by Kate Baray
“I’m not a cautious driver; you’re a maniac.” The response came automatically. Jack wasn’t really paying attention to her, because he couldn’t take his eyes off the house.
The glasses slipped from his nose.
He blinked and found that Marin held them between her fingers.
She inspected them, and then said, “Mundanes using magic gadgets don’t have the same skill and understanding as a magic-user.”
“I got it.” He retrieved his magic-imbued spectacles, but scrutinized the house without them: probably 1920s, pier and beam, a local stone façade that didn’t look original. The house also had some other upgrades. The windows looked energy efficient and the roof was new, but the owners had refrained from adding any square footage to the house. The entire structure couldn’t be more than a thousand square feet.
“No stink of death magic; nothing that looks like witch magic.” Marin raised an eyebrow. “What did you see?”
For the last several months, Jack had been trying to learn to interpret the type of magic he viewed through his magic specs, but progress had been slow. Apparently, the level of difficulty in recognizing the type of magic was much greater than its mere presence. “A shit ton of magic.”
“Well, that’s what I see. Hard to say what, because there’s just so much of it. But, like I said, nothing that’s obviously death magic or witch magic, if that comforts your newly cautious soul.”
“Let’s go. I’ll follow in your footsteps—without the glasses—so don’t get me blown up or trapped.”
Marin didn’t respond, just pulled out the key Kaisermann had provided and made a beeline for the front door.
She unlocked and opened it, but then hesitated on the threshold. She leaned closer then away. Took a small step forward and then backed away. “It’s thick—sticky, almost.”
“You have got to be kidding. Like that spurned lover’s ghost trap we got stuck in?”
“No.” Marin stuck her arm through the door. “No. Completely different.” She pulled her hand out and turned to give him a pissy look. “I’d hardly call that poor woman, left by her husband to rot in some old house in the middle of nowhere, a spurned lover.”
“Fair enough. How about the trap laid by the crazy lady in the woods—that better?”
Marin turned her attention back to the doorway without commenting.
Probably because he was right. She’d been crazy. Possibly because her scumbag husband had given her syphilis—but that didn’t make her less crazy. Or less dangerous. He shook his head; he should not feel bad.
Shit.
He would feel like an idiot, apologizing for calling the old bat exactly what she’d been. Dick or idiot—great choices. He swallowed. “Sorry,” Jack mumbled.
“You should be,” Marin said, then pushed her hand through the doorway again. “It’s a few inches thick. Hang on a minute while I double-check that I can get back out.”
Jack shook his head as she walked through the front door. Maybe the two of them together as partners wouldn’t work out as he’d planned. She was supposed to be the voice of reason. Marin might be young by dragon standards—early twenties in human years, according to her driver’s license—but that was still well over a hundred calendar years. Experience should equal wisdom, right? And there was also the whole two-heads-are-better-than-one philosophy. He’d clearly placed too much weight on the strategic advantages collaboration would bring to their cases.
Then again—they weren’t actually collaborating.
She walked back out, giving him her toothy grin. “I get to win fifty bucks and raise your blood pressure—not bad for a single day’s effort.”
As soon as he’d made that bet, he’d known it was a bad idea. “So? What’s the verdict?”
“The amount of magic involved here is astounding. There’s no hindrance to entering or exiting, but I can’t tell exactly what the magic is doing. It’s all over, in and around the house, but doesn’t serve any obvious function. You wanna give it a try?”
Jack rubbed his neck and followed her into the house.
He slowed as he crossed the threshold, waiting for something. Some sense of magic, or the resistance Marin had mentioned. But he felt absolutely nothing. No resistance, and certainly nothing he’d describe as sticky.
The interior of the house surprised him. Kaisermann’s family had not only updated the house, they’d kept it furnished. The front door opened directly into a comfortable, well-maintained living room. The furniture looked mid-century modern, the rug imported, and Jack didn’t spot a cobweb or dust bunny anywhere.
“Not what I expected either.” Marin sat down in a green velvet armchair. “I’d say cozy. And he’s had the maids in regularly.”
Jack nodded. “And the magic?”
“I’ve still got no sense of the type, but my best guess is spell caster.”
“Yeah. Makes sense. The magic is tied to the house itself, and binding magic to objects falls within the purview of spell casters. Is there any other type of magic-user that could do this?”
“With the coven, I never like to guess. ‘Pursuit of knowledge at all costs’ is a motto that lends itself to a broad array of magics, so even if it doesn’t look like elemental magic it could still be witch related.”
“Okay—but best guess?”
“Best guess: no, I still don’t think it’s witch magic.”
Jack lifted his specs. “Think they’re safe to try?”
“If the shiny lights mesmerize you, I’ll take them off.”
“Thanks.” Sometimes, he really wanted to kick her ass. But he’d only fail miserably. He slipped the horn-rimmed glasses on. “Uh, I got nothing.”
“What?” Marin took the glasses from him. “Ah, I think you’ve run your battery out. When was the last time you had a spell caster charge them?”
Jack shrugged. He knew exactly when, but telling her he’d done it last week wouldn’t change the fact that they were toast. He retrieved the glasses and tucked them into one of the pockets of his cargo pants. “Speaking of batteries…”
Marin stood up. “Right. Let’s do a walk-through and maybe I’ll get a hint of what’s powering this thing.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a magical wellspring in the Austin area?”
Marin poked her head into the kitchen. “A massive magical power source in the middle of Texas that no one’s noticed? Eh.” She beckoned over her shoulder for him to follow her into the kitchen. “The Inter-Pack Policing Cooperative missed the one in Prague, but that was some time ago. They’ve got screening in place now that they know what to look for.”
Jack walked into the small 1950s kitchen. “So if there’s screening, how does IPPC not know about this house? The magic practically blinded me.”
Marin opened and shut several cabinets. “Hm. Excellent question.” After she scoped out the interior of the oven, she stopped and turned to him. “I didn’t see it—didn’t even feel it—until we were pulling into the driveway.”
“How is that possible?”
Marin scanned the small room, focusing most of her attention on the exterior walls. “I’m not sure.”
An uneasy feeling crawled up Jack’s neck. “Come on. Let’s check the two bedrooms and bath. Lingering doesn’t strike me as wise.”
Marin once again preceded him as they walked through the living room into a small hallway. Three doors opened off the hallway. Both bedrooms yielded nothing unusual, though one was furnished more as a sitting room. All of the furnishings were mid-century, in good repair, comfortable, and clean.
Jack stood just outside the doorway of the bathroom as Marin stepped through.
“Oh, I want one of these.” Marin traced her finger along the yellow tile.
“A green and yellow 1950s bathroom? Doesn’t that conflict with your whole dragon philosophy of living in the now?”
“And here I am thinking you don’t listen. I can like vintage yellow tile and green sinks without having flashbacks to
the fifties. Besides, I’m young; it’s less of an issue.”
A good thing, too. Jack didn’t have any desire to see firsthand what a dragon looked and acted like when it had lost touch with reality. Almost definitely catastrophically bad for all observers.
“So—anything more specific?”
Marin shook her head. “I’m getting a massive collection of magical energy. I hate to say it, but—”
“We need an expert.” Jack tried not to groan. He thought he had an expert. But Marin was an adolescent in the land of dragons, much as it baffled the mind to think of any creature over the age of a hundred as a kid.
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll give my dad a buzz.”
“So you guys…uh, you know, you’re—”
“Yeah, we’re on speaking terms. I keep telling you: I don’t have a problem with my dad.”
Jack bit back his response. Clearly something weird was going on with her family—but who was he to say? He had his own family shit.
They retraced their steps back out of the house: down the hall, through the living room, and out the front door. He couldn’t help it; he held his breath as they exited the house.
Once outside, Jack did a quick check. All his parts were present, and Marin looked okay. “You’re good?”
“Hm.” She stared at the house. “Give me a second.”
Jack stood in the drive as she disappeared around the back of the house. They probably should have checked the rear door when they’d been in the kitchen. Almost immediately, she circled back around to join him in the driveway.
“What’s up?” Jack asked.
“I’m just wondering—where does the magic stop?”
“Where the walls stop?” Jack pulled out his glasses again, and put them on before he remembered they were out of juice. “Shit.” The bright light of the house startled him, and he yanked them off.
“What? I thought those were toast.”
“Not toast. Definitely not toast.” He handed her the specs. “Check it out.”
“Come on.” Marin yanked a tuft of monkey grass out of the lawn lining the driveway and then headed to the house.
“You have a theory?”
She paused on the threshold. “Possibly. Let’s see if I can burn a little grass.”
“Ah, that doesn’t mean what you think it does.” But then Jack realized her point. “Well, hell, that would be seriously freaky if you couldn’t. I mean—that would be weird and very, very bad, right?” But Jack was talking to Marin’s rear and her curly red ponytail. He hustled into the house after her; no way was he missing this.
She’d already moved into the kitchen when he came through the front door.
Jack joined her just as she was placing the clump of grass into the kitchen sink. He should at least appreciate that she didn’t test her theory out on any of the difficult-to-replace furniture.
He watched her. Watched the grass. Back and forth like a tennis match—but nothing happened. “I assume you’re trying.”
“And failing.” She reached out her hand. “Your specs?”
Jack handed them to her.
After she closed her hand around them, she shook her head. “Not even a little spark.”
“I don’t understand. You can see the magic in here, right?”
“And feel and see it—just like before. But your specs have no magic. And my fire…it’s…” She tilted her head and handed back his glasses. “I guess you could say suppressed? I don’t feel as if I’m under any kind of attack. It’s there; it’s smoldering—I simply can’t access it. Maybe blocked is a better description.”
“Mr. Kaisermann called this place a refuge. A refuge from magic?”
“Possibly. But how does a man with no magic get hooked up with a spelled building that blocks magic? And how does no one know about this place?”
“And who used it and for what?” Jack felt a tingling of unease. “This house could be a powerful weapon against the Coven of Light.”
Marin sighed. “Yeah. Which makes it a target. We need to find out what research our client has done; who he’s reached out to; what bears he’s poked.”
Jack motioned to the door and, when she nodded, headed outside. “Speaking of our client, any thoughts about whether we can move this place?”
Marin closed the door behind her. “I have some suspicions about the walls. I’m wondering if the magic extends to the foundation, perhaps beyond. I’m betting yes.”
“So we measure how deep—somehow—and make sure the earth underneath is moved with the house.” Jack rubbed his neck. “Yeah, that sounded way less possible out loud than in my head.”
“Exactly. How do we measure it? How do we leave those magical tentacles below the surface undisturbed—if they exist? And if we do disturb them—what happens?”
“Wild guess that we don’t want to know what would happen if the structure that all of that magic was tied to was destroyed.”
Marin huffed out an unamused laugh. “Whatever happens, this building can’t be demolished. Period. Pretty sure that’s bad. Crazy bad. Shit-your-pants bad.”
“Yeah—I got it. And I’m not looking forward to telling Mr. Kaisermann we don’t have a clue what’s contaminated or infested or possessed his house. So calling Ewan sooner rather than later would be a great idea.”
“Will do.” Marin pulled her phone out. “Wanna take bets on how bad this is?”
“I’m going with worse than the time we blew up the crazy—ah—the really sad and misunderstood ghost.”
Marin raised an eyebrow. “Way worse. Worse than the bloodsucking, soul-swallowing knife.”
“Technically, that was a bloodsucking, soul-collecting knife and a soul-swallowing book.”
Marin rolled her eyes and tapped the number for her dad.
Chapter Three
Because of the street noise, Marin had called Ewan from the Range Rover. It was still parked in the driveway of the refuge, and the house lurked off to the left, looking much less innocuous than when they’d first parked.
Marin paused after explaining what they’d seen, and she and Jack both waited for his response.
“Sounds like a massive, magical bomb, waiting to blow up.” Ewan Campbell, a.k.a. Marin’s dad and the chief security officer for the IPPC library, sounded deadly serious. “I’m making arrangements to fly down. I should be there in eight hours—don’t blow up Austin before I get there.”
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. Ewan wasn’t a drama queen by any stretch of the imagination.
“Wait, don’t hang up.” Marin’s fingers tightened around her cell. “I’m sure some assistant is making your travel arrangements as we speak, so you have a little time. Explain. Or you can leave us in the dark until you arrive—which greatly increases the risk that Jack will put his sticky mundane fingers where they don’t belong.”
Jack flashed her his best blandly innocent look. Since she glared back, he might have missed the mark.
“Ripping apart that building would be like setting off a small nuclear explosion in the middle of Austin. Think of the structure as the cohesive bond holding the magic together. Remove the building and you melt the glue. No glue, and all of the accumulated magic permeating the site is loosed on the city.”
Jack winced. Worse than the ghost trap; worse than the bloodthirsty knife. Exponentially worse. “What about exorcising it?”
“Exorcising what exactly? Do you know why all that magic has accumulated? The Clan is familiar with the concept of a refuge, certainly—but what makes it work? How it comes into being? Not at all.” Ewan sounded impatient.
Or maybe the guy was stressed. Jack didn’t know how long the dragon clan had been around, but minimally, it was hundreds of years. If they didn’t have the particulars on this house, then it truly was alien. And rare.
Maybe it was rare for a reason.
“If destroying the house is so dangerous, how can this refuge even exist in Texas? We’re disaster central. Hurricanes, torn
ados, thunderstorms, hail, flooding, even the odd earthquake.” Jack looked again through the windshield at the old stone house. “And yet Austin still stands.”
“Wouldn’t be an issue. It’s highly unlikely the house could be damaged by natural phenomena. A refuge should weather anything Mother Nature generates.”
Marin glared at the phone. “Nature is fine, but a wrecking ball and a bulldozer will precipitate World War III?”
“Hyperbole is hardly appropriate here. The reality is sufficiently dire.” Ewan sounded about as peeved as Marin looked.
“So…” Jack faltered. Mediation didn’t top his résumé, but the conversation was devolving. “Uh—maybe we should talk about this whole refuge thing. Ewan, do you have any information on what a refuge does? Other than block magical energy.”
“Just as the name implies, it’s a haven from magical attack. I haven’t heard rumors of one in years, though. There’s usually a person—a mundane—attached in some way to the house. Probably the titleholder of the property. Have you run into anyone that might fit the bill?”
“That would be our client, Kaisermann.” Marin had skipped over the case details earlier and focused on the house itself. “Don’t suppose you know why a mundane has the care of a magical house?”
“Experience says it’ll be a mundane—no idea what the connection is.”
Jack cleared his throat. “Ah, we had a few concerns about the Coven of Light—any way for us to know if this place is on their radar?”
“I don’t think it is…” Ewan’s voice trailed away. “I have to leave. Don’t mess with the house. Destroy the structure, and—”
“Boom, we get it.” Jack scrubbed his face. “Besides not blowing shit up, anything we can do to start sorting this out while you’re in transit?”
“Yeah, one thing. Ask your Arkan Sonney friend if he’d be willing to have a look at the house. I’d be interested to see if he has any insight.”
“Bob?” Jack shared a confused look with Marin. “Sure thing—but why Bob?”