It was just about sunset when she reached her room, leaving the basket just outside her door for one of the invisible servants to take away. There was a hot dinner waiting for her-one of the servants must have seen her feeding Sunset-and she found that she was starving although it seemed as if she had just eaten lunch. According to her watch, it had taken two hours to stroll down to the sea, but three to return, and the return trip had been all uphill.
It's just a good thing that I'm used to walking and I am still going to feel the results of my bravado in the morning, she thought as she attacked her meal with zest. Chicago is not known for its hills, after all!
She had just enough time by her watch to tidy up before her evening session of reading. She found, once she had done so, that she was a hundred times more relaxed than she ever recalled being for the past three years and more.
Well, she thought, as she lit the reading-lamp and waited for the voice of her employer to request the first book of the night, Perhaps there is something to be said for jumping off into the unknown, after all. What you cannot anticipate, you cannot dread.
As always, the study was in darkness except for a lamp, glowing under its heavy red-velvet shade. Jason Cameron folded his misshapen paws together beneath the shelter of his desk and regarded his employee and putative Apprentice with what he hoped was an icy calm. Of course, the lupine mask that was now his face was not well suited to expressing subtleties; if he was not in a deep and fiery rage, he tended to look calm and unruffled. But although Paul du Mond was a lazy fool he was not an unobservant lazy fool, and the less Paul knew, the better.
The younger man was dressed impeccably as usual, in an expensive tailored suit that Cameron's money had furnished, silk tie held with the diamond pin that was all that was left of his own "fortune." His handsome face bore an expression of dissatisfaction that he attempted to cover with an imperfect mask of deference.
Jason already knew about the encounter at the stable, but he was waiting to see if Paul reported it. If he did, well and good. If he did not-he would bear closer watching than Cameron had anticipated.
"Oh-and I met with Miss Hawkins just outside Sunset's paddock," du Mond said casually. "She was carrying a basket, so I assumed you knew she was going wandering and arranged for a luncheon." The slight rise of his eyebrow turned that into a question.
He nodded.
Du Mond frowned. "Do you think that's entirely wise? She might encounter one or more of your neighbors-"
Cameron laughed. "And what harm could that possibly do? What is wrong with my engaging another servant?"
But Du Mond grimaced. "She is not precisely a servant," the man pointed out. "Nor is she a guest. And she is unchaperoned."
The Firemaster shrugged. "She will style herself as such if she is wise and wishes to preserve her reputation. She won't tell anyone that she is here alone and unchaperoned. If she's foolish enough to do so, she will brand herself as one of my demimonde ladies, and my very proper neighbors will have nothing whatsoever to do with her. If she does not make that mistake, they will assume she is here with the appropriate protections and will not feel any great impetus to place themselves in the position of protector. The one thing I cannot be accused of is taking advantage of an innocent. All of my light-of-loves have been well-known professional ladies, and while my neighbors may find this a bit fast, they also feel it is to be expected in a vigorous man in my position. Moreover, since they have persisted in flinging their daughters at my head, I assume my reputation as a gentleman is intact. They would hardly wish to wed their offspring to a rake."
Du Mond merely grunted, which Cameron took for agreement.
"Did you observe anything unusual about her?" Cameron persisted, curious to see if du Mond had taken note of how positively the stallion had responded.
Du Mond shrugged. "Sunset likes her to the point where he follows her like a puppy, but I don't see that as being very important."
As well not to tell him that Firemaster Prince Ibrahim had told him the stallion was supremely sensitive to personalities and would be a good way to measure whether someone could be trusted. "Animals dote on women," he said dismissively. "It is an indication of their more primitive nature."
When Paul actually smiled and nodded agreement at that piece of balderdash, he had to repress a sigh of disgust. How could he ever have thought the fool had the potential for the Great Magicks? He was facile, yes, and quick-but his fire was all on the surface, with no depth to his personality or his mind. Given fuel, it would burn out and leave no trace of its passing.
Jason Cameron was not going to waste precious fuel. Eventually, he would have to put some thought into finding a way to be rid of the man, but at the moment, Paul was his only access to the outside world.
But if he becomes too troublesome, that can change. I hired Rosalind Hawkins without his help; I could hire an appropriately close-mouthed and discreet manservant the same way. One of the other Elemental Masters might even be willing to help him with the choice of a servant; the local Earthmaster, for instance, who had no interest in Elemental power-struggles and wished only to tend his forest creatures and his garden, dispense herbal medicine, and pursue his charities. Perhaps Ho, the Master of Air he had no love for Simon Beltaire, not after Simon had disfigured him in a quarrel over a Chinese slave-girl. Or I could buy a Chinese boy, see that he learned English, free him, and educate him. Given the new freedom and luxury he would have with me, he would be more securely mine than if I bound him in chains, and as intensely loyal as a mastiff.
Definitely a project for the future. And as for Paul-
If only I could interest Simon in him! They deserve each other A pity that's too dangerous a prospect.
"Is there anything else that requires my attention?" he asked. Paul shook his head. "Your elemental servants are performing well, your office can tell you how your investments are doing better than I. When are you going to begin teaching me again?"
He had been expecting this; Paul asked the same question once a week. "When you have mastered the Ninth Summons," he replied smoothly. "Until you do that, there is no point in going further, since virtually everything in the next stage requires that Summons or something like it."
Paul pouted; it was not an attractive expression on the face of a grown man. He could not deny the truth of the Firemaster's words, however, for he could see it in the hand-written tomes of Magick for himself, if he cared to look. Now, if Paul's troubles with mastering the Summons had been related to temperament, Cameron would have found an alternative to the course of study he had set for du Mond. But Paul's failures were due entirely to laziness, an unwillingness to sacrifice anything, not even a moment of leisure or a single luxurious meal. The Summons required a fast of seven days and total dedication for a month. Paul had tried numerous shortcuts; he had met with failure. Until he was prepared to conduct the Summons correctly, he would continue to meet with failure.
And since Jason Cameron would be willing to stake his entire fortune that he would never take the time and effort to conduct the Summons properly, Paul du Mond would never progress beyond Apprentice. And the most ironic thing of all was that in frantically seeking for the easy path he would waste a hundred-fold the time and effort it would have taken to do the Summons properly.
I hope I can rid myself of him without any ... unpleasantness. Fortunately, du Mond had no living relations with whom he was still on speaking terms. He had alienated anyone who might ordinarily have felt concern if he vanished without explanation. It would, in fact, be only what most of them expected. Paul had been a clever "confidence artist" when Cameron first encountered him, alternating his time between parting fools from their money by sheer persuasion and by card-sharping. The latter was his court of last resort, as gambling cheaters, even in relatively civilized San Francisco, tended to find themselves facing guns or knives in the hands of very unhappy people.
Paul could not know what Cameron was thinking, but the Firemaster's steady and unflinchin
g gaze clearly made him nervous. He began chattering mostly making excuses why he had not yet completed the Ninth Summons successfully-and Cameron ignored him.
I believe it is time to persuade him to go away. With a whispered word, he caused the lamps on his desk to flare, so that he was no longer hidden in the shadows of his chair.
Du Mond started, and broke off in the middle of his sentence. A second later, he looked completely composed, but Cameron had seen the fear igniting his eyes for a moment before his mask came down. "I still have some letters to write for you," du Mond said, his voice trembling ever-so-slightly, although his expression remained bland. "If that is all, I trust you will excuse me?"
Cameron nodded a gracious dismissal, and du Mond took himself out. Did he know, did he guess, that Cameron had Salamanders watching every move he made so long as he was on the grounds? Did he know that every mirror in the house was a pair of eyes for the Master?
Did it matter if he did?
I am bordering on hubris. Time to remind myself of what that particular vice can bring.
He stood up and turned towards the wall, reached out a misshapen, hairy paw, and pulled the red-velvet drapery away from the mirror behind his desk, staring unflinchingly into the yellow eyes of his reflection.
Into the face of the beast.
Hubris was what had gotten him here, what had led him to attempt a Magick that was no part of a Firemaster's Disciplines. Hubris left him with paws instead of hands, the mask of a lupine-human hybrid instead of his own face-and beneath the elegant clothing, a half-human body with a garnishing of heavy grey pelt, powerful shoulders, and the indignity of a tail. He stared into his own reflection until his stomach turned, and he let the drapery fall again.
What he had attempted, if it came within any Master's purview, would be in the realm of the Earthmaster. But no Earthmaster would ever have defied Nature the way he had, in his pride and over-confidence, to warp and twist Nature herself with the most blasphemous spell in all of the grimoires of the medieval magicians of ancient France. If an Earthmaster wished to experience the sensation of being a wolf, he would have sent his spirit to share the body of a real wolf; he would never have tried to shape his own body into the form of a gigantic, man-sized wolf.
But Jason was proud of his power, certain of his ability, and had foolishly attempted the old French spell of the lycanthrope, the loup-garou.
There were two kinds of werewolves-those who were cursed to change with the moon, and those who could change at will. Jason was hardly likely to endure the first, but the second tempted him.
The spell called for-among other things-a belt made of the skin of a wolf, and Jason had trapped that wolf himself, just as he had gathered the other ingredients personally. There could be no question of their authenticity or purity. He had performed the spell as required-stark naked except for the belt and he certainly had plenty of experience in correctly following spells.
But something went terribly awry.
He lowered himself carefully down into his chair; his joints did not work quite the same, and his balance was all wrong. Perhaps he would get used to this-
No! he told himself fiercely. I will not get used to this form! I will regain my proper face and body! I will not permit myself to think otherwise!
But the ghost of the pain of that night thrilled over his nerves as he sat. He had never felt pain so intense in all of his life, as his flesh writhed, melted, reformed-he had endured the pain of molten lava to earn his title of Firemaster, but this was worse agony even than that moment.
He had collapsed, half-conscious, on the floor of his workroom.
He had awakened to find himself, not in the form of a four-legged creature, but in this half-and-half hybrid. And he could not take the belt off to break the spell, because the belt had merged into his own body.
Paul du Mond had found him; Paul was the only human to know his true condition. Cameron had sent his human servants away once he regained his senses and replaced them with Elemental servants; had instructed his underlings to send all business to the house so that he need no longer go into the city. Rosalind was the only person he had told the spurious tale of an accident to-he had not wanted even a hint of his difficulty to reach his enemy.
Nothing he had tried when he awoke or since had broken him free, and he had exhausted his memory of anything even remotely related to the spell. He needed to do research.
And he couldn't even hold his own books, much less turn the pages. His eyes wouldn't focus properly; he had trouble reading even large print, much less the crabbed scrawls of many of the handwritten volumes.
But now he had Rosalind Hawkins to be his eyes and hands-and in fact, to translate those manuscripts he himself would have had difficulty reading. Now he could find a solution.
Now the real work could begin.
And as soon as he found his solution, his second act would be to find a way to be rid of Paul du Mond.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Paul du Mond had never been so certain of anything in his life as he was certain that Jason Cameron had no intentions of teaching him anything further. As he left the Firemaster's private sanctum and heard the lock clicking shut behind him, he allowed his mask to drop and felt his lips contorting in a silent snarl.
He knew why Cameron didn't plan to teach him anything more; the man was afraid that once Paul advanced past the stage of mere Apprentice, he would quickly outstrip his teacher.
Paul's anger ebbed enough that a smirk passed over is lips. Cameron should fear him; he had more ambition than the Firemaster, and fewer scruples. Not that there were many who would say that Cameron was anything but unscrupulous, but Paul knew his employer, and he knew that there actually were things that Jason Cameron would not do. He would not take advantage of someone who was, in his estimation, truly innocent, for instance. So far as Paul was concerned, the world was against him, and anyone was fair game. No point in thinking anyone was innocent; even the tiniest children were supreme manipulators, using their big eyes and ready tears to extract what they wanted from unsuspecting adults. In some ways, the Catholics with their doctrine of Original Sin were more enlightened than the modern scientists.
That fellow Charles Darwin was right; it was a world of fang and claw, and not even infants were innocent, for they were as selfishly interested in survival as any adult. Only the fit survived, or deserved to survive.
The only way of succeeding in the world was to use every weapon at his disposal, use those weapons ruthlessly and without remorse, for without a doubt, given a change in circumstances, those weapons would be used on him by someone else. Paul had seen the truth of that in his own life, which was the surest measure of what was true.
So Cameron did well to fear him, fear what he would do if he ever became the Firemaster's equal. He would not, as Simon did, allow the situation to endure in stalemate. He would eliminate his rival, quickly, and efficiently. Cameron admired the horse-well, Paul admired the shark, the tiger, and the cobra, the most efficient killing machines in Nature. They wasted no motion, no time; if there was a chance to kill when the prey was unaware of the hunter's presence, that was the best moment to strike.
He retired to his own quarters and shut the door behind him. As luxurious as he cared to make them, they were no reward-everything in them belonged to Cameron and could be taken back at a moment's notice if du Mond failed to demonstrate the appropriate level of gratitude and servility. There was very little here that was his own, and Cameron never let him forget it. Everywhere he looked he saw Cameron's hand, Cameron's taste, Cameron's signature red and gold. He lived surrounded by those colors, even in his own bedroom, branding him as Cameron's property.
But Cameron was not God and he could not be everywhere; his sure influence extended only as far as the borders of this estate. Now that the man himself was confined, so was his power-and Cameron had taught Paul enough that du Mond knew how to make certain that influence did not follow him when he left the esta
te.
Cameron' s business sent him into San Francisco overnight or for two or three days about once a month. He was due for just such a trip in another few days. With the addition of the girl to the household, the trip might be sooner than usual. There were bound to be things that she needed that Cameron had not thought of, and things that Cameron needed he had not anticipated. There would be "special" packages to deliver, and to pick up.
He would occupy Cameron's city flat most of the time; he would certainly sleep there. But during the day, he would carry out at least one errand of his own.
Just to be ready, tonight before he went to bed he'd pack his valise, so be could leave on a moment's notice.
If Cameron would not teach him, share the Power with him, there was someone else who would.
Paul du Mond went directly to the office attached to his suite. He did have work to do, as he had told Cameron, and he had better get to it in case Cameron could see him. There were books to order, routine business-letters to write, invitations to politely refuse, pleas from various charities to deal with, all the minutiae of a wealthy man's life to handle. Once or twice, something amusing would cross his desk-such as the time that one of Cameron's paid companions tried a spot of blackmail-but mostly it was boring work, which was precisely why Cameron had always left it to him. The important correspondence, such as missives from other Masters, du Mond never saw.
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