Legend of the Sorcerer

by Donna Kauffman

  “Why?”

  “Listen, I drove all the way back down here to make sure she got them back. I couldn’t just abandon her like that, could I?”

  “Drove back from where? I thought you worked here? And her who?”

  “The woman in the photos.”

  So it was real. Sweet Christ. There was a sick knot in his stomach. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know. But she’d been beaten. Badly beaten.”

  Proof. They had proof. The threat was real.

  Jordy leaned forward. “Do you know her?”

  “No,” he murmured.

  “Well, I didn’t know what else to do. So I went to the police. The officer seemed pretty outraged. I’m sure he’s doing all he can.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “For all I knew, you could have been the one who beat her up.”

  He stared at her. “What?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. I’ve got to get over to the police station.” He pulled his wallet out and threw some bills on the table.

  “Wait, if you don’t know her, how do you fit in?”

  “Someone is threatening me.” He headed for the door.

  She caught up to him as he was unlocking his helmet from his motorcycle. “Let me come with you.”

  “You got your pictures back. I can take it from here.”

  “What about my book?”

  “What?”

  “You promised me a book.”

  She wanted a damn book?

  “I’ll have one sent over,” he snapped and straddled his bike.

  She grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry, that was stupid. It’s just that I don’t want to walk away. All I’ve done for the past two days is worry about this woman. You can’t cut me out now. At least let me come to the station with you.”

  He frowned but he didn’t refuse.

  “They’ll probably be suspicious too. I mean, your name was on that envelope. I can vouch for you, help explain. I’ll follow you over in my car.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, but ran for her car.

  Swearing, he tugged on his helmet, gunned the engine, and peeled out of the lot in a cloud of smoke and gravel.

  SIX

  Jordy waited in the tiny reception area while Cai made some calls from Sgt. Winston’s desk. She knew the rest of the story now, though there wasn’t much more to it. They still didn’t know who the kidnapped woman was, or who was threatening Cai.

  She doodled on a legal pad as she mulled over the whole thing. Cai was arranging to turn over the e-mails. The police were polite, but they’d made it clear he would probably face more questions. They didn’t seem to think Cai was directly involved, but Jordy knew they weren’t done pursuing him as a suspect either. To make it worse, the State Department would be brought into it because the e-mails were being sent from out of the country.

  She angled her hand and made broad strokes across the paper. She’d just crawled out from two years of hell. What new hell had she gotten herself involved in here? The police had assured her they believed she was an innocent bystander, but she would likely be questioned by the State Department agents along with Cai. Did she regret her decision to come back? No. She had done her best to help that poor woman. She’d do it again. Her good deed had already been repaid. In returning to the Keys she’d discovered a path that might lead her to her own salvation.

  “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

  Cai’s deep voice startled her from her thoughts. She looked up to find him towering over her. His expression was grim, those distinctive eyes looked weary.

  “Did they tell you anything else?”

  He shook his head and held the door for her.

  “It all seems so hard to believe. I mean, to get so crazed over one person like that.” She held up her hand. “No offense.”

  “None taken. It seems bizarre to me too.” He seemed lost in his own thoughts. “Terrifyingly so.”

  “I’m sure the agents will be able to trace those e-mails back to the person responsible.” She wasn’t sure of any such thing, but she felt compelled to erase that helpless look in his eyes. There were many times during the past two years when something as simple as a kind word would have meant the world to her. “They’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”

  “For her sake, I hope so.”

  “For both your sakes.”

  Jordy could think of nothing else to add, but she was reluctant to let him go. She felt as if they were in this together and it didn’t seem right to just go back to her own life, never to speak to him again.

  “Let me give you my number at the hotel. So if you hear anything, you can—”

  “The police will let you know.”

  He obviously didn’t have the same feelings of connectedness she did. And why would he? Feeling foolish, she stepped back. “Well, then, I guess this is good-bye. I’m glad we were able to piece together at least this much of the puzzle.”

  He nodded and pulled his helmet off the bike.

  It wasn’t until she went to get her keys that she realized she’d taken the legal pad with her. She smiled ruefully. “Now I’m stealing. And from the police.” She tore the top page off and turned to go back inside. She was surprised when he grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him.

  “Wait a minute. Can I see that?”

  His fingers felt hard against her skin. She liked it, liked the confidence in his touch. She slid her arm free. “This?” She lifted the pad.

  He shook his head and reached for the sheet she’d torn off. “This.”

  She glanced down as he smoothed the crinkled paper against the shiny black surface of his helmet. She hadn’t really been paying attention to her doodling. A dragon.

  Her hand tightened on the legal pad. It seemed so ridiculous. But it was the first thing she’d drawn in months. It was far from great, or even good.

  Maybe focusing her energy on something other than art and the damn court case had let her subconscious work through some barriers. She wanted to go off by herself somewhere and revel in this first breakthrough.

  No. Being tucked away with her art all the time was what had got her into the mess with Suzanne in the first place. She liked being alone with her art and didn’t think that would change. But she’d promised herself she’d find a balance between art and life.

  “It’s perfect,” he said, still staring at it.

  His words brought her back to the moment with a laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.” She shrugged off his compliment when what she wanted to do was dance. “It’s a habit of mine when I’m distracted.”

  “I thought you weren’t into fantasy.”

  It was the first time he’d really looked at her since they’d been in the hotel restaurant. His full, focused attention was a powerful thing. And something about the way he said the word “fantasy” made her insides heat up.

  She cleared her throat. “In reading, no, I’m not.”

  “Yet, you like dragons?”

  “Adore them. Always have.”

  He arched a brow in silent question.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Jordy began.

  “Please. Try.”

  There was an urgency to his voice that she didn’t understand. Malacai L’Baan was turning out to be a very compelling man. “Conjuring up dragons and wizards, griffins and other fantastical creatures is what I do for a living. Or did anyway. I’m a sculptor.”

  His pupils flared. Now she felt that connected feeling went both ways. It was intimidating.

  She paused, trying to find the right words. “I tried to read a couple of fantasy novels when I was younger. The artwork on some of the covers is exceptional. But … I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t get lost in other people’s worlds. I was too lost in my own. Does that make sense to you?” She hoped she hadn’t insulted him, but one look in his eyes told her that he understood. Perhaps, too much.

  “Could I pay you for this?” He lifted the drawing.

  The question shocke
d her. She laughed. “Pay me? For that?” She looked from the sketch to him. “What do you want it for?”

  He was studying the drawing once again. Oddly, she felt the attention to her sketch as intimately as if he were studying her. And perhaps he was.

  He looked up. “It’s my dragon.”

  “Your dragon?”

  “Well, the dragon in here.” He tapped his forehead. “I can create complex, highly detailed worlds with words, but I must admit that I cannot draw a straight line, or a curved one for that matter. I’ve been trying to get across to my editor and the art department the dragon I want on my next cover. They kept sending me sketches of these fierce, soulless dragons. I needed one with heart.” He lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture she found endearing. It so contrasted his intensity. “I wanted something there in his eyes, some sense of the ability to feel some ancient wisdom.” He looked down at the drawing. “You’ve captured it here.”

  “It’s just a crude sketch.” But there was no denying the nice buzz his praise gave her. It had been a long time since her work was looked at as something other than a generalized legal summation.

  “I can have my editor contact you to work out whatever contractual need you have. You’ll get copyrights to it and all that.” He grinned. “Alfred would love this.”

  “Alfred?”

  “My grandfather. He collects unusual sculpture, for his garden. I’ll have to tell him about your work.”

  “That’s very nice of you, but I … I don’t have anything for sale right now.” Jordy worked hard to block out the feeling of failure. “I’ll be glad to talk to whoever I need to. But as for the sketch …” She paused. A large part of her wanted to tell him no, wanted to hoard this first step, as a reminder that her art was always inside her somewhere. She just had to let the creature out. “It’s yours, but I don’t want money, okay? It’s payment enough that you want it, that it found its place.”

  His grin faded. “You really have to, I insist. This is no small thing you’ve done.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s just right this way.” And it was. Making the dragon a gift was sort of her way to celebrate the first step to rediscovering her talent.

  “You said you used to create these things for a living. You don’t any longer?”

  He really didn’t miss anything. “Not for a while. I’m … working on getting back to it.”

  He looked at her in that penetrating way of his, but he mercifully changed the subject. “You know, I think I’ve talked to more people today than I have in the last two months.”

  “You write about people, but you don’t talk to many?”

  “When did you last spend time with a dragon?”

  She smiled. “Touché.”

  “I stay pretty secluded. Helps me stay focused.”

  “I understand that completely. When I work on a new sculpture, I hole myself away for weeks at a time.” And it was precisely that penchant for burying her head in her fantasy world that ultimately had allowed Suzanne to screw her over.

  Sgt. Winston chose that moment to push through the station doors. “Mr. L’Baan, I’m glad I caught you. I have Special Agent Proctor on the line. We could expedite things if you’d come in and talk to him.”

  Cai looked from Jordy to the officer.

  “It’s okay. I really should be getting back.” Cai fascinated her, but he also overwhelmed her. It might be wiser to keep some distance.

  “I really want to talk to you more. About the drawing. About a lot of things.”

  “The sketch is yours. I’ll sign whatever release you need. I’ll be here for two more weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” He frowned.

  From their talks with the police, he knew she’d been vacationing here from Virginia, but not why. He knew she’d come back with the pictures and taken the job, but that was it. “The regular counselor will be back after that.”

  “You’ll go back to Virginia?”

  Jordy found her gaze drawn to the dragon. It symbolized so much, but so much more lay ahead. “Yes. I’ll be going home.” The statement rang in her head like a death knell. She really needed to work on that.

  “You’d better hurry. Sergeant Winston is waiting. “I’m glad the dragon works, Cai. More than you can know.”

  He said nothing as she slid into her car and closed the door. She saw him disappear into the building in her rearview mirror as she pulled out of the lot. “Good-bye, Malacai L’Baan,” she whispered.

  It was almost dark by the time Cai reached the dock at Crystal Key. The whole thing was proving to be a nightmare. He was heartsick that someone out there was suffering because they happened to be a fan of his work.

  But his mind was also on Jordy. She’d been invading his thoughts all afternoon, even when he’d been grilled by Special Agent Proctor. He was going to have to bring in his whole CPU for them to examine. He understood that it was to help exonerate him from being part of this in any way, but it was a major pain. He’d been able to convince Agent Proctor not to come to Crystal Key. He’d said it would be problematic for his ailing grandfather. If Alfred knew how poorly he’d portrayed him to the police, he’d have had a full-blown fit.

  But it was his fervent hope that Alfred would know nothing of this. Ever.

  He looked up and found Dilys standing a few feet away. “Himself is worried about ye being gone fer so long.”

  Dilys could handle Alfred better than Cai could himself, so if she was concerned enough to meet him out here, Alfred must really be on the warpath.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, never more sincere. “It couldn’t be helped.”

  She said nothing, merely turned and began heading to the house. Then just as suddenly, she said, “If I were you, I’d tell him you were on a date. That would divert him.”

  Cai’s mouth opened in surprise. It was rare, bordering on historic, for Dilys to comment on his social life. “How do you know I wasn’t?” he said, damning himself for sounding so defensive. But he thought of Jordy and wondered how far from the truth it was. Or could have been if the circumstances had been different. “And divert him from what exactly?”

  “Ye might think him senile, Master Malacai, but himself knows things are amiss. Do as I say, if ye have the heart in ye I know to be there.” Without waiting for him to reply, she left Cai alone to face God knew what.

  SEVEN

  Jordy finished her last class of the week and headed up to her room. She’d had eight kids today, all apparently on some sort of sugar high. Perhaps finger painting hadn’t been such a great idea. She smiled as she scraped a glob of red off her shoulder. Okay, so she’d had fun too, but she was beat.

  She’d looked forward to a late afternoon sketching session. But right now, she was too tired to even doodle. She would have to settle for a long, numbing shower and a cold drink on the balcony.

  There was a light flashing on the phone in her room when she returned. “Who called, Fred?” She took a peek in his bowl as she toed out of her sandals.

  It was from Eileen Mason, Cai’s editor. Jordy had already spoken to the woman twice. Eileen reminded her a little bit of Suzanne. But unlike Suzanne, Eileen didn’t waste time on things like finesse or charm, which had been her former partner’s stock and trade. No bullshit with Eileen. Jordy appreciated that.

  Eileen was suspicious of anyone who didn’t make demands and had bluntly told her it would be easier if they paid her for the sketch, if for no other reason than she would be less likely to come back and sue them later. Jordy assured her that the very last thing she’d ever do would be to sue anyone, but Eileen wasn’t having it. So ten minutes into the first call, she’d relented on the payment deal.

  Cai hadn’t been involved in any of it.

  Even though she’d pulled out of the police station five days ago thinking she’d never see him again, deep down she had hoped otherwise. She’d talked to the State Department agents, but Cai hadn’t been there. A box had shown up at the desk for her mid-week, filled with
a stack of books, one of which was the hardcover of Cai’s newest release. The book that had started the whole mess. He’d signed them to her, but no personal message was included.

  There was no reason to see him again.

  She had one week left as camp counselor, then it was home to Virginia. No crazed fans, no police interrogation.

  No enigmatic writer with whom she had no business getting involved.

  She sat up on the edge of the bed and carefully dragged off her paint-splattered T-shirt and shorts. She picked up the sketch pad, flipping past the pages. Most of her work since the dragon had come slowly, so she tried hard not to analyze it too critically. She had begun to recapture the passion. Now that she didn’t expect each drawing to be a stroke of genius, she didn’t fear imperfection.

  Passion. She recalled the exact moment the passion had returned. Her heart had pounded … but for an entirely different reason.

  She wanted to flip right to it, to look at it, both with a critical eye and out of sheer curiosity to see once again what had come out of her last night. She made herself glance through her other attempts first. There was the griffin she thought had turned out fairly well. It wouldn’t work in clay, but there was a spark there. There was a smaller dragon she kind of liked. She stopped pretending and flipped past the rest, stopping abruptly at the page filled with smaller, partial sketches.

  This is where it had started. She’d wanted—needed—to draw him. She tilted her head and studied the series of thumbnail sketches. She’d been right. He was difficult to capture in a monochrome exercise. Charcoal hadn’t done it. Nor had pen and ink. He needed color. Watercolors were too transparent. Not enough power to carry off the effect. She’d never dabbled in oils, but she thought that might be the perfect medium. He demanded color, texture, depth.

  And yet she yearned to bring him to life in clay. To find those hollows and smooth planes, urge them to the surface, and clean away the excess until all that remained was the raw power of his image. The intensity of that need shocked her. And thrilled her. It was coming back.