Unexpected Magic

by Ann Macela

  “Okay. What?” He put his hands on his hips and scowled down at her.

  Saxt shifted around the table to stand beside her, essentially between her and Phil. She almost smiled at the notion that she needed to be protected.

  She spoke slowly and distinctly, as she would to a student. “To be accepted for team practice or membership takes every member’s agreement. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “You must realize and accept that we are not your team. Under any circumstances. After each of the practices, even though we explained why, you never corrected your behavior. Because of those performances, I believe several members would vote against you. We made that clear in our last practice.”

  “That was before this new method. At least, I ought to have a chance to try it.” Phil sounded more petulant than apologetic, more entitled than beseeching, more self-assured than doubting.

  “What we have learned in our development of the method,” Johanna continued, “is that trust is the key to sustaining the power when facing an evil item. Without that trust, we can’t weave and spin the ring, the Defenders can’t let go of their maximum energy for the Swords to use, and the Swords can’t push it through their blades without being certain more will be coming. We’re not simply playing with power. When we’re facing an item, our lives are on the line.”

  Phil frowned, but didn’t say a word.

  Johanna braced herself and stared him in the eye. “I don’t trust you, Phil. No matter how the other members vote, I will vote against you. Because of our past experience and your conduct today, I don’t trust you or your judgment in a pentagon, especially not up against a very powerful item. I don’t trust you after your flagrant violation of the standards for instructing young Swords. Your behavior around and with Chuck Ogden, your dismissal of all safety procedures, and your cavalier attitude toward the entire episode prove my point. You will never be part of any team I’m on. Is that clear enough for you?”

  Silence.

  Phil’s mouth was open, and he gaped at her like she’d punched him in the stomach. Then his face grew red. He raised a hand to point a finger at her. “Now just a damned minute! I passed your damn test. I have the level and ability to raise the power of your team. You need me!”

  He leaned at her over the table. Johanna felt Saxt shift closer to her side, and she stood firm. Even if she didn’t need his protection, his closeness meant he had her back, and she might need that against Phil.

  “Furthermore …” Phil’s voice sank to a harsh, nasty whisper. “… furthermore, I’m not to blame for Chuck’s bullying or his being a Sword. The first wouldn’t have happened, and he’d still be tucked under your oh-so-righteous wing if you had paid attention to what was going on in your own class. He would never have come to me in the first place if you’d been doing your job.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to rise, and the smell of Phil’s aftershave intensified to gagging level while the man spewed his anger and frustration. “I’ve done everything I can to show you people how good I am. I’m so strong now that nobody will practice with me because I’ll show them up and prove how bad they are. I’ve tried to prove to you personally, Johanna, how powerful I am, but will you duel with me? No. Will you give me a chance with your team? No.”

  He drew himself up to his full height. “Trust isn’t important. Trust doesn’t come out of the business end of the blade. What’s important is power and leadership. I have them, you don’t. Your sanctimony makes me sick.”

  “That’s enough, Bellman,” Jake stated.

  “Damn right, it’s enough,” Phil retorted. “I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow night to see how to destroy an item. I’ve earned it. After that, I’ll organize a team that will make yours and Fergus’s look like kindergarten kids playing with matches.”

  Phil’s black robe swirled dramatically around his legs as he whirled and marched out of the room. His attempt at a grand exit failed, however, when he tried to slam the door, and its pneumatic door closer totally ruined his intended effect.

  “Johanna …” all three men said at once.

  God, she was tired of Phil and his machinations. Sitting down, she held up her hands in a “calm down” gesture. “It’s okay, guys. I know Phil’s an idiot, and while I’m willing to take my share of responsibility for Chuck’s mess, I’m not to blame for a single one of Phil’s actions. I am surprised at his belief that he’s been showing us how good he is. And a duel to prove it? He’s delusional.”

  “He’s not totally clueless about why no team will practice with him. He’s ignoring their reasons,” Jake observed. “Every single one he’s been with has complained to me, and when I explained their concerns to him, he blew me off. Your team is the last one left who’s even talking to him. Fergus’s and Jane’s have written him off, and the team with Charles Ogden … well, Phil doesn’t have a snowball’s chance with them.”

  “What’s the highest level item he’s ever faced?” Saxt asked.

  Johanna looked blankly at Jake and Clyde. “Ten? Maybe eleven?”

  “He wasn’t here for the fight with the smaller piece of the Cataclysm Stone,” Clyde said. “I don’t know why. I’d be surprised if he’s fought a Sword or an item higher than a twelve.”

  “Talk about an inflated opinion of his abilities,” Jake snorted. “That’s where he’s really clueless.”

  “I don’t like his comment about a duel.” Clyde rubbed his hand along his jawline thoughtfully. “Phil’s extremely stubborn and doesn’t let go of grudges. I’m afraid you haven’t seen the last of him and his challenges.”

  “Let him challenge all he wants,” Saxt said. “You don’t have to accept, Johanna.”

  “I intend to ignore Mr. Bellman completely,” Johanna declared. Now if Phil would only reciprocate the sentiment.

  On that note, Jake and Clyde left to check on the Defender groups they’d been working with.

  Saxt immediately sat down next to her and took her hands in his. “Are you all right? He made some vicious accusations and claims.”

  She gave him a weary smile. “I’m fine. I’ve had it with Phil, completely, totally. His comments about Clyde, his assumptions about himself and us, his refusal to accept reality, his ‘my way or nothing’ finally went way over my limit of forbearance. With all his adolescent tactics, he’s worse than any of my students ever were. The man never grew up. I doubt he possesses the discipline to ever stop hogging energy.”

  “What happened in the middle of the spinning, before Phil moved into the center? You had a funny expression for a second. Did you have a problem?”

  Johanna frowned in confusion, then remembered. “Oh, that. It was downright strange. The threads were multiplying and weaving together, exactly right. All of a sudden, I had the most awful taste in my mouth, like my thread had come into contact with another that was putrid, really nasty. My center and my stomach both jumped. I pulled my energy back and tried to move my threads to the inner edge. We’ve never attempted manipulating threads in the ring, but whatever I did, it worked. The upset and the taste disappeared.”

  “Could the thread have been one of Phil’s?”

  “Possibly. Now that I think about it, the taste reminded me of how his aftershave smells. Yuck.”

  “The flow of the magic in the ring did appear a little strange at one point. One or two of the Defenders could have wavered in their own energy production, or a combination of Phil and inexperience might have been the cause. We’ll worry about that later.” Saxt waved off the problem. “If, however, Phil gives you the slightest bit of trouble, let me know, okay? Being chair of the Committee on Swords gives me authority to investigate and censure aberrant behavior.”

  “Okay.” She kept her face straight. Saxt meant well. Soul mates took care of each other, and this man definitely had a protective side. Not that she needed it, although it was nice to have his support.

  “It’s after four thirty. Why don’t we simply leave?�
�� he asked. “I’ll pick you up at your house at five thirty. We have a date.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  At dinner in her favorite Japanese-Chinese restaurant in a suburb south of I-90, in the interests of a harmonious meal, they agreed to avoid all talk of the day’s events. This was get-to-know-you time.

  Johanna was surprised and delighted to discover that Saxt was an avid sports fan. She kept up with the various teams, mostly because her father was a sports addict who inculcated his only child with the lore from an early age. He also was living proof that, while you could take the man out of Chicago, you couldn’t take away his love of its teams—leaving out the Cubs, of course. Dad and she were die-hard White Sox fans.

  So, over sushi appetizers, black pepper beef, and honey-glazed chicken, they discussed the Cleveland Indians vs. the Chicago White Sox, the Browns vs. the Bears, and the Cavaliers vs. the Bulls. Thank goodness they weren’t in a sports bar. The opinions Saxt spouted would have started a fight with some Chicago die-hards.

  Some harmony! She didn’t mention the word, however. She was having too much fun.

  When they drove back to her house to finish off the apple-cranberry pie, Johanna hit the button on the garage opener she had presented to him when he picked her up. He might as well have it, given the circumstances.

  As they were waiting for the door to rise, he peered through the windshield and said, “You have a great house.”

  “Thanks. I’m happy to see the driveway and walks have been plowed and shoveled. One of the smartest things I ever did was hire out that particular chore. Would you like to see the rest of it? Why don’t I give you the grand tour, and we can have the pie afterwards.”

  Saxt accepted with a smile, and after they hung up their coats, she first showed him the finished basement, which she used mostly for storage. He gave the dining room a cursory glance, but he really looked around the den. It was located on the front of the house, shared an interior wall with the living room, and had its own fireplace. Her home office took up the space by the front window. The entertainment center caught his eye first, especially the large flat TV screen.

  “Dad and I like to watch games together,” she told him.

  When he noticed the family and friends pictures on the mantel, she pointed out who was who in the candid photographs. Considering her revelations about his photo in her bedroom the night before, she wasn’t surprised to realize Billy wasn’t included, even in the oldest pictures. She mulled over the revelation on the way upstairs.

  “Here’s the master bedroom.” Johanna led him into the large suite over the living room. Like the downstairs space, this one repeated the same colors, although in muted versions. She had filled the sitting area in front of the large windows with plants and a comfortable couch and chair.

  “More flowers,” Saxt said with a smile, noting the pictures on the light green walls. “I like the view to the back yard. “

  She watched him take in the light oak furniture and the trellis, vines, and flowers print on the bedspread. It seemed both strange and somehow wonderful to have a man in her bedroom. No, not simply any man. This man.

  When his gaze moved from the bed to her, a subtle change came over him. He stood straighter, as if his muscles were tightening, and his eyes darkened. She could almost read his mind, picturing the two of them entwined on rumpled sheets.

  In response, a hot shiver ran up her spine, and her magic center vibrated. To mask the effect—or maybe to stop herself from throwing her arms around him—she pointed out the large closet and the master bath.

  Saxt cleared his throat and walked over to the double dresser. Picking up the framed photo, he studied it for a moment. “You and Billy? He was a good-looking young man.”

  “Yes. My dad took that a few months before Billy died. He was nineteen. I was eighteen.”

  He carefully returned the picture to the dresser. “Regardless of the soul-mate connection, I can see why he’d be attracted to you. You were a stunner then and are even more beautiful now.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly that she didn’t know how to answer. She usually ignored such compliments, but like his presence here, his statement pleased her very much—and had the same effect as his gaze. She had actually taken two steps toward him before she caught herself and said, “If you think this room is full of plants and flowers, let me show you my workroom.”

  Explaining that her parents and sometimes Billy’s stayed with her when they visited, she led him down the hall past the two guest bedrooms and opened the door into her workroom. The large, airy space over the garage held shelves of flowering and non-flowering pot plants by the windows and shelves of books interspersed with paintings, drawings, and photos along the walls. Some of the pictures were her own work, some prints from various travels, and some she’d cut from magazines. Most were unframed, simply tacked to the fabric-covered wall. Her painting and drawing paraphernalia were laid out neatly on tables or in their cabinets.

  Saxt stood in the middle and revolved in a circle to take it all in. “You grow your own ‘subjects’ to draw?”

  “A few. During the summer, I like to work outdoors when possible. I paint mostly wild flowers and native plants. Even weeds. A couple of friends let me use their gardens when the flowers and vegetables are blooming. My own gardening efforts are minimal, thanks to my schedule.”

  As he observed her assortment of papers, tablets, pens, brushes, and paints, she asked, “Do you have any hobbies?”

  “I used to play slow-pitch baseball with some of the guys. Maybe I can find a team here,” he answered with a wistful note in his voice. Then he smiled brightly. “How about that pie?”

  “Great,” she said, and all the way down the hall and stairs she hoped he could succeed in his search for fellow players. He seemed the type of man who needed physical exertion and competition to balance the rest of his life.

  While they ate the pie, he asked questions about her painting and the house. She asked some of her own in return. As would be expected of soul mates, he shared her preferences for non-abstract art of landscapes, people, objects.

  While wondering what they’d talk about next, Johanna shooed Saxt into the living room to light the fire she had laid that morning. When she finished putting the plates in the dishwasher and flicked off the kitchen lights, she joined him by the fireplace. “I love a fire on a cold night, don’t you?”

  He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. “Somehow I don’t think I need one when I’m around you.”

  He proved it with a hug, and she luxuriated in his warm embrace for a few seconds. When he loosened his arms, she leaned back to see his face. His serious expression prompted her to ask, “Is anything wrong?”

  “Let’s sit down.”

  When they were on the couch, she tucked her legs under her and turned to him. Whatever was coming, she wanted to see his face. She stretched out her arm on the sofa back, and he took her hand and intertwined their fingers.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’d like to bring up a serious subject, though. Would you tell me how you met Billy and how he died?”

  “Oh.” Johanna could understand his curiosity. She had some of her own about the loss of his mate.

  “It’s not too painful, is it? The photo upstairs reminded me. You don’t have to tell me now if you’d rather wait.”

  The possible pain of telling the story again made her pause, and she stared at him for a few seconds. It had been a long time since she actually related it to anyone, much less to someone as potentially important as Saxt.

  She was, however, no coward. Saxt deserved to hear how she’d lost Billy. What had happened in the small arena had determined her focus and goals for so much of her life. She thought she could explain without getting overly emotional, so she took a deep breath and began.

  “No, it’s fine. You need to know. Billy and I met in middle school when I was twelve—in a Defender training class at the HeatherRidge, as a matter of fact. He was one year ahead o
f me. Our parents knew each other from practitioner goings-on, but they didn’t become friends until after we became soul mates.”

  Johanna laughed as she remembered Billy’s attitude. “It was not love at first sight. He was a big know-it-all, a born engineer, and our one-year age difference was huge at the time. I was the girl who loved art and was always drawing. We didn’t even speak the same language.”

  He laughed with her. “I hated those years. I didn’t get my height until I was in the tenth grade. And I was afraid of girls.”

  “Oh, puh-lease. You?” She really had trouble imagining a short, female-fearing Saxt.

  “Yep.” He winked at her. “Got over that in high school, too. So, when did you two find each other as mates?”

  “The summer before my senior year, his first in college. I was eighteen, he was nineteen. The imperative hit like a freight train, and we didn’t look back. Our parents were thoroughly pleased.”

  “You were already a Sword, if I remember the records correctly. I didn’t check his.”

  “Yes, those talents arrived when I was thirteen.” She thought about her years from thirteen to eighteen practicing Sword spells and Billy’s reactions to her abilities—first non-belief, then teasing, finally a grudging respect.

  “Was he jealous? I also came into my Sword talents when I was thirteen, but I think I wouldn’t have been happy if a—pardon the expression—’wimpy artist girl’ younger than me was a Sword and I wasn’t.”

  “You know, I don’t think I ever thought of that. I was so busy, I basically ignored him, then we weren’t in Defender classes any more, and we went to different high schools. We met again when I went to a party and he was home from college. When, wham, the soul-mate phenomenon kicked in, we became inseparable when we weren’t in school. He became a Sword when we mated and was overjoyed. But he went up only one level, to eleventh. I went up to fifteen.” She paused while memories played out in her head.