Authors: Ann Macela
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Suspense
Wild Magic (15 page)
Her center itched a few seconds more, then subsided.
Hoping the phenomenon got her message, she turned over and punched her pillow into a comfortable shape. With her soul mate on one side and an evil magic item on the other, both demanding her energy, she should get to sleep. She’d need it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the study of the Finster mansion, Bruce Ubell worked on matching the gala’s guest list with the registry on the practitioner Web site. It had not been the fairly easy job he had envisioned. The registry was huge and worldwide; searching took time. The guest list wasn’t very long, but so many people had similar or ambiguous names. For example, J. B. Jones. Was this person John Bartholomew Jones or James Bolton Jones? He often had to look at the entire entry for picture or location to make sure the person listed was not the same as the guest.
Even though there was no one else he could trust with the job, he resented taking time from his company work, from bringing Finster Shipping and all its parts into more efficient alignment and profitability. Alton had delegated some very important duties, and his minions had not been up to their tasks.
Furthermore, there was the problem of his cousin’s little spells cast on the Iranian group. Bruce had reversed the enchantments and sent the Iranians to another dealer, “convinced” they would get a better deal there. By the time they figured out the new man was cheating them and removed him from competition—a nice side benefit—Bruce would have all his legal and illegal activities working perfectly. Best of all, he’d be able to charge them double the original price.
He’d also use the respite to protect himself and his Stone and to take revenge on the Defenders who destroyed its severed section.
He did wonder why, as the notification had stated, the Defenders had not visited the mansion. He assumed it was because the notice had been for Alton, not him. Did they suspect the larger part of the Stone existed?
As the red book had instructed, he’d been extremely careful to keep everything in the old man’s specially shielded room. At first, Bruce had wondered who was keeping up the spells since Granddad was dead and he and Alton weren’t supplying magic energy. Then he’d figured out that the Stone was protecting itself—an added bonus. The deeply buried and enspelled space kept all emanations safely inside, undetectable by even the most sensitive enemies. Casting from there might actually be easier than in the open—the shields could be boosting the strength of his spells, if he had read the book correctly. Damn Alton for losing the text before he could study the last chapters more closely.
Bruce had been surprised to discover he didn’t miss having the extra power Alton’s smaller piece provided. In fact, he was beginning to think his Stone was giving him even more potency, as though its severed third had somehow leached energy from its larger brother. The same way dealing with Alton had drained his own regular enthusiasm. With his item concentrating solely on himself, he was certain all his capabilities were growing. Look at what he’d learned and accomplished already.
He wouldn’t, however, underestimate his enemies. He’d assume the Defenders were looking for his piece, and they’d show up sooner or later. He and his Stone had some surprises in mind for when they met—and he knew they would.
He’d need every ounce of his energy against the Defenders, but with his Stone on his side, how could he lose? He wouldn’t hesitate to bring about a true cataclysm, whereas they, poor weaklings, were bound by practitioner conventions no longer applying to him.
He heard the mantle clock strike two and groaned. Only two more pages to go. He’d made it to “S.” The first name on the page was Irenee Sabel. Ah, yes, the daughter of the renowned Sabel family. She’d been talking to Alton right before the auction began. He knew her family were high-level practitioners, but she’d always been a little guppy—some sort of event planner—in their group of corporate and Wall Street sharks.
He was about to dismiss her when the familiar oozing of his Stone’s magical energy began to seep through his bones. With it came an impression of a command:
Look at her.
Look at her.
Calling up the Sabel woman’s information, he started reading. Address—hmmm, the Center. Why out there? Education, age, profession—yes, her business as an event organizer. Level ... ten. Ten?
How on earth did she become a level ten? Her previous level was a five.
Bruce swiftly read through the rest of her listing. No clue there.
While he stared at her photo, he felt his Stone flare and its energy flow become more rapid. The power heated his blood from slightly warm to boiling hot to molten lava, and a furious wrath permeated his consciousness. Every cell in his body hated the woman in the picture, and every molecule wanted to annihilate her. His gaze alone should have burned a hole in the computer screen. With an effort that left him limp, he gained control over himself and his Stone before he threw a fireball at the monitor.
Here was the thief. As if to prove his contention, his Stone sent him images of the destruction of its stolen section. Horrible, terrifying, hideous, tragic images. From inside his own piece, he experienced the other’s defense and his own’s valiant attempt and devastating failure to counter the onslaught of Sword and Defender power—led by Irenee Sabel.
The woman was a Sword. Oh, yes,
she
was the
bitch
Alton had named in his throes of agony.
she
was the
bitch
Alton had named in his throes of agony.
“Irenee Sabel will pay,” Bruce said aloud. In his head, his Stone laughed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Nooooo!”
Jim sat straight up in bed as the echo of his cry reverberated in his bedroom.
“Oh, shit,” he panted as he tried to catch his breath and control the shakes left over from the terror of the nightmare.
Irenee was in danger. He dreamed it, he felt it, he knew it, and every hunch antennae and even the strange area under his breastbone agreed.
The red clock numbers showed 2:10. Hell, he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. He grabbed her card and his cell phone off the bedside chest, read the card by the glow of the phone screen, and punched the buttons.
The phone rang three endless times.
“Hello?” her sleep-laden voice mumbled.
He sagged back against his pillow as relief jellified his backbone. “Are you all right?”
“Jim? Jim Tylan?” Her voice rose on his last name. Had she forgotten him already?
“Yeah. Remember me? Tall guy, wild talent, magic man, Hunches ‘R’ Us?”
“What’s the matter?” She definitely sounded awake and alert now.
Hell, what was he going to tell her? He’d had a bad dream? On the other hand, she was the perfect person to understand—if he used the right words. “Nothing here, except I suddenly had a
hunch
something was wrong with you. It was so strong it woke me up.”
hunch
something was wrong with you. It was so strong it woke me up.”
“Oh.”
He could hear her moving and the sheets flapping. Of course, she was in bed.
The mental picture of her snuggled into her blanket, all warm and gorgeous and with her red hair spread across her pillowcase, immediately turned him hard as granite.
“Are ...” He had to stop to clear his throat. “Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. What kind of hunch?” Her voice sounded scratchier than it had a second ago, sort of lower and sultry and ...
He had to stop his line of distracting thinking.
Concentrate on the immediate problem, dammit.
Concentrate on the immediate problem, dammit.
“Look, I’m sorry I woke you, but this hunch came out of nowhere. I’ve never had one wake me up before. It wasn’t just a bad dream. All my usual hunch reactions are still going off. You’re in danger.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m at home in the Center. Alone. Not a threat around, and believe me, my condo is well protected. What was going on in the dream?”
Her question brought it back in startling detail, and worry replaced relief. “There was a big, black void or shadow about to grab you. In the center was ... a flame, a really strange one because it wasn’t red or yellow ..”
“What color was it?” she asked in an excited whisper.
“Black. I don’t know how a flame could be black, but it was flickering lighter and darker than the void. Seeing it made my skin crawl. It was reaching out, or the void was. You were standing there, too close, and I couldn’t get to you. You had something shining in your hand, and you pointed it at the flame, and there was a big flash, and I woke up.”
Reliving the dream broke him out in a sweat. He wiped his face with his hand, then used the sheet to dry his chest.
“Oh, wow, oh, wow! You have to be more than a simple practitioner.” Her excitement came right through the phone.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you feel anything else? Like a sensation of good or bad or ...”
“Yeah, it all ... felt evil.” Almost embarrassed to say them after ridiculing the idea, he blurted out the last two words in a rush.
“Oh, double, triple wow!”
What was the matter with her? She sounded almost happy. “What was it? You know, don’t you?”
“This could be great, our chance to catch him. Jim, you have to get to the Center as soon as you can tomorrow. I have to call Glynnis and Fergus and see if one of them picked up—”
“Stop!” He slapped his hand on the bed, but of course she couldn’t see it.
She stopped, and he could feel her excitement coming through the phone.
He spoke carefully. “Take it slow, and tell me what I dreamed.”
“You described what could have been our fight with the first Cataclysm Stone remnant. There was a black flame in the middle of it, too. I wonder if your dream means the holder of the larger section brought the bigger piece out of hiding. I want to call to see if the sensitives felt its emanations.”
“Wait. Hold on a minute. You were alone in my dream fight. That flame thing was about to eat you alive.”
“Oh, it was just a dream,” she scoffed. “I was definitely not alone in the real fight. I’d never go up against such a powerful item by myself. Besides, I
do
know what I’m doing. I
am
a Sword.”
do
know what I’m doing. I
am
a Sword.”
“Hey, remember me? The guy who doesn’t know anything yet? What I saw is what you actually faced destroying even a little piece of the thing? How could you put yourself in such awful danger? How can your father let you do it?”
There was a small silence on the other end. When she spoke, it was with a calm, slow, implacable voice. “Listen to me, please. I am a Sword. Swords destroy evil items. It’s our mission. Yes, it can be dangerous. That’s why we do it in teams. My father is a Defender. He is aware of all the risks. He’s very proud of me, and he would
never, ever
try to keep me from doing my duty and following my calling.”
never, ever
try to keep me from doing my duty and following my calling.”
“Okay, I understand, but—”
“You’re not one of those men who always think they have to protect the ‘little woman,’ are you?” She gave the question a distinct edge—a sharp one, like on a sword.
Hell, even if he probably was one, he knew enough to say, “No, but—”
“I’m sure you’ve put yourself in danger many times. What if I asked you those questions, Mr. DEA Agent?”
“Point taken,” he said quietly. He’d evidently hit a hot button, and this wasn’t the time for an argument. Especially when he didn’t have enough info to win one. To bring them back to the original subject, he said, “You think my dream could have come from Ubell’s actually using the Stone?”
Another little silence. He could almost feel her shifting gears.
The excitement had returned when she answered, “I think it’s possible. Even allowing for the strange way dreams change reality, yours was so accurate, especially about the black flame. That’s exactly what I thought was inside the piece we destroyed. I hope someone picked up on its use besides you so we can find out where the Stone is. No matter what, however, Fergus will want to talk to you about your experience.”
“Speaking of Whipple, do you have any more ideas about what I’m going to do tomorrow? What kind of test he was talking about?”
She paused, then asked, “Have you decided you are one of us? You might be able to do magic?”
“I’m still getting used to the idea,” he answered. It was the truth. To forestall more questions, he said, “I’ll get to the Center as soon as I can, but when depends on the meeting and my boss.”
She didn’t pursue the subject, only replied, “Give me a call when you’re on your way?”
“Will do. You stay safe in the meantime.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a groan. “You, too. Bye.”
Jim put the phone down and lay back in his bed. What in the hell was going on?
First, he had hunches that scared him half to death with black flames. Complicated by a prickly woman who’d sounded like she wanted to kick his ass for questioning her right to throw herself at the exact same hideous fire. A gorgeous redhead he wanted to keep safe—right here in his bed.
Second, his investigation had gone, if not totally bad, definitely weird, with an even weirder villain. Ubell had to be the one with the Cataclysm Stone, an evil magic item, of all things. Assuming Sabel was correct about the guy’s ability to warp financial records, how were they going to make a case against him? How was justice to be brought to bear on Finster and Ubell?
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