"Why," he replied softly, "it is Master of Dragons, of course."
With Snyder at her elbow, she browsed the shops of China-town to her heart's content. Here she spent her own money, and since she had been spared many expenses she had assumed she would have-such as the books she had wanted-she bought things she would otherwise have only looked at, admired, and passed with reluctance.
Enchanted with the beautiful colors, she bought a Chinese robe of silk and another of quilted cotton, both beautifully embroidered. The silk robe was of a rose-pink, embroidered with peonies, and the cotton of pale blue, embroidered with butterflies. One couldn't wear them on the street of course-and that was a pity-but they would be very comfortable for lounging in. If she was to spend hours reading to Cameron, she was going to be comfortable!
She was so enchanted by scenes of trees, pagodas, and cranes made of delicately carved cork sandwiched between two sheets of framed glass and set on a stand that she had to have one for her desk. The tiny scenes were like something out of an Oriental fairy tale....
At another shop, her sense of smell was intoxicated. Two fans of sandalwood, one of the natural brown and one of black, joined her purchases, along with a vial of sandalwood perfume, and also some sandalwood incense, for she had never smelled anything so wonderful before, the whole of her experience with incense being limited to the rather harsh scents burned at church services. She could have spent a small fortune in that shop, for the various perfumes there entranced her.
A fabric shop beckoned, but she resisted the temptations of the luscious silks contained therein. She did not have the skill to transform them into skirts and gowns, and she did not have the wherewithal for the services of a dressmaker.
She did indulge in luncheon in a tiny cafe, at Snyder's suggestion, eating willingly whatever was placed before her and enjoying the strange but savory tastes and textures. This place seemed to specialize in a hundred kinds of steamed dumplings with so many different fillings that she quite lost track, though there were one or two that were so good she quickly learned to recognize the shapes when the bamboo baskets came around, borne by a young Chinese waiter.
She actually found a Christmas gift for Cameron, although she was not certain that she had the temerity to present it to him. It was shockingly expensive, and yet she could not pass it by when she saw it especially once she learned that, as the Dragon was the Oriental Spirit of Earth, the Phoenix was the equivalent Spirit of Fire.
It was a carved statue of fiery carnelian, translucent, about the size of her hand, of a Phoenix in flight. The carving was as delicate as lace, and she sacrificed a hair-clasp of white jade carved in the shape of a butterfly in order to purchase it. She was quite certain that he had nothing of the sort; it was among many other carvings, similar, but nowhere near as finely made. She bought it knowing that if she did not, she would regret it later, and return only to find it gone.
There were so many things to see, to admire! In what must have been the equivalent of a grocer's store, she purchased candied ginger so fresh that the scent permeated the bag, while she covertly watched women with bound feet buying things she couldn't even begin to identify. One store was filled only with images of the Buddha, made of every substance imaginable, with every level of skill, ranging in size from a charm to be worn to a huge statue fit to grace a small temple. There were more apothecaries, more curio shops, stores that specialized in porcelain, carvings of ivory and semi-precious gems, strange cookpots and implements, clothing. But she had spent the last of the money she had with her on that extravagant little Phoenix, and she was willing to look, sigh a bit at the things that caught her eye, and move on.
Snyder conducted her back to the townhouse in a carriage redolent with ginger, incense, and strange spices, leaving her to enjoy her dinner in solitude.
After dinner, she dressed again for the theater. And in a blue-and-white confection of a gown, as sugary and sweet as the Victor Herbert songs, she went off to enjoy Babes in Toyland, feeling as happy and carefree as a child. Tomorrow would bring the end of her holiday, but for tonight, she would play the role of the lady of leisure to the hilt.
CHAPTER
TEN
Cameron's claws dug into the wooden arms of his chair. Paul du Mond had no notion just how close he was to infuriating his employer. Once again he had come to Jason Cameron's study to make yet another importunate demand for further Magickal education.
No. That is not true. He does not want education, he wants the power without having to learn control, discipline, or method. He wants to be given power, as a child is given a toy.
Cameron held his temper in check and attempted to feign an air of complete nonchalance. "I know that this is a disappointment to you, but frankly, du Mond, until you master those specific techniques there is nothing more I can teach you." He hoped what expression was possible to his face was bland and calm. "I've told you that before."
But Paul du Mond frowned, and persisted in another vein. "Are you quite certain you won't be needing my help in your own work?" he asked. "Perhaps if I assist you, I will be able to overcome my own difficulties. And after all, that is the first duty of an Apprentice, to assist his Master. "And the Apprentice hopes to steal the easy path to power by observing the Master. Little does he know that there is no easy path to power, Magickal or otherwise.
"It may be the first duty of an Apprentice, but I'm not doing any work of my own now," Cameron lied glibly. "How could I, looking like this? All I am doing is research, and you yourself are perfectly well aware that what you require is practice, not research. Now, your best option is to get that practice, and you can do so on your own." He carefully loosed his grip on the arms of the chair. "When you are not practicing, you do have needful duties. Why don't you just concentrate on catching up with your secretarial work for this afternoon? Perhaps you could go into Pacifica for dinner later; I know you tire of the fare here. You could have the Salamanders hitch up the light carriage for you."
Du Mond's frown deepened. "I would be the first one to admit that I have a great deal of correspondence to reply to, Jason. But if I leave the estate to eat, what will you do?"
"Bolt down a bloody chop, as usual," Cameron replied testily. "You forget that this form has needs that are not acceptable to polite society, needs that even you find distasteful. I shall be perfectly all right. I managed to survive your absence for an entire week, didn't I?"
Reluctantly, Paul du Mond nodded and finally left the study, looking backwards over his shoulder as if expecting Cameron to change his mind and call him back.
And for what? Cameron thought with irritation. He's useful only as a secretary now. Rose is of more use as an assistant in Magick, and she has never set foot in my Work Room! Somehow du Mond must have guessed that his Master was still attempting the reversal of his condition without the assistance of his Apprentice-perhaps he had even guessed that Cameron was going to make another attempt this afternoon. The stars were right, the spell itself called for daylight-perhaps to counter the lunar effect associated with lycanthropy-and Rose would not be back until nightfall. If he could just get du Mond out of the way, he would not need to fear interference from any quarter!
But du Mond would not go away until it was too late to start the ritual, and the auspicious time trickled away, inexorably, until there was no hope of making the attempt. Cameron's temper simmered and boiled, until he flung himself out of his chair and began to pace the room like a caged beast.
He finally turned to his mirror, as he had so many times in the past three days, and called up the image of Rose Hawkins, hoping that it would calm him. He had watched over her jealously during a her excursion to the city: had taken vicarious pleasure in her pleasure. He had laughed, truly and freely, for the first time in many long days, at her childlike joy in the bookstore. He had reveled in the sights of China-town even as she walked through the crowded, colorful streets, seeing everything with a new interest as she discovered the places and people for herself.
He had been an invisible presence in the private box at the opera, and although the performance had not been an outstanding one, he had taken more enjoyment in it than if the singers had been gathered from the finest Houses in Europe. She had been so thrilled simply to be there that the music had an added savor for him. And as for the production of Victor Herbert, well, he had never once thought he would find such a childish, sugary musical even remotely entertaining-but she did, and her pleasure was infectious.
The only time he had not been able to watch her had been when she visited Master Pao. The old reprobate had magicks ensuring his privacy that his simpler spell could not pass. He wondered, though, why she had gone to a Chinese apothecary; some female complaint, perhaps? In this, she was better off going to the Chinese rather than resort to patent-medicines. At least Snyder had the sense to take her to Pao rather than letting her find her own man. Too many of these herb-sellers were inclined to lace their potions with powerful doses of opium, and such a treatment would render Rose useless for her duties.
The mirror showed her as he had expected; she was reading as the railway-carriage swayed with the rhythm imposed by the rails. She was lost in whatever it was she had chosen, immersed, completely oblivious to her surroundings. It was too dark to tell just where she was, but he did not think that she would be back soon.
Suddenly he was seized with the restless impulse to try his spell anyway, and hang the consequences. After all, it was only a variation on one he had tried many times before. Though the optimal time had passed, perhaps the optimal time did not matter. He had tried it before in bright daylight with no success; perhaps time of day was not a factor.
But the stars were a factor, and they were still in their proper configuration. He lurched to his feet abruptly, his mind made up. Very well then, he would make the attempt, and have it done with by the time Rose returned home. It was, at the bottom, a very simple spell, so what could possibly go wrong?
Rose left her luggage behind her on the platform, secure in the knowledge that all of it would be wafted up to her quarters the moment she issued orders to that effect to the "empty" air. It was well after ten at night when the train pulled up alongside the platform below the house; they had been forced to wait on a siding while a "special" went by, an order not even Cameron could or would countermand. Regular rail traffic must not be interfered with; that was the cardinal rule every rail-man lived by, and Cameron was too much a rail-man ever to violate it.
She took the elevator up to the house; she knew how to run it for herself now. Her heels clicked confidently across the floor and up the stairs; when she opened the door to her rooms, her luggage, books, boxes and all, was waiting for her beside the sofa.
But something else was waiting there, too.
A Salamander hovered in midair, throwing off sparks in its agitation. She thought she recognized it by the particular combination of its colors; this was not "her" Salamander, which was a pale bright yellow, but was the gold and orange one that seemed to be particularly intelligent and outspoken, the one that spent most of its time serving Cameron personally.
"Rose Hawkins!" it said urgently. "You must come with me! The Master is ill, and needs your help!"
Her first reaction was not one of alarm, but of incredulity. Cameron? Sick? But-how would an inhuman creature like a Salamander know if a human is ill? If Cameron happened to be drunk, perhaps the Salamander might mistake it for illness ... if that was the case, he would hardly welcome her intrusion! Perhaps she ought to check first; despite the agitated dancing of the Salamander, she went to the speaking-tube and called Cameron's name several times. This is surely a mistake. He was perfectly fine when I left him. The Salamander must be mistaken. How could he have fallen ill in less than three days?
She was answered by silence-then, as she shouted more urgently, by a hollow groan in the distance, a sound she had to strain to hear that made the hair stand up on her arms and sent a shiver down her spine. It did not sound like a man who was drunk. It sounded like an animal, a dying animal.
She whirled, without a second thought, and picked up her skirts in both hands so that she could run. Dear God, what could have happened? He was in perfect health! Could he have hurt himself? No, the Salamander said he was "Ill," not "hurt. " What illness comes on so quickly? With her skirts hiked up above her knee, she burst through the door, ran down the hall, and took the steps of the staircase down two at a time. Could this have something to do with his accident? Where in God's Name is du Mond? Why isn't he here and why didn't he know about this illness?
The inevitable, guilty thought flashed through her mind as she clattered down the stairs. Has he been ill all this time? Has he been lying there since I left, alone, in pain? She reached the landing outside the door to Cameron's suite only to find the Salamander there before her, hovering before the open door, a door that had not once been open in all the time she had lived here.
"Hurry!" it said, and flitted inside, lighting the way for her with the illumination of its own body. Still clutching her skirts, with her heart racing and a trickle of perspiration trickling down the back of her neck, she followed it. There was hardly any light in here that was not already supplied by the Salamander.
He can't have been lying here unattended for three days, she told herself, as she ran through the apartment in the Salamander's wake, paying no attention to anything except her footing. Du Mond was here all that time. The Salamanders would not have allowed him to lie there uncared-for. This must be something that just happened. But what? The heels of her walking-boots made a muffled staccato beat against the carpeted floor.
And now her heart began to race with a different flavor of apprehension. Now she would see Jason Cameron, not just speak to him with a mechanical instrument; she would finally see the results of Jason's accident, see what dreadful disfiguration had turned him into a recluse. Surely it must be hideous to have made him close himself up on a single floor of his palatial mansion! Shepaid no attention to the rooms she passed as she ran down a hallway very similar to the one a story above. The Salamander knew where Cameron was; at least she did not need to search for him, rummage through rooms that must be very personal to him.
She steeled herself for the dreadful revelation as the Salamander darted into a doorway. She followed it, and stopped, seeing it hovering above the shadowed bulk of a powerfully-built man. He was lying huddled, face-down on the floor, as if he had collapsed there; the hood of the robe he wore enshrouded his head. The robe was similar to those worn by monks, except that it was made of crimson velvet rather than coarse, homespun wool.
There was something peculiar about this room, echoing and larger than she had thought possible, so barren of furniture that all sound reverberated hollowly, and with no sign of the carpets that softened the footstep everywhere else in this house. The floor itself was of slate or a similar stone, and inscribed with chalk-marks now blurred and half-erased. Behind the man bulked an object that could only be described by the word "altar," and to either side were two immense candlesticks, each holding a white candle as thick as her wrist. These, however, were not lit; the only illumination came from the body of the Salamander.
Jason lay at the center of the web of chalked lines. She recognized the half-obscured diagram at once-by type if not the diagram itself. This was a Magickal circle, and Jason must have been attempting some procedure or other when, or before, he collapsed.
As she drew nearer, her skirts now held up to keep them from brushing against those chalked lines and perhaps causing some damage or releasing something better left bound, she revised her opinion. From the look of things, he had finished whatever he had been doing, and had been engaged in erasing the diagram when he was overcome and collapsed.
One thing, at least, was certain. Whatever else was going on, he was not drunk. Only a fool engaged in Magickal work when drugged or drunk, and of all things, Jason Cameron was not a fool.
He whimpered hoarsely, and stirred, though not enough
to dislodge the hood, and she was reminded that some deformity lurked beneath that concealing fabric. She bent down and reached for his shoulder, touching it tentatively.
"Jason?" she said.
The body shook convulsively beneath the crimson velvet, and she pulled her hand away quickly, unable to stop herself. Suddenly she was terrified at what she might see, and the hand that had touched his shoulder tingled oddly.
Cameron heaved himself up onto his elbows.
"Get out!" Cameron snarled harshly, without looking up or revealing his face. "You foolish woman, what do you think you are doing? Get out of here! Leave me! Go back to your books where you belong!"
Every word was punctuated with a gasp, and the mere effort of speaking cost him dearly. He sagged back down onto the cold stone of the floor with a groan.
She was briefly tempted to do as he had ordered, but the agitated presence of the Salamander told her that no matter how much Cameron cursed her, he could not be left to himself. And presumably the Salamander could not help him itself. "No," she said simply, steeling herself for the inevitable. "Not while you need my help."
She seized both his shoulders in her hands, but before she could help him up, he writhed away from her, striking her hands away in the same moment. "Infernal woman!" he snarled. "Damn meddling Nosy Parker! I should have known! You won't leave until you have seen my face!"
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