by Sara Hanover
A carefully calm and modulated adult spokeswoman answered me, “Goldie has been asked to appear and give her statement at her convenience. So far, it has not been convenient for her to do so.” She stepped back as if she’d been at a recital and given her part, her white hair in waves about her face, back ramrod straight, and navy pantsuit absolutely without a wrinkle.
I began to walk back to the car that had delivered me. “I think she has the right idea about avoiding you-all . . .”
From all the someones I didn’t know, a middle-aged man with a full head of curling hair under a caramel-brown fedora and shrewd eyes stepped forward to put his hand on my shoulder. I suddenly became so sensitive that I felt it through every fragment of my body and I halted. Magic jolted through me from my shoulder to my toes as if I’d been hit by lightning. The strength of it scared me and reminded me that I was playing with the big dogs tonight.
“Pay no mind. He is just leaving.”
I half-turned to see if that was so. And, apparently, someone else had told him it would be prudent to go.
Parker pushed past me in the doorway. “The situation is temporary, Miss Andrews. It will behoove you to remember that. Whatever disfavor I might have earned, the truth will out.”
“Back at you.”
He made his way into the night to a car park I hadn’t noticed earlier, it not being lit until he produced a fireball in the palm of his hand to see where he walked. As he found his car, he turned and tossed the fireball my way.
I ducked out of reflex even as the sorcery fizzled into nothingness far short of where I stood. Parker grinned before getting into his car.
I flung up a hand and let a bolt of my own energy go, a little surprised to find it responsive when I had had virtually nothing at my beck and call after the Butchery. It lanced into the ground in front of his car, making it buck a little before he could pull away in a squeal of tires. I think we understood our farewells. When next we met, it wouldn’t be words we exchanged.
I knew I could pop tires on a car. I’d done it before—not intentionally but figured I could duplicate it. I raised my left hand, but before I could form a coherent thought of action, a hand closed about mine and brought it down.
“Don’t do it,” the owner said lightly from under the shadow of his fedora. “Even if he deserves it.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I had in mind—”
“I have,” he said, smiling at me, “some idea.” Tucking my arm under his, he wheeled me about and headed me back to the building. “It wouldn’t make for a good introduction.”
“I had earning some respect in mind.”
“That,” he assured me, “will come about naturally.”
“I’m going to hold you to your word on that,” I told him as he delivered me into the hall and dissolved back into the waiting crowd. I didn’t like not being able to see his expression. I couldn’t read the truth or honesty in anything he’d claimed.
He disappeared so quickly that it left me wondering who he was. Because of nighttime shadows and dim lighting about the car park, he’d been obscured. The thought bounced about my mind briefly that it could be Carter in disguise, but I dismissed that quickly. He didn’t have the age and magical gravitas of the helpful stranger. Not that Carter didn’t have powerful magic—he did, extremely powerful, but he let few people sense it. I doubt if even the Society knew how much force he carried. Also, I’d never seen Carter wearing a hat, other than the one or two military pictures I’d seen of him, and then it had been a scuffed and well-used helmet. And, mostly because I knew his touch. His walk. His hands.
The members dressed in business casual parted as I entered. I looked about, seeing few faces I recognized but almost being surprised by the ones that I did. There was a professor as well as a custodian from my community college. Another elegant woman I knew from my mother’s University, a secretary. Department secretaries may seem to be low on the totem pole in administration, but my mother would swear that they had more power than many of the professors and even deans. As our eyes met, she raised pewter-colored eyebrows as if surprised herself. Faith Hawkins, I remembered her name. Her gaze narrowed as I came to a halt, and I could feel other stares at my back uneasily. I’d have to let my mother know, once I determined her stance on things. She could be friend, or she could be foe.
A tall, older man with streaks of silver accenting his dark hair came forward and bowed slightly. “I am glad you found your way here.” He wore a formal suit with a morning coat and even gloves, but it didn’t look out of place on him. For the most fleeting of seconds I wondered if he was a funeral director.
“I was waylaid, but I managed.”
“Waylaid? I heard a rumor of that. Do explain.” A few indistinct murmurs from around the watchers in the room underscored his words.
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“I was expecting a car and driver, so when one showed up, I got in. I shouldn’t have. And, word to the wise, don’t ever go to the Butchery on a dark and dreary night.”
“The Butchery? That bar in Old Town?”
“That would be the one. It has bad vibes.”
That brought up a startled buzz which my welcomer squelched with an upraised palm. “How so?”
I considered giving him a full explanation, decided against it, and merely said, “It’s haunted.”
A wry smile crossed his expression. “We will keep that in mind.” He drew me farther into the hall. “We have a few questions and a trial or two—”
“I just bet you do.” Because of Parker and other extenuating circumstances, I decided not to confide much of anything in the Society. It would have to prove itself first.
“Yes. Well, this inner sanctum has been built to withstand just about anything that can be thrown at it.”
The tobacco shed morphed into stone. We stopped inside a massive cavern with masonry walls that might have been five feet thick, to look at the stonework, and probably would have taken a direct hit from an atomic bomb from the looks of it. Its walls had scorch marks and maybe even blood soaked into it, leaving behind a rusty cloud here and there although I didn’t go searching for the stains. I let a “wow” escape, suitably impressed.
“Let me introduce myself.”
“That would be nice.” I dragged my attention away from the cavern and smiled up at the gentleman.
“Hmmm. Yes. You may call me Archer. And you are Tessa Andrews.”
“In the flesh.” I smiled a little. “Got a title?”
“Title?”
“Mage, sorcerer, grand wizard or whatever.”
“All in good time, young lady.”
“Oh. This is one of those interviews.”
“Those interviews?”
I nodded. “If I don’t pass, I get my memory wiped or some such. The less I know, the less you have to clean up.”
His nostrils flared slightly with what I hoped was a suppressed laugh. “Something like that.” Archer took a slight step away from me. The group that had followed us throughout the hall gathered, more or less, at the entrance. Out of range.
“We’ve been informed you’re in possession of a maelstrom stone.”
“That would be correct.”
“We’d like to see it.”
I stripped my gloves off and held up my hand accordingly even as I said, “I’m not removing it and passing it around.”
“I should imagine not.” He removed his own gloves and took my hand in his, his fingers strong yet gentle and quite warm. He did not touch the stone itself, although I could see from the gleam in his eyes, he wanted to. I marked him down on my list in my mental notes of People Who Coveted the Stone. “Impressive, and quite handsome, actually.” Then he held my hand out so others could admire it. Rather like a reception line at a wedding or
some other function, people passed by the two of us to get a look at it (and me). When they were finished, they retreated again. Archer asked, “Any thoughts?”
“Well, I—” and he held a finger up, shushing me. “Not you, Tessa. I was addressing the panel.”
“Oh.”
Archer turned to one side. “Newhart?”
“As rare as they are, a number have been cataloged, but I don’t recall any mention of ones of this coloring and size.” A squarish looking man with glasses hanging on a cord around his neck spoke up. He wore corduroy, top and bottom, olive green and rather boring. He looked as if he would occupy a massive desk, the two of them vying for size. “I don’t suppose you would care to illuminate its properties?”
I wouldn’t. It sounded too much like telling the enemy all my secrets and then hoping it would come out all right in the end. I did say, “It devours other magical relics.”
I have never seen a squad in a room back up two or three steps in one movement. You would have thought it was a dance step and they were all participating. I thought that line dancing was now a bit passé. But they did it as if they’d been drilling the movement all week just for my entertainment.
Archer, to his credit, stuck to my side. Or maybe he just didn’t have anything magical floating about his person that my stone could eat.
“Please elaborate.”
I put my hand in the air again and hoped what I would tell them would manifest. “Two red slits . . . ah, there they are. Shards from the Eye of Nimora. They’re like eyelids. When they open, I can see a great deal, beyond my normal sight.”
My stone blinked at them sleepily a few times and then the red slits faded entirely. I couldn’t blame the stone; I felt a little bored myself. But before the eyes closed, I had felt the energy of the talented watchers, along with curiosity and malice.
“However did you obtain a splinter off the Eye of Nimora?”
“It’s a long story, but they became available. The Eye itself isn’t harmed at all, mind you, but there were these tiny flecks and, well . . . my stone ate them.”
“Did you command it to do so?”
“No.”
Archer stirred slightly. “Did you know it was going to do so?”
“Not really. It had eaten a gold ring belonging to the professor, but . . .”
Another movement of the crowd, in a giant step backward. I looked toward them. “You guys are creeping me out.”
“An excess of caution. Under the circumstances, I can hardly blame them.” Archer stayed rock solid where he stood.
“You must be the only one with stones, then. The other kind.”
Archer laughed. A full and hearty laugh that brought along with it a small tide of other laughs that were pale imitators. “When dealing with the unknown, it’s wise to be a little cowardly.”
“Right.” I curled my hand up, hiding the stone away.
“By the professor, may I assume you meant Brandard?”
I nodded.
“Did you gain your powers when the stone embedded itself?”
I didn’t feel like telling him about the Dark Arts book the stone had absorbed, so I didn’t. “No, they came about later. I discover different facets every once in a while, mostly defensive at first and then offensive later.”
“Care to elaborate or demonstrate?”
I really didn’t, but it seemed that was why I had been brought here. I braced myself and said, “Come at me.”
Archer inclined his head slightly, stepped back five paces, and proceeded to raise his hands. I had no idea what kind of attack he planned, but basic shielding seemed advisable, so I spun mine out and enlarged them so that I, for all intents, stood behind a wall.
Almost before I set myself, flame hissed out, bounced off my shields, and slewed up to the ceiling before burning out.
“Well done. Were you taught that?”
“Yes. The professor taught me some basic shielding, and I learned to enlarge it.”
“Have you been attacked before this evening?”
“A few times.”
“And, again, this professor you name would be Brandard?”
“Yes.” I wondered why he’d had me repeat that and then realized when I’d said it before. We’d been standing nearly toe-to-toe, and it was likely that our audience hadn’t heard. They did this time.
That brought a loud muttering through our listeners. Archer lifted his chin and looked about, the stern expression on his face quelling more remarks, even though he’d definitely solicited them.
I couldn’t let it go, saying, “He didn’t approve of you all.”
“No, he didn’t, and we might have saved him a good deal of trouble if he’d been a bit more . . . flexible. We understand that he is no longer a guest in your home.”
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No idea at all. He completed his phoenix ritual and left.” I heard a murmur of surprise run through our little audience. They hadn’t known? Interesting. As to where he could be . . . I thought of mentioning Steptoe and his demonic tail as evidence that the professor still existed, somewhere, but that seemed unwise. I merely shook my head.
“Phoenix wizards are notoriously tough. He will turn up, no doubt. He prides himself on being a thorn in our side and isn’t likely to give that up.”
“He is stubborn,” I admitted.
“What else has he instructed you in?”
“Reading. A lot of reading.”
“No drills?”
I knew drills quite well, being on a varsity field hockey team with a coach who lived by fitness training. But no training that he’d given me, per se. We’d done plenty of magic together, in defensive situations, from marauding harpies to sorcerer samurais, to devious elves but nothing repetitive day-to-day. At least it hadn’t been boring. I shook my head.
“Any particular books he had you read?”
Again, I felt as though I might be giving out information that I ought to keep close. “Herbs,” I finally said. “And some sympathetic magic stuff that I just didn’t get.” I kept scanning those watching and listening for sight of Carter. This was his Society. Wouldn’t he show up to give me some guidance? Surely, he wouldn’t abandon me.
An intense stare drew my attention for the briefest of moments, the behatted gentleman who’d steered me away from Judge Parker. He was taller than some and shorter than others but had a certain presence that made him stand out. A frown settled on his face as our stares caught, then he turned away abruptly. I felt as if I should know him but didn’t . . .
“Miss Andrews, would you mind participating in a few exhibitions and tests?”
They weren’t about to share any of their educated magic with me but didn’t mind prying to see what my secrets were. I shrugged. “Sure. If I can’t run with the big dogs, I might as well stay under the porch.”
Archer hid his laugh with a slight cough. “Come with me then,” he requested and proceeded to lead me farther into the stone works, the crowd trailing us seeming to thin out a mite. Worried about fallout perhaps? From the scorch marks crawling about the granite, it seemed a real possibility.
If I had been wondering about where the junior members of the Society were, I had to wonder no longer. Eight of them faced me, in two rows, their expressions avid and expectant. They ranged from my age in their early twenties down to one young lady who couldn’t have been more than twelve. Without seeming to, I focused on her. She wouldn’t be in this bunch if she didn’t have a bucketful of talent, and because of her age, many might overlook her as just a kid. I couldn’t afford to. She didn’t look like the kind of person who would be easily forgettable, either, with her golden-bronze skin and snapping dark eyes and hair. She looked wholesome and at the same time, a bit decadent, like graham crackers hiding luscious chocolate and toasted marshmallow
.
I didn’t have time to wonder as Archer ordered, “Flame.”
I don’t think Archer said “Present arms!” but he might as well have, because all eight held out their hands, and their palms filled with a globe of fire. It seemed to be more of an illumination spell that I’d watched the professor ignite a number of times than an offensive one. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Archer.
“It’s a basic skill,” he said. “Do you possess it?”
Of course, I did . . . now. I mostly called on it for a fight, though, but I didn’t think I’d make anyone happy by lobbing fireballs around. What worried me was the drain it might make on my reserves. I didn’t know what Archer and the Society might demand from me this night and I’d already gotten pretty low earlier. I didn’t know how much OJ and a few chicken bites had refueled me. I tamped down my effort and produced a globe the size of a shooter marble. My fellow magicians snickered, except for the youngest one I watched out of the corner of my eye. She frowned a bit, as if calculating something.
“Float them.”
That seemed to be cheating a bit, as they were all floating just off their wielder’s skin, but I inhaled and brought mine up nearly chin high. That brought out a gasp or two from the gallery of watchers and I knew immediately what I’d done. Me and the maelstrom stone had just exhibited a vast overachievement. No one else had hefted their fireball higher than four or five inches above their wrists. The young one inhaled and got hers boosted up to chest high where it bounced unsteadily in position.
Were they heavy? Mine wasn’t, just combined of gas and air, so how could it be? But from the actions next to me, they seemed to be floating bowling balls from the strained expressions on their faces. Or maybe it was just the effort needed to keep the fire compact and contained.
“Release,” snapped Archer quickly, before his protégés had a meltdown.