Inherited Magic

by Andrew Gordinier

  Chapter 48

  The police fingerprinted him and took his picture. This time, it was not amusing. John wandered between depression and anger, with frequent stops at frustration. He could do a lot to catch Owen's killer if people would just get the hell out of his way. It was easy for him to see how a truly powerful and skilled mage would be tempted to use their abilities to sidestep all this and just get things done. So easy, that he was toying with the idea himself. Finally, they were done processing him and dumped him in an interrogation room, handcuffed to a rail on the table.

  After a while, a couple of new detectives walked in and started to interview him. At first, they played nice, and after he stuck to the truth they started pressuring him. Explaining just how hard it was gonna be on him if he kept lying, how long he was gonna be in jail, and a very graphic explanation of how he was going to be raped in prison. John was sick of it. He almost told one of the detectives that he could see the tumor behind his left ear; it was an incongruous pattern that was unpleasant to look at.

  “Look, Johnny,” said the man with the tumor. “Just tell us where you put the gun and why you killed him. So we can get this over with.”

  “What? So we can all go home and forget it?” John tried not to stare at the tumor. “I didn't do it, I have no idea who did it, and I—”

  He was interrupted when Special Agent Harris entered the room unannounced. She was carrying a large, expensive briefcase.

  “I'm sorry, John. Were you asking for a lawyer?”

  “I was and am, asking for a lawyer.” John knew full well he would never get a lawyer while Agent Harris was around.

  “Too bad,” said Agent Harris through a venomous smile. The two detectives looked at her, startled that she had so blatantly violated their suspect’s rights. They were both painfully aware of the camera and microphone in the room and were wondering how to get out of the situation. “Gentlemen, this suspect and I have a history. As of now, he's in FBI custody. Your CO has all the paperwork.”

  “He killed the pawn shop owner —”

  “No, he didn't, and we can prove it. We've had him under surveillance for some time.”

  The detectives looked at each other and wordlessly decided it was best not to mess with a Fed's suspect, so they left.

  Special Agent Harris set her briefcase on the table and looked at John for a moment, gloating, before opening her briefcase with a snap of latches. She removed a small ceramic disc and set it on the table between them. She ran her finger around the edge of it, and the center gave off a faint blue glow. John was not surprised that it altered the general patterns of the room and space around them.

  “Don't worry; it just prevents recording or eavesdropping.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I'm sure you can.” She pulled a large manila folder out of her briefcase. “You're in deep now, about to die. Veronica and her pretty boy are going to off you like they did the others, like they did Owen.” John sat back and said nothing; he studied Harris's pattern. She was dying her hair to cover some premature gray, perhaps it was the stress of the job? He also noted an old scar in her pattern on her right side; it went under her liver and to her back. She’d been shot.

  “I suppose you're here to save me and put me somewhere you can study me.”

  “At this point, we can't interfere.”

  “Why the rescue since you can’t interfere?”

  “Because, as dumb as you are, there is a chance you'll survive, but no chance you'll survive getting shanked in jail.”

  “You keep saying I’m in danger.”

  “Veronica has killed a lot of other mages, not always for territory. Our sources tell us she is looking for and may have found some ancient golden book.”

  “She's killing people for a book?” John tried not to think about The Book—the Primer, as the Tribesman had called it—that was hidden in his apartment. At no point did John feel that it should be seen by the FBI or any other government agency.

  “No, past tense, because we think she has one.” She paused and looked at him for a moment and seemed to be measuring him. Even though she felt he was lacking and not up to the task, she had no choice. “No more games, John.”

  She opened the manila folder on the desk and spread out several photos. They were crime scene photos of dead bodies. Men and women slumped in pools of blood. There was one that was different though: it was a charred and almost skeletal body on an autopsy table. She held up Veronica’s picture. “We know about her. Tell me about him and I will tell you who killed Owen and where to find him.” She put a mug shot of the man he had shot on the table next to morgue photo.

  “Who was he?”

  “A career criminal, mostly small time. He was wanted for the sexual assault of some college girls.” Agent Harris saw John relax slightly and felt she might have an advantage.

  “I know who did it.”

  She locked eyes with him for a heartbeat. “Who and why?”

  “He saw a pattern; he wasn't meant to see it and couldn't understand it. He went insane.”

  “Pattern? You mean spell?”

  “Call it what you want.”

  “Where did he find the pattern?”

  “When my apartment got waterlogged, my notebook got soaked, and the ink ran. I think he found it there, but I don't know how.” John again felt the shame and guilt of being foolish all over again.

  “He was working with his uncle, who worked for your landlord doing maintenance work. You saved the tax payers the price of a trial. He was scum. Why did the spells drive him crazy?”

  “Go ask your 'sources,' because I don't know.” John was uncomfortable talking about these things so openly with anyone but Owen. He sighed and accepted that he was going to be missing Owen for a very long time. “Now, tell me about who killed Owen. Was it Veronica?”

  “No, but she was behind it.” She handed John a photograph of the guy he had seen lurking across the street from the crime scene. Even in the bad surveillance picture, he looked like he had posed for it. “His name is Peter Winters. He's Veronica’s boyfriend, and we think student. He's slippery as hell and we have a hard time keeping track of him, but we know he met her three years ago in New York.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “You gonna kill him?”

  “I don't know.” John was at least being honest. He had a rage in him that lived off the pain of losing Owen. He had killed before, and he was pretty sure they were going to try and kill him next. This is what Agent Harris had been suggesting all along.

  Agent Harris looked at John, measuring him. Would he? Could he? Should she let him? Was it the only way to stop Veronica and protect the innocent? If she let him go, and he killed Peter, they could use that to control him. It was pretty clear John had killed the other guy, but there was no way to prove it. This was dangerous territory ethically. There was no question that she would be responsible if she let John go and he killed. He would be killing another mage though, and putting himself firmly in her grasp. “He's staying downtown at the Congress Hotel.”

  “Am I under arrest still?”

  “No.”

  “I'm leaving.” John, for the first time, used magic in front of someone other than Owen. He applied a bit of force to the ratchet that locked the handcuffs, and they fell away as he stood up.

  Agent Harris was unimpressed and not surprised.

  Chapter 49

  “So your boss is dead?” Radha was shocked, and her concern came through clearly in her tone of voice. John had wanted to avoid talking to her till he had settled things with Veronica and her boyfriend, but she had called as he was leaving the police station and insisted on picking him up in her roommate’s car. John didn't know she had a roommate; it was just one of many facts that he was still learning about her. John at times fought his fascination with her and at others gave in to it. He watched her drive and examined her pattern. There was nothing exceptional about it, but there was something about Radha that he couldn't
look away from. “John, it's not polite to stare unless you are going answer my question.”

  “He's dead.” John didn't like the way those words felt as he said them, too casual and final. “They thought that I did it at first and have been grilling me all day.”

  “I'm so sorry, John.” She navigated the car casually through a tight turn. “So what now?”

  “I wish I knew.” At least he didn't have to lie to her.

  They drove in silence for a moment.

  “I know this is a hard time.” Her voice was soothing to John as she spoke. “We both know what hard times are, and I know you can handle it, but if you need me, you can call anytime.”

  “Thank you, Radha.” He found comfort in the idea and wanted to do nothing more than let her in on all his secrets and fears. He just hoped she would understand and not run away. It was a lot to ask her to accept him as someone who could do incredible things but still had problems balancing his checkbook or getting his schoolwork done. Telling her would put her in danger though, and he couldn’t bear the idea of that. “Thank you. It means a lot to me for you to say that.”

  She pulled to a stop in front of John's apartment building and looked at him with soulful eyes. My God, thought John, if I must suffer all this to have a chance with her, then so be it. She leaned in to him, and they kissed passionately. They would have kissed longer, but there was a knock at the window on John’s side. Startled, he looked over, expecting to see the dark haired Peter leering at him, but instead saw a bald man in a suit with sunglasses motioning him out of the car. He looked back at Radha and saw fear in her eyes.

  “It's all right,” he said, as he rolled down the window a crack.

  “Conrad would like a word with you, Mr. Carter.” The bald man gestured behind them to a limo that must have pulled up while they were kissing. When he lifted his arm, John saw a large handgun holstered under his left arm. The man didn't need a gun to be intimidating.

  “Thanks for the ride. I have to go.” He could tell from the fear on Radha’s face that she had seen the gun too. She grabbed his knee as he started to get up and her fear moved closer to panic. “It's all good. They're friends of Owen.”

  “John.” Her voice was shaky. “I'm worried about you.”

  “I'll be all right, I promise.”

  “John . . .”

  “I promise. I'll be fine.” John closed the door and stepped back from the car. With the bald body guard standing next to him, John watched Radha drive away, and wondered just how much worse things could get, and if Radha was already in danger because of him.

  “This way, sir.” The bodyguard stepped towards the back of the car and John followed. He opened the door and John hesitated. He stood there for a brief moment, debating if this was his last chance, and from the shadows of the limo’s interior came a good natured laugh that was tempered with a slight wheeze.

  “I understand your caution, young man.” The voice was accented and world weary. “I would be, too. However, I owe your mentor a great debt, and since he is gone, I now owe you. We intend you no harm.”

  John got into the limo and found himself sitting across from an elderly man in a suit. The door closed, and a few minutes later he felt the limo glide into motion.

  “Where are we going?” John asked.

  “Just for a bit of a drive while we talk. It’s the only way we can have some privacy with the FBI following you.” Conrad held up an expensive looking glass with an amber liquid in it. “Care for a drink?”

  Conrad was old, but not infirm in his appearance. He had tiny glasses that made John think of an old fashioned bank teller, which perched high on a sharp nose. He was pale, almost sickly looking. His thinning hair was a perfect shade of white and was cut close to his scalp. The suit he wore cost more than most family cars

  “No. No, thank you.”

  “Owen never drank either; he just smoked those horrid cigarettes of his.”

  “They drove me crazy.”

  “You should have seen him when he was younger! He cut back after he got married . . .” Conrad smoothed his tie. “I shall miss him a great deal.”

  “The police tried to say I killed him, but this Agent Harris got me out of it . . .”

  “She offered you protection if you would work for her?”

  “Yeah, several times.”

  “Some things never change.” Conrad said with a smile. “The Government has been trying to get a mage to work with them again since the end of World War 2.”

  “Mages used to work for them?”

  “During the war. We may not have won it but we sure as hell kept Hitler’s mages from mucking things up.” He sipped his drink. “Times have changed since then, and mages with government ties don't last long, no matter whom they work for.”

  “Other mages kill them?”

  “No, other governments. It's too dangerous, throws things out of balance. Safer to crash a plane, blow up a boat, or bomb a building, and deal with the bad press. People have gone to extremes to keep the balance of power. In an age where cities can be vaporized by anyone with the motivation to do so, balance is important. That's not why we’re here though. You seem to have stepped into a pretty good mess, even if you have turned down the FBI offers.”

  “Veronica and pretty boy Peter are the ones that killed Owen.”

  “There are rumors to that effect, but neither the police nor anyone else has any usable proof. That puts you in a dangerous place.”

  “Agent Harris said something about that.”

  “Yes, Owen held the Chicago area as his territory. Veronica has been trying to take it over so she could control the central states; no one is sure why. The only way to do it is through a duel. She would have challenged Owen, but he was too good for her. You, though, are easy pickings.”

  “The FBI thinks she is looking for some sort of book.”

  “Oh, is she? It would be like her. They are legends mostly. Did Owen have a chance to teach you some history?”

  “Some.” John looked out the window; they were headed south on Lake Shore drive.

  “Towards the end of the so called 'golden age,' it was said that an Egyptian mage, a princess by birth who rejected her royal birthright, created Primers or Grimoires. They were said to contain the total of her library and have the ability to awaken mages without an ordeal or training.” Conrad sighed and looked at his now empty glass. “She had the idea of creating a monastic order of mages. As the last of the great mages killed each other off, the books became legendary, and rumors of one were enough start wars and attract treasure hunters. Not much more than damaged fragments were ever found though. No one has seen a complete one in hundreds of years at least, and even that was only a rumor.”

  “If Veronica or the government got their hands on a complete one . . .”

  “There would be a lot of trouble, perhaps a return to the good old days.” Conrad's voice was heavy with sorrow and venom. He put his glass into the small mini bar next to him.

  “So I'm in deep shit because she thinks Owen has one of those books, and even if he didn't . . .”

  “She wants Chicago.”

  “You said that you were going to help me because of a debt to Owen?”

  “Owen and I both feel . . . felt . . . that the old ways need to be abandoned; that we need to change our ways or magic would soon be lost. It got us into a lot of trouble and at one point he saved my life and the life of my daughter.” Conrad looked out his window and let a silence fill the back of the limousine for a time. “I will miss that man a great deal.”

  “He used to let me practice in your old warehouse.” John didn’t know what to say, but he felt the loss of Owen deeply as well and was pleased he was not alone.

  “I told him to sell that place or have it demolished years ago.”

  “It’s still there.”

  Conrad laughed gently, and John was hesitant to break the suddenly gentle mood.

  “Sir,” John cleared his throat. “How screwed am I? C
an I run? Can—”

  “You would die before you left Illinois. It would like an accident of course… but Veronica would kill you. If you run after she challenges you, well, then you will be sanctioned, and a Censor will take care of the rest.”

  “So what can I do?”

  “I’m going to buy you some time at the conclave, perhaps a month or more. You are going to practice like hell, and I will teach you what I can. Then you will most likely have to face Veronica in a duel to the death. We'll find out when the conclave meets soon. So buy a suit.”

  As you can imagine, John was not thrilled with his life at that particular moment.

  Chapter 50

  It was difficult to reconcile the world John found himself in compared to the one he thought he knew. Day to day life went on. People got up, readied themselves for the world, and went to work or school. They came home to their families or friends and spent the evening passing the time or contemplating the day’s events. They were aware of the power games that politicians and generals played, and the ways they affected their lives. People even had some faint sense of influence on those power players through voting or protesting.

  John found himself far removed even from those events. He had been given such tremendous power and gained nothing but trouble and suffering from it. He’d been forced into a way of life he didn't know, centuries of history that he had never imagined possible, and responsibilities he did not want. In one week, the North American Conclave would meet formally, for the first time in fifteen years. Its first order of business was to deal with the death of Owen and the disposition of his territories and student. In the meantime, John still had to go to class or he was going to fail. It was a contrast of the mundane and danger that left John feeling confused as he sat in class next to Radha.