Night Magic

by Susan Squires

  “Don’t do that.” It was Tristram’s turn to order his older brother around. He realized it and glanced around. Keelan and their mother were in with Senior at the moment, but that left Maggie and Devin playing backgammon on a scarred set left in the waiting room. He lowered his voice. “I’m surprised Morgan hasn’t already made an effort to finish us off.”

  “Me too.” Kemble heaved in a breath. God, he was tired. “You should get Maggie home.”

  Tristram nodded. “I don’t want her here, but. . . .”

  “But the family needs her,” Kemble finished for him. Maggie had been Calming Brina very subtly ever since they arrived.

  Tristram gave a half chuckle. “That and the fact that she’d have had my hide if I tried to force the issue. That woman is a handful.”

  Kemble had to smile a little.

  Tristram looked uncomfortable. “It’s especially tough right now. She’s, uh, I mean we’re going to have another baby.”

  Kemble couldn’t believe it. “Really? I mean, that’s great. Does everyone know?” After all, Kemble was the last person his brother would confide in.

  Tristram shook his head. “With the miscarriage right after Jesse, she wanted to be sure she’d be able to keep it before we told everybody. Well, Mother knows.”

  “Of course,” Kemble snorted. “What doesn’t she know?”

  Tristram’s expression collapsed. “How to Heal Senior, I guess.”

  That shut Kemble up.

  “Let me go convince Maggie, and I’ll head on out with Kee and Dev. Begging will be involved.”

  “Be careful.” Like Tristram wouldn’t. Edwards’ men would go with them. But what could they do if the Clan came after them? Tristram could melt guns, but they didn’t need guns to finish off Tremaines. They had Weather and somebody who could punch you from across the room. And then there was the Wand. Kemble had never felt so vulnerable. He wanted his whole family back at the Breakers where he could defend them. But it couldn’t be the whole family. And he couldn’t leave Senior here exposed and alone.

  Drew strode in through the arch out into the hospital corridor, Michael in her wake, and behind them, Jane.

  “Jane.” Relief coursed through Kemble.

  “Sorry,” Michael said, as Drew walked past Kemble like he didn’t exist. She looked a bit like she was sleepwalking. Her eyes were blank, red-rimmed. She had on no makeup and her hair was pulled back in a scrunchy. She clutched a car coat around her body. Drew never went out of the house looking like that. She pushed through the double doors. Michael watched her. There were scratches on his cheek. “My only choice was to come with her. She was making herself ill she was so hysterical.” Michael seemed lost. The ICU doors swung shut.

  “I’m on the job,” Tristram announced, his voice low, punching Kemble’s biceps. “I’ll get Kee.” He headed after Drew.

  Kemble reached for Jane without thinking. It seemed so natural when she embraced him. He clutched her to his body and the jolt he got from that was almost soothing.

  She finally pulled back. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, disgusted with himself over that fact. “Senior’s the one who had a bullet taken out of his skull today.” He frowned. “Who’s with the kids?”

  “Tamsen is taking care of Jesse. Edwards has put the security guys on double shift. They’re everywhere.”

  Tristram reappeared, holding the ICU room door for Keelan, and hustled her, Maggie, and Devin out into the corridor. “We’re outta here,” he said as he passed Kemble and Jane.

  Maggie paused on her way by. “I did what I could for Drew,” she whispered. Then they were gone.

  “I know you said not to let Drew come,” Jane apologized. “But she was just wild. I was actually afraid she’d hurt herself. Or Michael. I thought maybe if we got her here we could have Maggie Calm her.”

  “What’s her problem? If she saw him in the hospital she knows as much as we do. I would think that would be a relief.”

  Michael came out of the ICU at that moment. They must have kicked him out as one too many visitors. “That isn’t the only vision she’s had.”

  Kemble glanced from Michael to Jane. Michael grimaced and looked away. Kemble wasn’t getting anything there. “Jane?”

  “She saw a funeral.”

  Jesus. He hadn’t let himself even think that Senior might actually die. But it hit him like a rock to the forehead. “No,” he said, stupidly, as if the universe would care that Kemble Tremaine didn’t want his father to die.

  Jane took him by both forearms and steered him over to the seats vacated by Keelan and Devin. “She doesn’t know whose,” Jane whispered. “She doesn’t ever know when. She can’t quite identify everyone at the gravesite and who might be missing because everybody has their backs turned and the women are wearing veils. Well, she can see Tristram, but he’ll look thirty-six until he’s fifty, just like your father did.”

  Kemble found himself blinking rapidly. Jane made soothing noises as she rubbed his shoulder. “Now, we’re going to leave Drew and Michael here with Brian, and we’ll take Brina home whether she wants to go or not. She’s exhausted. I’ve got dinner ready to go in the oven.”

  Kemble was having trouble making his mouth work. A funeral. It had to be his father’s funeral. Who was on death’s doorstep? And Kemble didn’t see a way forward, for himself, for any of them, without Senior.

  *****

  They were quite a disconsolate lot, Jane thought as she and Tamsen cleared the table. She had to give Tamsen something to do. The girl looked like the universe had pulled the rug out from under her. Guess that was what happened when your parents had always been there for you, seeming invincible, and then suddenly Brian was gravely ill, and Brina was distraught and distant. Devin and Tristram were silent and drawn. Maggie had already left the table to take Jesse up to the apartment over the garages and put him to bed. Lanyon got up, looking angry, and retreated to the back deck without a word. Keelan, pale and big-eyed, stared at her wine glass.

  “Sorry, Jane,” she said, as Jane picked up a plate that was hardly touched. “It was really good of you to cook dinner, and the food was great. . . .”

  “It’s okay. Nobody feels much like eating at a time like this.”

  Keelan pushed herself up. “I’ll just go check on Mother.”

  They’d had to forcibly remove Brina from Brian’s side. Even Jane telling her that she’d be no good to him if she didn’t get some sleep hadn’t seemed to help. In the end, Michael and Kemble just hustled her out. Jane’s mother’s drug stash was coming in handy tonight.

  “Tammy, would you do the dishes?” Jane whispered.

  Tamsen’s eyes got big.

  “I know I should, but I just feel like I should look after. . . .” Jane glanced to Kemble. She was so worried about that dead look in his eyes.

  “You shouldn’t have to do dishes,” Tamsen said firmly. “You always do dishes. And that wasn’t why I was surprised.”

  Jane turned back to her, distracted. “What?”

  “You called me Tammy. You never call me Tammy.”

  Jane sucked in a breath. So she had. “I guess . . . well, Tamsen is what your mother and father call you. I never felt I had the right to call you something informal. I’m not one of the family, after all. But now. . . .” She took a breath. “Now it feels like maybe calling you Tamsen is encroaching on their territory somehow.”

  “Oh, Jane.” Tammy flung her arms around Jane’s neck. “You’re family now, too.” She sniffed. “Well, really, you always have been. You call me anything you want.” She pulled back. Her turquoise eyes were so like her mother’s. “I kind of like Tammy though.”

  Jane tried on a smile. “Tammy it is, then.”

  Lance, who was always at Tammy’s side, poked his owner’s hip with his nose.

  “I’m sure there are some leftovers, you bad dog,” Jane scolded him.

  Tammy gave a watery grin. “And they say a dog’s love is unconditional. . . .”


  Jane watched them walk away, Lance gamboling in excitement at the possibility of table scraps from the lamb lasagna. Jane turned her attention to Kemble, twirling his half-empty wineglass down at the other end of the table. She wished her husband could know he was loved for who he was and believe it. The look on his face all through dinner told its own story. She didn’t have to stretch much to figure out that all those years of feeling he was not as good as his father were coming home to roost squarely on his shoulders.

  Tristram pushed back from the table, impatient. “What now?” he growled.

  Kemble turned his head to his brother. “Why ask me?”

  Tristram snorted. “Because you’re the Prince of Wales and with Senior out of action somebody’s got to step up.”

  “Step up to what?” Kemble asked, with a glower to match Tristram’s.

  Uh-oh. Jane slid over to the little fridge concealed in the built-in sideboard along one wall of the dining room. She got out two beers.

  “Leader of the family,” Tristram said with a grunt.

  Jane collected two fresh glasses, though Devin and Tristram wouldn’t care about that.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Kemble exploded. “You’re picking now to mock me?”

  “Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Tristram asked. Jane put down one of the beers and a glass beside him. “I’m not mocking you. Who else is there?” He popped the cap with his thumb and ignored the glass.

  Kemble stared at his two brothers.

  “Don’t look at me,” Devin said, lifting his hands in surrender as Jane set down the remaining beer and glass. “Twenty-four. Surfer. Future doctor of oceanography. Not leadership material.” He too popped the cap off the bottle, but elected to use the proffered glass.

  “Well, how about you, Tristram?” Kemble shot back. “You run a string of successful automotive restoration shops.”

  Jane sat unobtrusively next to Kemble and filled his wineglass from the bottle on the table.

  Tristram just stared at him, finally lowering his head and looking at him under puckered brows. “You’re kidding, of course. Like I’m going to run Tremaine Enterprises? Slight difference between chop shops and a multinational conglomerate.”

  “I’m not talking about Tremaine Enterprises,” Kemble snapped. “God knows, Miles would do a better job than I would at that. And he’s welcome to it. I’m talking about family. Senior’s out of commission and Mother is a basket case and if somebody’s going to decide what to do next, it sure as hell isn’t me.”

  “Just because you don’t have magic, doesn’t mean it isn’t you.”

  Jane almost gasped. How could Tristram hurt Kemble like that?

  Kemble didn’t react as she thought he might, though. He neither raged nor collapsed, actually. He got thoughtful. After a moment, he said, “Michael. He’s got a head on his shoulders. He was Delta Force. He’ll know how to defend the family at least.” Kemble pushed up from the table. “I’ll go relieve him at the hospital. He and Drew between them are fully capable of stepping in for the Parents. Temporarily, of course.”

  “Really? That’s your plan?”

  “What, you think because Michael married into the family he isn’t capable?”

  “No.” Tristram was standing now too. They towered over Jane. “I think Michael’s a great guy. Can’t think of anybody I’d rather have around in a pinch.”

  Kemble cut him off. “That’s settled then. I’ll send them home. You want to come over in the morning and relieve me?”

  “You are one piece of work,” Tristram said, shaking his head.

  “Leave him alone.”

  Everyone turned to Devin, surprised. Devin flushed to the roots of his hair. “Sorry. But it isn’t something you can push anybody into.”

  “There’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard all night.” Kemble turned to leave. Jane slid out of her chair and followed Kemble out to the coat closet. “I’ll be back in the morning if I can get my lout of a brother to spell me. Or I’ll call Edwards to send one of the guys. Try to keep Mother away as long as you can.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Jane pulled her coat out and slipped into it.

  “You are not.” Kemble’s voice was brittle, as though it might break at any moment.

  Jane smiled as she buttoned her coat. “Helpmeet, remember? Wife? ’Til death and all? Times like this are what those vows are all about.”

  “You’re needed here.”

  “Tristram and Maggie can take care of things here.”

  Kemble looked around, bewildered. “God,” he exclaimed. “Doesn’t anybody do what I want them to do?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be the one giving orders,” she said, grabbing her purse.

  “Fine. Just fine.” He turned on his heel and opened the front door so hard it practically banged against the stopper that was screwed into the tiles of the foyer.

  This might be a long night. But as rough as it might be, as rough as he might be, she wasn’t leaving him to face it alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kemble and Jane got back to the hospital just in time. Michael was carrying Drew out of the ICU into the waiting room. She looked almost transparent her skin was so pale.

  “What happened?” Kemble growled.

  “I’m fine,” Drew said with disgust. “This caveman won’t let me walk.”

  Michael gave a terse nod. “Nurses said she just fainted. Exhaustion.”

  “Take her home,” Kemble said roughly. “We’ve got it from here. Tristram will spell us in the morning.”

  “They just put him into the coma. Dr. Belvedere said he’d be back in half an hour to talk to us.”

  “Jane and I can handle that.”

  “Put me down, darling,” Drew said in a deceptively sweet voice. “I’m going to walk to the parking lot on my own two feet.”

  “Let me sit with Drew for a minute,” Jane said, by way of diffusing the disagreement.

  “I’d like to have a word with you too,” Kemble added to Michael.

  Seeing he was outnumbered, Michael put his treasured wife down in a waiting room seat. Jane sat next to her. Michael looked pretty drawn himself.

  Kemble motioned him into an empty corner. “When you get home, Michael, get some rest,” Kemble began. “Then you and Tristram can chart our course of action.”

  Michael blinked at him. “How are we supposed to do that?”

  “You’re just tired now, but you’ll figure it out. You’re Delta Force; resourceful, determined, etc., etc.”

  “Ex-Delta Force.”

  As though that mattered. Michael was a fighter, at least now that he wasn’t an alcoholic anymore, and the Force didn’t give up. He could lead this family out of trouble.

  “Kemble, do you hear yourself?” Michael’s brown eyes were snapping in spite of his exhaustion. “I have no fucking idea what to do. I can’t figure out why the Clan hasn’t already hit us. We’re vulnerable here. We go back and forth to the Breakers, totally available for a hit. I doubt they cleared out of L.A. when they knew our situation. Why are they waiting?” He rubbed his hand under the collar of his work shirt as though to ease the tension in his neck. “Plus with three Talismans, their powers have got to be increasing. I’m not sure why we don’t have a hurricane going on inside the ICU right now. And I saw new ones in the group. Who knows what they can do?”

  That was a pretty good assessment.

  “Senior would know what to do.” Kemble could hear the misery in his own voice.

  “But Brian isn’t here right now. And, I hate to be brutal, but he’s not going to be here any time soon. He could die any time, Kemble, with the kind of injury he’s got. Drew saw a funeral. I leave you to your own conclusions. But let’s assume the coma is successful in reducing swelling, and that they can revive him. It isn’t like the movies, where you blink your eyes and just start up your life where you left off. Your mother can’t Heal him. She’s tried a couple of times, but her powers are gone. So he
’s not going to be the same Brian, not for a long time, if ever.”

  Kemble was horrified to have it laid out so definitively. “You bastard,” he whispered.

  “Yeah, well if I can’t tell you, who can I tell? My wife, who thinks her father is going to die? Brina, who’s crushed because she can’t Heal him? Or maybe one of the young ones. Lanyon or Tammy.” Michael shook his head and backed off. He must have realized he’d gotten out of line. “Look. I have no idea what to do. But we all better start facing facts.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m taking Drew home. Maybe this will all look different in the morning.”

  But it wouldn’t. Kemble watched Michael collect Drew and get her out of the waiting room. He could hear their weary steps as they shuffled down the corridor. Hell, he could hear the clatter of trays in the cafeteria at the other end of the hall, and the ping of machines from inside the ICU. He was almost overcome with the smell of urine and disinfectant and overcooked vegetables. The florescent lights were too bright in here.

  That thought brought him back to himself. He jerked his head around to look at Jane. Sure enough, she was squinting in pain at the light. Dark glasses. That’s what she needed. Where could you get a pair of those? Gift shop. Maybe. But he had to get in to Senior. He looked around the waiting room. A teenage boy sat with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. Pimples, lank hair. He’d have to do. “Kid. You want to make some money?” Kemble pulled out his wallet, flipped off several bills. “Go buy me a pair of ladies’ sunglasses in the gift shop.”

  The kid looked startled.

  “My wife has an eye condition,” he explained. “This bright light hurts her.”

  “Okay, dude. Sure.”

  “We’ll be inside,” he said, pointing to the ICU doors. “Give them to a nurse and keep whatever’s left over.” The bills disappeared into the kid’s pocket as he loped down the hall.

  Jane stood up. “Sunglasses?” she asked, smiling.

  “Best I could do under the circumstances. Why didn’t you say anything?”