by Stefon Mears
“Of course.” Of course your middle name is “beautiful.” He held up the package. “I need your I.D. for the records, but since you’re also the sender, you can wave that if you like.”
Donal held up his signet with his other hand. “Just identify yourself by name and say to the seal that you’re waving the recipient I.D. requirement.”
“I’ll get my I.D.” She turned away to walk down a small hall into her room proper, but spoke over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come in?”
“I’d just as soon wait here, if you don’t mind.”
That stopped her. She turned back.
“Donal, we need to talk.”
“This package was used by a ship full of mercenaries to try to kill everyone aboard the Horizon Cusp. Including me. I don’t think I have anything else to say, and I can’t imagine that you have anything to say that I’ll want to hear.”
“And what if I told you that those mercenaries only carried weapons capable of stunning opponents? That no one aboard the Horizon Cusp would have suffered lasting harm?”
“Including Mr. Mancuso?”
“Well...”
“What if I told you that your mercenaries were after the wrong man?”
Rowan MacPherson tilted her head, draping her long red hair in a way that Donal guessed had to be deliberate.
“That’s right. Tai Shi Li Hua had him in her thrall. Subtle work, built up over a long time.” Donal watched Rowan MacPherson’s finely sculpted eyebrows raise as her green eyes widened in surprise. “So whatever you had in mind for Mr. Mancuso, you would have been doing it to a victim of your target instead of your target.”
“We would have discovered that before acting.”
“Of course you would have.” Donal didn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice. “Not that you’ve admitted what you had in mind for him. But you aren’t the sort to admit to crimes. Hell, you didn’t even admit to anything about those mercenaries, just asked a ‘hypothetical’ question. You didn’t even acknowledge that they were your mercenaries, even though they homed in on your package.”
“Two dozen other people know what that package contains, in case you’re curious,” she said, closing the distance between them again in a few long strides. “Donal, please come in and talk to me. I don’t want you to walk away thinking that I represent trouble. We could help each other, you and I.”
“I’m sick of corporate espionage. And I’m sick of beautiful women telling me half-truths.”
Rowan MacPherson sucked in a breath through her nose while tightening her lips in an expression Donal read as realizing something obvious.
“I’m sorry about how things went with you and Li Hua—”
“You have no idea.”
“No. I don’t. I could guess, but I’m sure I wouldn’t get close to the truth.” She met Donal’s eyes and he saw nothing but sincerity there, not that he had any intention of trusting what he saw.
She said, in a softer voice, “This is the wrong time to talk to you. I understand that much. When I had planned to meet you here I had no way of knowing you would suffer such a loss. Although you don’t want my sympathy, you still have it.”
She shook her head. “As the sender, I, Rowan Alanna MacPherson, waive the I.D. requirement for the package I have sent to Venus with IIX courier Donal Cuthbert.”
“Thank you,” said Donal. He held out the package and she took it. Donal turned and walked back to the stairs quickly enough to reach the third one down before they began to carry him to the first floor.
Donal’s shoes clicked across the tiles of the Zanzibar’s lobby. Fionn, beside him, said in words that only Donal could understand, “You will hear from her again.”
“She does seem the type,” said Donal in the same fashion.
“Better to hear what she has to say now.”
“No. I’ve had enough corporate espionage to last me a lifetime.”
Epilogue: Donal
The Horizon Cusp may have landed at the San Francisco Spaceport around noon, but Donal did not get back to his Tudor-style apartment house until close to midnight. The Port Authority had thousands of questions about Li Hua and Mr. Mancuso, then about a ship full of mercenaries, and finally something about a no-fly zone. But Donal didn’t know anything about that last one.
Then, after Port Authority finally let him go, he had to answer a thousand more questions at IIX. But Donal couldn’t help it if his combat clause got activated yet again, and Magister Machado and Captain Jacobs had both been good enough to certify both what happened and Donal’s role. Mr. Mancuso even threw in a letter of commendation and thanks.
Donal suspected that the letter drew more curiosity than anything else, but Donal was tired of answering questions by then and gotten monosyllabic.
Fionn had tried to prompt him to give them more details, but Donal felt so sick of the whole process that he had sent his familiar back into the silver faun pendant.
The entire time Donal sat in the IIX office, all he had wanted was his final paycheck. Now they were delaying even that a few days. At least Ms. Stevens had gotten Donal’s stipend started, so he felt comfortable quitting on the spot, to Ms. Washington’s face.
Donal thought about that as he trudged alone up the stairs. No more courier work. He had months to relax now before classes started. First he would go visit Mom and Dad, tell them the good news about their retirement plan and why they had it. Donal smiled, his eyes half-closed as he pictured looks of astonished gratitude on his parents’ faces. He pulled out his apartment keys...
“I hear Mancuso is still alive.” Donal recognized the cold voice even before he turned. The sword-carrying businessman, dressed in a black suit this time, though cut the way the last one had been. He leaned casually against the turn of the stairs, both gloved hands near the hilt of his sword. His belt buckle was still enchanted, and this time the sword at his belt had a spell on it as well.
“Mr. Mancuso’s mind was being controlled. He was never the threat your people thought he was.”
“Believe that do you?” The man raised his eyebrows in mocking disbelief, giving his head a slight shake. “So, naïve, Cuthbert.”
“I know it for a fact.” Donal turned his key in the lock, determined to get behind his wards before the man could draw his sword. “So leave me alone.”
“Hand off that door if you please.” The man held up a small throwing knife, which had been concealed in his left hand. “This is poisoned. You’d be dead before you took a step.”
Donal raised his hands, letting the look on his face remind the assassin that though the gesture might have meant surrender for most people, for a magician it was a ready pose. The man quirked one corner of his lips without a hint of real amusement in his eyes.
“I understand you worship the old Celtic gods,” said the man. “I’ll give you a moment to make your peace.”
“I believe he means it,” said a male voice that Donal recognized but could not place, coming from down the stairs. He could hear two sets of shoes begin to ascend. “What do you think?”
“I’m sure of it,” said a female voice that sounded familiar to Donal as well. “Drop the knife and sword belt, assassin.”
The authority in that statement helped Donal place the woman’s voice just as she came into view: Hierophant Jane MacDougall, her sandy hair freshly cut short and her dress fashionably long. And next to her stood Hierophant Nicholas Mason, a smile in his eyes and his rapier on his hip.
The assassin dropped the knife and quickly worked his belt buckle. It seemed the man’s storehouse of information included prominent Hierophants.
“You are going to go to the twelfth precinct,” said Hierophant Mason in a lecturing tone, “and turn yourself in to the police, naming everyone you know who was involved in the conspiracy that required your attempt on Donal.”
“And we have some idea about who those might be,” said Hierophant MacDougall.
“We will check on you by dawn. If you have not don
e as we asked...”
“There will be a period when you will wish we had killed you.” She smiled and even Donal shuddered. “Then, oh, how you will long for those days, how they will seem like heaven compared to what follows...”
The assassin bent to pick up his weapons.
“Oh, no, Jeremy Smithson,” said Hierophant Mason. “Leave the evidence there. Jane and I will bring it to the station with us at dawn.”
“Oh,” said Hierophant MacDougall, and she flicked her wrist. A bare gesture, but Donal felt a tremor of power flow from it. “You have now been marked with a tracer. Nicholas and I will know every move you make and every person you speak to until I remove it. So I suggest you go directly to the station.”
“Bring your driver with you,” said Hierophant Mason. “He should turn himself in as well.”
“We will hold you responsible if he does not.”
“See you at dawn.”
The two Hierophants looked at the assassin, Smithson, and the man bowed his head and walked out.
“Um,” said Donal, his exhausted brain still trying to catch up, “can I invite you both inside?”
“Please,” said Heirophant MacDougall. “We have much to discuss.”
Donal opened the door and the wards and gestured for them both to precede him. The moment the door and wards were closed behind them, Hierophant Mason said, “Current law enforcement is insufficient to the task of keeping magicians in line. You proved that with Tai Shi. Conventional means might never have caught up to her plan.”
“And so some of us want to put together a special, interplanetary task force for just this purpose,” said Hierophant MacDougall.
“Magister Ronaldo Machado recommended you.”
“And you do seem to have a knack for trouble. Goodness knows you made an enemy or two in the business world after your actions en route to Venus.”
Both Hierophants paused long enough to finally give Donal a moment to think. He liked the idea of working on such a task force, thought it was necessary. But still...
“Can I finish school first?”
The Hierophants smiled.
Epilogue: Jacobs
Six months into his retirement, John Jacobs lounged in the sun on the deck of his new personal vessel, the Sweet Dream, at the sea dock in Mazatlán. With a novel waiting on the deck beside his reclining chair, Benny Sugg sunning his belly next to it, and waves rocking them both like a soothing nanny, life could get little better.
Jacobs had spent so much time in space that he had all but forgotten the simple pleasures of the sun on his skin, the sea air in his lungs, the cries of hungry seagulls. They came back to him now like childhood friendships rekindled.
The boat itself had cost more than Zoltan’s house, but Jacobs would not know what to do with a house anyway. He had commissioned his new vessel to look like an old U. S. Navy utility boat: nearly fifteen meters long, with a round bottom, plus three good-sized cabins, a galley, and a beautiful oak library. He even had leftover cargo space, for long runs. Like Australia. Or Mars. The Sweet Dream could handle any of them.
That thought made Jacobs smile while the sun baked his dark skin. The seas, the skies, and space were all open to him now, with no partners to answer to and no passengers to please. Maintenance could still give him headaches, but he could handle most of it through a few idiot-proof places to dump specific alchemical reagents in precise quantities. Machado himself had checked the work and assured Jacobs that the ship should run smoothly and reliably, so long as Jacobs had it serviced by a competent magician whenever he reached dock.
In two days he would land the Sweet Dream at the air base in Milbrae. He would don a casual shirt, and slacks, and have dinner with Zoltan and his wife. And unless Jacobs missed his guess, Zoltan’s wife intended to play matchmaker. Jacobs’ old partner had complained often that Jacobs spent too much of his time alone. Likely Zoltan and his wife intended to change that.
Jacobs could not imagine any woman measuring up to the golden memory of Rhonda. But maybe Zoltan had a point. Maybe Rhonda would forgive an old man for finding companionship in the twilight of his years.
Maybe Jacobs could meet a woman who could appreciate a fine novel, a fine ship, and a fine glass of Irish whisky.
But just at that moment, with the sun, the sea, and his cat, Jacobs needed nothing else in the world.
◊◊◊◊◊
Dedication
For all the people who took a chance on Magician’s Choice.
Acknowledgments
Thanks again to my wonderful beta readers: Bill, Lori, Rob and Wendy.
Stefon Mears would love to tame the wild magic of Venus. Stefon has more than ten books to his credit, and he never stops writing. He earned his M.F.A. in Creative Writing from N.I.L.A., and his B.A. in Religious Studies (double emphasis in Ritual and Mythology) from U.C. Berkeley. He has a fascination with magical practices in the real world, and it shows in his world-building. Stefon lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and three cats.
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Web: http://www.stefonmears.com
E-mail: [email protected]
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The Rise of Magic
Magician’s Choice
Sleight of Mind
Lunar Alchemy (First Quarter, 2016)
The Telepath Trilogy
Surviving Telepathy
Immoral Telepathy
Targeting Telepathy
Edge of Humanity
Caught Between Monsters
With a Broken Sword
Twice Against the Dragon
Sudden Death
But Hold Me Fast and Fear Me Not
Confronting Legends (Spells & Swords Vol. 1)
Uncle Stone Teeth and Other Macabre Poems
And Coming Soon...
Fade to Gold
The Patron Saint of Necromancers
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2015 by Stefon Mears, all rights reserved
Published by Thousand Faces Publishing, Portland, Oregon
http://1kfaces.com
Table of Contents
About Sleight of Mind
Title Page
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue: Donal
Epilogue: Jacobs
Dedication and Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sign Up for Stefon's Newsletter
Also by Stefon Mears
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
About Sleight of Mind
Title Page
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue: Donal
Epilogue: Jacobs
Dedication and Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sign Up for Stefon's Newsletter
Also by Stefon Mears
Copyright Information
Table of Contents