“There was a time when all forms of magic were illegal,” Erin said dryly. “As certain of my relatives could have testified, had they survived the flames. It’s hard to argue against outlawing sorcery, though.”
“All of it?” Michael was startled. “You mean that all forms of sorcery are illegal here?”
“Sorcery is black magic,” Pete said firmly. “The blackest.”
Michael looked confused. Apparently the bits of knowledge he could remember about our world didn’t include much in the way of history.
“Most people associate sorcery strictly with death magic,” I explained. “Which, of course, some sorcerers have practiced, especially since the Codex Arcanum was lost during the Purge, preventing them from—”
“Lost?” He sat bolt upright. “The Codex?”
Pete’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Schoolchildren learn about the Purge in the third grade.”
Michael didn’t answer. His face was blank, his attention turned inward like one who has been dealt a great shock.
“He isn’t from here,” I told our FBI agent, and went on to explain, sorting out what needed to be shared, what kept close, as I went. For example, I didn’t mention my nature. That was none of his business—and I doubt he would have believed me, not without proof. According to the best authorities, I’m not possible. Nor did I tell him about the snippets Erin had unearthed before she passed out. Which left Pete with the story of a man who appeared out of nowhere, naked, amnesiac, and wounded. A man not from our world.
He didn’t buy it. He saw the wounds, so he accepted that part. He also accepted that Michael wasn’t lying, because Erin had tested him. But he considered most of our account a mixture of conjecture, confusion, and delusion.
Michael was less offended by this than I. “Delusion is a reasonable explanation, from your point of view. You are interested in facts, not subjective analyses of the situation.”
“But there’s more than opinion involved,” I objected. “There was a burst of nodal energy when you arrived. The Unit must have noticed that and—”
“Wait a minute,” Pete said sharply. “I didn’t say anything about a unit.”
He’d just confirmed my suspicions. That vague “report of sorcerous activities” had come from the tiny branch of the FBI charged with investigating magical crimes. “I forgot,” I said apologetically. “The Unit is supposed to be hush-hush, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You shouldn’t know anything.”
“I meet a lot of people.” I waved a hand vaguely.
“I don’t know about a unit,” Michael said. “I’m not sure what the FBI is, either, but I’ve made some guesses. It seems to be a bureaucratic entity which investigates sorcery, espionage, terrorism, and the Mob. But why is the Mob identified by a definite article? Is there one mob that is distinct from all others?”
Pete undertook that explanation. I went after more coffee, thinking hard. I’d been too forthcoming. While Pete might discount most of our story, he’d report it—and that report would find its way to the Unit. I didn’t know much about that small, secretive group, certainly not enough to wager Michael’s life on their good intentions. Besides, even good intentions can misfire.
Well, I could seduce Pete. Men are extraordinarily suggestible when I turn up the power. But that would embarrass my friends and cause problems for Pete later, when the effect wore off.
Maybe I should crank up the disbelief factor. A few comments about flying saucers, for example, or the entity I’d been channeling . . . “What?” I said, my head swiveling back towards the others. “What did you say about the Azá?”
“You’ve heard of them?” Pete was surprised.
“Who are they?” Erin asked.
He shrugged. “A cult. Bit fanatical. They’re new here, though they’ve been around in England and Ireland for awhile. They’ve been known to source their rituals on death magic—animal, of course, but a nasty habit and quite illegal, so we keep an eye on them. Like most cults, they claim to possess ancient wisdom. Theirs is a mishmash, supposedly Egyptian in origin, but they dress up in black pajamas like a bunch of ninjas. They worship some goddess no one’s ever heard of, name of—”
“Never mind that,” I said quickly. “Why did you mention them?”
He really was a nice man. He smiled, and it was meant to be soothing, not condescending. “No need to be alarmed. I just need to be informed if any of them show up. Someone in their organization is sensitive to node activity, you see. They believe their goddess speaks to them that way. So whenever there’s a disturbance, they hustle out, try to set up their rites on the spot. Which, as I said, sometimes include illegal practices, so we want to know if they turn up.”
My choices had narrowed drastically, so I did what I had to. “Pete,” I said, letting my voice turn softer, slightly breathy. “I think they’re already here.” I gazed into his eyes. Such a rich, pretty brown they were behind the lenses of his glasses. I’d seen them alight with laughter and I remembered that, and how attractive he’d been then. “Are they dangerous?”
He moved towards me. “It’s all right.” His voice had gone husky, but I doubt he noticed. “You’re not in any danger, Molly.”
Erin’s voice came sharply. “Stop that.”
“Let her be.” Michael’s voice surprised me. It was firm, the kind of voice one automatically obeys. “She knows what she’s doing.”
Pete started to turn, frowning. I turned up the power, but carefully—I wanted him protective, not ravenous—and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m frightened.”
He put his hand over mine. “You’re safe, Molly. I won’t let . . . ah, tell me why you think they’re here.”
I described two odd-looking fellows in black pajamas who, I said, had been lurking around the Village earlier this morning. I was frightened, but willing to be reassured. He was captivated.
A little too captivated. He scarcely knew the others were present—Erin with her disapproving frown, Michael with an expression of extreme interest. “You’ll want to let your superiors know right away,” I suggested, looking up into Pete’s eyes.
“Yes . . .” He was holding my hand, and started to stroke it. “Molly—”
“About the Azá,” I said firmly, and pulled my hand away. “You need to make your report about them.” I stressed the last, hoping he’d forget to report about everything else—at least for a little while.
He blinked. “Yes. Yes, of course. Molly, I . . . this is sudden, but I’d like to call you.”
I smiled sadly. “Of course, Pete. You have my number.”
I got him to the door. “Don’t worry about the Azá,” he said gently, worried that I might be worried. “We’ve checked them out thoroughly. Their rites are harmless—except to the animals, of course. The energy they gather that way is all directed towards their goddess, who doesn’t exist.”
I had to try. “They aren’t harmless, Pete. Be careful. Please be careful. And don’t say Her name.”
“Her?”
“Their goddess.”
He didn’t believe me, of course. “We’ll be watching them,” he assured me. “Don’t worry.”
As soon as I shut the door on him, Erin demanded, “What the bloody blazes did you do that for?”
“I had to,” I said wearily. “The effect will wear off in a day or so.”
Michael spoke. “What about these Azá you saw? They are trouble?”
“They are very much trouble, but I didn’t see any of them.” I headed for the galley, poured out the last of the coffee, and rinsed the pot. My eyes fell on the little yellow pot that held my thyme. I picked it up and saw a face . . . a little girl with pigtails, glasses, and a smile wide as the Mississippi. I’ve never had children and never will, but three times I’ve taken one to raise. The first time it was war that killed my borrowed son, and grief nearly destroyed me. I did things then I’d rather not think about. My second child was broken by age, crippled in body and mind whi
le I was still young and strong.
I’d vowed never to raise another child.
Ginny had made me break my vow. Her parents had been killed in the Great Storm, the hurricane that leveled Galveston in 1900, killing over six thousand people. They had been my neighbors and my friends, and I’d been unable to save them.
But I’d saved Ginny. I’d taken her to raise as my own, against all better sense. And had never regretted it.
She was gone now—grown up, grown old, and buried. But I still had the pot she’d made me when she was ten. The pot and the memories. And, I thought with a smile, a dear friend in her great-granddaughter.
Who was appalled with me. “Tell me you didn’t just lie to the FBI,” Erin demanded.
“Can’t do that without telling another lie.” If I’d known the Azá had crossed the ocean . . . well, I know now. I rinsed the coffeepot. “Erin, I’m sorry. I have to leave.”
Erin’s face is so expressive. I saw anger fade to irritation, puzzlement, distress. “You don’t mean that you need to run to the store.”
I shook my head. “I have to leave Galveston. Could you pick up some clothes for Michael? Jeans, a couple t-shirts, shoes, underwear.” I cast an experienced eye over him. “Thirty-thirty-one for the jeans, I think.”
“I’m going with you?” Michael rose from the couch and stood there in all his glory.
“Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes. They’ll be after you.”
He scowled. “You are leaving because of me?”
“I’ve been planning to leave for some time. This just moves up the timetable.”
Erin grabbed my arm. “Why? We don’t know if anyone’s even looking for Michael. This isn’t the way to handle things. It’s not like you to rush off half-cocked, Molly. I know you’ve talked about moving on soon, but not like this. Not this fast.”
I looked at her dear face and let the hurt rip through me. Partings have never gotten easy. “I have to,” I told her gently. “The goddess Pete almost named? She’s quite real. I’ve met her, though it’s been awhile . . . about three hundred years. She’s the one who cursed me.”
Chapter 6
MICHAEL and I left the island shortly after seven o’clock that evening.
The causeway stretching between Galveston and the mainland is man-made. Like a long umbilical cord, it holds fast to its feckless offspring—a mother refusing to release her child to a separate fate. The bay was a ruffled blue mosaic on either side as we crossed from child to parent, and the sun rode low in the sky on our left. Traffic was light.
“Do you realize,” Michael said, awed, “that this was all done without magic? All of it—the bridge, the roads and buildings . . . everything.”
“Ah—yes. I knew that.” I didn’t look at him. Michael wasn’t quite as distracting clothed, but his thighs gave the crisp new jeans a lovely form, and the t-shirt Erin had bought him was the color of his eyes—a paler blue than the ocean, but just as unfathomable.
Best to pay attention to driving my rig. It handled beautifully, but I’d driven it very little since purchasing it last year to replace my old one. Not that I’d bought it in my own name. I’d been planning to leave for some time, but I’d kept putting it off. . . .
“I should have realized that,” he muttered, his attention fixed on the Powerbook in his lap. Michael liked my laptop even better than television. “Sorcery is illegal here, you said.” He shook his head. “Strange. Very strange.”
“I guess magic is pretty easily come by in your realm.”
“Mmm,” he said, lost once more to cyberspace.
Michael had so much to learn about this world. After Erin left to buy clothes for him, he’d done another healing on himself. He’d come out of that popping with questions. More questions than I had time to answer—or the patience, frankly—and many I couldn’t answer. So I’d handed him my laptop and shown him how to Google. He’d picked up the basics quickly, though he had to hunt-and-peck on the keyboard. I’d warned him not to believe everything he read, and he’d vanished into cyberspace while I packed up my life.
He was connected through my cell phone now. Yesterday I would have worried about the charges he was piling up; Molly Brown didn’t have much money. But I wasn’t Molly Brown anymore.
My fingers drummed once on the steering wheel. “For heaven’s sake, shut that thing off and look at the ocean before it’s a blue smear in the rearview mirror. Who knows how long it will be before you see it again?”
Suddenly those eyes were focused entirely on me. He closed the laptop. “Will it be a long time before you see it again, Molly?”
“Probably.” A very long time. I’d returned to Galveston once, and doubted I would ever go back again. It hurt too much. Places changed. People changed even more . . . except for me.
“Your friend was upset by your leaving.”
“I told her.” Already we’d left the causeway. Bayou Vista, a subdivision with all the houses on stilts, was on our left. Ahead lay wetlands. “I told Erin a long time ago that one day I’d have to leave. People grow suspicious if you don’t age.”
“You’d be in danger if people suspected your nature. I understand that. Yet you told Erin about yourself. And me,” he added thoughtfully.
“You needed to know, and you have to hide your nature, too. You aren’t likely to give me away. Erin . . .” Already the memory hurt. Time would soften that, I knew. Eventually. “I didn’t tell her. She figured it out.”
“How? You’re careful. You must be, or you wouldn’t have survived. I’ve read some history now,” he said, giving the laptop a pat. “This world has been hard on anyone able to use magic, but especially on those of the Blood.”
I snorted. “True, but I’m not of the Blood.”
“Of course you are. You may not have started out that way, but you are now.”
“But those of the Blood do start out that way. They’re born to it.”
He was amazed. “You don’t know, do you? I didn’t find anything on the Internet about it, but I thought surely . . . some things are such common knowledge that no one bothers to write them down.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Molly, originally you were completely of your world. The curse changed that. Now you’re of more than one realm. That’s really all it means to be ‘of the Blood’—that you’re inherently of more than one realm.”
“You are not making any sense.”
He shook his head, as baffled by me as I was by him. “What do you think magic is?”
“I . . . the Church teaches that it’s evil, a contravention of God’s laws. Most people don’t believe that these days, but . . . I guess I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s like sunlight. It just is.”
“Yet people in your world study sunlight and try to discern its nature. They’re called physicists.”
“You’ve absorbed an awful lot from the Internet in one day.”
“I am an excellent researcher.”
“Modest, too.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind. I suppose there are people who study the nature of magic?”
“Yes. They’re called sorcerers. Not the most trustworthy beings,” he admitted. “Though there are exceptions, sorcerers are known more for obsession than altruism. They can cause great havoc. But so, too, have your physicists caused havoc with their splitting of the atom.”
“True. So what is magic?”
“One theory holds that it is the stuff between the realms, the current they swim in. Others believe it’s the energy created by the realms’ interaction. That magic is the friction caused by their, ah, rubbing against each other.”
“But they’re pulling away from each other, not rubbing up together!”
He made a disgusted noise. “I should expect that sort of thinking from a place that outlawed all sorcery. The realms shift, yes. Constantly. There are theories about this movement, but no one truly knows how or why they move. For some reason, your realm seems to connect to very f
ew others. I believe it must be in . . . call it a backwater. A stagnant place.”
“I think you just called my world a swamp.”
He flashed me a grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
That grin startled me. Aroused me, too, but everything about him aroused me. Grins are different than smiles. Smile can mean all sorts of things, but a grin is an offer of friendship.
A male friend . . .oh, there was temptation more treacherous than any sexual pull. I jerked my mind back to the subject. “Wicca is based on the magic of this world. It doesn’t tap into other realms, or the space between the realms, or whatever.”
“Magic continually seeps into all the realms, is absorbed, and can be used. Systems like Wicca use this kind of magic, which is part of the natural processes of each world. It’s much weaker than using nodes directly, but safer.”
I nodded. It fit what I knew. “And nodes are places where this world used to connect to others?”
“More or less. You might think of them as spots where the fabric between realms is weaker, making connection more likely.”
“You mean that connection can happen elsewhere? It’s possible to travel between realms without a node?”
“Theoretically, yes—ley lines carry node energy, after all. But it would be rather like crossing the Alps on foot instead of in one of these automated vehicles of yours.” He patted the dash and added, with something of the air of one complimenting a backwards child, “Quite ingenious, really, the way your people have overcome this realm’s condition.”
“Wait till you see Houston.” Light was fading even as traffic thickened, with all the little road tributaries emptying their currents of cars onto I-45. We’d left Texas City behind, and were passing an undeveloped stretch. I put on my headlights.
Two things occurred to me. Michael had distracted me quite nicely from my grief at leaving my home and my friend . . . and he knew an awful lot about magic. Things he must have remembered.
I planned my next question carefully, hoping to stir more of his memories. “When I was young—and that was a very long time ago—”
Cravings Page 17
