Night Magic

by Susan Squires

  “Sometimes,” she whispered, “sex is like an affirmation of life in the midst of illness.”

  He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “You are too wise for my own good.”

  “I think you’ve got that quotation wrong,” she said doubtfully.

  He grinned at her then sobered. “Once we get settled I . . . I need to talk to you.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “In the meantime, I need to get busy.”

  “Of course.” She nodded. “I’ll see to the family.” Even though what she really wanted was to ravish the eldest son. Or hear what he had to say to her that made him look so serious. Was he having second thoughts about their marriage? It didn’t seem so from his kiss. But something must be wrong between them.

  *****

  “What?” Morgan snapped. “What did you say?” Mumbling bad news didn’t change it.

  Jason cleared his throat nervously. “They’ve moved him to the estate,” he repeated.

  “How can they just take a man who’s in a coma home?” she railed.

  “They’ve got a doc going out there. They apparently equipped a room in the house in a matter of hours last night. . . . How I don’t know. They took him out by ambulance at five in the morning according to the log.” Jason was practically babbling for a man of such few words.

  “You should have been there. You could have. . . .” She stopped pacing. What could they have done? An attack in the middle of a hospital that was busy at all hours of the day?

  She stilled herself. She didn’t want to take them out piecemeal anyway. Her brain started to click over. Maybe this was better anyway.

  “Hardwick!”

  He stuck his head in through the doorway to the room they were using as a temporary office in the hotel suite.

  “Get Phil back from Santa Barbara. He’s to bring the girl with him.” She turned to Jason. “Get me a schematic of the Breakers.” Both men disappeared to do her will.

  “Rick?” she yelled.

  The young man who could rust metal was new to the Clan, but would be useful. He came galloping down the hall from the bunkroom they’d set up when they took over a whole floor of the Mondrian. “Gather the others and send them in,” she said. “You go check the weapons.” He looked surprised. And he didn’t move.

  “Go!” she hissed, making sweeping movements with her hands. “Jason, get the list he gave us of the powers each one of them have. Once we breach security we have to take out the cowgirl who can send everyone to sleep, the one who can melt metal, of course and the girl who does . . . whatever it is she does to reality. They’re the dangerous ones.”

  “What about the kid with power over water?”

  “He’s not going to bring a wave down over the only home he’s ever known. Now get going. I want pictures of the dangerous ones to circulate, so our crew will know who they are.”

  As Jason turned on his heel, Morgan went to stand in front of the three precious objects on the big dining room table. She would take the Wand. If they had that, they didn’t really need the Sword. And she was loath to let even her most loyal followers wield it. Loyal didn’t mean they couldn’t be tempted by power. What about the Cup? What did it do? Was it a weapon like the other Talismans, or was its use primarily to amplify the powers inherent in the Clan DNA? Better leave it in the limousine if she wasn’t sure. It might work against her if she somehow triggered its power incorrectly.

  Morgan felt herself slide into something that felt like a trance or a vision. She could see the dominoes of her future falling away, each knocking over the next in a series of events that would bring her to her triumph. Tonight the Tremaines would die in their own house. There would be no one to stop her the way they’d foiled her last assault on the European banking system. The smile rose up from her belly to her lips. Then she’d start down the list of all those dead warriors Hardwick had found, step up the search for the Pentacle, and bring that sweet boy out of the monastery in Greece. As each domino fell it brought her closer to that final gateway beyond which her power was limitless, her riches uncountable, and her body eternal. She would be a god in every sense of the word. Millions would worship at her feet. And most important of all, she’d never grow old and feeble again.

  Immortality. Wasn’t that what every human craved, and had since time immemorial?

  It would be hers. The future belonged to Morgan Le Fay, starting tonight.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Apologies, Mrs. Clark,” Kemble murmured as the nurse huffed out the front door. “It’s a little difficult for my mother to let anyone else take care of the family. I’ll see that your superior gets a first-rate report from us.”

  Rita didn’t deign to answer.

  His mother had dismissed the nursing service. Kemble ran his hands over the stubble on his chin. It was too painful for her to realize she needed a nurse to help tend him. When his mother got hysterical and angry, they all saw the writing on the wall. Jane and Keelan had practiced with the crash cart, the suction machine. They knew what to do if Senior flat-lined—the paddles, the injection of epinephrine. They knew the dosage of Succinylcholine needed to induce paralysis for tracheal intubation if they couldn’t unblock an airway that had gotten clogged. Kemble was surprised at Keelan’s fortitude. He wasn’t surprised at Jane, of course.

  So here they were, at two a.m., on their own with a man in a medically induced coma due to brain trauma. Had he been insane to bring Senior home?

  At least everyone was under the same roof. Maggie and Tristram were occupying Keelan’s old room with Jesse. He didn’t want them even as far away as their apartments over the garage. He was actually surprised when Tristram didn’t argue on that one. Tristram’s old room had been turned into the gym some time ago. Lanyon was down there now. When Kemble looked in on him, he was working out with such ferocity Kemble was afraid he was going to burst a tendon or something. Jane was on duty with Senior. Keelan and Devin were out back on the terrace. If he couldn’t surf, at least Devin needed to hear the waves breaking on the cliff below. Being cooped up here was probably even harder on him than the rest of them. Water was his life. Tamsen had gone to bed, finally. He hoped she got some rest. He glanced up the stairs. He’d better check on Drew and Michael. He trudged up the stairs to Drew’s old room and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Michael growled. He sat up in bed, naked to the waist.

  “Did I wake you?” Kemble said as he slid into the room.

  Michael shook his head, and switched the bedside light on. Drew was lying next to him, curled up in a little ball, her eyes shut tight. That looked bad. She’d been deteriorating all day. Her control of her visions was fraying with all the strain.

  Kemble just looked at Michael.

  Michael rubbed Drew’s back and gave her a pat, murmuring something soothing. Then he rose. Kemble motioned him over to the window, well away from the king-sized bed with the indigo duvet covered in crescent moons and stars.

  “Getting worse?” Kemble asked.

  Michael nodded. “She’ll get some control back eventually. But right now they’re just crashing over her.”

  “More funeral?”

  “Not so much. Just flashing images. Black starry nights she thinks are important, a huge fire with neon lights, some building that looks like a monastery or a church or something, a beach with Tammy on it, some guy who looks like you but isn’t.”

  “Wow.”

  “The list goes on. That’s the problem.” Michael actually looked like shit. “If only I could do something for her.” He made as if to pound the wall, but stopped short. “Damn it!” His voice drained away to despair. “How much longer can she take this?” He took a huge breath. “Sorry.”

  “I think I almost know how you feel. Hard to not be able to protect her from that.”

  “You come to see if I could Find the Chalice?” He shook his head. “They must have that guy who can Cloak things hiding it. I’m getting nothing.”

  “I
know.” Kemble pressed his lips together for a moment. “Actually, I came up to consult you about something else.”

  “Okay.” Michael sounded wary.

  “Hey, not trying to get out of responsibility here,” Kemble assured him. “It’s just . . . well, I can see where Morgan might have known the Cup was in the exhibition. They could have traced it to Charlemagne, starting with that French manuscript that was stolen. Once she knew it belonged to Charlemagne, the rest is self-evident. But how did she show up just after we’d disabled the security and essentially opened the door for her?”

  Michael chewed his lip. “Guess that’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Pretty much what you do. That’s bad.”

  “I know.”

  “Edwards? I’d hate to think. . . .”

  “One of his men, I’d guess, or. . . .” Kemble hesitated to say it.

  “Not one of the family.”

  “No.”

  “Did Miles know? He was here to sign the papers for Redmond Industries.”

  “That was the day before.”

  “I guess it must have been Edwards’ men, then,” Michael said reluctantly. “Or. . . .”

  Kemble didn’t want to say what he was thinking any more than Michael did. But all thought of betrayal faded as he felt something drain away inside him. The room receded. Michael looked far away. A humming in Kemble’s ears, unnoticed in the natural course of the day, was very loud in the stillness surrounding him. Then it sighed into silence. Kemble felt the energy in his body go with it. The room around him faded. He was there, in the helix of code, as it collapsed. He reached for the wall to steady himself.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael asked, from the end of a long tunnel.

  What was wrong? He reached out with his mind, searching for the broken code. “The security system,” he choked, “just went off.”

  “My God,” Michael said, looking around, suddenly alert.

  Kemble had to get hold of himself. They had little time to prepare. He shook his head, hard, and pounded the wall. The room shuddered back into focus. He blinked at Michael. “Get Drew down to the wine cellar. Use the back stairs. Collect Kee and Dev on your way. They’re out on the terrace.” Michael was already in motion. “I’ll alert Tris.” He lunged for the door without waiting for an answer and pounded down the hall.

  “Tris!” He shoved open the door to Kee’s old room.

  His brother pulled himself up out of sleep, his tattoos visible in the dim light from the hall. He’d had Jesse nestled against his bare chest.

  “Security’s breached. Get Maggie and Jesse down to the wine cellar.”

  Tris looked around at the rumpled bedclothes. “Maggie?” But only Jesse answered.

  “Daddy?” he asked, sleepily.

  “I’ll find her,” Kemble said grimly. “You protect your son.”

  Tris looked like a man torn in half.

  “Go!” Kemble urged. “Get Tammy and Mother on your way.” Tamsen was next door, his mother in the Parents’ room around the corner in the other wing. They were a sure thing, while there was no telling where Maggie had gone. Which brought him to Jane.

  At least he knew where Jane was. With Senior. Right next to the front door. Damn. It had to be Morgan who put the security system down. That might make her brazen enough to come in through the front door. Kemble could lose everything in the next few minutes: Senior, the rest of the family. Jane. God. He wheeled and started down stairs. He had to protect her.

  How? His stupid brand of magic wasn’t useful. The family didn’t keep guns.

  But Edwards and his men did. And if one of them was the traitor? But there weren’t a lot of options right now. He reached for his cell as he hit the head of the staircase. The lights were out in the downstairs.

  The old house shook to its foundations, bringing him to his knees. Explosion.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  “Find Maggie,” Tris yelled, Jesse on his hip, as he pushed open the door to Tamsen’s room. Lance bounded out, barking. Kemble raised a hand in acknowledgement as he struggled to his feet.

  The first floor was a roiling miasma of smoke and debris. He could see figures moving in from the front door. He ducked back into cover at the top of the stairs.

  “Edwards?” he hissed into his cell. It wasn’t ringing. Had the man picked up?

  Then he heard wet coughing. “Somebody let them in the front gate. They hit the security office,” Edwards said weakly.

  “Casualties?” Kemble had a dead feeling in his gut. At least the traitor wasn’t Edwards.

  “Not sure. Men down.”

  “Call the authorities.” Uh-oh. Bad move. “No, don’t.” What could the Palos Verdes Police do against the Clan? It would just mean more people hurt, lots of explaining. “No use.” Edwards coughed again. Kemble knew what that wet sound meant. “You and your men stand down. Just take care of yourselves. I’ll come get you when we get this settled.” He clicked the phone off.

  No help from Edwards. He peered around the corner and down the broad staircase. More figures in the swirling dust and smoke.

  “Take out Brian Tremaine first.” It was a woman’s voice. They were moving toward the archway to the Bay of Pigs. How did they know that’s where Senior was?

  Kemble knew how they knew. He set his lips. Jane was down there with Senior. God, what could he do? He should have sent Tris to look for Maggie and Jane. Tris had a power that could be used for offense. What could Kemble’s maybe-power do for his family now? Jack shit, that’s what.

  “The rest of you, spread out. I want all of them dead.” A channel of light shone out in the dimness below, but all it revealed was the slowly settling dust. Figures were beginning to emerge more clearly. Eight? More.

  It began to rain in the foyer. The Weather Girl. The dust settled immediately and began turning into mud. Kemble racked his brain. He crept halfway down the stairs. Two guys were on their way into the Bay of Pigs. Beyond them, he saw the door to Senior’s room burst open, letting light into the corridor where it was raining. Maggie came flying out and hurtled down the hallway. One of the guys raised a gun. The blast was shocking in the silence after the explosion. Maggie went down. Jane poked her head out of Senior’s room.

  “Maggie!” she yelled.

  The gun’s pointed. Jane’s eyes were as big as saucers. Kemble couldn’t breathe.

  And then the whole house winked into utter blackness.

  *****

  “Why don’t you go to bed, Jane? I’ll spell you here,” Maggie was saying when the whole room was rocked by some kind of blast. Jane fell to her knees. Maggie staggered into the monitoring machine, which rolled into the wall with a crash. It began pinging frantically, but it sounded distant to Jane. Her ears were ringing. She raised her hand. The palm was bloody. She looked up as the machine went silent. What had happened? Brian’s chest still rose and fell with the respirator. She turned her head slowly to Maggie, who was getting up. The lights in the room blinked then steadied.

  Their eyes met.

  “Are we under attack?” Jane whispered. She couldn’t hear herself at all.

  Maggie shook her head. Apparently she couldn’t hear Jane either. But it was easy to read her lips when she mouthed, “The Clan?”

  Jane nodded. It had to be. She glanced to Brian. How would they protect him when he was tied to a respirator? The intruders must have gotten by the security system and Mr. Edwards and his crew too.

  Maggie’s eyes got big. “Jesse.”

  Jane heard a woman yell, “Spread out. I want every one of them dead.” Her hearing must be coming back.

  “I’ve got to find Jesse,” Maggie said. She gave Jane an apologetic look. “Come with me?”

  Jane looked over to Brian. He would be helpless against the Clan. Not that she would be much help. But she couldn’t just abandon him. When she looked back, her decision must have been in her eyes. Maggie just nodded and staggered to her feet. Maggie’s h
ead was bleeding right up by her hairline.

  “I’ll be back for you,” she said.

  Maggie opened the door to the hall. It was raining out there, improbable as that was. Jane saw Maggie take a big breath then dart out, away from the foyer where the explosion had come from. She was headed for the old servants’ stairs. Jane scrambled to the doorway. A sharp cracking noise sounded. Maggie gave a little gasping cry.

  “Maggie!” Jane shouted. Maggie was down about halfway along the hall, lying in the pelting rain. Jane turned. A cold-eyed man with light blue eyes and short-cropped, sandy hair raised his gun again. The man behind him had a gun as well. Where could she hide? An incredibly bright channel of light burst from the foyer into the Bay of Pigs hall, silhouetting the man and making the raindrops gleam. It felt like spikes in her eyes.

  Jane felt something surge inside her. Panic, yes. But something more, like she was standing on top of a capped oil well that was about to throw a gusher. Time slowed. She saw the light-eyed man blink, and all she could think about was hiding, from the man, from the light.

  It was like someone turned a switch. Instead of bright light, the man was a red shadow in darkness, the other figure equally red behind him. The darkness felt like salvation.

  “What’s that?” he yelled, waving his gun and staggering in a circle.

  “Get the light,” the other man yelled.

  The two bumped into each other. They couldn’t see, Jane realized. What just happened? A thousand questions fell over themselves in tumbling waves. She swallowed and took a lungful of smoky air and rain. Get a grip, Jane.

  “This isn’t just a light bulb that went out, you idiot,” the man with light eyes yelled.

  “Magic?” the other one asked. He sounded younger.

  “Hell, yes. And it wasn’t on the list.”

  Magic. Of course. Lanyon was down in the gym room. He’d come into his magic. Fine. It was up to her to take advantage of what he’d given her. She crawled out the door. Could the two Clan members see her? Apparently not. They were stumbling back toward the foyer.