The Dragon Guard (7 page)

Rich wrote in,
“So it's decided then. We keep our eyes peeled, and we leave messages for each other more often, so we know what's up. AND we don't let anyone bag on Jason, right?”

“Jason's our man, if he can't find a Gate, no one can!”
And Bailey added a cheerleading pom-pom to that sentence, and Jason found himself rolling his eyes, but he felt better. They understood. They were with him. They'd help.

Now he had to do everything he could, even if it meant walking into Jonnard again.

 

Trent signed off and pulled back from the computer he and his father shared. From the living room, his father's soft snore sounded—he'd evidently fallen asleep in front of the TV again. Listening for a moment, Trent could hear the distinctive tones of a narrator on the Discovery Channel. The corner of his mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. Something interesting and intriguing but not interesting enough to keep him from falling asleep. Trent stood up in the nook they called a den and walked softly to his own room, the floor creaking slightly despite his care. He'd let his dad sleep until bedtime, then wake him up before doing dishes and going to bed himself.

Taking care of his dad, he knew how to do. Taking care of Jason, he wasn't sure about. Without Magick of his own, the only thing he could consistently offer was his knowledge of things. But that came from books and imagination . . . and the borderline between what mythology thought Magic could be and what Magick was . . . would soon be crossed. How much help could he be then? Friendship was probably one of the strongest forces he knew, but Jason needed more than that, and he had nothing else to give.

Trent made his room up, laid his clothes out for the next day, found a good book, and sat down to read for a few minutes, but he wasn't really reading. He thought a great deal more, and nothing helpful came up.

 

The phone rang, incredibly late. Bailey lifted her head from her pillow, half listening, wondering if something had gone wrong. Lacey rattled about in her cage in her usual nighttime activity. Bailey had hidden something sparkly in her container and the pack rat was happily nosing it out and reburying it elsewhere, in a different corner, under sawdust curls and shredded tissue paper. After a moment, Bailey's bedroom door pushed open slightly.

“Bailey? It's Henry. Normally I wouldn't let him talk to you, but he usually doesn't call.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I don't know, dear. I have him on hold.”

“Okay.” Bailey wriggled out from her nest of warm blankets, reaching for the phone on her nightstand. “Henry? What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry, Bailey. I can call back tomorrow.”

“No, no. I wasn't asleep yet. Quite.” She stifled a yawn. Her bedroom door closed itself quietly, and Bailey punched her pillow into a more comfortable position under her head. “What's up?”

“D-did I wake you?”

“Nah, not yet. Lacey's running around her cage and all.”

Henry let out a sigh of breathy relief that carried over the telephone.

“What is it, Henry?”

“I was thinking about what Jason said tonight. About Jonnard and all. Has he bothered you? And could you tell if he did?”

“Well . . .” Images of the stalking man went through her thoughts a moment and she shivered. Lacey stood up in her cage, looked her way, and made a soft, chittering noise as if in question. Moonlight dimly filtered through the curtains and she could barely see the tiny pack rat. “Not exactly.”

“Maybe but you're not sure?”

She didn't want to cry wolf. That Jonnard might go after Jason, that all the Dark Hand might, she knew. Herself? No way was she that important. “Something like that, Henry. Has he bothered you?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Then why did you call me?”

“I just wanted to, you know, make sure you were all right.”

Because he wasn't. She sensed it. “You can tell me.”

“No, I can't.”

“Henry,” she said firmly. “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then we're gonna eat Chinese. Was it Jonnard? You called me because you had to talk to someone, and you knew you could trust me, so spill it!”

“I . . . I'm not sure. I hear this voice all the time. I think it's him. If it's not—I'm going crazy.”

“You're not going crazy.”

“Then . . . I . . . I think so.”

She sucked her breath in. Poor Henry! He'd been Jonnard's victim before. “Noooo, Henry.”

“I'm not sure! And, and, if he is . . . I can handle it this time. We're a lot stronger, Bailey, all of us.”

So why then was Henry calling her so late at night and sounding so worried? “Sure we can, Squibbler.”

He let out a fidgety noise. “I just wanted you to know in case, well, in case you were in trouble, too, or if they decided I was crazy or something.”

“You are definitely not crazy. You're a Magicker, and that's a heck of a something!”

“What about you?”

Bailey wrinkled her nose. “I don't have anything I can prove yet. So, no worries, but I'll keep my eyes peeled.”

“Okay. Just don't tell anyone, will you?”

“My word on it. You tell everyone yourself when you're ready.” Bailey crossed her fingers. That was, until Henry got in trouble and needed help.

“Thanks.”

“And Henry—”

“Yeah?” he answered, as if finally very very tired.

“You're right. We're a lot stronger this time. And it's because we're a ‘We.' Got that? Like the Musketeers, all for one and one for all.”

Henry sounded cheered a little as he said, “Right! Night, then.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. And . . . thanks, Bailey.”

She hung up the phone, and squirmed around till she could lie on her back and stare up at the bedroom ceiling. Long ago, her mother had painted it a soft sky blue and added billowy clouds. This wasn't a place they owned, but it was their home. Right now, the sky looked awfully dark, maybe even stormy, but there were those beautiful silvery and white clouds. Every one had a silver lining. Her mom had painted them like that.

Ting moving again. Jason challenged. Trent worried about being discovered, as was Stef, although for different reasons, and Rich unhappy at being a Magicker period. Henry with worries of his own, and she with . . . what? Had she seen someone following her or hadn't she? Without proof, she couldn't ask anyone for help. Not yet.

So they all had secrets, all around. Dark, heavy secrets. Would they have a silver lining?

Bailey closed her eyes and tried to fall back into sleep.

T
HE wind off the lake was mild and yet held a touch of chill from the past winter. Whimsically named for the life it held only in summer for campers, Lake Wannameecha was still a beautiful body of water. There would be fog along the rocky shore and pebbled beaches in the morning, Gavan thought, as he stood outside a weathered building and watched the waters. It was a moment of serenity, of peace, but he did not find he could hold onto it. The moment fled and worry filled him again, even with the sound of a door opening, and gold lantern light spilling over him, as someone joined him with a rustle of long skirts and lace. She carried the lantern light with her, cradled in the crystal upon her wrist. Like his heart, she'd filled her crystal with warmth and illumination and it spilled out now, showing the way.

“It's late,” Eleanora said. “Come inside, I've just made a pot of tea.” She put her hand through the crook of his arm, and drew close to his side.

Gavan Rainwater felt his heart do a quick double beat, and he turned his face, so that he could rest his chin on the top of her head, where her bountiful curls made a soft pillow. He felt overwhelmed by many things, but most especially by what he'd felt for years and hadn't had the nerve to say. It felt right to say it, never more right, in case he might not have another moment like this again. He remarked, very quietly, “You do know that I love you?”

“Yes. I have known that for quite some time.” Her hand tightened on the back of his wrist. Then she said, “And I love you.”

“Good. I'm glad that's out of the way!” And he let out a sigh of relief at having finally voiced his feelings, so long left unsaid. Now there was no regret.

Eleanora laughed. “Now we can move on to other things?”

“Precisely.” He could feel her laughter vibrating through her body as he touched her. “We can't waste time.”

“Such a romantic you are!” Eleanora ducked out from under his chin, and swung around to look up at him. She kissed a fingertip and pressed her delicate hand to his mouth.

He grabbed her hand and nibbled on those fingers before she managed to free herself, and he laughed then, as her eyes widened, and then the carefree moment passed, as he noted the silvery glints in her dark hair . . . just a strand here and there, but . . . there were new lines about her eyes. He inhaled deeply at the sight of them. She'd always been older than he, but never old, never would be old, as he hoped not to be. Still, there was that fear that sudden aging, and death, could strike any of them at any time, as the centuries decided to gain their vengeance for the Magickers having skipped through them. A rift in magickal power had thrown many of them through time. Most had slept through the passing years. Some had been hurtled forward through the centuries as if picked up bodily and thrown. What had the war between Gregory the Gray and the Dark Hand of Brennard done to all of them, outside the laws of natural sciences, and what could it yet do? He thought of his friend Fizziwig, young yet silver-haired, young yet dying of old age, like a candle snuffed out. Young yet gone, unstoppably.

She sensed his sudden turn of mind. “Things,” she said, “will work out.”

“Not unless we work on working them out.” Gavan frowned. His words sounded grimmer than he intended, but perhaps that was just. “I can't stand by, Eleanora, and hope. I have to find an action that works.”

“War with our own kind, when there's still a chance we can reconcile with them?”

“I don't think Brennard will ever allow that chance. He wants it all or nothing, and if nothing—that will suit him fine. He wants the children, Eleanora. He's sent me a note asking me to turn them over, and if I do not, he will reveal us to the modern world.”

“He has to be bluffing.” Eleanora's face paled, even in the moonlight which accented her fair skin. “He can't be serious, he'd give himself away, too. That would destroy all of us.”

“Don't think he won't. I imagine he has his little bolt-holes, his hidden places, to keep himself and the others safe while we fall prey. He's as aware as I am what revealing us would do. Scientific inquiries, exams, scorn, imprisonment with fancy words, more that we can't begin to imagine, probably. I don't think he really cares if he ends Magick in this world, as long as he survives and proves his point that Gregory was wrong.”

“My father,” said Eleanora softly, “was wrong about many things.”

He put his arm about her shoulder and pulled her close. “Not the important things,” he replied to her.

“Let's hope not.” She sighed. “We have to do whatever we can to keep the children safe.”

“Even more so than ever. It's not a burden that I want to add to Jason's life, but Brennard has given me a deadline to respond, and after that, we'll all be in deadly peril. The sooner Jason can anchor Haven for us, the more chances we'll have. We need a safe place, a sanctuary, to step away to and educate them, give them a chance to know their Talents and use them.” He tightened his hold on her. He could feel the weakness running through her. “How goes your work with Jennifer?”

“It goes very slowly. It's like wrestling an octopus of dark energy, and with every tentacle I free from her, one tries to attach to me.” Eleanora seemed to repress a shudder.

“Let me help you.”

She shook her head. “I don't think Jennifer or her family would let anyone else get close. She is terrified, Gavan.”

“I can't blame her for that. We're going to lose her, aye?”

Eleanora nodded slowly. “I can't bring her back. She doesn't want it, and we both think she is probably too damaged.”

He rubbed the palm of his hand over her shoulder in soothing motions. “Then we must make sure she is as free as she can be, and that we don't lose you as well.”

She leaned on him. “I'm always so tired these days.”

“Get Freyah to help you.” The moment he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake. Eleanora stiffened.

“My aunt has her eccentricities.”

“And helping us seems to be one of them.” Gavan made a noise, rather like a huff, in spite of himself. He loved Freyah despite her quackery and sharp tongue—but if only she'd give more! What she'd been through after the magickal battle that had separated all of them, he could not begin to guess, but she had become secretive and practically a hermit, though just as sharp-witted as ever. Dragging her out of her tiny cottage home was a chore he never relished, nor would he try unless it were a necessity but the time had come when they were all needed. “You cannot be a Magicker,” he commented, “without reaching out to others.”

“She reaches.”