"Enough," she scolded herself, and settled in the main room of the shop to calm down and regain...
She had actually lost her ever-present awareness of the magic woven through the shop, hadn't she?
That resolved her. No matter how it irritated her, like a rough edge on a tooth, she would ignore the dream of the knight from now on. She couldn't afford to be so distracted, to let go of her hold on the many threads of magic that fed in from all over the town, the county, the state, some even from the other side of the world, as well as all the many dimensions that found their nexus point within the walls of Divine's Emporium. If she had chosen not to think about him, then obviously it was for a good, logical reason. This momentary lapse of hers was proof of that.
Angela stepped over to the Wishing Ball and stared into the dark, swirling, metallic rainbows covering its surface. She could almost laugh at how she hesitated to touch one of her tools and regain her inner balance and the link with the shop. The important thing was to figure out what was happening, exactly. Then she could figure out why. Did the weakness come from within her, something awakening, or as Maurice had so eloquently put it, was the attack coming from outside? An old enemy who had been temporarily defeated again? Was it Big Ugly, the dimensional invader that had tried to come up from underneath the town before, or a new invader?
Closing her eyes, Angela cupped both hands and rested them on the upper curve of the Wishing Ball. She sent her awareness into the foundation, down through the three levels of the cellar that no one knew about. Except perhaps Maurice. She was pretty sure he didn't know the shop itself had dug those two levels below the original cellar.
Then she searched all the slits in the walls of the shop, checking each dimensional doorway, assessing the condition of each extra room that appeared as there was need, inventorying each storage niche that let her stash items against future need or quickly put dangerous elements out of reach of the innocent. One by one, she examined each room, brushing mental fingers over the contents, taking the opportunity to flick magical debris into the collection bags, where it could grow and strengthen to the point it would react to wishes and the pure belief and dreams of children. Or those of every age who believed in magic.
Angela sensed the open door in the attic before her eyes flicked open and she looked into the Wishing Ball, and saw the two shadowy forms.
"Distraction," she muttered, and dashed for the stairs. A swirl of winkies gathered around her and lifted her up four stairs for every step she took.
Why were the invaders in that particular attic, with the paintings? If enemies were to try to steal from Divine's Emporium, she would expect them to go for the libraries, then the room beyond the triple-sealed dimensional slit that held all the solidified spells.
Whoever had broken into the shop while her awareness was elsewhere was either doing this on a hit-or-miss basis, or they operated on partial knowledge. Or worse, they were dilettantes, playing with their untrained, undisciplined, perhaps newly discovered powers, seeing what they could do, with no goals in sight. And no concept of the ripple effect of any magic that was performed, no idea that the power they used had to come from somewhere, and then dissipate to somewhere else. And if they had even an inkling, they didn't care. That made them more dangerous than the worst enemies who had ever tried to infiltrate, steal from, or overpower Divine's Emporium.
"It's no use," she said, and gathered the winkies around her hands. She wouldn't attack--she had no need to attack. Sometimes the best offense was a good defense. "Whatever you're looking for, you won't be able to leave once you find it."
"Didn't find nothing." The sullen, rasping voice came from the darkness of the attic.
Angela flinched when a ripple of amber-tinted light momentarily broke the blackness. She thought she saw an outline of an arm. What was the invader doing in there, to make the paintings restless?
"Come out before I have to call the police."
"Ain't no cops gonna believe what's going on in here," a second voice responded, just as sullen, but about an octave higher.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Angela thought of Gordon Preebe, one member of the Neighborlee police who wasn't freaked out by the strange and unearthly.
Not just because he was a member of Lanie Zephyr's Star Trek club, but because he had been part of saving the town the last time Big Ugly, as Maurice called the invader, had awakened and tried to emerge. If she called Gordon for help, he would keep it secret from his superiors and come up with a good cover story that the guilty parties wouldn't be able to break.
Something scraped, wood on wood. Then something else creaked. Angela shivered, imagining those foolish invaders trying to take a painting down from the wall where it had been securely nailed--with nails as well as magic--to tame it. Or lifting a painting from a pile where the layering of different paintings kept them in control, battling each other instead of spilling their malevolence or unrestrained magical influence into the world. Or worst of all, prying open a crate and letting a painting be touched by light. It didn't matter if it was the light of day, a light bulb in the ceiling, or a flashlight, any touch of light would provide enough energy to generate a reaction someone wouldn't like.
If she could have, Angela would have destroyed every painting in her attic. Most could only be destroyed by an expenditure of power that would drain her of all magic, and perhaps Divine's as well. And then where would the world be? She thought the explosion of ghosts from the detention grid in the first Ghostbusters movie was a pale echo of what could happen, as dozens of dimensions and doorways and realities collided in the frail wood and stone and glass shell of her shop.
A louder thud yanked her from her thoughts, along with a definitely pained yelp from two throats. She silently scolded herself for being distracted yet again. What was wrong with her?
"Hey, something fell over on me." That was the first voice. "Help?"
Angela silently commanded the winkies to go into the attic ahead of her. At the very least, they could provide light.
After a few moments, she followed the winkies, braced to duck and dodge, if the intruders tried to throw something at her or grab hold of her. The winkies coated the sloping sides of the roof and a soft, pale blue and gold light grew, dispelling the shadows more with every step she took. To her momentary amusement, several crates holding the less fussy, temperamental paintings, had indeed fallen over, trapping those forms dressed all in black, with black ski masks. They had to be sweaty in those getups.
The winkies flared, their light shifting to red. In warning.
Chapter Two
Angela turned, reacting to the flicker of movement behind her. Too late, she sensed a third intruder. Something hissed even as she caught sight of a black arm emerging from the shadows. Silver spray filled the air, and then fire coated her face. She staggered, holding her breath, enfolded in a swarm of winkies that wiped away the pepper spray before it could blind her.
Hands grabbed her, yanked her around, sent her toppling. Her knees hit a low crate and sent her spinning sideways. She grabbed hold, one-handed, to a flat wooden bar as her face hit something that evaporated like cotton candy in a rainstorm.
Angela kept falling, twisting sideways, turning as she grappled at the wooden bar. Her hip slid over the same thin surface she held onto, then her backside. Her other flailing hand caught the wood and she jerked as her momentum kept her turning and falling. Her arm muscles screamed as her legs swung out over nothingness, but instinct kept her holding onto the bar.
Not a bar, but the frame of a painting.
The question was which painting she had fallen through.
There were some stored in this attic in which no Human could survive for more than a few minutes. Just because Angela wasn't quite Human anymore didn't mean she had any kind of advantage.
Fire settled into the sockets of her shoulders. She had strained something. Her hands felt slick, and she suspected she had cut her palms on the edge of the painting. Common
sense said to hold still, that she would only increase whatever damage had been done to her arms, if she tried to maneuver around and climb back over the painting frame. Quite frankly, she had never been the athletic type, and she doubted her ability to swing her legs up even if she hadn't been hurt. Better to wait.
And pray that there was nothing unfriendly down below her in the painting, waiting for someone to drop in for a snack.
Or worse... Something waiting for the door to be held open, so to speak, synching the timeframes between Earth and whatever magical dimension this was, so it could escape. Her hands holding onto the frame, piercing the barrier that merely looked like canvas and paint, kept that doorway open. Even if she couldn't swing herself back up and through to her attic, that didn't mean something else couldn't find purchase in her clothes and use her as a ladder to get up and out.
"Please." She tipped her head back to look around.
As long as she held onto the frame, she kept in contact with the attic and stayed locked into the timeline of Divine's Emporium and Neighborlee, Ohio. The winkies fluttered and sparkled in rapid strobing flashes, up and down the spectrum. The gossamer skin of the painting kept them from following her, just like it kept Maurice out when he was in his reduced form. Even though they couldn't cross over, Angela knew they could still hear and see her.
"Get help."
* * * *
"Best part of the day." Maurice sighed in weary pleasure and contentment, as he scooted over on the bench seat on the ferryboat's top deck. The engines groaned and made the boat shudder as it pulled away from the docks of South Bass Island. Behind them, the lights of the long slope down to the docks. Before them, the churning darkness of Lake Erie.
"Even though the wind is rising and the waves are getting bigger? And we're out in the middle of all that dark, cold water? And you can't swim?" Holly squealed when he pressed his lips against the ticklish spot under her ear.
"I warned you before. Torment the poor magic-less guy, you pay the penalty," he growled with unconvincing malice.
"I surrender!" She wriggled sideways on the bench. Maurice sat between her and the aisle, so all she could do was press closer against the railing and look over the side of the ferry at the water.
Maurice groaned in luxurious contentment, enjoying this mortal exhaustion--not just because he knew it was as temporary as his full-sized body--and looked out over the dark, rolling expanse of the lake, trimmed by the lights of the mainland docks gleaming in the dusk in the distance. Evening had come far too soon. He wondered what sort of psychological explanation there was for the fact that the closer he got to the end of his two years of punishment, the faster the days of freedom sped by. Shouldn't the time slow down, like molasses in a winter that kept getting colder?
"Hey." Holly cupped his cheek. "I know what you're thinking."
"Nah. I mean, you spend enough time around magic, it starts to sink in and do things to your genetics, but no way you can read minds by now."
"Idiot." She mock-slapped his cheek once, a tap that told him how much she ached for him. "I know you're thinking about the time. We have a long drive ahead of us to get home, once we reach the docks. Too bad we have to spend the last of our day driving."
"If I had my magic, I could fold the distance and get us home in like five minutes. But if I had my magic, we wouldn't have the deadline."
"It's okay." She slid her hand around his neck, her fingers weaving through the curls that brushed the collar of his T-shirt. "We have all the time in the world in our dreams."
"Now you're the idiot, babe," Maurice groaned, and slid his arms around her to draw her up onto his lap. "I know how much it hurts you, knowing it's not real."
"Not as much as it used to when I thought I was insane." She sighed and let him cradle her, and nestled her cheek into his collarbone. "I can remember now. That makes all the difference in the world."
"I just wish... Sometimes I think I'd trade all my magic, permanently, to be able to be here with you full-time. You know?"
"Don't give up on magic just yet. Angela got you parole four times a year. She'll find a way for us to be together, even though I don't have a lick of magic in my blood."
"Honey, there are all kinds of magic--believe me, 'cause I'm an expert--and I'll testify you have the best kind of magic of all."
"Uh, sorry." A blur of green and yellow sparks coalesced on the bench across the aisle from them and turned into Guber, one of Maurice's Fae friends who had decided to move to Neighborlee. Mostly to hide out from some lunatic fringe elements who wanted to force him to take the Fae throne. "Got an emergency over at Divine's."
"Like what?"
"We don't know, but the winkies came for every Fae in town, and we can't get into the building and we can't make contact with Angela." Guber shook his head, making his tangled hair fly, and his big brown eyes got bigger, sadder. "The protective net just gets nasty when we ask it to let us through. Like it doesn't believe we're friendly." He held out his hands. "Gonna be fast and kinda bumpy."
"Go for it." Maurice grabbed Guber's hand, and with his free hand reached for Holly.
She had spent enough time with him and learning about magic, she didn't need any prompting. She grabbed hold of his hand and Guber's.
"Here we go. Hold your breath and close your eyes if you get spacesick," Guber said with a grin.
Maurice was relieved when Holly obeyed right away, though there was no way she could be sure she got spacesick, since she had never been in zero-G and never traveled through N-space. Then he decided, since he was in a fully mortal, magic-less body, he might be smart not to take that risk himself. He closed his eyes just before the first kaleidoscope of electric green and red light reached out to grab him.
Ten seconds later, the light stopped leaking through under his eyelids and Guber let go. Maurice carefully opened his eyes and saw they had landed in the back garden of Divine's Emporium. Lori and Brick were there, and Bethany and Harry, and Lori's friend, Epsi, who was working with Guber on tracking down some problems with tainted chocolate getting into the Fae realms. Maurice reached out and caught hold of Holly, just before her knees folded. For a few seconds there was a fuss as he led her to the cluster of lawn furniture under the grape arbor that was just starting to get its first haze of green leaves, and got her seated on the chaise.
"Hey, where's the party?" Lanie Zephyr called, just before she wheeled around the corner, followed by her talented friends, Felicity, Kurt, and Jane.
Maurice grinned when he realized Lanie's wheels didn't quite touch the ground, which was a good thing, because maneuvering the wheelchair through the damp, springtime grass would have been a struggle. Whoever thought of bringing them in had been smart. Whatever problem was keeping the other Fae locked out of Divine's might respond to non-Fae magic--if that was the right name for the talents Lanie and her friends possessed. They still weren't sure if they were from another planet, another dimension, another time, or really were escapees from a Nazi breeding experiment.
"Who called you?" Lori asked, as the group got situated in the chairs and on the grass, all facing the back of the big old Victorian house-turned-shop.
"Your little firefly friends got Stanzer and Dawn's trans-dimensional buddies all riled up. He's busy running down something touchy for a client and can't take off, so Dawn called me and suggested I come check on Angela. So here we are." Lanie tipped her head back and narrowed her eyes at the tiny vent near the roof, where winkies slipped in and out in visible agitation. "Where is that?"
"You mean in the house, or where does that room lead?" Maurice asked. He knew he was splitting hairs, but that was part of the problem--something was making the hairs all over his body stand on end.
He hadn't thought he had any useful sensitivity to magic while he was in this condition, but some field of energy or magic or whatever it was came from the house in uneven ripples with enough strength for him to feel it. There was a discord that grew louder. If it kept going, it might just make
the roots of his teeth start itching.
"It's the painting room," Holly answered. "So what do we do?"
"We kind of figured since Maurice is assigned here, the net will let him through, even if it keeps everybody else out," Guber said.
"Makes sense." Maurice stood up and headed for the back door, his arms stretched out in front of him, just in case there was something magic in his way that he couldn't see.
"Double-team it." Holly struggled up from the chaise and followed him. She held out the teardrop-shaped opal that hung around her neck on a woven silk cord. It was her passkey to get into the shop, any time of the day or night.
"Brilliant." He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her cheek before they stepped up to the back door together. He wasn't afraid for her, if whatever caused the net to close and to cut Angela off from communication was still in the shop.
Holly might look like a mild-mannered, slightly plump children's librarian--which she was--but she had a wicked imagination and had been taking self-defense lessons since Christmas. That meant kicking and punching and using any weapon at hand, as well as understanding how to react to magic that might get thrown at her. After all, dating a Fae was almost a guarantee something weird would happen on a regular basis.
Maurice held his breath as they stepped up to the net enclosing the shop. It flared briefly, with a sensation like multiple pins jabbing all over his body and into his soul--taking "samples" to identify him, was the best description he could come up with for the sensation and activity. Rose and soft leaf green light danced around Holly for a few seconds, and then the back door opened for them. Maurice didn't need to resort to the key Angela asked him to carry when he was in ordinary mortal Human guise. For instance, if he came home late at night and there was a police officer or someone else on the street to see him come in. There would be fewer questions if he had to use a key to unlock the door and get in.
He was relieved that he didn't need to use the key.
Divine Knight Page 2