And so he had said to hell with courting and romantic drivel. The tests measuring Morven’s magick potential hinted at a power almost equal to his own, impirical proof in his eyes that she was his predestined mate. The woman, though she refused to admit it, belonged to him and he would allow none other to claim her. And so he became Ethan Winston…and a deceiver.
Squaring his shoulders, Wylder shook off the shameful memories. Somewhere out there, his reluctant bride hid from him, but not for much longer. This time, he would deal with her in honor. This time, he would offer her his love with no strings attached. He would adhere to the truth even if he faced the ultimate risk of losing her forever.
He shrugged out of his leather, floor length duster and slung it over his arm before stepping out into the traffic of sapiens clogging the walkways. Under the direct rays of the unforgiving sun, his eyes began to water. Fumbling in his pocket, he dragged out a pair of sunglasses and quickly put them on, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight.
The city teemed with life and noise and smells. Everywhere he looked, color exploded and overflowed. The crowds of people rushed about their daily routines, oblivious to the fact that a Magicker walked among them. The yeasty, stomach rumbling smells of a bakery assaulted his nostrils, reminding him he had never finished his lunch. He decided to stop and grab a bite to eat.
He settled on a little curbside place serving large hot, soft pretzels with mustard. It tasted surprisingly good. He dipped a bit of bread in the mustard cup and brought it to his mouth, savoring the tangy, tart mix of salt and spices. A splat of yellow dropped onto the expanse of his leather coat and before he thought better of it, he brought his arm up and lapped it off.
An infectious giggle brought his head up and about, his eyes lighting on a little boy busily tugging on his mother’s dress and pointing at him. Giving in to temptation, Wylder glanced around and made sure no one else could see his actions. Catching the youngster’s eye, he crossed his eyes, stuck his tongue out at the little tattle-tale—waggling it for good measure—and laughed out loud when the little boy’s mouth dropped open in shock at the childish acting grown up.
Feeling better than he had for a long time, Wylder polished off his pretzel, crumpled up the napkins and paper and tossed them into a wire-mesh trash can before heading into the heart of the city. As he turned the corner, he glanced back, seeking a last look at the tyke he had played with. The little one still watched him, peeking out from behind his mother. He lifted a small hand in a goodbye wave.
Wylder returned the salute, a smile parting his lips, a bittersweet ache tugging at his heart. Lady and Lord willing and I play my cards right, I might have a son like that someday.
Despite the heat, he had chosen to walk a ways from the centrally located flightport, eager for the chance to see if he could pick up some trace of his lost Lady. He sauntered up and down the streets, surreptitiously observing the shoppers, picking up the emotional climate of the city while questing for a whiff of her unique power signature.
He found nothing. An hour later, he gave up the search for the day, disappointed, but refusing to become depressed. Instead, he decided to head toward the Wharf, where the Greater San Francisco Police Department had been relocated seven years ago following the capture of the criminal dubbed the Elemental Arsonist. It being easier to make a building water-proof than to fire-proof it, the City planners had chosen waterfront property when looking for a replacement site. Water being a Salamander’s natural enemy, they tended to stay away from a large body of it.
He had not been back to this city since being called in to eliminate the rogue Mage who had conjured Salamanders and used them to burn over a third of central San Francisco. The old Police Department building, standing since the turn of the century, had been among the first casualties and remembering how antiquated and ugly it had been, Wylder couldn’t help thinking the arsonist had done the city a good deed.
Looking at the new building, he decided he liked its no-nonsense appearance. No fancy brickwork or Victorian icing marred the clean sleek lines. The architecture screamed order and functionality; letting you know that in this place, results were the order of the day. As he entered, he hoped the people occupying the building proved to be as true to their purpose.
*****
“This is not my magick.”
“Begging your pardon, Mage,” the Lieutenant waved a sheaf of papers at Wylder, “in spite of the slight discrepancy you’ve identified, these levels are too high to belong to anyone else. You are the strongest Warlock known to any of the Councils.”
“Listen to what you said…the strongest known to the Councils…last time I looked, the Councils were not all-knowing. They get their news flashes from the Lord and Lady same as the rest of us.”
Wylder squared his shoulders and took in a deep, calming breath, struggling to come to grips with the massive disappointment threatening to swamp his weary senses.
With a grimace, he turned to the panel and attempted, for the third time, to explain why his heart felt as if it would break.
“A Warlock or Lady’s magick is a part of their biological make-up. If you had an identical twin, he or she would still be different, an entity unto him or herself. Though they would look like you on the surface, their fingerprints would prove them to be another, distinct individual. That is how unique our magickal signatures are. If there is a glitch, it is because the magick is not mine or my mate’s.”
The death of hope came hard. He wished like hell the original S.W.A.T. Division report had been true and that the Salamander’s source magick bore his signature, for it would mean he had a lead on Morven’s whereabouts. An Elemental tended to remain close to the magick source that called it forth. If a flash of Morven’s wild magick—like those which had been bothering him since their incomplete merging—had been the culprit in unleashing the Salamander, the creature’s continued presence in the San Francisco area would point to her being close, if not right in the city.
The officer stood and came around his desk, hand formally extended. “We apologize for wasting your valuable time, my Lord. I will check with my supervisor, but I am sure the city of San Francisco will gladly pick up the tab of your hotel while you are here.”
“Don’t bother, Lieutenant.” He shook his head, forcing a smile though disappointment tasted bitter in his mouth. No need taking his frustration out on the local good guys because things had not turned out the way he needed them to. After all, the S.W.A.T. team was just trying to do their jobs.
“The Council has quarters here. Besides, your city has wild magick in the shape of an Elemental on the loose and that is the Council’s business, after all.” Glancing at his watch, he crooked a finger and a chair slid over to him. Sitting back down at the desk, he pulled a pile of loose papers over and started going through them. “If you would, bring me the reports from the last two weeks. Let’s see if we can make a pattern of destruction…”
Chapter Six
Thursday, October 28, 8:13 p.m. (Northwestern Division time)
“Begging your pardon, sir—”
The man’s diffident voice managed to break his intense concentration and Wylder looked up from the stack of reports, momentarily impatient at the interruption. “Yes, what can I do for you, lieutenant?”
The young man bit his lip and shifted from foot to foot, clearly trying to decide his best course of action. “Uh, Lord Wylder, my brother and I were wondering…would you like to go to dinner with us? Our treat.”
“Dinner…is it that time all ready?” Wylder set the papers down and rocked back on the two hind legs of his chair. Frowning, he glanced around for a clock but the cubicle walls were bare except for an oversized poster of the latest Matrix movie. “What time is it, anyway?”
The rookie cop fidgeted under the direct stare. “It’s after eight, sir…”
“And…?” A little teasing smile played at the corner of his lips as Wylder waited for the boy to get to the point. Really, he should be ashamed
. Just because he felt driven to bring this case to a swift close, didn’t mean he had to abuse those placed under his command.
“And we usually schedule dinner for six.” He glanced over to his partner and brother, who nodded in silent agreement, urging him on with a strategically placed elbow. “Sir, the truth is we are both starving. You’ve been working us flat out all day long, and the Captain said we were assigned to you, which means we can’t leave until you do…”
Wylder stifled a chuckle as he turned to watch the young officer tug his fingers through his hair, sweeping the damp curls off his forehead. His twin echoed his movements so closely, it looked uncanny. Both young men were blond, tall, strapping officers fresh out of the police academy and the only available manpower the department could spare to work with him at such short notice. The Salamander, and the heat it brought along with it, had been wreaking havoc with the San Francisco populace, and the police force found itself stretched thin to meet the needs and emergencies popping up seemingly everywhere at once.
They were good men, willing to help and eager to please. He had worked them hard, forcing them to stretch their magick ability beyond their normal level of performance. They deserved a break.
Dropping his chair down on all four legs, he beat a rapid tattoo on the table. His impromptu drum roll snagged the two’s attention. “You know, gentlemen, I’m suddenly feeling famished. Let’s go get some chow.” Grabbing his leather duster, he slung it over his arm and headed out. Just before reaching the door, he swung back around. He didn’t want to be alone tonight.
“By the way, since the Council is paying for it, dinner is on me. We will dine at the Regency Hyatt over on Nobb Hill.”
He laughed outright at the rounded eyes and wide grins of the fledgling officers, gleefully calculating how much of a dent in the Council’s expense account he could make with Darren and Darrel along. With physiques like theirs, they probably both ate like Sumo wrestlers.
It wasn’t about the money. Hell, he had billions stashed away in more banks than he could keep up with. He simply loved irking the prissy Council Members and they took a grim view at their agents overspending while on assignment. Mentally rubbing his hands together, Wylder led the way out of the tiny office.
*****
Thursday, October 28, 8:30 p. m. (Northwestern Division Time)
Moriah followed the stuffy headwaiter to their table, turning to smile over her shoulder at Roddy and Patricia. She looked around the opulent dining room while the man politely pulled out her chair and draped her napkin over her lap, presenting the wine list for her perusal. She had no idea what kind of wine to order and didn’t have the slightest difficulty admitting it to the hovering servant. “I have absolutely no idea about wines and such. Which would you suggest?”
Roddy looked up from seating Patricia, his large hands sliding reluctantly from her plump shoulders. “Let’s just celebrate with a sparkling cider. We need to keep our heads while we map out our future.”
“I think that is an excellent idea, Roddy.” Patricia’s blue eyes sparkled as she gazed up at the surprisingly urbane figure of the man standing beside her.
Morven lowered her eyes, hiding her amusement. Roddy spruced up just fine. She saw Patricia had taken notice of his new sartorial elegance. “Has everyone decided on the broiled salmon?”
“Sure.”
“No! I’m having the tenderloin and truffles.” Scooting close to Moriah, Patricia stage-whispered, “It’s the most expensive item on the menu.”
Moriah laughed aloud. “Good for you, Patti with an ‘i’. Remember our agreement…” she chuckled, watching her friend’s smile slide off her face, “…once a day and twice on Sundays.” Turning to the waiter, she handed over her menu, ignoring the low-voiced grumblings at her side. “Does the restaurant carry Martinelli’s Sparkling Apple Cider?”
The man snapped the wine list closed, lips drawing into a tight line. Collecting all the menus, he fussily twitched a wrinkle out of the damask tablecloth. “I shall inquire of the chef, madam,” he intoned haughtily, clicking his heels and stalking off.
“Sheesh! You’d think we insulted him!”
Moriah smothered a giggle. “We did. Big time.”
“What?” Patricia huffed. “Does he get a piece of the action for every bottle of wine he panders?”
“It’s not that. We’ve proven ourselves terribly uncultured, I’m afraid, thereby lowering his esteem at having to serve us hicks. Don’t worry about him, though. I’ll make it up to him with the tip.”
Moriah leaned over and rummaged in her purse, bringing out two envelopes, each inscribed with one name. “These are for you, with my sincere thanks and affection. There are no strings attached, so please, just accept them in the spirit they are given.” Sliding the envelopes over to their respective recipients, she sat back in her seat and smiled at her two friends before reaching for a crusty breadstick. Slathering it with herb butter, she bit into it with relish. “By the way, you two, thanks for being so understanding about my having to cancel lunch the other day. Nyla didn’t get along with the substitute babysitter. I don’t know why, but she simply could not tolerate the woman. She actually bit her…!”
Patricia snorted and rolled her eyes, watching that breadstick disappear with avid greed. “I’m glad she bit her…probably served the old biddy right. As for lunch, I needed three days just to recuperate from that bombshell you dropped. But my appetite has recovered with a vengeance.”
A smile blossomed on her pretty round face, highlighted by a russet tendril or two that escaped her upswept mass of hair. She grabbed a breadstick from the basket. “Besides, dinner here at the Regency Hyatt is better than lunch anywhere else.”
Glancing around, her wide blue eyes glowed with the reflection of golden tableware and gleaming candelabras, the glitter of 24-caret crystal wine glasses and the sparkle of diamonds. “Look at us, hobnobbing with the rich and famous on Nobb Hill!”
“I predict we will all be rich and famous in a very short while.” Moriah eyed the untouched envelopes, on the verge of demanding they open them right now. She controlled the urge…just barely. She really wanted to see their faces when they opened them and found what lay inside.
Patricia kept turning her head as she buttered her breadstick, neck snapping back and forth so as not to miss anything that might prove exciting. “Mhmm, this is so good…” She closed her eyes on a sigh as she tasted the butter drenched morsel. “You have to try these, Roddy,” she urged, “they are to die for!”
Moriah glanced up from her own breadstick to find Roddy visually devouring the amply rounded, vivacious woman. His attraction for the saucy secretary pasted on his dark brown face for all to see, he leaned forward and growled, “So, give me a taste.”
Soft peach color warming her complexion, Patricia held the breadstick up to his mouth. Moriah saw her fingers trembling from across the table as his perfect model’s teeth closed on the warm crusty bite. Chewing and swallowing without breaking eye contact, he rasped, “That wasn’t the taste I wanted, but it will do…for now.”
“Whew! Roderick Hall, where did you get those lines? I didn’t know you hid the makings of a romantic under that rumpled guise.” Moriah fanned herself, eyes dancing as she crossed gazes with the flustered woman watching Roddy as if she expected him to pounce on her any moment. She bent a speculative look at her other dinner companion.
This was Roddy—her technical geek—suavely spouting hot, wet-your-panties repartee. Now that she took the time to really look at him, she saw a lot of potential. He didn’t look half bad. She had always seen his tall height and rangy build, now she wondered how she had missed his sherry brown eyes and thick lashes, his thick mane of silky corkscrew curls and coffee warm skin. He was a beautiful black man, polite and courteous, self-assured and judging by the glint in his eye whenever they fell on Patricia’s ample form, he planned to participate in employee togetherness at the first opportune moment.
“Better watch those sexy
quips, Roddy. They’re hot enough to get a gal’s engine revving,” she joked, lightening the atmosphere when she saw her friend’s growing unease. Roddy might be in the market for a relationship, but the woman he had lined up to star in his one man show seemed to be having second and third thoughts.
“As long as it’s the right gal’s engine…” he captured Patricia’s gaze and flashed his straight white teeth in a broad grin, obviously liking the look he saw on her expressive face.
Patricia cleared her throat, snagged a water glass and gulped down the contents.
“Right, okay!” Moriah figured she’d better steer the evening in other directions before her friend’s pretty blue eyes popped out of her head and landed on the table. “Much as I am enjoying this pre-dinner seduction scene, I think it best if we concentrate on what brought us here, tonight—our new business venture.”
“First, I want you both to please take a look at the envelopes I’ve—” She paused while the waiter brought their dinner orders, distributing them about the table. With a mocking flourish, he brandished a chilled bottle of Martinelli’s, unscrewing the cap with as much panache as though he handled a bottle of the rarest champagne. Pouring an inch into her wine glass, he waited for Moriah’s approval.
Refusing to meet her companions’ eyes for fear of bursting out in laughter and really insulting their uppity waiter, she sipped and gave him a regal little nod. While he served the other two, she basked in the mellow glow of their assured futures, convinced the three of them could make a success of doing for their own company what they were underpaid doing for JAA:SSCC. She had a thousand ideas she wanted to implement and could hardly wait to get started.
Wait patiently. Stay hidden six more days, she silently admonished. Taking a deep breath, composing her thoughts, she nodded. She could do that. Though the year had been long and fraught with peril, she had survived. Surely she could make it through this short remaining time to attain her freedom.
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