The Dragon Guard (19 page)

“Ssssh,” said Rebecca soothingly, and pulled her back against her body, her free hand brushing Bailey's hair back from her forehead. “I won't argue with you in the damn hallway. You want to try to get a court order, go ahead. I'll fight you every step of the way. Bailey's an outstanding student, and she has good friends, and there isn't anyone who can say otherwise. So bring it on, if you're going to. Otherwise, stay out of our lives. You wanted one of your own, you went and got it, and you're not welcome here.” Rebecca took a deep breath, and Bailey could feel it shuddering all the way through her mother's body as they leaned close together. “Get out of here before I call the police. I've still got a restraining order.”

“We'll see about this.”

Bailey could feel the air crackle, as her mother began to draw her back into the apartment doorway, repeating, “Like I said, bring it on. If you can. Now go!”

The crystal went hot in her hand, in their clasped hands, and Jerry Landau reeled back as if shoved out of the way, freeing them to fall into the apartment and slam the door shut. Through the wood, they could hear his muffled shout. “I'll go, but I'll be back!”

Rebecca fumbled at the dead bolts, and the main lock, then stood, her face whiter than white, as she looked down at Bailey. She rubbed her hands together, the palm of one pink as if sunburned.

“What was that? And you have to tell me, tell me now, or I don't think there's any way I can protect you from your father.”

Bailey stood, her jaw slowly dropping, as she stared back into her mother's shocked face. She didn't know what it was either, but the crystal had answered, to both of them. “I . . . don't know what you mean.”

Rebecca Landau, her back to the now barred apartment door, slowly slid down it to the floor, and put her face in her hands. Voice muffled, she said, “Bailey. I haven't got the money to fight him in court, not if he really makes a fight out of it. Honey, I'm gonna lose you!”

“No, you won't. We'll think of something.” Rebecca looked up. She wasn't crying, not yet, not quite, but her nose had reddened slightly, and her eyes were very bright with unshed tears. “We always do, right?” She paused. “The boys he talked about?”

“Jason and Trent. Mom, you know them!”

“You know you're not supposed to leave the apartment when I'm at work.”

Embarrassment flooded her face. “Things . . . happen. It wasn't anything bad, all right?”

“Then what was it?” Rebecca reached out, took Bailey's chin in her fingers gently and tilted her face up, so they could look into each other's eyes. “I've seen things, too, honey. Strange things I can't explain, but because I know you're good, I never worried. I have to worry now, because if I can't fight your dad, I'm going to lose you.”

“I haven't done anything wrong!”

“I don't think you have, but I don't think you've told me the truth, either. Now, you and I both know I didn't take a long blink. How did we get up here?”

“We . . . ran?”

“I don't think so.” Her mother leveled both eyebrows into a frown, drilling her gaze into Bailey's.

There was no way she was going to be able to answer, no matter how badly she wanted to. Oh, to be like Ting with a grandmother of the Hidden Blood, and with whom she could share some of her wonderful secrets. Bailey swallowed, as if that could loosen the throat lock she was going to feel.

“I can't tell you.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Can't.”

“You're sure?”

Bailey tried not to squirm. “Pretty sure. I've tried to tell you before.”

“Anything to do with your tutor from school?” Eleanora had dropped in once or twice, under the guise of a school tutor. But Eleanora looked far from ordinary, and although she and Rebecca Landau had hit it off, Eleanora had decided that she could not risk drawing any more of Rebecca's attention. “Mom, I can't tell you, but it's nothing bad!”

“It's bad if it allows your father to take you away.”

“He called a few days ago, late. He was really drunk again. It's not the divorce that makes him a terrible father, it's just the way he is. He wasn't good when he lived with us, and he's not good now.” Bailey sighed. “I don't want him to have custody. If he gets it, I'll run away.”

“Then they'll put you in a foster home, eventually. You can't run from this problem.”

“Oh, yes, I can. They'd never know where to look.” Once Jason had Haven open, she would never be found if she went there. Never. Not unless she wanted to be found.

Rebecca lost control of her tears then, and they cascaded slowly down her face.

“I wouldn't run from
you
!”

“Oh, Bailey!” Rebecca put her arms around her daughter and pulled her very close in a comforting hug. “Promise me you won't run away.”

“It won't be running away. It'd be another home, only for Magickers—” Bailey stopped in shock.

“What did you say?” Rebecca pulled back and looked at her.

“I didn't—” She couldn't have, could she? “I didn't say anything.”

“Magicers? What on earth do you mean?”

“Magickers,” corrected Bailey, and took a deep breath. Her mouth didn't snap shut and stay that way, her lips didn't feel like they were glued shut. She blinked. “Magickers! Mom . . . I can say it. That's what I am, I found out last summer at camp, I'm a Magicker.” She paused a moment, waiting for the world as she knew it to end. Nothing happened.

“What are you talking about?”

“It's what I do, it's what I am. I can . . . I can talk to Lacey.” Bailey bolted to her feet, skidded around the corner to her bedroom, and came back, pack rat in hand. “It's part of my Talent, animal sense. I can make friends with them.” She put Lacey down. The furry little rodent twitched her tufted tail once or twice, then sat up and looked at them, in between grooming her long, slender whiskers. “Lacey, go run to the kitchen and bring me back something shiny.”

“Bailey . . .”

“It's okay, Mom.” Bailey quirked a finger at the pack rat. Lacey twisted away from them, running along the baseboard of the apartment, and disappeared in the general direction of the kitchen. “She'll be back in a few minutes, soon as she finds something.”

“What if she doesn't find anything?”

“Mom! She's a pack rat! She can find stuff we don't even know we've lost.”

“All right. Now. The long blink?”

“Oh, that! That's Crystaling.” Bailey held up her bracelet, with the cage dangling, and her amethyst shining through the thin, spiraled bars. “It's like a . . . a wand in Harry Potter, I'd guess you say. Only I don't have to waggle it and say something in Latin. It's a Focus for energy. I can teleport short distances, if I know exactly where I'm going, and I've trained well enough. Beam me up, Scotty!” Bailey finished with a wide grin.

“And you brought me with you?”

“Yeah. That was hard, made me kind of dizzy. I guess it helps when the person with you knows what you're doing and can't fight it, even self-consciously.”

“Unconsciously.”

“Whatever.”

The sound of claws on the wood flooring interrupted them, and Lacey came barreling around the corner, a flashy piece of tinfoil in her mouth. She skittered up to Bailey, climbed into the hand held down to her, deposited a silvery gum wrapper in her palm, and made a satisfied chitter, as if she'd found a great treasure. Which, to a pack rat, she had. “Good girl,” Bailey said, and rubbed her chin. The pack rat grabbed back the foil and tucked it against her body before climbing up to Bailey's shoulder and resting in the curve of her neck, holding on tightly to both her treasure and the shirt collar.

Rebecca leaned back against the wall as if even it might not be strong enough to support her. “And a Magicker is . . . someone who works . . . magic?”

“Exactly.”

“That's not possible.”

Bailey pursed her lips and made a guppy mouth for a moment in thought. “Well, Gavan explains it this way . . . Magick is derived from rarer laws of physics, many of which are incompletely understood or not discovered yet. Rather like genetics. A family of brown-eyed people can have a blue-eyed child, but it's a recessive gene and you might have to go back several generations to find the parent who had it originally, but it's still in the bloodline.”

“Like that?”

Bailey nodded, her ponytail bouncing enthusiastically. “Something like that.”

“Is there any limit to what you can do?”

“You mean, like, what's my kryptonite?”

“Sort of, yes.”

“Oh, there's a lot we can't do. It depends on our individual Talents, and our stamina and energy, and concentration, and training.”

“Ah.” Rebecca let out her breath, and rubbed at a faint wrinkle across her forehead. “For a moment, I was hoping you could conjure up a lawyer to get us out of this.”

“No. And I can't tell anyone I'm a Magicker either. We took a Vow, to keep the others safe. I mean, who wants to be dissected to find out how we do it, right?”

Rebecca shuddered. “Right.” She put her hand on Bailey's knee. “Honey, somehow I think we just jumped from the frying pan into the fire. There could be a lot worse problems than your father trying to get custody.”

H
ENRY slowly thawed. He had no other way to describe it. The feeling of thawing out crept over his body, leaving behind it the pins and needles of muscles and nerves awakening, and the awful chill of having been colder than he could ever remember. The terrible moment of anchoring to Jason had been followed by a near total nothingness. He remembered dragging himself upstairs to his room, complaining of a headache, then collapsing onto his bed. Night veiled it now, and he must have slept or been unconscious for hours. He hugged himself for a moment, then reached for his crystal, the citrine of yellow-red colors, and brought up the Lantern spell, bathing his darkened room in warm orange color. And it
was
warm, too, although his Focus should have only been for light, but he'd always had trouble keeping heat out of it.

He remembered with embarrassment the times in study when he'd worn one of FireAnn's oven mitts just to avoid burning himself whenever his crystal had exploded into flame as he'd tried for simple illumination. Now though . . . now the flame-warmed depths of his gemstone felt heaven sent. He held it tightly to his chest, feeling the delicious heat bathe him until his teeth finally stopped chattering and he could wiggle around, trying to stomp out the funky pins-and-needles feeling. He gestured his hand over his crystal then, shutting off the Lantern spell, as he sat up.

That
had
been Jonnard in his mind. Had to have been, couldn't have been anything else, unless he was crazy, but now Henry wondered. Being crazy didn't leave you limp as a rag and frozen, did it? But having your
Magick
drained from you did.
That
he remembered. Jonnard had done it before. And somehow, Henry thought frantically, he was doing it again! Squibb, you're not insane! Not yet, anyway.

That made him feel a little better. Not as good as the Light and Warmth spell, but better. The well-being didn't last. A sharp, sickening cramp seized him, like a fist grabbing him and squeezing him. He couldn't tell anyone. They wouldn't be able to help him and they might take what little Magick he had away from him again. He wrestled with that horrible thought. He
had
to be able to tell someone, didn't he?

He scrubbed a hand over his thick black hair, sending it in every direction, no doubt. He had to
think.
He should tell the older Magickers what was happening. They might be able to shield him. They ought to. On the other hand, if Jonnard had managed to reconnect to Henry, it made Henry a possible spy within Gavan's group. What if Jonnard had found a way, not only to tap Henry's Magick whenever he wanted, but to look around through Henry's eyes? Hear through his ears? To
spy
on the others anytime he wanted, without being caught, until Henry dropped in his tracks.

No. No, no. If Gavan and the Council knew that, they'd never trust Henry again. Not as long as Jonnard and the Dark Hand were a threat.

He had to tell them, didn't he? They'd be furious with him if he didn't.

And suspicious.

Henry sighed. He scratched his head. One of them might be able to help. Maybe FireAnn had a potion or something he could drink and it would block his thoughts from Jonnard. Or maybe Gavan could put a damper on his crystal. Or maybe Tomaz could fix him one of those neat fetish bag charms to wear like Jason often wore.

Or maybe they'd just make him drink that awful stuff again and shut him away from ever Magicking.

Neither prospect sounded good, but they might be better than letting Jon pick at him, unravel him, till there was nothing left, like some bony old scarecrow in a raggedy outfit. He needed to think about it, what he wanted to do, what he should do, and what he might expect. He hugged himself tightly, fighting off the last bit of cold.

He wanted to remain a Magicker. He just didn't know right now if anything he did would allow that. After being forced to give it up once, he didn't think he could stand to go through that again. He couldn't ask Bailey or Ting what to do, because he'd be putting them into the same dilemma he was facing, whether to tell or not, and how to handle it. He couldn't put them in jeopardy. Jason or Trent might be more helpful, but they always seemed up to their necks in trouble with the Dark Hand as it was.