. I tried to explain why I’d left, but it was impossible. The animals and I could share feelings and memories, but they understood so few words. I hadn’t been able to explain to them beforehand that I had to leave, and I couldn’t explain now why I’d returned. All we could do was enjoy each other’s company in the present.

  The dazzling views from the fields made my spirits soar, and it was hard to believe that this was the same ranch I’d left a month ago. The forests looked similar, but snow had covered all the bare ground nearby. Far to the west, the once-gray mountain peaks were brilliant white.

  It was the kind of scene I used to admire on Christmas cards, and I’d always wondered whether those painted scenes existed anywhere. Damn, it was great to be back home.

  -o-o-o-

  Tuesday, November 26th

  AS USUAL AFTER I’D spent a day in court, Diana ruined my breakfast by dropping the latest edition of the paper on the table between me and Christina. My stepdaughter was as used to the routine as I was, so she didn’t slow a bit as she scarfed down a couple of waffles covered with maple syrup.

  This headline read, Did Ian the Witch Sneak Away to France? The article said:

  Did our newest local celebrity, Ian O’Rourke, use his magical powers to fly to France on a broomstick? Or did he teleport himself, like in Star Trek
? Or did he use a portkey, like in Harry Potter? Nobody seems to know. Judge Eastwood was worried that O’Rourke had vanished while he was facing extradition. In court, O’Rourke denied ever going to France, but he couldn’t account for his whereabouts for half of yesterday before seemingly magically reappearing in front of the courthouse. The learned jurist naturally resists magical explanations, but the truth is even more shocking. My investigation has shown that no one has seen O’Rourke for weeks, not days.

  Paxil then went down a long list of places I was known to frequent, but no one would admit to having seen me lately. Alongside the article was a photograph taken in Caen that Paxil insightfully noted looked remarkably like me. She ended her article with a plea for anyone who’d seen me in the month before yesterday to step forward.

  I knew no one would—at least, no honest person would—and I wasn’t about to ask anybody to lie for me. It was disgusting enough that I had to do it.

  Diana had been right one more time. I’d learned an incredible amount from Gill, not to mention receiving the priceless medallion. Until the French cops found more photos of me, which seemed inevitable, I had to worry more about Oran Byrne and his cronies instead. But Paxil wouldn’t leave me in peace.

  “Have you given any thought to a new strategy for dealing with the press?” I asked Diana.

  She nodded. “I think it’s worth cultivating some sympathy toward you by getting the story out about how your family was murdered. We’ll keep the video secret for now, but the story is extremely compelling by itself.”

  I sure wasn’t going to disagree with her. “Who do I talk to?”

  “I’ve been evaluating reporters at the paper, and I think the man we want is George Sanders, a retired crime reporter from the Rocky Mountain News who works part-time for the Boulder paper, mostly covering rising crime in town.”

  “Is he magical?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “His main advantage, from our perspective, is that he dislikes Paxil as much as we do. I’ll arrange an interview. In the meantime, don’t talk to other reporters.”

  -o-o-o-

  Sullivan’s Animal Hospital, Boulder, Colorado