Mark dropped two plastic bowls on the table, dumped the macaroni into them, and hooked a chair with his foot, sitting with a thump. “Not the greatest stuff, but I don’t do much cooking when Jaime’s at one of her shows.”
Carey thought it was odd to apologize for offering food and nearly said so. Instead, he said, “I’m grateful you and Jaime are letting us stay. I hope it won’t be for long.”
“I thought you didn’t have a way to get back home,” Mark said through a mouthful of macaroni. He swallowed and added, “You really think this Derrick guy’ll try to find you?”
“I know he will.” Carey tested a cautious bite of the pasta. Not bad. “I suppose he might go home, but I doubt it—Calandre’s a pretty tough mistress, and he’d do better to stay in this world than return to Camolen without the spell.”
Mark frowned, and spent on obvious moment chewing on words as well as his dinner. “Some of this doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, how do things work over there? Who’s in charge? Isn’t there someone who does this James Bond stuff for a living? The feds, the Camolen CIA?”
Carey ignored the unfamiliar references. “There is...but there isn’t.” He waved off Mark’s protest with his fork. “It kind of works like your states, from what I’ve picked up so far. Camolen isn’t one country, it’s about two dozen little ones, called precincts. Originally they were just territories held by powerful wizards. For the most part wizards aren’t interested in politics...but they tend to attract people looking for power or security.”
“And the precincts formed around them.”
Carey shrugged. “It’s part democracy, part inheritance...lander control tends to stay in the family.”
“Like the Kennedys.” Mark nodded, amused by yet another reference that sailed by Carey.
“Whatever. Even now, though, people tend to think of Anfeald as Arlen’s and Siccawei as Sherra’s—or Erowah as Calandre’s. But each precinct has its own guard, and a Lander Council.”
“So who’s really in charge?”
“Depends on who you ask.” Another shrug. “The wizards that hold us together as Camolen. A long time ago they decided that if they didn’t create a council to police one another, they’d tear the land apart. Now people can go to the Lander justice sessions with complaints, and the Landers go to the Wizards.” He grinned. “I understand life was pretty interesting before that.”
“Spare me,” Mark muttered. “It’s been interesting enough around here lately.”
Carey snorted. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Major political squabbling tends to upset the wizards—too distracting—so that helps to keep things quiet. And the landers usually stay out of the wizards’ way, unless they’re really causing problems.”
“Like Calandre.”
“She’s been pretty good lately—until this. They’ll be in on that soon, if they’re not already.” Carey held out his bowl for seconds when Mark got up to help himself. “But everything rides on that checkspell—and keeping Arlen’s spell out of Calandre’s hands in the first place. That brings it right back to me. Somehow I’ve got to get those spellstones back.”
Mark inserted some obviously reluctant reality. “Maybe you’re not connected to your magic after all—maybe there’s no point to butting heads with Derrick.”
“There’s only one way to find out, now.” It came out much more casually than it felt. Deliberate, that. Because if Mark truly understood...
“How’s that?” Mark asked, immediately hooked.
“Try Arlen’s spell,” Carey said matter-of-factly, looking up from the bowl to see Mark’s obvious curiosity.
“Can you do that?”
“Probably not. I’ve never done magic, aside from a few simple spells almost everyone knows.”
“Can’t hurt to try, I suppose,” Mark said, scraping the last of the food from his bowl.
Carey didn’t say anything. It could, indeed, hurt to try. If Arlen had been right, and he had some tie to Camolen that let him bring magic into this world, a botched spell could wreak havoc. But if he took it slow....
“Well, whatever you’re going to do with that manuscript, I’d find a good hiding place for the thing,” Mark advised, dumping his bowl into the sink, along with the other dishes that had accumulated since Lady and Jaime had left.
“Hide it? Why?”
Mark gave him a surprised look. “Because your friend Derrick knows Jaime lives here, that’s why.”
Carey fought through astonishment, and then anger. How in the Nine Heavens had Derrick found this place? And how could Jaime have neglected to tell him about it? “Derrick knows...” he said slowly, closing his eyes.
“Jay forget to tell you?” Mark asked. “Yeah, I’ll bet she did. She gets like that before a show, and things have been a little...odd around here lately anyway. Old Derrick came by a couple weeks ago—he was checking all the stables around here, looking for Jess. It’s hard to believe he wouldn’t recognize Jaime when we were at the LK.”
“So of course he’d come back here again,” Carey muttered, half to himself, suddenly glad he’d stowed Derrick’s bow and quiver under the couch he’d been sleeping on. He decided that tonight, he would string it. “He’ll probably come as a thief would,” he told Mark. “At night, or when no one’s home.”
“Hey, I know just the place to hide that letter.” Mark squirted a liberal amount of thick blue liquid over the dishes as he ran hot water; he ended the task with a flourish and returned the bottle under the sink. “Toss your bowl over here, huh? Might as well get this done before they take over the kitchen.” He fielded the bowl that Carey obligingly—and literally—threw to him, and explained, “This is a pretty old house. When they built it, they used a pier foundation—didn’t put in a basement, aside from a little storm cellar. Since then the family’s been digging it out. There’s one wall that’s not blocked up yet. It leads right under the front porch crawl space. A guy your size could get in there easy—heck, I’m skinny enough to do it—but Derrick’s big enough he probably wouldn’t even think about it. We can put the spell inside a couple zip-locks and stash it under there, if you want.”
It was just clever enough to suit Carey. Except... “Zip-locks?”
“Yeah, it’ll keep the paper dry.” Mark glanced over at Carey’s skepticism and said, “Never mind, you’ll see. Anyway, it’d be easier to do it before dark.”
Carey glanced out the window over the sink. Another hour till sunset, maybe. “I want to get a quick look at the spell first,” he said. “Just so I can get an idea of what I’m working with.” A look he’d been wanting for two impatient days, and that he didn’t dare try to take until he felt clear of the fatigue and drugs of his captivity.
“I don’t know how you’re going to do that,” Mark called after him as he went to get his saddlebags, also under the couch. “It’s sealed pretty well.”
It would be, Carey thought, dropping to his knees to fish the saddlebags out, retrieving the bow and quiver while he was at it. Fortunately, the spell that would release those seals happened to be one of the few he knew—although he doubted Arlen realized it. But it was inevitable that a wizard’s top courier would pick up something of magic, over the years. And Carey had been with Arlen for...ten years, twelve? Ever since his adolescence. He absently thumbed the courier’s ring he still wore.
He pulled the manuscript out of the saddlebags and rested it on his thighs, contemplating the notion of trying it himself—and the possible consequences. Maybe he’d use the indoor arena. He didn’t think any pyrotechnics would affect an area larger than that, although the noise might alarm the horses. He ran his fingers along the edge of the thick, creamy vellum and sighed. What a mess. You’re the only one who I know will invoke that crystal, Arlen had said. Given a second chance, Carey wasn’t certain he could be trusted to do it again.
Mark came in the family room, leaned down to look over Carey’s shoulder. “See? We thought about getting into it—Jaime was going to take it to OSU, see
if they could identify the language, but decided against it when they couldn’t do anything with a copy of the letters on the front. But we decided we’d just rip the thing up, so we left it.”
Magic, Carey had learned, was little more than a series of mnemonic devices that channeled the user’s will, which in turn guided the power of the magic. That was the one problem with magic, and the reason he’d never given any thought to learning more than he already knew—any power that was used in a spell was also channeled through the magic-user’s body, and the more potent the spell, the more the power. No, thank you. Fortunately, the spell for releasing Arlen’s seal required little power.
And it would tell him if he had any hope at all of employing magic in this world.
With a glance at Mark, Carey closed his eyes and took the deep breath that triggered his own minor level of concentration. His fingers spelled out the short formula, and with a wash of relief greater than he’d expected, he felt the slight tug of magic pass through body and soul. When he opened his eyes, the seal didn’t look any different, but it felt like warm putty to his fingers, and peeled right off the vellum.
Mark, still close over his shoulder, gave a low whistle. “Holy shit—it’s for real!”
Carey couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of his voice. “It’s for real. And it means I can go home.”
~~~~~
Well into dark of the next evening , Carey ferried flakes of hay for the horses’ bedtime snack—a chore Jaime did trust him with—while Mark fumbled around in the dark, hauling in the sacks of grain that should have come in while it was still daylight, but which had been forgotten in a day of fence-mending. They were both tired, and Mark was slow—slow enough that Carey had once checked, and found him listening to the owls in the small patch of woods behind the paddocks.
Carey couldn’t blame him.
Keg the dog was at work as well, running his nightly rounds of the property—and the first to alert Carey to trouble, although at the time he was more concerned with his ongoing baling twine skirmish. It took him a moment to recall Mark’s warning of the previous day...and by then he’d heard the unmistakable grunts of a fight.
He flung aside the loose twine and ran outside, momentarily blind in the darkness. The dog’s barking escalated into fury; Carey followed the noise to the front of the house, and had just made out two struggling figures when a thunderous blast of noise stunned the night. Keg went silent. Through the ringing in his ears, Carey shouted Mark’s name.
“Son of a bitch!” Mark yelped in way of an answer, and by then Carey had found his night vision, and could see Mark fighting to keep a larger man partially pinned to the ground. “Get the gun, Carey!”
With no moon, the gun sat invisible on the dark grass; not until a car drove by and its headlights glinted off the steel did Carey see it, and then they all three dove for it at the same time. Carey’s hands closed around the warm barrel and he rolled away and up to his knees, brandishing the weapon even though he had no idea how to use it. Three wary figures hesitated as they each deciphered who was who, and then Carey pointed the gun more accurately and advised, “Stand fast, Derrick.”
“You don’t even know what a gun does,” Derrick sneered, nonetheless following instructions.
“I saw enough of that television to tell me exactly what it does,” Carey said, mostly bluff. “I know what you’re after, Derrick, but I don’t have the spell anymore.”
“You think I’m going to believe that?” Derrick scoffed. “I’ll get it, Carey—if not tonight, another day. That spell is the only thing on this world that I care about.”
“Life’s a bitch,” Mark muttered without sympathy.
Carey said bluntly, “I lost it. Lady and I were separated when I fell, and she didn’t have any idea how important it was. You want the spell? Fine. Go look in the woods—I already have.”
“No,” Derrick said, his head shaking, barely visible in the darkness. “It’s a good story, but...no. Too convenient. It’s here somewhere. As soon as I remembered where I’d seen that woman’s face, I knew I’d find it here. And I will.”
“Fine.” Carey shrugged. “Then I might as well kill you and get it over with.”
“Um...” Mark said. “Carey...”
“I don’t think so,” Derrick said, his voice full of smug certainty. “Your spellstones aren’t on me. Without them you’ve got no way home.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.” But as Carey readjusted his grip on the gun, Derrick spooked; he dove away into the night, running silently on grass until, far down the road, a car started and squealed away on abused tires. Keg gave one last indignant bark and went to Mark, whining anxiously.
“I thought Derrick shot him,” Carey said with some relief.
“No, gunfire scares him. He’s been hiding.” Mark rubbed the dog’s ears and stared down the empty road. “That guy’s provided us with two guns. I think tomorrow before Jaime gets home, I’ll go get some ammo.”
Carey thoughtfully hefted the weapon in his hand, then held it out to Mark. “When you do, maybe you should show me how to use them.”
Mark gave a single guffaw, and slapped Carey’s unsuspecting shoulder. “Bluffed him out, did you? Yeah, I’ll show you how to use ’em—once I figure ’em out myself.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Eight
Jess lifted her head as the feel of the road changed; it was well after dark on the day Jaime called Sunday—as if the sun wasn’t out the other days of the week, too—and they were just moments from the Dancing. She stretched and yawned hugely, and Jaime moaned, “Oh, don’t start,” right before she gave in to the yawn Jess had inspired.
“Almost home,” Jess said encouragingly.
“Right,” Jaime agreed. “Where we have to unload Sabre and Silhouette, and haul in our things—”
“Mark and Carey,” Jess interrupted decisively. Her self-confidence had taken a great bound upward this weekend, which she had negotiated without attracting undue attention and without making any errors that left Jaime in the lurch. Armed with a watch and a simple written schedule, she had had the horses tacked up on time, groomed to perfection and ready for several classes each. In between her duties she had plenty of time to wander around the show grounds and soak in the people, their behavior and language. She’d proudly decided that very few of them knew horses as well as Jaime, or for that matter rode as well. And on that score, she decided, she was as well or better equipped to judge than anybody else, even if she was new to this world and this body. She yawned again, big and satisfied, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Never mind,” Jaime said. “Here we are!”
Suddenly Jess was wide awake, and had somehow managed to forget her distress over being human with Carey.
He and Mark were out in the horseshoe-shaped driveway before the truck had stopped rolling, and she hopped out of the truck to greet them, uncertainties forgotten for the moment. “We did good!” she announced, grabbing both of Mark’s arms in her excitement and using him as a human pivot.
“He-ey!” he said, a laughing protest, as she left him to give Carey a snatch of a hug, there only an instant and then gone to one knee to greet Keg.
“We did good, Keg!” she told him, as he solemnly offered his paw.
“Lady, you’ll bounce yourself all the way up to the fifth heaven if you aren’t careful,” Carey said, still looking a little stunned by the hug.
She stopped short, cocking her head a little, the gesture that had evolved from her attempt to prick her ears. “You used to say that to me,” she realized. “When I was...when I was....”
“Full of yourself,” Carey supplied. “When you ran up to me in the pasture at a full gallop and stopped right up in my face.”
“Did you like that? I did.”
Carey shook his head, but only in amused agreement.
“C’mon, guys,” Jaime said, climbing stiffly out of the truck. “Horses to unload. Gear to carry in. More excitement th
an you’ve had all weekend, I imagine.”
Mark laughed out loud, and Carey gave him a grin as the two shared some secret joke.
“What?” Jaime asked blankly.
“Later,” Mark said, moving around the back of the trailer to swing the doors open. “It’s a short story, but I think you’ll want to give it all your attention.”
With four sets of hands and legs, the unloading went quickly, and by the time they were finished, so was Jess’s burst of energy; Jaime sent her into the house with their suitcases while Mark and Carey moved the truck and she herself put the horses to bed.
Jess dumped her suitcase in her room and Jaime’s at the bottom of the stairs, and collapsed on the couch in front of the television Mark had, as usual, left on. She automatically changed the channel to the one of the several stations that often ran nature shows and sat there, grateful to be back and just then realizing she’d come to think of this place as home.
But real home was a completely different place, where she was a completely different creature. She closed her eyes and was instantly drawn into memories of running free, of taking Carey from wizard to wizard, feeling the power in her sturdy limbs. Then, relieved to find she could still draw so easily on those memories, she just as quickly left them behind and focused her attention on the strange new object on the coffee table.
It was heavy and metal, and it had a sharp, acrid smell to it. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands, recalling that Mark had named another similar thing a “gun.” It was a weapon, she thought, from the way they’d all reacted to it at the hotel, but she couldn’t see the threat in it. It wasn’t sharp, and it wasn’t a good shape for throwing. But it was here, on the coffee table, where it hadn’t been before.
With sudden alarm she wondered if Derrick had been here. He was the only one she’d ever seen with one of these things. She sniffed the gun without thinking, but her puny human nose—so inadequate—told her nothing more than she already knew. She frowned at it with such intense concentration she didn’t realize she was no longer alone.
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