The Wizard

by Karen Ranney

  Instead of simple spells like the green book, these pages were filled with illustrations as well as words. There were drawings of plants, flowers, a mortar and pestle and other crucibles. The same symbols he had seen on Breanna’s robe were drawn in the margins.

  He carefully opened the book halfway and sat studying it for a few moments. Here, the handwriting was different. The drawings weren’t as detailed and intricate. The date at the beginning of an entry startled him. 1597.

  He sounded out the words of one spell carefully.

  Something changed.

  The air in the room grew heavier, pressing against his chest and back. The longer he sat there, the more he was conscious of a feeling, a sensation that he’d never before felt. As if all he had to do was reach out with his fingers and push against the air to reveal something that was there, but invisible. It was almost a trembling that hadn’t yet begun. A sense of movement that was still static. He didn’t know if the sensation began in the room or if it was something within him.

  He stopped speaking and the feeling went away.

  What the hell had he done?

  Nothing about the words or the drawing on the page gave him an indication of what it was for. Maybe it would be a good idea not to practice on those spells he couldn’t figure out, just in case he turned into a frog or set fire to the house. He didn’t doubt that he could make the latter happen. The jury was out about the frog business.

  He knew a professor in Austin who specialized in ancient languages and for a moment toyed with the idea of asking for his help. Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to let anyone know about this book right now.

  He left the book where it was, the cabinet open and the other one unexplored. He closed the door to the hallway harder than was necessary, feeling like he was seven years old again and escaping from the ten-year-old bully next door.

  “I don’t know, Grace, but there’s nothing there. I did every kind of reconstruction that I could think of, but it didn’t work. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you, Bob. I appreciate your trying. It’s never happened before.”

  He handed her the camera that had been on Bubble’s collar. She tucked it into her purse. Bob Simpson was one of the best IT people she knew. He was well known throughout NASACA as being able to solve any kind of problem. Going to him had been a last-ditch effort, but one she had to take.

  When she’d uploaded the photos from Bubbles’ camera there had been a problem.

  She saw the cat squeeze into the house from a downstairs window, go in search of Derek and find him in what looked to be a home office. A little while later Bubbles left the house, exploring the nearby terrain. After entering the kitchen again, however, everything turned white until the next morning. That had never happened in the past, even when the cat had entered the house of a powerful witch.

  Given recent developments, she needed to know more about the Crow’s Nest, but it was like the house itself didn’t want to divulge certain things.

  She wasn’t the least surprised. There was something about the Crow’s Nest that made the back of her neck itch, almost like she was being warned. No doubt it was something that Lionel Adams had done that lived on after his death. It might even be because of one of Breanna’s spells, something protective that guarded Derek from being watched.

  Grace didn’t like the house, but she doubted if she could convince Derek to move out of it. First of all, he was grieving and the structure contained too many poignant memories to leave it right away. She was certain, however, that it would be healthier for him to do so.

  Not to mention safer.

  24

  Derek sat in front of Grace’s house, staring at the structure. How did she alter reality itself? For that matter, how did the whole neighborhood do it? The house was probably four times the size it looked. The back garden was enormous, allowing space for footpaths, a massive vegetable patch, and an abundance of flowers. Not to mention the three-tiered clay fountain.

  He got out of the car, but he didn’t walk up to the house. Instead, he leaned against the Porsche, folded his arms, and willed the house to give up its secrets. Hadn’t Grace said something in one of their conversations about belief? Maybe magic was like anything else in life: if you believed, the chances of your achieving something were much greater.

  The air shimmered like an oasis he’d seen on a hot Texas highway. He didn’t move, intent on seeing through Grace’s web of lies. The air seemed to have weight to it, pressing heavily on his shoulders. He flicked both hands upward and the pressure immediately eased.

  He could get used to this wizard stuff.

  Grace surprised him by opening the front door and coming to stand on the steps. Her hands were at her sides. She didn’t point toward him or make any other gesture. Instead, she stood still and quiet as the air seemed to part, revealing the truth of what he was seeing.

  The house wasn’t a 1950s ranch style. Instead, it was a massive red brick structure that reminded him of something he’d seen in England. A venerable home with at least a hundred rooms. Something that had seen generations growing up in it. Maybe it was even listed as one of England’s stately homes.

  Had she somehow transported it here to Texas? He was beginning to think that Grace hadn’t been completely honest about her abilities. Not an inconsequential witch? He’d be willing to bet she was an enormously powerful witch.

  He raised both hands, clapped them together once, and the air no longer shimmered. The house was back to being small and cozy.

  She approached him slowly. “You’ve been practicing,” she said.

  “In a manner of speaking. I don’t know how I knew to do that, however.”

  “Instinct. Humans normally don’t have it. Not like animals. They can impart certain warnings to their young. Avoid that watering hole. Don’t go that route. That sort of thing. People with magic in their veins are different.”

  He was beginning to believe it. Still, he felt as if he’d been sucked up into some kind of vortex, one that had transported him from the twenty-first century world where he was comfortable and delivered him to this place where nothing followed any rules. Or at least those he knew.

  She turned and walked back to the house, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Have you discovered who shot at you?”

  “No. Have you?”

  She shook her head.

  He followed her down a long hall that branched off into two directions. They turned left, then halted at an iron banded door. She placed her hand against the weathered wood, said some words he couldn’t hear, then opened it.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. Maybe a laboratory for a mad scientist, complete with beakers and bubbling liquid. Or a small room with a pentagram drawn on the floor and tall black candles in the brick alcoves.

  The room could have been taken from any number of upscale houses. It was comfortably furnished and boasted a large TV mounted above the fireplace and currently tuned to a football game.

  The only discordant furniture was the table at the back with a tall, throne-like chair. Behind the table were four open shelves, each one filled with glass containers. The contents reminded him of the spices and desiccated items he’d found in the secret room at the Crow’s Nest.

  “This is your lair, then?” he asked, walking to the wall of windows. Here was another view of the expansive gardens, complete with koi pond and another magnificent fountain.

  “My lair? I suppose it is. Are you ready to work?”

  He debated telling her about Lionel’s book, then decided that it wouldn’t be wise. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling that anything he’d found in Breanna’s room should remain a secret.

  “Yes.”

  She tilted her head a little, studying him. Did he need to say something else? Perhaps reassure her as to his interest? He needed to learn as much as he could from her as quickly as he could.

  He remained silent, waiting for her to question him further. Instead, she walked to the chair a
nd sat, then pointed to a stool on the opposite side of the table. Since the stool was several inches shorter than the chair he felt almost like he’d been relegated to the children’s table.

  She turned off the TV and devoted her attention to him.

  Over the next hour he learned the history of NASACA and the other Meriduar divisions, the emergence of magic in the historical world, and the various factions within the magical organization. Wizards were the most powerful, of course, but there was only one wizard per Meriduar region. The Elders were next in the hierarchy of power, but there were others like senior witches, those whose strength had grown over the decades. They, too, could pose a threat to him in his nascent state.

  The second hour, fueled by coffee and Grace’s excellent banana bread, he learned about the various powers of those senior witches. It was an impressive list, ranging from persuasion — what might be considered compulsion in another setting — to the ability to manipulate growing things, to divination, and even the ability to alter time itself.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. He’d kept silent for most of Grace’s speech, but the bit about altering time pushed him over the edge.

  “I’m not talking about time travel, Derek. No one has mastered that as of yet. I’m talking about the ability to change the perception of time. Five minutes here, five minutes there — you’d be surprised at what you can accomplish by the simple elongation of time or the acceleration of it.”

  She waved her hands in the air, spoke some words, and suddenly disappeared. He sat there for a few seconds before looking under the table.

  “I’m over here,” she said.

  He turned to see her standing at the door to the patio.

  “How did you get there?”

  “I simply walked,” she said.

  “You did something to time? Or my perception of it?”

  “I did.”

  “That might come in handy if I’m ever late for an appointment,” he said.

  “Don’t ridicule magic, Derek. Your own powers will allow you to manipulate time.”

  “Are you going to teach me how to do it?”

  “Yes, but not yet.”

  Grace had her own agenda. He just didn’t know what it was.

  “I take it you’re a senior witch?”

  “If you wish.”

  In other words, she was probably something even more powerful.

  During the third hour she took him to the garden, and had him sit beside her on a pretty carved bench.

  A few minutes later she pointed to a pair of cardinals strutting past the fountain. “Kill them.”

  He turned his head and stared at her. “What?”

  “You have the power. Kill them.”

  “I’m not going to kill them, Grace.”

  “Why not? You can. You have the ability to do so. Why not?”

  “Because it’s not right, that’s why. Because they didn’t do anything to me. Because they don’t deserve to die. Because I don’t think that I have the power of life and death over other creatures.”

  Her smile was blinding. “Pure magic, strong magic also carries with it an enormous responsibility. You will have to do the right thing. You do have the power of life and death over other creatures, but it should only be an extraordinary circumstance that causes you to exercise it.”

  “Point made.”

  “I sincerely hope so, because it is the most important lesson you will ever learn. Several people have made the mistake of thinking that because they possess power it gives them the right to utilize it. If anything it’s just the opposite.”

  He looked at her. “I suspect that you have more power than you admit, Grace.”

  “Pride is more a drawback to character, Derek, then an attribute.”

  “Modest as well.”

  Her laughter was open, free, and no doubt sounded the same when she was a girl.

  He had the sudden thought that Breanna probably liked her very much, that she and Grace were truly friends. There was something about his biological mother that was endearing, yet at the same time she inspired caution. He had no doubt that she was a formidable witch.

  “What did you and Breanna talk about? Other than me, I mean.”

  “What did we talk about?” She looked off into the distance. “People, ideas, spells. Philosophies of life, I suppose. Love, that I remember. The future, but only in a narrow sense. Thinking about it, I can’t help but wonder if she knew that something was going to happen, that her life would be short. We always discussed next week, next month, but hardly ever next year.”

  The lump in his throat was almost painful. It felt like words were dammed up and couldn’t be spoken.

  “Do you want to see her?” Grace asked.

  “See her?”

  She nodded. “If you do, then hold out your hand just so.” She raised her left hand and held it about three feet above the ground, her palm parallel to the earth. Slowly, she raised her fingers and the air shimmered.

  Suddenly, Breanna was standing there in her red suit, transparent and translucent, the sun shining through her. A ghost not of midnights and haunted houses, but a flower bedecked garden with the sound of rushing water and the bright flick of goldfish in the pond only feet from them.

  He began to stand, but Grace restrained him with her right hand on his arm. Immediately, the vision of Breanna began to fade.

  “What did you do? How did you do that?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  He immediately obeyed her, both hands gripping the edge of the wood bench. His heart was beating so fast that it made him breathless. He wasn’t sure what he’d just seen, only that he wanted to see it again. If it was a mirage, his imagination, or signs of insanity, he didn’t care.

  “Think of her. Recall the sight of her. That’s all you have to do, Derek. The power of love makes magic nearly effortless.”

  He did as she said, his memory a moment that instantly came to mind. He and Breanna had been arguing, which they rarely did. He couldn’t even remember the reason for the fight, only that in the midst of their verbal warfare they’d looked at each other and realized how ridiculous they were being. She had smiled first and he had been so taken aback that he couldn’t help but shut up and stare at her. A second later he’d smiled back and just like that the fight was over.

  “Now imagine her in front of you, just as she was a moment ago.”

  He did, putting her in this lush garden, smiling at him just as she had on that day months ago. He opened his eyes and there she was standing in front of him. He stretched out his hand to touch her, but Grace caught it with hers, returning it to the bench.

  “She is what you have created, Derek. The manifestation of your memory and your love. In that way she is real, but she is not corporeal.”

  He wanted to touch her, to not have her be translucent. He wanted her skin to be warm, to feel her pulse beneath his fingers.

  For a moment it was enough to see her there, smiling at him, wearing jeans and a University of Texas orange sweatshirt. Her hair was in a ponytail. He couldn’t remember other details of that day. What had she been doing before their argument? Had she visited the secret room?

  Why the hell hadn’t she been honest with him?

  He abruptly stood, pulling away from Grace, walking through what essentially was a hologram he’d created. Breanna disappeared, her form evaporating around him.

  He stood in front of the fountain, wondering how long it had taken Grace to have it installed here. The base was at least ten feet wide and each upward level narrowed in size. There weren’t any fountains on the grounds of the Crow’s Nest. Maybe Lionel and his wife hadn’t like the sound of flowing water.

  “Derek?”

  He turned and faced her.

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “Because everyone in my life has lied to me, Grace. I am hard-pressed, right at the moment, to name one person who hasn’t. They aren’t small lies, either. They’re big ones, like who who I
am, who they are, what they believe, and what they practice.”

  “I’ve never lied to you.”

  “No, you haven’t. But you haven’t exactly ensured that other people were truthful, either. Did you ever urge Paul or Angie to tell me about magic? For that matter, did you ever insist that Breanna was honest with me?”

  He was being unfair. She wasn’t responsible for other people. No, that was solely on them.

  “I just wish I would have been warned about all this…” He refrained from swearing, but it was a narrow miss.

  “Would you have believed me if I’d suddenly appeared on your doorstep when you turned eighteen? Would you have believed Paul and Angie?”

  “We’ll never know, will we?”

  “No, we won’t. Because even if I could command time to that degree I wouldn’t, anymore than I would reveal what will happen in a year or two or ten. We can only live in the now of our lives, Derek. I showed you that you could render your memories into three dimensions, but you can’t change them. You cannot bring Breanna back. You cannot alter your childhood.”

  She was right. He had no power to do anything about the circumstances he currently faced, which made him determined to be as strong as he could as fast as he could.

  “I saw her,” he said. “The day of her funeral. I saw her. Was that her?”

  “It could have been,” she said softly. “Perhaps the last of her powers as a witch saying goodbye to you.”

  “Did she write the word on my windshield?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible. Maybe she wanted you to come and see me.”

  “Can I do that to other people?” he asked, waving his hand toward the fountain.

  “Produce an image?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded and proceeded to tell him how. There were certain limitations as to distance, but he could produce one of his memories to appear before someone else, even if he wasn’t next to them.

  “What about one of their memories?”

  “I don’t think that’s ever been done. Unless you shared in that memory, of course.”