by Ann Macela
His last words brought her gaze back to him. Looking genuinely puzzled, she said, “I thought they were after both of us. Why only me?”
He refrained from pointing out she couldn’t think of everything and didn’t have the experience to think like a bad guy. If it was up to him, she’d never have that kind of knowledge. Instead, he explained, “Our investigations have shown Finster—and we must assume Ubell also—are really sick puppies. In their various criminal activities, nobody crosses them and lives long. I think he’s connected you to the theft of Alton’s piece of the Stone.”
“I concur with your conclusions,” Baldwin said. “The Finsters in general are very difficult to do even legitimate business with. Most practitioners avoid it if possible. How did Ubell find out about Irenee? It was a clean confiscation.”
Jim’s hunch antennae quivered. “You remember the dream I had last night where something was attacking Irenee? She said my description matched the actual fight with Alton’s piece.”
“Yes,” Baldwin nodded. “Fergus told us about your dream. Pity nobody else caught it.”
“Well,” Jim continued, “what if Ubell cast some kind of spell with his Stone, and the spell revealed something about the destruction, and the revelation involved Irenee?”
Irenee picked up his idea. “What if his Stone told Ubell I was the one it was fighting?”
“Wait a minute,” Jim interjected. “Told him? I thought you said you used crystals and stuff to focus, sort of like a telescope or a magnifying glass. What are you telling me? Are these things able to think? They actually communicate with you?”
“The best answer is that we’re not totally certain.” Whipple shook his head unhappily. “Here’s the difficulty. Very few of the really powerful items exist because they are extremely difficult to make in the first place and for a variety of other reasons—necessary size, strength, composition of the item itself, among others. A practitioner must also be a very high level to create one like the Cataclysm Stone. Ninety-nine percent of spell-enhancing instruments of any level are neutral, and only two or three truly good items have come to us through the centuries—probably because there are so few truly good people to make them.”
Whipple frowned, leaned forward, held up a finger. “Many more evil items exist, however, because practitioners trying to get an advantage over their enemies fell into evil ways. To change an item from neutral to evil is not difficult. It’s a matter of spell intent. Using an object to cast an evil, or harmful, or hurtful spell changes it. If you continue to cast those spells, the item becomes more and more evil.”
“Therefore,” Jim interjected, “if a bad guy who’s really powerful pushes a lot of evil through a big one, it becomes one of these monsters?”
“Exactly. A crystal like the Cataclysm Stone has centuries of evil in it,” Whipple answered. “To come back to your original question, their possessors or manipulators seem to be more under the control or influence of the items than the other way around. The users have often acted so far out of their original characters there is no other explanation. The items are somehow affecting or even communicating with them. As for an actual dialogue ... ?”
“It’s a nasty dilemma,” Baldwin said. “The only way to be absolutely certain would be to let yourself come under one’s influence—that is, we surmise, by using it to cast a spell with evil intent. No sane practitioner would agree to be the guinea pig to try such a thing. Once in an evil item’s clutches, the sole way out is for someone else to destroy it, and in every single recorded case, the user is damaged in the process. With the small items, he can lose talent, energy, and/or levels. With the most powerful, he can lose his life. You know what happened to Alton Finster. I would be surprised if he ever regains consciousness.”
“Has a possessor ever been conscious after you killed one?” Jim asked.
“None of the three people I knew who survived a medium-sized object ever remembered exactly what was going on between themselves and the items. All they could come up with were vague, scattered, incoherent impressions, some pleasant, some awful. With the smaller ones, the manipulator is certain he was in control, not the item.”
“Wonderful.” Jim rubbed his hands over his face. Whether the items were conscious or not, he wasn’t going to worry about it now. “Okay, we don’t know. Back to my hunch. Somehow Ubell’s Stone connected Irenee with the theft—”
“We prefer ‘confiscation,’” Irenee interrupted. “Every practitioner has to sign an oath to turn over an evil item and agree to its confiscation.”
“—confiscation, whatever, and I picked up on their ‘communication.’” Jim waved a hand at the word and looked directly at her. “The point is, he knows you were involved. The further point is he’s coming after you. We were lucky this time. We might not be so the next.”
Irenee had a mutinous look when she said, “Didn’t I just prove I can handle myself? Do we need to explain more to you about what a Sword does and is?”
“We were lucky. If those guys had been practitioners, they’d have expected a counterattack. You wouldn’t have had the chance to throw so much as lux.” The woman was worse than a rookie cop, Jim decided, ready to go tearing after the bad guys with no preparation. Why hadn’t he realized that earlier? This was her first big job. She was a rookie.
He needed to be careful here, though. He didn’t want to alienate the Swords by yelling at her. Since he lived in the real world of bad guys, he said, “Next time, no matter what they are, they’ll be ready. Nothing I’ve learned says you or your magic can stop bullets. Is that correct?”
“Well...” She at least looked a little thoughtful, but he could practically see her mind working to refute him.
“He’s right, Irenee,” Whipple, said, “none of us can stop bullets. Our shields keep out only magical weapons and spell-cast missiles and energy beams.”
“Then we won’t let Ubell have another chance at her.” Hugh Sabel pointed at his daughter. “Irenee, you won’t leave the Center without a team of guards.”
“Dad, I have a business to run, clients to see. What kind of impression do you think I’ll make if I pull up in a Hummer with an entourage? The gossip will start flying, and we’ll have more attention than we want.”
“Fine, in that case, you’ll stay here until we get the situation under control.” Sabel crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “Say you’re sick, got the flu, make all your contacts over the phone or e-mail.”
“If Ubell is as smart as I think he is,” Jim put in, even though he would have liked to watch the battle between the two Sabels to see if her father could make her see reason, “he won’t send simple muscle again. In fact, he’ll think up the most evil way he can to get hold of Irenee.”
“Why? Why me?” she asked. “Alton’s piece of the Stone is gone. He can’t get it back. Surely he knows that from Alton’s collapse. If he were to kidnap a single one of us, he must expect we’d go after him in force. What does he want with me?”
“Revenge, or a hostage. Maybe he thinks the Defenders will back off the search for his Stone if he’s holding you,” Jim said.
“Probably also to torture you,” Johanna Mahler interjected. “Remember the case ten or so years ago in Oregon? A witch had two items, and a Sword confiscated one—much the lesser of the two. His team destroyed it. The witch had been working with the power of the greater item, and it protected her from harm. She went after the Sword and managed to capture him. Defenders rescued him, but not before she’d almost killed him. He said all during her abuse, she screamed about the pleasure her second item was getting from his pain.”
“There’s a cheery thought,” Irenee retorted. “Look, I can’t stay locked up forever. When are we going to go after Ubell?”
“Good point, and exactly what I’ve been pondering. Okay, why don’t we do this.” Whipple leaned forward in his chair and pointed to Baldwin. “John, you, Hugh, and all the Defenders here keep investigating. Also arrange a meeting with Bruce Ubell to
confront him with the fact of his cousin’s Stone. Aim for a meeting on Thursday if possible, Friday at the latest. I signed the notice, so he’ll expect me. See if the head of the Defender Council is available. Maybe a member of the High Council. He can’t refuse to see them.”
He looked around the table. “People, our first priority is to get our hands on Ubell’s Stone. We need proof to even begin the procedure. We need an exact location. Lacking the bare minimum, at the very least we’ll make sure he understands the consequences of his actions.”
He turned to Jim. “You have a lot to learn. If you’re free, let’s put your time to good use.”
“Fine with me,” Jim said. “I need to check in with my boss from time to time, but I have the rest of the week off.”
“Good. Stay here at the Center. We’ll assume you’ll be targeted because you were with Irenee tonight. We’ll supply you with a room and send a Sword to pick up whatever you need from your apartment tomorrow. The travel ban outside the Center applies to you, too. For training, we’ll put you with our best.”
Whipple looked at Johanna. “You work with Jim on spell-casting. Concentrate especially on defensive spells and energy manipulation. I can’t imagine how novice skills will help against a monster like the Cataclysm Stone. It can’t hurt, however, for him to be comfortable with them. Irenee thinks he may have some Defender-type sharing ability, and even if it’s only with her, we need to know how much, if possible.”
Jim wondered what Whipple meant by his last remark, but he didn’t get to ask.
Concentrating on Irenee, Whipple, continued, “You put off your clients for awhile. As I recall, the next couple of weeks were going to be a slow time. Do not leave the Center under any circumstances unless John or I arrange a team for you. If you need something from your office, we’ll send someone to get it. We think you’ve gone up a level. You serve your team better if you concentrate on learning, practicing, and testing your skills and spells to match your new potential. There’s also the other matter we spoke of. Take care of it tonight.”
“But—” Irenee started to protest, and Whipple, cut her off.
“The man needs to understand what’s happening. It’s the only way he—and you—will be able to deal with the distractions. We need you both at full power as quickly as possible.” He turned back to Jim. “Are you getting any hunches about Ubell or his possible actions?”
Jim concentrated for a few seconds, tried to feel movement of his antennae or the back of his brain tickling. He finally had to say, “Nope, not a twitch. Come to think of it, I had no hunch about those guys in the SUVs, either. The previous one, where Ubell found out about Irenee from his Stone, ended there. What about the Stone? Can you demand he give it to you? If we could get it, that would cripple his spell-casting, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would,” Baldwin answered, “Unfortunately, we don’t have definitive proof he actually has the Stone. The way our laws work, Jim, we can’t make a claim against an evil item unless we have the proof—which is certification by a trained sensitive like Glynnis Fraser that she has picked up the vibrations of a spell being cast and pinpointed its location and its user. We can’t merely accuse someone of having an item and expect him to hand it over. He’d deny it, and if it was well hidden, as this one seems to be, we might never find it. He’d haul us before the High Council in a heartbeat, and we’d have to pay an enormous fine for false accusation.”
He pointed at Irenee. “We sent her after Finster’s Stone because we knew exactly who had it and where it was. We also knew Finster would fight us if we marched in and demanded it. Experience has taught us to confiscate the big items as quietly as possible. Their possessors will object, and they don’t care what happens to innocent bystanders. Of course, the less attention we draw to ourselves, the better.”
“We have these rules,” Whipple said, “because otherwise, all you’d have to do is accuse a person and ruin his reputation forever. We Defenders are the only ones who can bring the charge at the present time because in the past, accusations flew, and innocents were punished unjustly. Also, we’re not a version of the Inquisition and can’t force acquiescence with the practitioner oath. If an item’s location is pinpointed, like Finster’s was in the safe, we are perfectly within our rules, laws, and practices to confiscate it, and so we did.”
“Okay,” Jim said, “you have your own due process. My law enforcement experience tells me Ubell is not going to wait long to move against us. He can’t be happy his criminal activities are slow and no money’s coming in while he deals with his legitimate business. Arms sales have been up and down in the past, but the drug business has been pretty steady. If I was him, I’d be trying to get the Defenders off my back so I could go about my criminal business with no opposition. Once he starts up again, the task force will be after him. He may not know that, or he thinks he’s clear because of the cooked books.”
“I’ll pull in a couple of other sensitives and house them close to the Finster mansion,” Baldwin stated. “If he casts, or there’s a repeat of last night’s communication, maybe they can pick it up.”
“I wish there were a way to draw him out, make him cast in the open. We’re certainly not going to risk anyone to do so, however. Not against this monster,” Whipple said and looked around the table. “What else do we have to say or suggest? Nothing? Let’s get to work. Jim, you go with Irenee to her condo. You two have an important matter to discuss. I’ll call ahead, so stop at the concierge desk to pick up your room key on the way”
As everyone stood, Jim looked at Irenee. She had the oddest combination of expressions—like she was anticipating something, and fearing it at the same time.
She sighed, said, “Come on,” and headed for the door.
He followed, wondering again what he had gotten himself into, but determined to make some things perfectly clear to her. Now if he could only decide exactly what those things were.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Irenee led him out to his car. “We might as well drive to the Center.”
“Fine,” he said and held the door for her.
Jim seemed still angry, and she had no clue why. Did he not want to stay here overnight? Was he still upset about her lightning bolt? It might be a good idea to get the reasons for his anger out in the open before she hit him with the news of the soul-mate phenomenon. She sighed to herself. Explaining was not going to be easy. Shaking off her thoughts, she directed him to the residents’ entrance to the underground parking.
When he pulled up at the gate, he looked at the flat panel with no slot for a card or key. He practically growled, “Another glowing gate. How do I open it?”
Refusing to be pulled into his mood, she answered in a matter-of-fact tone, “Normally, you would place your hand on the pad like I did in the elevator, but we haven’t had the chance to put you in the system yet. Punch the green button and look at the camera on the post over there.”
He did so, and a woman’s voice said, “Security”
She waved at the camera, leaned closer to Jim, and spoke across him. “It’s Irenee Sabel. Will you let us in, please?”
“Right away,” the security woman said, and the gate lifted into the ceiling.
She showed him the visitor spaces, and he parked the car. “We’ll sign you in tomorrow.”
“Fine,” he said, as she opened her door and climbed out.
She was beginning to wonder if the man knew another word besides fine.
He opened the trunk and took out a duffel bag. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he said, “I’m often out overnight or need a change of clothes.”
She caught a glimpse of the trunk interior. It held a number of metal boxes, neatly arranged. Come to think of it, the inside of his car was clean and organized also—no loose papers or maps, no bags or cups from fast-food places, none of the usual trash she’d expect a man to have, especially one who probably did overnight stakeouts. She stopped herself from thinking those fateful words, a man after her
own heart. That was yet to be proven.
They took the elevator up to the lobby level and stopped at the desk for his key card. The concierge asked if Jim would like to have his luggage taken to the room, but he declined.
She waved at the condo side of the building. “My place is on the fourth floor.”
They went up in the elevator. Jim still said nothing, only watched the floor numbers change. He followed her to her condo halfway along the hall.
After a swipe of her hand at the key panel, she opened the door and held it for him. “Just put your bag anywhere.”
She glanced around as she followed him past the coat closet on her left and the entrance to the kitchen on her right into the dining/living area. Of course her condo was clean and tidy.
He put his bag down by her glass dining table. She watched him while he roamed around the room, looking at the impressionist prints on the wall, the family photos lined up on an end table, the plants in the windows. With the idea the winter landscape outside would be all white and brown and gray and black, she’d chosen deep greens and vibrant blues for the walls and upholstery, accented with bright reds in throw pillows, an afghan, and a colorful oriental rug. All in all, she thought she had a cheerful room with comfortable furniture.
It wasn’t quite as happy a space when he turned in the middle between her furniture grouping and her entertainment center to glower at her, however. Well, she wasn’t afraid of him, so she asked straight out, “Okay, what’s wrong? You’re angry, and I don’t understand why. Before we go further—and we have a critical situation to discuss—we need to clear the air.”
He gave her one of his accusatory cop looks and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m mad because you keep going off like a rocket, throwing spells before assessing the situation—or, God forbid, asking my opinion. We might have found out more if you hadn’t blown that guy away so quick back in the parking lot.”