by LE Barbant
Measured.
Self-controlled.
She picked up a towel and moved toward the bathroom. Breathing failed to calm her, maybe another form of meditation would have more success.
****
Willa stepped out of the warm bath water and shivered as goosebumps covered her naked flesh.
A large mirror stood opposite the tub and she observed her body in its reflection. Her personal training had done wonders for her physique, adding mass and definition to her arms and legs. But her new muscle failed to remove all evidence of the bony waif she once was. Her mother passed on her pointy knees and protruding collarbone and no amount of exercise would change the fact that she was her mother’s daughter.
The past year had altered her body in other ways as well. A burn on her calf, the bullet wound on her shoulder, and a bruise on her chest from earlier that night that she hadn’t even noticed—these scars marked a new path she had embarked upon—one that she wasn’t sure she could get off.
As she entered her bedroom a sudden thought struck her mind. She paused, scanning for cameras. Despite its comfortable trappings, the room remained a cell and Willa doubted that it lacked surveillance. The thought of some perverted wizard observing her returned some of the anger that the bath had cooled. Willa was a prisoner here with a prisoner’s rights. She was at their mercy.
The Guild robes laying on the dresser where her jeans and sweater once sat compounded the feeling of incarceration.
“Shit,” she said, looking at the drab gown.
Nothing about the life of the Guild was attractive to her, especially not the wardrobe.
Dropping the towel, she slid the uniform over her head. Though not chic, the robe may have been the most comfortable thing she had ever worn. Willa ran her hand across her chest. The fabric tickled her palm with hints of magic.
Laced with a protection spell, she wondered.
She cursed again as she considered the alternatives. Maybe the spell wasn’t one of protection, but something more nefarious. She considered the possibility that the robe might be used to subdue her own magic.
She turned away from the dresser and found the door to her room standing wide open. Feeling a bit like a mouse, she wondered how far off the cat was. At first, she considered simply sliding into the bed and attempting sleep, but her curiosity got the better of her. She strode through the door and into the dimly lit hall.
While her room smelled of detergent, the hallway reeked as though it needed some. With all the power in the Guild, they certainly should have been able to come up with something to cover the odor. Rough floors and bare walls gave the hallway an unfinished feel. The residence was most likely temporary.
Creeping down the hall, Willa discovered a staircase that descended into the unknown. The wide oak floorboards creaked beneath her steps.
“Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan,
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.”
Thomas Hood’s words came effortlessly, a nearly tacit response to her environment.
Willa’s feet padded down the steps without a sound.
Pleased that the robe left her spellcasting intact, she smiled to herself, proud of how far she had come. But she wondered where she would be if she had worn the magical robe since early childhood. The attack force at the brewery had obviously been well trained. Would she be as powerful if she had trained with the Guild? Her grandfather came to mind—had he been protecting her from this group of magicians, or was it something else? Edwin never spoke ill of the Guild, though he cautioned her on more than one occasion regarding their standards. Certainly, he had a past with the conservative wizards, but all indications pointed toward his submission to them and their rules. He had always urged noninterference, until his final moments on earth when he disappeared into gently falling snow along with the monster that was once Brooke Alarawn. He broke his own rules to save Willa.
I miss you, Grandpa, she thought as she descended the stairs.
Willa craned her neck, attempting to catch a glimpse of what awaited her on the floor below. The stairs spilled onto a landing before continuing deeper down. Her line of sight was obscured by the turn. She took two more steps and listened for signs of life.
“Do not be shy, Magician Weil.” A deep but gentle voice carried up from the darkness.
She raised her fists in a defensive position and stepped silently toward the bottom.
An unfamiliar man met her as she rounded the corner. He was tall, long arms hung at his side, hands hidden by the folds of a brilliant crimson robe. She felt like an undergraduate at commencement dressed in paper thin regalia while standing before a Harvard don. His narrow eyes assessed her in one glance. A long gray beard extended past his chest.
“Ad ordine libertas,” the man said. He paused, though she was sure he knew of her ignorance. “Now what use do you have with those when you have the words of Thomas Hood at your disposal?” He glared at her fists. She kept them up, despite his criticism. He continued, undeterred by her lack of response. “I was surprised you used Hood. I thought you were more of a Dickinson scholar.”
The man closed his eyes and said:
“Silence is all we dread.
There's Ransom in a Voice –
But Silence is Infinity.
Himself have not a face.”
He ended with a smile.
The poem was one of the earliest she had ever memorized. His use of it now filled her with unease. It made her think of her grandfather and a particularly bad memory from junior high. “Maybe I was saving that one to use on you, Master Wizard.” She had no idea how to respond so she decided to stay on the offensive. It was a risky move, but if this man was going to kill her she’d rather die with her guard up. Not that it would make much of a difference. She was entirely out of her league.
The old wizard retained his smile but his eyes darkened. “Most around here treat me with more respect. You have your Grandfather’s sense of humor. And his stubbornness.”
Willa’s eyes narrowed.
“Well,” he continued, “at least when I first met him—back when he was your age. The years had not been kind to Edwin. I wonder if it was you or your mother that broke his stubbornness in the end.” He extended his hand toward a short corridor. “Join me in my study. This will go more smoothly once we’ve become acquainted. Or at least, once you become acquainted with the Guild. We know virtually all there is to know about you.”
****
The wizard’s study struck a contrast to the halls and room Willa had already seen. Two overstuffed leather chairs sat facing an open fireplace. Perfect flames danced orange and blue upwards toward its flue. Bookshelves lined the walls, and Willa’s eyes scanned the spines—subconsciously looking for a pattern. She nearly laughed out loud when she saw a writing table in the corner, complete with an ink pot and quill. The vestiges of antiquity were not unusual considering the room’s resident. While the rest of the building was musty, the master wizard’s study smelled of sandalwood, with a hint of lavender. She wondered if he dabbled in alchemy, if that were even a thing. Willa knew precious little of him or his colleagues.
If the room was designed to put her at ease, it had the opposite effect.
“Please, sit.” He motioned to a chair facing the fire.
Willa nodded but chose a different seat, avoiding the one which faced away from the door. Her eyes remained trained on her host. The man seemed gentle, but she was well aware of the tricks he was capable of.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked with raised brows.
“No, thank you.”
The man gave a little bow, then left her alone in the room.
She took the time for further inspection. The glazed, leaded windows gave hints of the building’s age—likely late nineteenth or early twentieth century. Darkness outside made the glass reflect back her own image. Heavy bags sat under her eyes.
Nothing could be heard except for the crackling of wood.
The
y were certainly outside of the city, she guessed at one of the many farms immediately surrounding Pittsburgh. She wished she had Tim Ford’s skills. He would know precisely where they were.
“Here you are,” the wizard said, placing a steaming cup of light-colored coffee next to Willa. “In case you change your mind.” The smell of the quality roast caught her off guard. “One sugar and soymilk, right?”
Weariness overcame her intentions. She grabbed the mug with both hands. The warmth radiated into her palms.
Sipping, she said, “Yes. This is perfect. Thank you.”
A sense of peace spread over her.
Fear followed closely.
The initial sense of trust for the man made her think about Rhett and her first meeting with the speech writer. Willa searched her mind in an attempt to somehow identify an intruder in her thoughts. She replaced her drink on the side table and crossed her arms.
“Ms. Weil,” the man finally said, “do not concern yourself. It is not a mind trick, nor did I put something in your coffee. You belong here. All wizards belong here. This is the order of things. And you know it wouldn’t take an elixir to subdue you.”
Willa exhaled and dropped her shoulders. “I’m not so sure,” she said. “How do I even know you are truly with the Guild?”
The old man smiled through his beard. “You are wise to be cautious. The world is full of deception and we are not yet friends.”
Willa’s head began to pulse. She rubbed her temples with her index fingers. “Attacking me and dragging me here is not a great start.”
The man held her gaze while taking a drink from his own cup.
“We don’t blame you for your ignorance, Willa, just your insubordination. There are forces at work beyond your comprehension. You were brought here because you wielded your magic irresponsibly, a danger to yourself and to those around you. And I’ll remind you, your friends initiated the violence that took place this evening. If you had only come peacefully— “
Willa jumped to her feet.
“Come peacefully? If you really knew so much about me you’d know that I don’t like threats. I don’t even know who you are.”
The old man retained his composure but Willa could see the warmth drain from his eyes.
“Then sit down, Ms. Weil, and let me tell you who we are.”
His tone offered no sign of leeway.
She returned to her seat.
His eyes softened a little as he took another sip. “I guess it would be best if I started at the beginning.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rhett tossed the collared shirt onto the bed and grabbed a black V-neck tee. Pulling it over his head, he briefly considered the fact that more time went into his wardrobe than his speechwriting. It was a fair trade. Dressing perfectly for any occasion took effort. The right color combination or the wrong accessory could make all the difference. Style required nuance, and Rhett had it down to a science.
But his current choice in clothing had nothing to do with work. He was going on a date. And Jillian Stephens was a wildcard.
It had been years since the speechwriter had hit the town only for personal reasons. Most of his evening soirees were utilitarian: to gain guarded info or make an advantageous connection. When it came to courtship, Rhett was downright Victorian. He took pleasure in his craft, but never at the expense of his higher goals. Relationships were assets to be managed and Rhett played the market with the finesse of an expert stockbroker. It was the 21st century, and neither the pen nor the sword outmatched the right haircut. He leveraged the men and women under his sway for every inch of power and ounce of prestige he could. Then, when the time was right he cut them loose.
But something had changed in the speechwriter. Maybe he was spending too much time with the Academic Avengers. Or maybe his brother Paul’s naïve idealism had started to sink in. Or maybe it was her.
Jillian was different.
Razor smart, she had a witty sense of humor that cut through his bullshit. He and the reporter had crossed paths several times since she observed his new friends sweep through City Hall like a flood. As far as Jillian knew, their meetings were all coincidental. But coincidence seldom played a role in the life of Rhett Johannes. Despite witnessing first-hand the story of the century, and despite her obvious integrity as a reporter, Jillian had covered up the whole affair. Rhett lied to the others, telling them that he had used his special gifts to persuade her. But the truth of the matter was that he hadn’t needed to. She protected them, even at her own expense.
And Rhett couldn’t understand why. He had met plenty of reporters and most were as ruthless and self-seeking as he was. And Jillian was no push over. But her one act of altruism remained in his mind, like a stone in his shoe that dogged every step. And, like the fools he had spent half his life manipulating, his steps continuously returned him to her.
Glancing at his watch, he realized there was just enough time to check the evening news and maybe jot down some notes for the next day’s meeting. Weeks had passed since his boss’s inauguration, yet the man remained a central feature in the local news cycle. Much of this was due to Rhett’s diligence as Kinnard’s media manager but, truthfully, the new mayor made it easy. His youthful enthusiasm appealed to a public weary of back room corruption and thinly veiled political scandal. They wanted a hero, and Kinnard satisfied their demand.
Rhett noted with satisfaction the laudatory tone of the local reporters, but his impromptu work was interrupted by the click of the locks on the front door. Rhett snapped to attention.
Willa and Tim’s abduction had set the man on edge. Rhett had been aware of the supernatural for most of his life; his own powers an undeniable link to a world bigger than most could see. But until recently, that world had seemed rather manageable. The attack by the Guild shattered any illusions he had of a benign world.
He didn’t have any reason to suspect that the Guild would come after him, but Tim would have probably said much the same. Rhett’s own power of persuasion remained a mystery to him. For all he knew, he was just as much an abomination in their eyes as Tim was.
A twinge of guilt passed through his stomach thinking of the two locked away in some magical dungeon. While they may never trust Rhett fully, they were the closest thing to friends he had. Elijah may doubt his motives, but he truly wanted to help.
Now, crouching behind his couch as the sound of footsteps, Rhett wondered if he had taken a prudent course.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
Rhett relaxed at the sound of his brother’s voice. Paul always set him at ease, which was odd as the older twin was generally a pain in the ass. “Nothing. I’m…looking for my phone.”
It could have been Rhett’s imagination, but he thought that Paul fought to suppress a smile. “It’s right there, on the coffee table. You going somewhere?”
Rhett grabbed his phone and stood. “I have a date.”
He noticed a strange look pass his brother’s eyes. “What are you after this time?”
Rhett ignored his comment and checked his text messages. “Hey, where the hell have you been anyway?”
Paul tossed his messenger bag on the couch and dropped down beside it. “Oh, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. You’ve been weird lately. I never see you anymore.”
Rhett observed Paul’s body language as the younger-looking twin ran his finger along the seam of his bag, lost in his thoughts. “I can’t be with you all the time, Rhett. And you’ve got things dialed in pretty well right now. You’ve got the job, the friends, and now a girlfriend.”
“I didn’t call her that.”
Paul’s laugh brought a touch of color to Rhett’s cheek. “You didn’t have to. Besides, I always know what you’re thinking, don’t I?” The man paused, looking at an invisible dot on the ceiling. “Anyway, as far as I know, we aren’t leaving anytime soon.”
Rhett was used to Paul being aloof. He had been like this ever since the crash. That day had change
d everything; it marked a turn in their relationship. Rhett couldn’t remember the days after the accident with much clarity. Doctors said he was repressing, but he assumed the memory loss coincided with his head injury. But after Paul came home from the hospital, the two became inseparable. And yet Paul often seemed more distant. Paul could tell what was bothering his brother like he could read his mind. Yet Rhett found it almost impossible to judge Paul’ emotions. Not long after that, Paul’s gift showed up.
In the early days, Rhett never would have guessed that the near-death experience had given his twin brother some sort of superpower. But over the years, the boys realized that Paul’s premonitions, though not clear, provided insight into their future. More specifically, they focused on Rhett and, as Paul so often put it, what he was supposed to do.
“They keep asking about you,” Rhett said.
Paul nodded. “I imagine. The mysterious brother and all. You know how I feel about hanging out with new people.”
“They don’t really trust me yet. You could help.”
“I know,” Paul said. “But if I meet your friends, they’ll have questions, maybe ones I don’t have answers to.”
Rhett felt for his brother though he couldn’t understand his social inadequacies. The two were night and day, and somehow, Paul drew the short end of the stick. It was as if Rhett was given everything that Paul lacked. He landed a playful punch on Paul’s shoulder. “Alright, it’s cool. I’ll keep them at bay. But I really like these people. I’d like you to meet them some time.”
“Sure. Some time.” Paul stood and moved toward the door. His steps were slow. The older brother stopped in the threshold. “What’s up with Jillian? Is this girl different?”
“Jillian?” Rhett smiled. “Oh, yeah. Very.”
“Good,” Paul said with a hint of a smile on his face. “Don’t mess it up.”
****
