With the passage of time, his ragged breathing slowed, the adrenalin gradually dissipating in his bloodstream.
And he was not ashamed to admit what happened next. He started to cry. Great big alligator tears, too, as his mother used to call them. In great tearing sobs, he let all his fears and the terror of the last hour take total control of his emotions, and he curled into a fetal ball on the sand. With his arm wrapped around his legs, he bawled like a baby.
That too slowly passed, and eventually, Paul was able to take control of himself once again, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his right hand.
Taking a quick look around, he spotted his talisman lying in the sand, and with effort, he snagged it. Stumbling to his feet, he began to wobble away across the desert, giving no real thought to where he was going. He just wanted to get away from those creatures, as far away from the last place he had seen them as he could get. Such was his poor mental state that the idea of using a portal to leave the vicinity never occurred to him.
With his thoughts focused inward, Paul was completely oblivious to the passage of time. He didn’t take note of how long he wandered in the darkness. Collapsing to the ground to rest for a minute, he leaned back, lying prone on the cool desert sand. His last thoughts were of his bed in California and how much he missed being home.
• • • •
Paul dreamed that he was being chased, that somehow, thoroughly terrified, he was moving in very slow motion while an unseen evil pursued him, drawing ever closer.
He jerked awake, his mind momentarily unable to deal with the reality of seeing nothing but desert sand. It took a few seconds for the memories of the previous day to seep back into his conscious mind. When it did, he groaned loudly in anguish.
It was dawn, the sun just peeking over the east horizon. Still exhausted, both physically and mentally, from the fight the previous night, Paul struggled to a sitting position and stared eastward. The sand in his clothes itched him, and his mouth and throat were desert dry.
“Hello, Paul,” said a well-modulated, feminine, alto voice.
Leaping to his feet, he spun, tightly gripping his talisman, and prepared to let loose a blast of plasma.
But he instantly froze, his muscles unable to move an inch.
In front of him, kneeling on a blanket on the sand, was the most incredibly beautiful woman he had ever seen. Miss Universe looked like Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars by comparison.
A willowy figure with perfect curves was topped by a finely shaped head with long, stunning blonde hair done up in an unfamiliar, yet alluring fashion. Sparkling green eyes, a trim nose, and a flashing smile combined to form a classically perfect feminine visage. Her clothing consisted of a red evening dress, expertly tailored to flaunt her figure in a sensuous, yet sophisticated style. Paul’s jaw slowly dropped in astonishment, and he found himself unable to utter a sound as he gaped at her.
She seemed amused by his reaction—or rather the lack thereof. She nodded at his left arm.
“Did the Oni do that?” she purred graciously.
Paul somehow managed to rub two tiny brain cells together.
“Oni?” he croaked through parched lips.
Her sly smile grew a little larger. “Tall, horned brutes with red skin and a face no mother would lay claim to. Except, of course, they don’t have mothers. Those Oni.”
So that’s what they are called, a small voice in the back of Paul’s mind noted with interest.
“Yeah,” he replied dully. Great, what a brilliant comeback. I’m sure I’ve impressed her with my witty conversation and cosmopolitan charm.
She nodded and smiled at him again. Paul thought his heart might stop.
“We will have to attend to that arm soon,” she suggested smugly. “The pain must be horrible. But in the meantime, we must leave this place.”
“You know my name,” Paul stated, blinking in surprise at his own belated observation.
The beautiful woman stood in one graceful motion as if she had trained for it all her life.
“Yes, Paul Armstead, I know who you are.”
A tiny corner of Paul’s mind noticed that the blanket on the sand was identical to the one that he had been flying around on the day before, the one that had burned in the mountaintop attack. He silently wondered if there was some single store on this side of the planet where everyone shopped for their linens. Maybe at AmazonEast.com?
“Who are you?” he asked, afraid that the woman might laugh at his questions. “Are you a—well, a wizard?”
Her smile deepened, and his heart really did skip two beats.
With a flick of her wrist, the blanket rose from the sand, shook itself off like a dog shedding fleas, folded itself neatly, and tucked itself under her right arm.
“My name is Celeste,” she assertively answered. “And yes, I am a wizard, just like you. But we must not dally here any longer.” She held forth a hand.
For reasons that even he was unsure of, Paul hesitated to take it.
She sensed his reluctance. “Paul, if I had wanted to hurt you, I could have done so anytime while you were asleep. We need to fix your arm and tend to your other wounds. Also, I know you have many questions that you would like answered. I promise to answer them—well, most of them, anyway. And there are more Oni on the way here, too.”
That did it. Paul tucked his talisman into his belt and reached out to take her hand.
“Your place or mine?” he asked as innocently as possible.
• • • •
Her portal deposited the two of them on the wide sidewalk of a narrow residential street in a city unfamiliar to Paul. The buildings here were old, four to six stories tall, many with balconies looking out over the sidewalks, their entrances double-doored and framed with innate iron scrollwork. Most of these residences were crowded together, giving the appearance that they were all the same structure. However, there were a few residences that occupied larger lots with actual yards that even sported a few trees and shrubs. The city had a decidedly European feel to it. The sight of a civilized city bolstered Paul’s spirits and helped diminish the memories of the terror he had lived through the previous day.
There were people here, too—not many, but a few. An elderly couple was strolling down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. A delivery man, box in hand, was standing at the front door of a nearby house. One younger man with long dark hair was riding a motorcycle. A few cars, mostly small European makes, were moving sedately down the road, their drivers focused on nothing in particular. Everything seemed perfectly normal—an average day in a European city somewhere. No one seemed to notice Paul or Celeste at all.
“‘You would think they had people beaming down every day,’” Paul quipped in ironic amusement, quoting Captain Kirk in the Star Trek episode “Errand of Mercy.”
Celeste didn’t seem to get the joke but smiled anyway. “I cast a spell around us, allowing us to walk among them unnoticed. Come, we are almost there.”
“Wait a minute! My feet! I don’t have any shoes, remember?” he petulantly reminded her.
She smiled and snapped her fingers. A pair of black slip-on shoes appeared on the pavement in front of him, and he knelt to put them on. They were a perfect fit.
“Thanks. Where are we?” Paul asked, curiously looking around for any clue as to their location. He saw nothing definitive.
“16th Arrondissement, Paris, France,” she replied as she stepped through a covered arch, past a wrought iron fence, and to the doorway of one of the more stately buildings on the street. The landscaped yard, with a carefully sculptured hedge and manicured shrubs, was impressive. Paul glanced up at the outside of the white three-story structure, noting the narrow windows, the balconies, and the ivy-coated walls. In Paris, this was a veritable mansion, and he nodded in appreciation.
“Come,” Celeste urged him, waving him to the front door. She opened it and pulled him inside.
It was unlocked? Ah, well, maybe it had been locked
. What did a wizard need with keys?
Inside, Paul was suitably impressed by the sumptuousness of the furnishings and the size of the rooms. The large entrance hall held a circular carpeted staircase, starting on the right and spiraling up to an apparent landing over his head. Past the staircase and up one floor, he could see a banister-lined catwalk with three wood-paneled doors. Presumably, there were bedrooms up there somewhere too. To his right, on the ground floor, a pair of ornately carved doors apparently led to another room, though they were closed. To his left was an outsized archway, leading into a formal living room.
Celeste released his hand and tossed the blanket on a small wooden table but guided him through the archway to the left. The living room was magnificent. A huge fireplace sat to his right, in the wall between the entrance hall and the living room. A modest fire burned within. To the left of the fireplace, there was another archway leading into a wood-paneled dining room complete with an elaborate set of dining-room furniture. Further to his left, on the far wall of the living room, were two painted portraits of people dressed in nineteenth century clothing. Also along the wall was a bookcase filled with old thick books. To his far left, a bay window lined with white satin curtains sat facing the street, a small, but well-decorated Christmas tree planted in front of it.
In the middle of the room, a diminutive coffee table was situated strategically in front of the fireplace, bracketed by a pair of overstuffed, black leather chairs. A French sofa and two more overstuffed chairs flanked with small wooden end tables sat near the center of the room as well. The floor was furnished with forest green, thick pile carpeting emblazoned with an imperial coat of arms formed in gold-colored thread. Overhead, an arched ceiling with crown molding supported a huge crystal chandelier.
The room reeked of wealth.
“Nice digs,” he mumbled admiringly. He wouldn’t have minded living in a place half as nice.
Celeste warmly smiled again. “Thanks. We like it. We will be safe here. Please, come this way.”
They went through the dining room and into a hallway, where she led him to a huge bathroom, with an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub and a two-sink lavatory.
She turned toward Paul and touched his face. He blushed at her touch and looked away.
Smiling sweetly, she said, “You may take a bath in here. Use all the hot water you want. You will not be disturbed, I promise. And while you are doing that, I will hunt up some clothes for you...” she glanced down and grimaced, “...hopefully better than what you are wearing now. After that, we will get you something to eat, take care of some of your wounds, and start answering your questions. Does that sound fair?”
Paul’s mouth quirked, and he smiled awkwardly, feeling like a thirteen-year-old again. “I love it when a plan comes together. Yes. And thank you for rescuing me.”
Celeste hesitated. “You are welcome. Enjoy your bath.” And then she was gone.
Normally, Paul was a shower man, but this bathroom was not equipped for that. The water was easy to start in the tub, and it was certainly hot enough. One-handed and with a little magical help, he took off his clothing and appreciatively lowered himself into the rising water, still clutching his talisman. The hot water helped ease his tired muscles, soothing away some of the aches and pains he had.
With great care, he focused on cleaning the stump of his left arm and then examining the damage. He ground his teeth, both distressed and nauseated by the mutilation: the torn purple skin, the exposed biceps, muscle tissue, and humerus bone. If not for his magical spells, a wound like this would have already been seriously infected (not to mention the pain he would have had to deal with). Indeed, he would have probably already bled to death. His stomach heaved at the sight of the damage, and he cast a spell to quell his queasiness.
His only consolation at this point was the hope that his magical powers might somehow be able to grow a new arm. Tenderly, he worked on the injury.
Taking his time, he took one of the longest baths he could remember, soaking long past the point when his fingertips turned wrinkly.
Afterward, he drained the tub and dried off with a huge, thick green towel. On a chair next to the door, he found new clothes. Whether Celeste had snuck them in when he wasn’t looking or she had used magic to portal them in, he didn’t know. But he slowly dressed in the clothing anyway. Everything fit perfectly.
Standing in front of the mirror mounted to the back of the bathroom door, Paul critically examined his image. He had to admit, the clothes were nicely styled, a distinct improvement over what he normally wore. But he noted with a frown, he was still a short, fat, bald man and now missing half an arm, to boot. He sighed, still gripping his talisman, and left the room.
“There you are!” Celeste observed brightly from one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room. “My, you are looking a lot nicer now! Come, let’s sit you in front of the fire and I’ll get your food for you. After you eat, I’ll take a look at that arm.”
The heat from the fireplace felt wonderful, and Paul eased himself into one of the overstuffed chairs, enjoying the feel of the soft cushion against his back. Celeste returned in short order with a large tray of fruits, cheeses, breads, and Danishes. With restrained gusto, Paul ate hungrily, everything tasting like manna from heaven to him.
“Let’s work a little on that arm to prevent any possible infections,” Celeste told him. She knelt beside him and produced a white towel from thin air, laying it on the arm of the chair, directly underneath his damaged arm. Then, again from thin air, she pulled forth a small attaché case, which she opened to reveal an array of oddly shaped devices.
“These are medical instruments,” she cheerfully explained. “Magical ones, of course. We’ll start with this one.” And she pulled forth a small wand with two small lenses glued to one side. Gently taking the stump of his arm with her right hand, she held out the wand in the other and moved it in close.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” she pronounced readily. If the sight of his injury affected her in any way, she gave no indication of it.
Paul grimaced in reply. “Whenever a doctor tells me that, I know he’s lying.”
Celeste smiled reassuringly, and then a small white light emerged from the lenses, sweeping across the stump of his arm.
“This removes the dead tissue and most of the tissue that’s badly damaged,” she explained confidently. “It will greatly speed up the process of grafting a new arm on you.”
Paul blinked in astonishment, his mouth momentarily dropping open. “Grafting an arm? That’s possible?”
“Yes, it is. Even Normies—that is to say, even modern medicine—can do a fairly good job of it these days, though the magical methods are better, of course.”
Her implications disturbed Paul a little. “Where would the new arm come from?” he asked, slightly queasy at the thought.
“From a donor, of course. We will look for someone that has recently passed away, from natural causes or an accident, obviously—someone with your general build, age, and blood type. If they have living relatives, we will pay them for the arm. We will tell them that we need it for medical research. There are many people in the world that would leap at such a chance to sell us what we need.”
With a small, crooked smile, Paul realized that the woman was right, and that with magical powers, it probably wouldn’t be too hard to find a suitable replacement arm. Still, the idea of using a dead man’s arm made him a little uncomfortable. And yet, lots of transplants were being done these days from donors recently deceased. Paul told himself that he was being much too prissy.
“Now, before I start answering your questions, of which I am sure there are a few, would you mind answering one or two for me?” she asked as she finished with the first medical instrument and started working on his arm with another one. “If I know more about your background, then I will be able to answer your questions better and perhaps avoid telling you things you already know.”
Paul shrugged indifferently, full
y prepared to grant her any reasonable request she might make—and perhaps more than a few unreasonable ones as well. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Well, you are Paul Thomas Armstead, of Mojave, California, is that right?”
“Yes,” Paul nodded, dumbfounded at how much she already seemed to know about him.
“And you work at Edwards Air Force Base?” she asked.
“I do. Well, I did. They have probably fired me by now. I don’t know for sure.”
“How long have you possessed magical powers?” she asked with that mysterious smile of hers.
Paul managed not to blush this time, but only barely. “Only a few days.”
“Tell me, please, how did it happen?”
So he quickly told her the whole story, from helping Glenn Michaels, to the genie and the wishes, to his stay on the mountaintop, to his flying blanket and the fabrication of his talisman, to the subsequent attack by the Oni. He didn’t leave out a single detail and stopped only after describing his trick with the portal into orbital space. She listened with rapt attention but didn’t interrupt once.
When he finished, she offered a bemused smile. “That’s a remarkable story, Paul. Truly remarkable. It tells me quite a bit about you. Now, that arm looks much better. And it’s my turn now to explain a few things.” Celeste packed away the medical instruments and moved over to the chair on the other side of the coffee table. “It’s a long story, but I will keep it as concise as I can.”
• • • •
The beginnings of wizardry were lost in the mists of ancient history yet it somewhat paralleled that of the growth of the scientific method. Over the centuries, a few gifted individuals researched and experimented, very slowly divining the fundamentals of magic, developing skills and magical spells that actually worked.
However, unlike the physical scientists who published their findings in order to gain recognition and to contribute to the knowledge of the entire world, the ancient wizards hoarded their discoveries for personal wealth and power.
Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard Page 12