The Fire Rose em-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  "You might try, 'Thank you, Rose,'" one of the Salamanders said, impudently.

  He shot a glare at it, but his expression softened as he turned back to her. "Thank you, Rose," he said softly. "Thank you very much."

  "You're welcome, Jason," she replied demurely, not even trying to hide her smile of pleasure. "You are very welcome. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to have pleased you. Merry Christmas."

  "And it is," he said, with a touch of surprise and delight. "It really is! The first time I have truly been able to say that in a very long time."

  "Despite everything?" she asked, sipping her cider.

  "Because of everything." He looked away from her for a moment, into the fire, and when he spoke, it was with the sense that he was revealing something he had not told to anyone else, ever. "Since I became an adult, my holidays have been spent either in the company of people I cared very little about, or alone. This is the first time that is not the case. It is the first time I have ever been given a gift without strings attached to it. I have hope now, which is something I have done without since the accident. There is literally nothing I would change about this moment, and that is not something I have ever been able to say."

  "'Remain, for thou art fair?"' she said, quoting Faust with awry smile and a faint laugh. "You should be glad that I am not Mephistopheles, or your soul would be mine."

  He opened his mouth, as if to reply to that, then shut it again. She wondered what he had been about to say, for his face bore a very peculiar expression, one that she could not begin to decipher.

  "Let me tell you what it was that you missed, being without your spectacles," he said, abruptly, and began to describe the events of the Summoning so vividly that she forgot that odd, yearning expression completely.

  At least, she forgot it until she protested, laughingly, that she was too weary to stay up any longer, and he accompanied her to her very door, as if he was a gallant swain escorting his lady home. Then, as she turned back to bid him good-night, she surprised that expression on his face again.

  And if she had not been as exhausted as she claimed, she would very likely have remained awake for hours, trying to decide what, precisely, it had meant. But tonight she had no choice in the matter; sleep claimed her the moment her head touched the pillow, and in the morning, she could not remember what had puzzled her so.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  February was not Paul du Mond's favorite month, not even in San Francisco, where the winter was mild by most standards. But this February was proving to be a very good month indeed; one that marked a whole new high point in satisfaction.

  As he left the front door of his small, rented dwelling, he waved a negligent hand at the handyman Beltaire had provided for him-a hardened man with double virtues. He did not seem at all surprised or disturbed by anything that went on around du Mond's rented bungalow, nor did he make any objections when he was required to dispose of the remains when du Mond entertained Beltaire, or indulged in a little private amusement of his own.

  "I'm afraid this one didn't last very long, Smith," he said lazily as he took the reins of his horse from the fellow. "Do take care of it, will you?"

  The latest Chinese slave had been surprisingly fragile-but that may have been due to the supplier's foresight. After all, if the slaves proved too sturdy, du Mond would not need one as often. The supplier didn't care what he did with them; there were always a dozen more where the last came from. And du Mond didn't care if his playthings didn't hold up through too many sessions; Beltaire was providing the money to buy them.

  He had the feeling that he was being used as a way to dispose of girls who had become difficult-girls who refused to cooperate without punishments even most Chinese would consider extreme-at least, if one intended to be able to sell the girl afterwards. Such girls were useless in the cribs and brothels, since few customers anticipated bruises and bites upon their person when they paid for an hour of pleasure. Most customers even preferred that their whores at least pretend to be pliant and cooperative. There had been some girls that du Mond himself, when he was acting as a "breaker," had been unable to sufficiently tame without inflicting damage the owners objected to. He had never asked what happened to those particular slaves; he had always assumed that, like the whores too diseased or drug-raddled to serve anymore, they were disposed of.

  The slave-owners had an interesting custom for getting rid of useless merchandise; the slave was locked into a closet-like room containing a pallet and a single cup of water. Then they were locked in, without light or fresh air, for about a week. That usually took care of the matter, and if it didn't, well, the slave was in no condition to fight those who came to dispose of the body.

  He had assumed something of the sort happened to the ones that continued to fight, but now he realized that there was a market for them, as well. Certainly he was not the only buyer for such slaves. Those fighters were the kind he got now; since he was paying for them, their purveyors did not care what he did with them, so long as the police were not moved to make inquiries afterwards.

  Smith made sure that the police were not inclined to make inquiries. Paul was not certain what he did with the bodies, but evidently they never resurfaced in any condition to be awkward. Smith had remarked once that the police were amazed by the number of Chinese girls who killed themselves by jumping into the Bay with heavy objects tied about their necks, and thought it must be a form of suicide peculiar to the Orient.

  When the man was not needed, he either tended Paul's horse, or spent the rest of his time in his room, injecting himself with vast amounts of cocaine. Paul was utterly astonished at the quantities Smith required to satisfy him-half the dose Smith used would kill an ordinary man. The other two servants that Beltaire sent him-a maid and a cook-paid no attention whatsoever to Smith or his habits. Aside from being amazed at the man's tolerance for drugs, Paul didn't, either. Smith did his job, and he did it well, and that was all that du Mond cared about.

  Beltaire had told him the history of each of his new servants, and Paul had found it fascinating that Beltaire had managed to locate three such amazing felons and see to it that they had employment that would satisfy their cravings and the needs of their employer without drawing the attention of the law. Smith was a former jockey and a horse-owner-the horse Paul used now had been one of his own racehorses. Both had been banned from the track for drug use, and Paul suspected that Smith was still doping the horse as well as himself. Those were the sins that Smith had been caught at; according to Beltaire, he had also made a habit of sabotaging other horses and jockeys-one or two with fatal results, though he had never been charged with the fatalities.

  The maid was a pretty case-she had gotten pregnant by a married man, given birth to and smothered the baby, and left it on its father's doorstep in that condition-with a note, made public, naming him as the parent. This had had the desired effect of not only destroying the man's reputation and ruining his business as a consequence, but of driving his wife into the divorce court. Then, with his life in tatters, the man mysteriously died. Some said it was because of the burden of his sins, and some even claimed he might have killed himself-but other women sometimes came to visit the maid, and men in their lives had a high mortality rate as well....

  And as for the cook-Beltaire had cautioned Paul always to specify the kind of meat he wanted, and never, ever to share what the cook made for himself. And du Mond had noted that when Smith disposed of one of the used-up slaves, he always paid a visit first to the cook....

  Still, they were all perfectly satisfactory servants in every way that involved du Mond, and that was all that mattered.

  Du Mond mounted his horse, with its peculiarly glassy eyes, and guided it on its way towards Beltaire's home. The visible portion was modest by the standards of Cameron's mansion-but that was only what could be seen by passers-by. The building was much, much longer than it was wide; what appeared to be a small, two-storied building was an enormous, narr
ow, two-storied building, with the greater part of it concealed by trees and the angle of the hills among which it was nestled. Beltaire, unlike Cameron, saw no reason to advertise his prosperity. Then again, what transpired behind those doors was not something Beltaire would want anyone interested in.

  The city of Oakland was hardly imposing on the surface, but in its way it held just as much to intrigue du Mond as San Francisco. Here was where Chinese slave-merchants brought merchandise in danger of being liberated by overzealous Christian missionaries. Here was where many imports difficult to pass by the eyes of the Customs agents in the harbors of San Francisco were brought. This place suited du Mond; beneath the middle-class respectability sheltered an entire culture that the law-abiding inhabitants of the town never dreamed of. And Simon Beltaire was the monarch of that community.

  He had been as good as his word about initiating du Mond into a new Magickal path; Paul felt he had made enormous progress, and his personal feelings were confirmed by his new Master. In fact, he had at this point learned everything there was to know about every aspect of Sex Magick, delving right down into the darkest depths where Sex Magick met Blood and Death Magick. Tonight he would take another enormous step forward, he would begin exploring the avenues offered by the ingestion of potent drugs, and combinations of drugs. Then, under Beltaire's tutelage, he would combine the two, forging a potent weapon that would enable him to master not only his own Element of Fire, but Air, and perhaps Earth as well. The possibilities were astounding....

  And he had Cameron to thank for it all!

  Of course, he thought cheerfully, as he guided his horse up Simon Beltaire's driveway, by the time Simon finishes with him, there won't be a great deal left to thank. But I can certainly arrange for an impressive flower-arrangement to be sent to the funeral!

  December had given way to January; the short days of January had slipped through Rose's fingers like the beads of a rosary in the hands of a particularly fervent nun. Now they were halfway through February, and she had begun to feel as if she and Cameron had always been working together. She felt more completely comfortable around him than she ever had around any of her fellow graduate students at the University.

  Now that she had a working knowledge of Fire Magick through his journals, she joined him in searching through his personal library for more clues. Thus far, their attempts to find the Unicorn manuscript anywhere in San Francisco had been fruitless. There was nothing matching the little they knew in any of the collections of occult or esoteric writings in any of the collections, public or private, to which Jason had access. And the Unicorn had said that it was in the hands of a man that Jason himself knew. She had even made a foray into San Francisco to consult with Master Pao, and he had not been able to uncover any clues concerning it either. Pao had been somewhat distracted by trouble of his own, concerned with the "temper of the Dragons." He did not go into any great detail, but he had said rather abstractly that the Dragons were restless lately, and were growing more restless by the moment. "They may dance," he had muttered, as if to himself, "they may yet dance."

  She had known enough to feel a tremor of concern; if the Dragons were restless-the Elementals that ruled the Earth-then the Earth itself was restless. She had experienced several small earthquakes by now, and was in no great hurry to learn what it was like to feel a large one rock the ground beneath her!

  But she must have shown her apprehension, for Pao had smiled suddenly and told her that she need not bother herself, for he would speak to the Dragons and lull them with his persuasion. "The Dragons cannot be ruled," he told her, "but they are capable of being soothed. And I am an old hand at soothing the restless."

  He then changed the conversation, and she did not attempt to resume that subject, not when she had so many other things to concentrate on. And what could she do, if Master Pao was unable to quiet his dragons? Nothing, of course; and she had never envied the ancient prophets their foreknowledge of the future. She would rather not know than be aware of what was coming and be helpless to stop it.

  It was from Master Pao that she learned something Jason had not told her; that her own Magickal Nature was not that of Fire, but of Air. Now, it occurred to her that as long as she was serving as an Apprentice, she might as well become an Apprentice in truth. So in addition to doing research for Jason, she was learning as much as she could of the Magick of that Element without the help of a Master of Air.

  It was not all that difficult; the Work was very similar, the discipline required identical. The only real differences lay in the trappings and the abilities represented by the Elementals themselves. The framework of the Magick was absolutely identical; in many ways, the situation was similar to being an artist in glass; one could make a set of red goblets, or green, or blue-but they would all be goblets, in sets of four, or eight, or twenty. One could create the lead frame for a bird and insert the stained glass panels that made it a scarlet bird or a yellow-but the windows, in the end, would be identical except for color. Thanks to Jason, she knew what the framework was, and more importantly, why one did things thus-and-so. She knew the details of the Magick of Fire, and as importantly, she knew the reasons why, had she tried any of these Magicks alone, they would have worked poorly, if at all.

  There is no Water in my Nature to negate the Fire Magick, but there is so little of Fire compared to Air that I doubt I would get very far.

  Just as electricity would not flow through wire made of lead, the Magician's Nature had to be suited to carrying the "current" of the particular Element with which he was trying to Work. The purer the Nature, the better the Magick would flow.

  She knew the theory, she knew some of the practice, and she had been learning the details of the Element of Air. But the time had come for her to stop simple study, and begin her real Apprenticeship and that meant that the time had come for her to confess to Jason her "divided loyalties."

  She always waited for him to call her by means of the speaking-tube before going down to his suite for the day. He was extremely sensitive about his appearance and the difficulties his changed form caused him, and she would not for the world embarrass him by bursting in on him before he was fully and correctly clothed and prepared to meet with her. This time, though, when she descended the staircase, she brought with her a basket of those things she would need that were not part of the Work Room of a Firemaster. I might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb; if I am going to "tell all," I'm going to ask for permission to use the Work Room for my first conjuration of a Sylph.

  She was so used to his appearance by now that seeing her own face in a mirror sometimes gave her a little shock, because she did not have upstanding, pointed ears, nor a muzzle full of the sharp teeth of a carnivore, nor fur. He was so completely himself in any form, that the outward appearance was hardly worth noting. But today, she paused after her greeting to search his face intently, and acknowledged for the first time that not only did she not find him monstrous or repulsive-she found him remarkably handsome, in and of himself. He might consider his current form warped, but there was nothing misshapen about it to her.

  "Rose-" he touched her shoulder to awaken her out of the little daze she had fallen into. "Are you quite all right?"

  She shook herself mentally, and smiled at him. "Perfectly, Jason. But I have something of a confession to make-"

  But before she could say it, he had taken the basket from her hands, and replied with a laugh, "You wish to tell me that you have been studying Air Magick in your free hours. And, I would guess, given this little burden of yours, that you wish to undertake your first Elemental Conjuration."

  She froze with shock. "How-how did you know?"

  He shrugged, as if it should have been obvious how he knew. "It was inevitable, my lady. Once you had a taste of Apprenticeship, once your need for Magick was awakened, you would never be able to deny the craving. And since your Nature is that of Air, even though there is no Master available to you, you would find a way to study it."

 
She stared at him, and he laughed teasingly, holding the basket just out of her reach. "Shall I continue to amaze you with my sagacity? Today, of course, you wish to undertake your first attempt at raising a Sylph, and you felt that you had to confess your activities but were afraid I would be offended that you 'stole' time from my researches for your own."

  "But-" she spluttered, indignantly, her whole, carefully-rehearsed speech having gone up in smoke as he spoke. "But-"

  Taking pity on her, he gave her back the basket, and placed one hand atop hers as she took it. "My dear lady, you could not help it, and I knew you could not help it. I have been attempting to guide your efforts as best I could without betraying that I knew your little secret. And since the first attempt at Conjury is best done in the presence of a Master, if not a Master of your own element, I was planning on overseeing you from the beginning."

  Her indignation vanished; how could she be offended at such generosity? She had no reason to expect such understanding from him! "You were?" she said, astonished and relieved beyond measure. "But your own work-"