The Late Great Wizard

by Sara Hanover

  She almost came around to face me head on, but not quite. Why, I wasn’t sure. I took a glance at Mrs. Sherman, who seemed oblivious. I shucked the brace and lifted my hand, palm out, toward her. “That would be this.”

  “Precisely.” A longing filled her expression and I shifted my weight, thinking that I’d once thought her beautiful in a way, and elegant, but the naked want now glistening through her expression erased all that. It etched heavy lines in her face. Left purpling puffiness under her eyes. Creases across her forehead. When she got old, she was going to need a lot more than a bouffant wig to look presentable.

  “It seems rather attached to me but even if it wasn’t, I don’t think I’d be giving it to you.”

  “You really have no choice.” She angled toward me now and I straightened, my right fingers curled about the knitting needle. “I will take it, one way or the other.”

  “Meaning you’d kill for it.”

  “If I must. I’m sorry to say that, but he gives me little recourse. If I take it from you, it goes straight to him and that—” She paused sharply. “Well, that is unacceptable. If you knew him, you’d know why.”

  “I’ve seen him.”

  “You have?” That stopped her in her tracks, her eyes widening and her complexion paling delicately. “I’m sorry for that. Before or after, this,” and she indicated my hand.

  “Before.”

  Remy nodded. “I didn’t think he would let you live if he’d seen it.”

  “And you don’t intend to, either.”

  “But that’s not the only option, Tessa. If you give it to me, then I’m the one who has it and I can keep it from him. I can fr—well, that’s no matter. It is a better choice, trust me.”

  “You were going to say you could free yourself.”

  Remy tilted her head slightly, and her hair fell in a silken wave down her cheek and about her shoulder. “I was. Clever, clever girl.”

  Now she had me feeling like a velociraptor in a classic movie. I flexed my hand. “I can’t give it to you. Or won’t. Either way.”

  She sighed. “Such pain this will cause your mother. I have to stage a crime scene here, you and Mrs. Sherman. It won’t be pretty.” She reached for me.

  Like that velociraptor, I struck, the bone knitting needle sinking deep into her side and up into the ribcage. It felt almost as if the needle knew the way. Remy let out a scream of pain.

  She unleashed a violent wave of force, grazing me as I pitched myself in the other direction and frying a bit of my own formerly silken hair. I rolled on the floor and came up under the coffee table as a shield, to catch another high-power bolt. She yowled a second time, throwing the needle to the floor. It spun my way on Mrs. Sherman’s spotless plank flooring. I scrambled to grab it and lunged, stabbing Remy down and through the foot as I bowled past her.

  She screamed a second time just as the front door burst into splinters.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE FORCE OF THE ENTRY knocked me over. From the commotion just beyond the door, I figured the guys had arrived in answer to my butt-dialed call for help. Remy swooped down on me, her voice strained with pain and anger. “You stupid, stupid girl. But this is not over. I need you, and you need me, or he will devour us both. You don’t know the stakes. If I can’t beat you, you’ve got to accept my help. It’s the only hope I have. Do you understand?” She shoved a bracelet off her arm. “Summon me and I will come.” She pushed her face next to mine, eyes wild, the skin pinched white about her nose and mouth. “Don’t fail or we both shall lose horribly!”

  And then Remy dissolved in a puff of smoke, all shimmery and smelling of her expensive perfume and the copper of her wounds before it went to nothingness. The knitting needle balanced on its point, twirling in an unseen whirlwind before it clattered to the floor onto a small bloodstain, the only evidence left of Remy’s presence. I rested on my back for a split second to catch my breath, the bracelet at my throat, and blinked.

  The crew burst in as Mrs. Sherman said, “Oh my goodness. I must have been daydreaming.” She lifted a hand to her eyes and rubbed gently, without noticing her wig in her lap.

  My jaw dropped but I could not think of anything, not one thing, to explain to her why her house suddenly began filling up with boot-stomping Iron Dwarves wearing tool belts and reducing her door to splinters.

  Brian dashed around them. He caught the situation with a single glance. “Latius! Extend!” he cried and flung a hand toward Mrs. Sherman, who responded with a dainty yawn and sagged back against her flowery divan, asleep once more. “A good guess,” he finished, pleased with himself, as he gave a hand to me and hoisted me on my feet. “What happened?”

  We leaned together to talk, because the boys at the door immediately set to repairing the damage, hammering, nailing, with one heading back to my house for wood and another to her garage looking for matching paint. “Remy. She wanted the stone, in the worst way, and took Mrs. Sherman hostage. Remy put her to sleep. Is she . . . will she be all right?”

  Brian squeezed my shoulder. “She won’t remember a thing, hopefully.”

  “Hopefully?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea what thoughts Remy might have put into her.”

  “Memories, she told me. Good, past memories.”

  “Well, then. Everything ought to turn out just right.” He bent over to pick up the bracelet. “You dropped this.”

  “Oh. Right.” I slipped it on, the metal and small gems having already lost their warmth from Remy’s body heat. I wanted to ask him how safe it would be to wear it, and even more, to summon her, but something held me back. If I wanted an unbiased opinion about Remy’s actions, past, present, or future, I doubt if I’d get one from the professor. Brian might be even worse, all those guy hormones leaping at her obvious allure. Men. Can’t trust ’em even when you can trust ’em.

  “It bothers me that Remy would target you.”

  “She’s caught in some kind of deal with M, wants out, and I guess she plans to use the stone, either as payment or a weapon.” I decided not to tell him about the bracelet, although he might have recognized it when he handed it to me.

  “Interesting. Even more interesting is how she might have learned about the stone at all, or that you have it now.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “She told me she felt it activate.”

  He snorted at that. “She’s never had that kind of talent before. It seems more logical she learned it.”

  “But only a few . . .”

  “Precisely. Carter or Steptoe would be my best guesses.”

  “Oh.” That sounded even worse. “Why would either of them tell her?”

  “Remy is evidently operating as an independent now, despite the fact that both the Society and he can put a claim on her. She’s got a lot of power, or she had when I knew her, and she can be quite advantageous if she picks a side.”

  “Do you think she can move about that freely?”

  “As I said, she has a lot of power. I doubt even Malender could subdue her for long if she fought him on it. It would be too much trouble for him.”

  “What would he do? Just let her go?”

  A pause. Then, “He’d merely eliminate her.”

  “Awkward.”

  We lapsed into silence to observe the remaking of Mrs. Sherman’s entry.

  All the nailing stopped within minutes while we watched, and then the air filled with the noise of sanders, followed by the smell of fresh paint, the door finished before anyone could even say abracadabra, and all the guys but Hiram slipped out the open front door.

  I looked at Brian. “How will I explain wet paint?”

  “No need.” He stepped to the door and flicked a hand. A blast of hot air came through the house, concentrated on the door and then gusted on its way out to the yard.

  “Remind me to call you if my hair
dryer ever breaks.”

  He winked. Stepped to the door. “Coming?”

  “Yeah. She’ll wake up in a few?”

  “As soon as we’re on the sidewalk. My spells don’t last very long. The ones that I can remember, at any rate.”

  If at all, I thought, knowing that his guardian spell on me had done little. Or maybe it had done a lot, and I just hadn’t felt it. Pondering the thought that I might be fried if not for his enchantment, I followed him outside. I grabbed my bicycle, after putting a hand into the chariot and checking to see the remaining meals were all reasonably warm. They were.

  “I’ve got to finish my run.” I didn’t want to disappoint anyone waiting for a meal. Then, I was going to have a talk with the senior center and quit. I couldn’t jeopardize anyone else.

  “See you at home then. We’re nearly done with the basement.”

  “Oh, good. My ears could use the silence.”

  He nodded, now somewhat absently, and I had no idea what he could be thinking, him or Brian.

  “Professor?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “How close are we to getting all the things you need?”

  “Very, very close.”

  “Are you worried?”

  His gaze met mine. “Very, very worried.” He waved good-bye and I set off, meals to be delivered, things to be considered.

  * * *

  • • •

  Mom waited for me, arms folded across her chest, feet braced, and chin up. I knew that look. Petite, blond, and determined. She watched as I stowed the bike and chariot away and then pounced as soon as I came back around to the front door.

  “What in God’s name was all that about?”

  “Remy ambushed me at Mrs. Sherman’s house.”

  “Is this the way it’s to be? I can’t let you go anywhere anymore.”

  “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Brian or Carter or Steptoe—”

  “The truth helps.”

  I took her by the hand and led her to the old swing at the edge of the porch. It made little noises as we sat down on it. My legs were more than long enough to reach the ground, but I noticed my mom had to stretch hers out and point her toes. We set the swing to rocking gently.

  “I really don’t know what’s going to happen. It seems to be escalating but the professor says he’s very close to having all the ingredients for his ritual. I think once he transforms, things will settle down. Like, everyone will be back in their place where all this is concerned. He’s a phoenix wizard, right?”

  Her face paled.

  I couldn’t remember if my mother had been told all the details. I proceeded carefully, keeping my tone light. “That means he lives many lives, so he regenerates through flame, and he has to build a pyre and say the right stuff, and then we light him on fire again.”

  “Good God!” She seized my wrist. “Tessa, you can’t be serious. You can’t help set a man on fire!”

  “Hey. It’s not my idea. Everyone says that’s what it takes. Brian made it through once; he should make it through again. I hope.” Her fingers were going to leave bruises on my arm if she clutched me any tighter. I gently pried her hand away. “I know it sounds awful and unexplainable.”

  “Inexplicable. It sounds crazy and homicidal.” Mom took a deep breath. “Don’t fight me on this—three weeks ago, you would have thought this to be the creepiest thing you’d ever heard. I don’t want you there when it happens.”

  “I’m not sure if I can do that. He might need me.”

  “He’s lived, what, centuries to this day without you. I’m sure he can manage. Tessa, I want you to promise me you won’t be there.”

  “I will do my best not to be.” I held my breath, hoping she’d accept that, and she did, patting my arm.

  “Good.” She inhaled. “Am I feeding that army again tomorrow?”

  “I think they’ve ordered a wagon full of tacos already.”

  “Okay, that’s out of the way then.” She rubbed that spot between her eyebrows that she always rubs when she’s tense, tired, and at her wit’s end. “I think I’ll stay in my study, working.”

  “I’ll fix you a plate and bring it in. I hid some Cokes. The dwarves aren’t much for coke but I think Brian is addicted. Want one or sweet tea?”

  “A Coke sounds good.”

  She left me swinging on the porch. I was not going to abandon the professor if he needed me, that much I knew. We’d come too far. On the other hand, I’d try to stay out of the final ritual, just to make my mother happy. Was this a win-win or a lose-lose? I didn’t look forward to being proven right one way or the other.

  As for Remy, her desperate words left an icy feeling in the pit of my stomach. She hadn’t always been on the wrong side of awful, according to everyone who knew her. She didn’t sound like she wanted to be on it this time, except that he had her up a tree, it seemed. In my neck of the woods, though, that’s when a critter became truly dangerous, when it was treed and didn’t want to be brought down. She hadn’t been entirely ruthless dealing with me, and I had the feeling that if he didn’t have a hold on her, she would be square with the Society. Now I had no idea of the laws or philosophies of said Society but they hadn’t gone after her, so maybe they were hanging back, waiting to see if she could free herself or if she needed to be dealt with along with M. They’d given the professor a pretty long leash, after all, although I hadn’t come across anything he might have done (or not done) that would offend them.

  I decided I would deal with Remy along the same lines. Live and let live, unless I thought M had me in a death grip, and then you can bet I was going to be rubbing my bracelet and yelling, “Remy, Remy, Remy!” until she showed. Along with hollering for anybody else I could remember. I’d better learn the wrecking crew by name because they looked immensely helpful, quick, and handy, although I had the feeling they might be a package deal with Hiram. Then there was Simon Steptoe, of course, and the stone. I walked into the house to wash up for supper, mentally ticking off whatever support I might be able to call upon if I needed it.

  Saturday, the wrecking crew showed up in fine fettle, sensing an end, and hopefully a successful one, to the project. We stayed out of their way: I worked on a term paper and Mom did the laundry. Halfway through the day, we swapped. Mom is great as a proofreader, and I don’t mind ironing the stuff that’s supposed to be permanent press but never quite seems to look that way. The day ground to a halt in the late afternoon as I did some dishes by hand and got ready for dinner.

  The taco delivery, actually a catering truck, pulled up as I finished. For the next hour, we were all busy munching crunchy tacos, passing refried beans (I made a note not to go visit the basement until long after the crew left and the gas dissipated), rice, and even some fairly good guacamole. Guacamole is not a southern delicacy, but my parents had developed a fondness for it in their college years, and it was more or less a staple around our house when avocadoes were imported and in season. Mom knew just how to ripen those alligator pears and whip up a batch for chips and dip. Some moms made cocoa and cookies for football season, we had guac. The cool thing about that was, every once in a while, a friend would invest in a handful or so of avocadoes and not know a thing about ripening or preparing them. I’d get the leftover green gems when they gave them away in disgust after discovering how hard and bitter they could be. Dude. Like a peach, it has to mature to a nice but firm softness to have that taste. At any rate, the wrecking crew approached the guacamole cautiously before jumping in and demolishing it. No leftovers for us, which kind of sucked, but I’d put away plenty before they’d decided they liked it. The Cokes I’d hidden in the vegetable bin of the fridge, and it wasn’t like anyone else was going to go looking in there, so they were safe. Brian gave me a mournful look so I split mine with him, but Mom got a cold can all to herself.

  After dinner, Brian beckoned me off to the
living room while the crew finished up the job. He pulled his journal out of his waistband at the small of his back, with me for just a tiny moment there thinking he pulled a gun. After all, not impossible, right?

  He tapped it.

  “Two more items,” he said, “And I’ll have all I need for the pyre.”

  “What about the ritual itself?”

  “Got it. Several versions, but I’ll go with the latest one.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Frankincense and myrrh.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Very seriously. Two rare, tough items . . .” His voice trailed off. “And rowan wood.”

  “Stay right here.” I clumped upstairs to get my laptop. Back down and I flipped it open and pulled up Amazon. He frowned at it. “You can buy just about anything.”

  “I don’t remember much, but I do remember the last time I had to procure them, it was the very devil. They’re made from sap of trees along the African coast, and what with colonialism and independence struggles . . .” He shook his head.

  I typed in the items. They came up almost immediately, and I turned the laptop so the screen faced him.

  “That’s it?”

  “Just that easy. Available for all sorts of aromatherapy and face washes and whatnot. The world has changed, Professor.” I dug out Morty’s credit card. “Say the word and I’ll order them right now. We should have them in the mail in, oh, three to five business days.”

  He swallowed hard and then nodded.

  I filled in the pertinent information and got him two bottles of essential oils, both flavors, for a pittance compared to what they might have cost him a hundred years or more ago.

  After a stunned moment, he raised an eyebrow. “Rowan wood?”

  I put that in search too. We found whole pieces of furniture comprised of the stuff, but he needed wood or twigs. Finally, on one of the craft consortiums we found bundles of twigs. He leaned forward, almost nose to the screen, examining the website description.