Magic Rising

by Jennifer Cloud

  She pulled out the awful loop of keys, and opened her office door. Her desk stayed neat, with only a phone and answering machine on the top. Behind the desk was another PC that Tech didn’t approve of. He rarely approved of anything inexpensive and turned his nose up at equipment more than a year old.

  The only luxury she allowed herself was the large, comfy leather chair. There she sat, sinking into the soft cushions. At least one thing was going right today, she had her chair. She leaned back and saw her answering machine, the little black display had a red zero. Tech had purged all old messages. Deirdre would’ve preferred hearing Lora’s voice, but Tech was a creature of habit.

  Why would trouble stalk a little girl? The answer for that had never been clear.

  The clock on the wall said one in the morning. She shouldn’t be this tired for one, but her eyes grew too heavy to deny. Sliding down into the chair, she shut her eyes and waited.

  Chapter Twelve

  The phone rang, pulling her from her dreamless sleep and back to the plain tan walls of her office. She jerked awake, glancing at the clock as her tongue fought against the funk that had coated her mouth.

  “Security Specialists.”

  “I found Gladys Shope. She’s Jack Shope’s mother, our last target.” There was no hello, no greeting at all. Tech sounded tired, excited, but needing rest.

  Deirdre was very aware who Jack Shope was. She could still remember his voice, the look in his eyes when he spoke of the danger to his daughter. It hadn’t been a madman’s plea.

  “Do you have anything definite on Tamara Haas’ connection to Jack Shope?”

  “Sure do. She was his wife. They divorced during her pregnancy. It seems that Tamara made the mistake of listing the father’s name on the birth certificate. The state contacted him when Tamara tried to apply for welfare.”

  “Welfare?” She shook her head and glanced at the clock. It was five in the morning. “I thought Tamara came from money. Why would she go on welfare?”

  “Her family is rich but she tried to make it on her own. With a little girl, that was hard. Anyway, Jack Shope filed for custody and Tamara gave it over without a fight. They didn’t reconcile. Lora Shope spent her life with her father in Glendale, Arizona. We know that Tamara Haas continued on to have fame and fortune. Something happened though, I don’t know what yet. She must’ve reconciled with dear ole daddy because the mansion where she lives is in his company’s name. Despite her money, she seems to have become reliant on her father again.”

  “The same company that owned Stone House?” She didn’t like the sound of this.

  “That’s the one.”

  Lora Shope was the granddaughter of the man who’d started Stone House. Tamara Haas was the daughter. With that kind of money why was Niam running his second rate operation while posing as a preacher?

  “Give me the info on Gladys. I need to speak with her.” She held a pen. “Please tell me I don’t have to fly to Arizona.”

  “As luck would have it, she’s in this state.”

  Deirdre wrote the information then hung up with Tech. According to Tech, Gladys lived on a little farm out in Weaverville, not too far from here. Her name had been changed from Shope to Dillingham, but he was certain it was the same lady. From what he told her, it sounded like Gladys had gone to some lengths to gain anonymity.

  After printing directions off the internet, Deirdre went to the bathroom. She kept a few toiletries stashed there for all nighters. Right now, she needed mouthwash. A rinse and a spit later, she was a new woman.

  Back in her office, she prepared for the trip, pulling out her trusty 9 mm. It was black with chrome accenting two small stripes on the barrel that ran down both sides to the handle. The gun looked showy, but she’d wanted it from the first time she’d seen it in the store window. She purchased it the day after she started this business.

  The gun went in a side holster. She wrapped a black band around her leg with a small collection of throwing knives tucked into each of the slots. At her ankle, she tucked a small .22. She didn’t like ankle holsters. Usually it messed with her during hand to hand confrontations, throwing off her kicks and stance. For this job, she wasn’t going to take unnecessary chances and preferred the added fire power. Even Niam would fall to a bullet.

  The short chain wrapped around her wrist wasn’t for ornamental purposes, but a quick and dangerous weapon. She took two small inch and a half pins, sliding them into small grooved pockets along the wire in her bra. They would come in handy for lock picking, and no one would detect them. Finally, she grabbed her short sword and sheathed it. It fit on her back, but wasn’t very comfortable during long car rides.

  Deirdre locked up the office and went down the deserted sidewalk, stopping at the twenty-four-hour convenience store. After purchasing a bottle of water and some plastic-wrapped crap they called doughnuts, she stepped back onto the sidewalk. All at once she stopped and went back inside the store.

  She hadn’t reached out with her senses, hadn’t tested the winds for enemies, yet danger lurked close. It was strong enough to leave indicators without her trying to find them. Something was definitely wrong.

  Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No cars drove by her building. The shadows were deep though. Night still reigned. The sun had not yet peaked high enough over the buildings to cut through the darkness. Evil lurked out there, making everything prickly, wrong. She felt a static charged death creeping along the street. Still, she saw nothing.

  She knew the sensation well. It filled Stone House, charging it and making it seem invincible. The average person never understood pure evil until they were mugged, or saw a murder. Most never knew that it was more than an angry person, a bad situation. Some things, some people were malevolent. They carried weight with them, like the dark soul that shifted gravity, or maybe gave out a subtle warning only the careful perceived.

  No one roamed the streets that she could see. Deirdre went toward the back of the store, peering over the magazine rack, trying to see more of the street in front of her business. She strained, staring, and then she saw it. A shadow ran beneath her car, its creator invisible, probably keeping out of sight and close to the building.

  Out of curiosity, she hit the alarm button on her car. At first, the signal wouldn’t reach. She went out the door, then eased her way along to the dumpsters sitting alongside the store. From there she hit the alarm. At the first honk of the alarm, bullets filled the night. A semi automatic and an amateur with a jumpy finger to blame. After the cacophony, came cussing and she snuck a look as a man rolled out from beneath her car. The jerk holding the gun helped him up and the two took off running as the attendants from the parking garage came out from behind the white bar of the entrance. Deirdre killed the sound of the alarm.

  She’d always been paranoid, and had special features installed along the undercarriage of her vehicle. Where others had open areas where the right criminal could disconnect alarms, cut break lines, and cause whatever vandalism inspired them, she had sheet metal bolted to the frame. Just to change the oil took an hour and her mechanic let his temper fly every time he had to unscrew the sheet.

  Not every part was covered. That would be impossible considering the axles and struts, but planting a bomb or stealing her car would take more time and consideration than most criminals had patience for.

  Deirdre walked up the sidewalk, knowing that the two had fled the scene. Something still didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe they’d stopped nearby to observe her.

  She started to feel the air. Find the energy she sought. It took a little concentration and before she could pinpoint anything Scott, the garage attendant, came running. His bravery greatly enhanced by her presence. She should’ve been happy to see him instead it made her worry for his safety and stopped her search for the enemy. Still, a sinister sensation covered the area and Deirdre feared what might be waiting around the corner.

  She wondered if he waited nearby.

>   “Everything okay, Deirdre?”

  “Sure. Probably some kid trying to jack a car.”

  It was a pleasant thought and possible. Anything was possible. Okay, most kids didn’t carry guns like that but she preferred that image to Niam waiting for her to arrive.

  “Want me to call the cops?”

  “They won’t do anything. Thanks though.” She stepped around the vehicle, then dropped to one knee, looking beneath the car. “You’d better get back to work. I appreciate you stopping by.”

  She looked up long enough to see Scott make his way back across the road. He was a good kid but a kid nonetheless. It also seemed that the guys messing with her car were a couple of kids, not experienced at anything. A piece of paper somersaulted by the wind landed on the street in front of her. She picked it up, and found a damn wiring diagram for her car. The punks had brought instructions and from the looks of it, they were to install a tracking device with some sort of remote detonating ability. Of course she couldn’t be certain unless she saw the actual box they were trying to attach.

  The presence she’d felt earlier couldn’t have been from those two. She took a deep breath and stood, turning as she examined her surroundings. The feeling of evil hadn’t gone with the children who’d been following the bizarre homework they’d been given. It lingered nearby, watching her.

  “Where are you?” Her words were whispers, carried on the wind. “Where are you?” She repeated no louder. If Niam were nearby, he would hear all the same.

  Across from her, a dark figure jumped the short wall separating the parking garage from the street. He wore a long black coat, hooded, flowing behind him like some primitive beast from darkness. Then again, that’s what he was.

  His movements were quick, hypnotizing. She didn’t attempt to remove her gun from the holster as he approached. Showing aggression too early would give away her hand. Instead, she watched the poetry of his stride until he stopped, still in the road and addressed her from beneath that black hood.

  “Dragonfly. My sweet Dragonfly. My, how you’ve matured.” There was an intimacy to his voice. It was smooth, deep, and revolting at the same time. No matter what he said his voice carried the hint of sex and murder, lacing his words with primitive fears Deirdre had grown accustomed to.

  “Why are you bothering me?” She fought to stare into the hood, prove to him that she wasn’t a squeamish child anymore. “I thought our business died with Stone House.”

  “Why did you return to Stone House? Was it to find me?”

  She couldn’t see his face. The dark cloth shadowed what little of him was exposed. Even his hands were gloved, black gloves, giving him the appearance of nothing more than a shadow that dared to take form.

  Deirdre leaned back against her car, trying to appear relaxed but that wasn’t how she felt. Her heart pounded and fear crept through her being like some evil cancer trying to take her apart from the inside out.

  “I have my reasons.” She let her right hand ease toward her pistol. “A guy went there searching my past. I needed to know what had survived. I would like my past to stay buried.”

  His body held still, he’d look like a statue if he weren’t standing in middle of the road. She wished some big truck would come by and plow into him. That would be good entertainment. See his mystical, supposedly all powerful butt plowed under from a very normal machine. The image of a steamroller came to mind, turning him into an inch-thick blob made her smile.

  “What has you so amused?”

  She laughed a little, turning him into a cartoon character. No blood, just a thin arch rocking back and forth as the steamroller went by. “Can you not read my mind now?” Deirdre remembered the stories about his power. His skills went beyond the physical into something she didn’t like to consider. She took a step from the car, edging closer to the road. “Lost your touch?”

  “You know I could never read minds. My abilities were in other areas.”

  Then it happened. She was looking at him and then he was gone, moving faster than her eyes could track. Taking the time to look for him was wasted. She reached for her side holster, touching the gun when she heard him behind her. Only a second had passed and he’d moved behind her, unseen.

  “Is it your intention to kill me?”

  Deirdre kept her voice low, even. She didn’t want to turn to face him, but that’s what he wanted, so she obliged him. Her movements slow, careful as she faced her nemesis again.

  “If that were my intention, you’d be dead.”

  His hood stayed low. Although he was three feet from her, she couldn’t see any details about his face. His standard mode of operation had always been to look prey in the eyes, hoping to harvest some energy from them as they passed into oblivion. Now he avoided being seen. Curious.

  “Why are you bothering me then? I have things to do.”

  “What? You don’t want to catch up on old times?”

  Old times. Her memories of their times together were horrible, with many classes ending with her unsure if she would make it through the night. She knew the taste of her blood, understood pain so deep she’d prayed to die and much of it was attributed to this man.

  “I don’t believe any of our old times need to be remembered. You were never one of my favorite teachers.” She shook her head, remembering how he would stand over her, holding his sword, and telling her that today she would die. He taught her hatred, rage, and the desire to kill, although she only desired to kill him.

  “That’s too bad. You were one of my favorite students.” She couldn’t see his eyes but she felt them going over her and had to fight to keep from cringing.

  “It does seem that your current students are lacking finesse. Have you lost backing from the owners of Stone House or are you hoping to sacrifice a few men?”

  He laughed and she hated the sound. She could almost see him at the end of class, sword at her throat, laughing at how he’d defeated her again. He would cut her, just enough to draw blood. On good days he would cut her a little across the hairline, not enough to scar but enough where blood would run, marking her loss.

  “Those students are imbeciles. It’s much harder to find good help these days.” His shoulders relaxed. “As for Stone House, we are no longer associated. The real backers dropped our little school back when you were just a girl.”

  The wind blew stronger and he put one hand on his hood to hold it in place. A bit of black hair escaped but that was all. He’d never tried to stay covered before; perhaps the fire had left its mark on him.

  “A reverend now. What denomination?” Part of her hoped he’d found God, the real one, not the made-up version used to justify murder. It was a fantasy, but one she indulged to keep from running away.

  He raised his head. Although she couldn’t see his eyes, they bored into her. Another one of his gifts, studying people, analyzing them until he knew their demons, then he used them. Nothing was worse than watching a person reduced to their worst fears. She doubted he could do that with her. She was facing hers now. He couldn’t pull some psychotic nightmare out of her mind when hers was a real man.

  “The Church of the Spirit. It’s a version of my own creation. Something beautiful, if I do say so myself.”

  Stone House was a version of someone’s creation. She remembered the ceremonies, the sacrifices. They claimed to gain great power, magic through the bloodletting. All she saw was death.

  “I know you never believed in any of it.” Niam reached one gloved hand toward her and tried to touch her face, but she moved out of range. “That’s why I pushed you so hard. You had the gift. You could’ve been something wonderful.”

  “I am something wonderful, thank you very much.”

  “No. You’ve never released a soul. That is where real power comes from. You never understood that.” He sounded sincerely upset for her lack of blood lust. “Maybe I should’ve been a better teacher.”

  Releasing souls was a nice way to describe murder. She couldn’t deny that the lead
ers did the unexplainable. She, however, had never experienced true magic. Maybe a heightened sense of danger, or inherit gifts for finding enemies, but the bloodletting never brought more than death. There was nothing magical or wonderful in watching those people die.

  “Murder is murder, not magic.”

  “You always had rather narrow views. Tell me, can you deny the magic we summoned in Stone House?” He spoke while moving gloved hands, always the showman, even in conversation.

  “I’ve seen mad men manage more. Poor simple fools do more amazing stunts.”

  She saw his gloved hands ball into fists. He never had much patience with her attitude or her comments. She’d earned many backhands across the face for speaking her mind. This time he didn’t strike her though. He seemed to reconsider at the last moment.

  “Tell me little Dragonfly, how did you escape the fire?”

  “I have a magic trick or two of my own.”

  Deirdre kept her hand near the gun, knowing this couldn’t end well. He hadn’t tracked her this far for simple conversation. She didn’t want to fight him. His speed always got the better of her, making her guess where he’d strike instead of following the blows and reacting.

  “Where were you going to next?”

  Again, he spoke. Niam had never been one to carry out conversations without purpose. He was up to something now. “Another job. Nothing fancy, just a person needing protection from the vermin of this world.”

  “Is that what you consider me, vermin?”

  She smiled. He knew her opinions, so there was no reason to state them. Niam wouldn’t let his emotions get him to a point where she would have an advantage in battle. Pushing him would serve no means.