The Wicca-Man: Tongue-Tied

by Emily Veinglory

  “I think they’d lose interest pretty quickly, too,” Sean said dismissively. “Even as demon bait, I’m not that high wattage.”

  Laura leaned her arm along the back of the seat. “Anyone who has been in circle with you knows that you have the power to do a great deal,” she said, articulating her words very clearly, as if speaking to a rather dim infant. “Nobody in the Spindle comes close to you except for Opal, and hers is a passive power.”

  “Whereas mine is just a passive personality,” Sean said with a sigh. “It amounts to the same thing.”

  “Not if one of that lot who’ll use magic in self-interest, someone like Bridget, with her happy band of occult hedonists, thinks she can control and use you. No one would mistake you for a tyrant, Sean, but you could be a very effective weapon to one who is, or wants to be. Especially if they are prepared to make you use that power in you, the power that for whatever reason you choose to leave untouched. I don’t judge you for that; it’s your choice. But you must see what a powerful tool your powers could become in the wrong hands.”

  “Bridget is a pretty powerful tool all on her own.”

  “This isn’t funny. There’s a reason why those with the power to truly practice are in groups. It isn’t to mark us out as black, white, grey, or paisley in our beliefs. It’s because someone who knows how magic works and gets their hand on a pliable, powerful practitioner can become very powerful themselves. It is the fact that others would look out for us that stops us from being divided and conquered by the most ruthless elements of the subculture. You have it in you to sway people’s minds, Sean. Have you ever really thought about how that could be used?”

  Sean raised his hands. “I’ll talk to the sorcerers,” he said. “They won’t be put off by Opal’s edict.”

  “That’s because they’re already blacker than Satan’s asshole. They’re just very good at hiding it.”

  “Oh, come on. They’re just a darkish shade of grey. They have good ties to the universities and will be inclined to take me, and they’re too smart to use the art overtly and unbalance the system.”

  “Unless they’re absolutely sure they’ll end up on top.”

  “Laura, the sorcerers are a bunch of professors and grad students. World domination may be on the to-do list, but only after finishing their theses, their websites, and their Renaissance-fair costumes. They don’t give enough of a damn about the real world to ever get around to taking it over. Most of them would rather get their name on a third-rate academic textbook than rule over a new world order.”

  “This from a man with a bookshelf full of role-playing games and Celtic music CDs.”

  “Exactly. I’ll fit right in.”

  Laura looked unhappy, but placated. “I still think you should try the neo-shamans. They have a more pragmatic approach, and you have that guardian thing that almost ate Opal’s cat. Isn’t that shamanistic?”

  “Oh, please, he would never have eaten that cat; it isn’t much more than an enormous dust-bunny anyway, no meat on it at all. And the shamans are locked in with the great wolf spirit as their teacher, and he doesn’t share. My six-foot glowing rat guide tends to freak them out, let alone his advice, which is more wise-ass than wise. You call Jen, tell her I got you in a lot of trouble. She hates me enough to take you just for that. I’ll keep the dog-squad as a backup idea.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Laura said. “I’ll look up Jen if you’ll make some kind of arrangement before Opal gets that proclamation out. Then we can meet for dinner at my place and sort something out about Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Fangsome here.” Almost on cue they pulled up outside Laura’s faux Victorian cottage with the prim herb knot garden out front. “I’ll expect you both by nine.”

  “We’ll be there,” Thane replied as he pulled the handbrake on.

  “Will we?” Sean said tersely.

  Thane leaned back over the driver’s seat. “Would you disappoint a lady?”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  Thane’s face broke into a crooked smile that was rather too jagged to be winsome.

  “By nine,” Laura said. “And I expect you to have sorted something out. Forgive me, Sean, but you are not the loner sort. You need to hook up with another herd.”

  She stepped out of the car and headed into the house with a backward look and wave. “What the hell does that mean,” Sean mused. “I’ve spent most of my life alone.”

  “She doesn’t mean alone,” Thane said. “She means a loner, shades and an Uzi, answers to no man, takes care of himself, human predator -- the Rutger Hauer type. Now lay your head down on that pillow. It’s time you went home and sampled my chicken noodle soup.”

  Sean stayed sitting up. He might not be the cold-eyed action hero, but it was well past time he stopped being just a victim waiting to happen. Laura was right; Thane was just the inevitable consequence of living his life like a wounded gazelle. There was no need to let Opal and the black practitioners take over where he left off. Sean pulled out his cell phone and tried Bessie’s number again. She wasn’t due back until Monday, but there was a fair chance, it being Sunday, that she was already back in town.

  Chapter Four

  “Sean, you are not ... steady. I will come with you.”

  Sean didn’t feel unsteady; he felt downright hysterical. “Thane, I have explained. Opal may not be concerned, but vampires do seem to be coming to town. If you could just find out why, I suspect this whole mess would become a whole lot clearer.” And at least I’d know for sure that I’m screwed, and who by.

  Thane leaned over. His fingers were square-ended, strong and masculine; they touched Sean’s cheek so gently it was little more than the idea of a touch. His entreaty did not require words. His every gesture treasured Sean and pleaded with him. If only the feelings behind it were real.

  “It’s you who will need to be careful, Thane,” Sean said. His voice trailed off somewhat as he looked into those dark, deeply set eyes. “We know the vampires are on to the fact that I used the art on you. They will be suspicious of you. Just see what you can find out without getting yourself into any trouble. In the meantime, I’ll just be visiting an old lady, a history professor. Give an hour or so, and then you can make that soup you so insist upon.”

  He felt an ungracious urge to push for Thane’s obedience, and what stopped him was not so much respect for Thane’s autonomy as fear the leash would break. Where would he be then? What was he now, in depending upon enslavement and pretending to call it love?

  “I’m sure there is nothing in it,” Thane said. “And I don’t think you should be borrowing us more trouble, when we have enough already. But if you insist upon it, I’ll be back here in an hour. Keep that cell phone on.”

  Thane drew away stiffly, checking the road as Sean stepped out onto the pavement. The history department fronted onto the main street. Looking up, he could just see a shadowy figure in the window of Bessie’s office. He stepped across to the main entrance and swiped his security card. The door clicked open to the dark, empty foyer. Glancing back, he saw the limousine slide quietly away.

  For a moment the cavernous entrance area seemed expectant, full of invisible eyes. But Sean pushed that paranoid notion aside. What he really needed was about a pint of espresso, but in its absence, willpower was going to have to do -- and perhaps a little supernatural help. It was well past time he called on Rat. He thrust one hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his jade fetish. He felt an unusually strong shiver of impatient energy.

  The rat spirit embodied the qualities of his species. It wasn’t exactly the type of spirit guide he’d been expecting all those years ago when he quested for guidance, but Rat had helped him out from time to time. And Rat seemed quite certain Sean was his follower, regardless of what Sean might have to say on the matter.

  “I’ll need your cunning, old teacher. It’s certainly a quality I lack, of late.”

  Sean felt no reply, but as a guardian, Rat was fickle. Still, even the faint imp
ression of his presence was reassuring as Sean headed over to the elevators. He hoped it wasn’t just his imagination but that the spirit animal was truly watching over him right now. A security guard was coming out of the elevator; it was old Carl, who worked the evenings and swing shift on weekends.

  “Hey, Doc,” Carl said. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. Let me give you a piece of advice.” The old guy raised his stubby finger to emphasize his point. “No point coming in weekends and slaving on any job. They don’t care. You know all the security staff got their notice on Friday; they’re going to be putting the job out to contractors. Bancroft Security underbid our salaries by over twenty percent, they say.”

  “Carl, I’m so --”

  But Carl wasn’t waiting around for commiserations. “Contractors!” he exclaimed as he continued his usual patrol route. It seemed like his outrage wasn’t going to stop him doing his job the same way he always had, right up to the last day. Sean watched him go, wondering how he’d missed that piece of business at those interminable staff meetings. It couldn’t have been done without consultation, surely?

  Still, in a way it must be nice to have that kind of ... momentum. Maybe that’s why so many people seem to get from day to day with the ease of a rolling wheel, bodies in motion tending to stay in motion. Whereas I feel like I’m losing my balance every time I take a step. Like an old shuffling man who could be crippled just from falling to the ground.

  Thinking of Thane’s face, suddenly less handsome when he smiled to reveal his vampire fangs, Sean punched the elevator button. The doors slid open, and he headed up to Bessie’s floor. If he needed to impress Bessie to gain entrance to her coterie, that’s what he would do. Then he could turn his attention to doing whatever it was that was best for his accidental thrall.

  He had described Bessie to Thane just as “an old lady”. That was true to the extent that the Venus de Milo was just a broken statue or the Mona Lisa was just a picture of a balding bint. Being old and a lady was a part of Bessie’s power, not something that diminished it. It truly was fortunate that academic sorcerers like her did not want to take over the world, or they would already have done so, hand-knitted cardigan and all. In fact he felt a slight chill at the notion that they might have already done so and chosen not to let anybody know -- except that a world run by the sorcerers would have better-funded universities.

  Don’t be intimidated. Today is the first day of my life as a man of action, he told himself sternly. Here we go.

  Her office door stood slightly ajar. He tapped on the door and pushed it open. Bessie was still standing by the window. Her tall, rail-thin frame was a stark silhouette in front of the wide window, with her white flyaway hair twisted into its usual bun.

  “One hears ...” she said. For a moment it seemed that proclamation would stand alone as a general truth. But then she continued, “... that you have upset the herb-wives and harridans of Opal’s knitting circle.” She turned to him with an understanding smile. Her pale blue eyes fixed on him in a way that suggested that last statement was intended to serve as a question.

  Bloody hell. What would Rutger Hauer do? Did he ever have to deal with a magical granny?

  Sean decided to take the time to think it over rather than gabble like a fool searching for some immediate answer. He looked out the wide window with its view of the street and the row of ugly seventies office blocks across the road. Finally he replied, “Choosing between staying in Club Spindle and becoming an hors d’oeuvre for a vampire ...” He shrugged, deliberately keeping his body loose. He tried to match her jocular tone. “It wasn’t exactly a conundrum. But it does leave me looking a little conspicuous, right at the moment.” Then he looked across at here. “I don’t like to draw attention.”

  That’s good, Sean. Now shut the fuck up. Shut up, and you might get out of this without being shown up for the big geek-fraud that you are.

  He was feeling a little short of breath and tried to cover a gasp with a sigh. Then, wonder of wonders, she gave a sympathetic nod of her head and indicated the chair in front of her desk. But Sean almost didn’t dare sit down for fear of not being able to get up again.

  “So many of my students fail to appreciate that wards and spells and sigils are very rarely the best way to hide or protect anything.” She seemed so warm and almost congratulatory. “Especially from people like us. But I am curious as to why you say this, right at the moment. Do you think something is in the air?”

  As Sean had not taken a seat, she stepped closer and then leaned back casually against her desk. She made a vaguely dismissive gesture with her long, frail-looking fingers. But there was something about her manner that suddenly made Sean suspect that there was indeed something very specific going on, and that she knew all about it. But if he said anything at all specific, she would know he didn’t ... know. In any case, Dr. van der Weerd might not be quite the kind of lady he had always assumed.

  Well done, Dr. Machiavelli. So how does that help you? He’d spoken exactly once, and he was already confused and befuddled. He thought he had come to find an ally or even protector, but with every passing moment he trusted the ostensibly amiable woman less and less.

  “Oh, you know,” he bluffed. “Vampire throngs, laying off the building security, the pricking of my thumbs ...”

  “I wasn’t aware you had any foretelling ability,” Bessie said with interest. “It is primarily the manipulation of beliefs at a community level. That was your thing. I understand it is easier, working with groups.”

  Sean felt a familiar annoyance. Why did every professor have to find some way to downplay other disciplines? He chose to just answer the implied question. “I don’t. I’m sure you know as well as any how rare foretelling is. I just have some common sense.” Maybe this hard-ass thing wasn’t so hard after all; he’d actually managed to sound patronizing there!

  “And that’s even rarer.” She said that with the overblown congratulatory tone of an adult praising a child’s finger-painting. “One of my colleagues off in engineering does, you know. Of a sort; these things are never totally reliable.” Bessie took a step towards him. “He told me that you were going to have a very important role in my plans. So I am so pleased you have chosen to make this approach. I just know that a promising young man like you could make so much more of himself, if he chose to. I am sure the sorcerers would be interested in considering you as one of our number -- if, of course, you were willing to do a little something for us. So tell me, Dr. Watkins, do you think you would be willing to make that investment in us?”

  Watkin, Sean mentally corrected. He got very sick of people adding the ‘s’ to his name, and it helped him keep a casual tone to his voice. “It would depend on exactly what you would require. But as you quite correctly imply, I am in need of assistance, a coterie willing to sponsor me and keep my name on the accord. Because if I drop off it, I can expect visitors like Bridget and her merry band of pseudo-Satanists or that lot from the pier who are trying to bring on the end times. I’ve got a little something I’m working on, and I could do without the interruptions. Now, if there is something I can do for you in return, you would just need to ask.”

  Bessie was still watching him like a benign vulture watching twitching road-kill, but Sean was pretty sure he hadn’t totally cocked it up yet. He actually felt like he was beginning to get a feeling for the rather more ruthless creature that lurked behind her matronly appearance.

  “So, who has been calling on you so far?” Bessie asked with concern, indicating her own neckline with one hand.

  Looking down, Sean saw the edge of his bandage was showing, where his shirt gaped open. It was stained red with his blood; fainting seemed like a really bad strategic choice right then, but the sight of blood wasn’t helping any. He hoped his body would oblige by realizing that.

  “Elder vampire,” he said tersely.

  Bessie leaned back, an assessing look in her eyes. “We will, of course, be so happy to count you as a member so long as you prove
capable of completing a small task for us. One that your occult supervisor seems to think you would be capable of. We need you to make a building disappear.”

  His response just kind of slipped out. “I think, perhaps, you are mistaking me for David Blaine?”

  “Do not patronize me, young man” Bessie chided. “You know very well what I mean. The sorcerers of this university have taken possession of a university building, a house that was purchased from the council when it fell vacant. We wish people to come to disregard its existence. We wish the mailman to walk past it convinced that no such number exists, for no person other than those we choose to be able to fix their mind upon its existence, let alone approach and enter it. Can you do that?” She smiled encouragingly as she waited for his response. But apparently she tired of waiting rather quickly, and she added in a sotto voce, “Because if you can’t, I shall not only see to it your name is removed from the accord, but sow the seeds of rumors that the bloody sacrifice of your conscious person would please every god and demon in existence, open the doors between worlds, bring on the end times, and make some very nice sushi.” She continued to smile in a winsome old lady sort of way throughout her little speech.

  “Well, when you put it like that ...” Taken aback, Sean steadied himself as surreptitiously as he could by placing a hand upon her broad mahogany desk. “I would need to see the place. And I would expect you to see to your part of the bargain whilst I make my preparations and build the ritual, which may take some time.”

  Sean felt a chill. His early work in mass manipulation of public perception had convinced him that he had the ability, but cost him the inclination to exercise it. His mind shied away from revisiting the memory again. And since will was as great a part of magic as talent, who knew whether he could do as she asked? He had little choice but to suggest as much.

  Bessie walked briskly around her desk. She scrawled a short note on the top sheet of a block of Post-it notes and ripped it off. “I just knew that a clever lad like you would understand. You may meet one of our number at this address tomorrow,” she said. “You should make what arrangements you must with him. And I shall be most happy to ensure your name stays on the green accord.” She passed him the note, looking into his face as she added, “Of course, if you do not, I shall derive significant satisfaction out of giving you reason to regret wasting my time.”