At Your Command

Possibilities flashed through his mind, like the flow of data on Lady Sarah's computer. "Not magic, my Maggie." Tom's voice boomed, temporarily drowning out the music. "Your last wish. The one I tricked you out of when I tried to bring Lady Sarah happiness. You will have your last wish now."

  The stairs beneath him shook, thunder reverberating through his head.

  "No, Tom, don't. I can't let you go back there. I don't want to lose you. Stop!"

  "Hey, what's going on?" Chet stood directly behind Tom now. He grabbed Tom's cape, pulling him away from Maggie.

  With the power of his magic swirling around him, Tom had to fight to keep from hurling Chet to the floor. Everything was in place, the wish and all the commands necessary to accomplish the feat. The silver collar burned Tom's neck as it tightened its hold. Power filled him, expanding in his chest, and the ancient chant rolled from his lips.

  Reality began to fade as his arms stretched to gather the elements. If the fates allowed, this would be his last wish, his last master. If not, he would return to his place by the fire with no hope for escape. One amendment before he spoke the final words. One thing he could not forget, one thing must remain or his heart would break. If ever he was blessed to see his Maggie again, even for an instant, he would remember her and their love. He never wanted to forget his Maggie and how once someone had loved him.

  Chet shoved at Tom's back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Tom realized his mistake the moment he turned, the final words unsaid. He struck Chet across the chest with his outstretched arm.

  "No, Tom!" Maggie cried, reaching for Chet, who lost his balance and teetered at the edge of the bleachers.

  CAUGHT IN A horrible dream, Maggie tried to reach Chet in time. Her shins banged painfully against the bleacher seat, sending her toppling forward. With an exhale of relief, she realized Tom had only to blink and Chet would be safe. The second it took Tom to turn and grab for Chet seemed like hours.

  She raised her head in time to see Tom dive for Chet. Tom wasn't using magic. Why now, of all times, did he choose to listen to her?

  The flowing black cape covered Tom's movements. When he jerked Chet away from the edge, Tom lurched forward, nothing to stop him. He twisted toward Maggie while she watched, everything moving in slow motion.

  One hand came to her mouth, the other reached for Tom, too far away. Chet grunted when he fell into the seat above her.

  Tom was saying something, words drowned out by the music below. She dragged herself upright. For some reason, saving him no longer seemed important. She had to hear what he was saying.

  Tom was falling backward. He seemed to catch himself, then he jerked. His boot wedged between a seat and a riser. A flash of pain captured his face and he shook his head.

  His foot came loose with a snap. His black cap enveloped him and then Tom was gone.

  "MY MAGGIE." The words whispered from Tom before unconsciousness claimed him.

  Maggie didn't remember how she got down the bleachers. She only knew she knelt at Tom's side, afraid to touch him. What was wrong? Why didn't he open his eyes? Tom had said he couldn't be injured this way. He'd bragged about it.

  Now she looked up to see Ben Johnson, who shoved through the crowd that surrounded them. "Paramedics are on their way. Let's make our boy comfortable until then."

  Arms behind her gripped her shoulders and drew her to her feet. She experienced a moment of panic before she spotted Chet at the edge of the crowd.

  Andrew held her. "Ben was a medic in the corps. I used to ignore his old war stories. I guess I'm pretty grateful for them now."

  All Maggie could do was nod. Tom looked so still, so perfect, as if at any moment he would open his eyes and speak. He would demand that she explain some word or make a wish. God, this was her fault. It was also Tom's. Why hadn't he trusted her, told her she had another wish? Why hadn't she guessed the truth? Tom was afraid of going back into his box.

  When her knees began to shake, Andrew helped her return to Tom's side. That's when she knew Tom was no longer a jinn. The floor was covered with blood.

  "Just a scalp wound. Nothing to worry about. They bleed a lot, but don't mean a thing." Ben pulled gauze from the first aid kit. "The boy is breathing fine, heart sounds strong. Probably just has a concussion. Hey, Tom, can you hear me, boy?"

  Tom didn't react, not even when Ben pressed the pressure bandage against the back of Tom's head.

  "I'm going to clear the way for the paramedics," Andrew said before he moved off.

  The music had stopped but the mirrored ball continued to rotate, adding bizarre flashes to the now well-lit scene. Voices echoed off the gym walls, Andrew's rising above the rest as he ordered the gym cleared.

  "Maggie?" Ben's calm voice cut through the rest. "Do you have any medical history on Tom? Allergies? Anything?"

  She shook her head. What could she say? According to Tom, up until this moment, he healed almost instantly from traumatic injury. His only permanent injuries were scars from wounds healed thousands of years ago.

  Ben untied the cord that held Tom's cape in place, then unbuttoned the top of his shirt. A dark red ring of bruises circled his neck. Maggie gently pushed his shirt aside. His silver collar was gone. In its place lay a rough, brown leather cord, loose around his neck.

  With a nod toward Tom's leg, which lay at an odd angle, Ben said, "Looks like he's got a break there. As long as he keeps breathing steady and the heart beat stays strong, I'm going to leave it to the guys with the gear. No reason for jungle medicine here."

  He reached over Tom and took Maggie's hand. "He's going to be fine. He's a fighter, our Tom."

  Maggie almost laughed at that, our Tom. All these months he could have been hers and she'd been too stubborn to accept him the way he was. Now that he, by some miracle, had become mortal, she was going to lose him.

  "Tom?" Ben continued to speak while he lifted his eyelids one at a time. "Maggie, I need you to catch the paramedics."

  Maggie dragged her thoughts to the present. She could hear the sirens through the open emergency door.

  "Tell them we'll need transport to a Level I facility. It's been twenty minutes now and I'm not getting any reaction."

  Someone helped her to her feet and she staggered toward the door. She knew what Ben was doing, giving her something to do so she wouldn't go crazy with worry. The ambulance had all ready pulled up when she reached the door. They swept past her through the emergency entrance into the gym and didn't leave room to follow. When she tried, Ben grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way.

  "They don't need us in there now. They'll immobilize his leg, put on a neck brace, just in case, probably an IV. I'll find out where they're going to take him and we can follow together."

  Maggie could only nod, grateful that Ben included her in his plans, considering how he'd always made his feelings clear. She wasn't good enough for our Tom. At the moment she had to agree. If she hadn't insisted on that silly, no magic rule no matter what, Tom would have saved Chet with a flick of his finger and not been hurt. As for her wish, she wasn't certain what she'd wished for and had no way of telling how Tom would have interpreted it. She had to think it had something to do with why Tom lay unconscious on a gurney, headed for the hospital.

  He'd existed for thousands of years, a terror and threat to his masters, and she'd brought him down with one tiny, foolish wish.

  When they wheeled Tom past her, Maggie tried to reach him. His skin looked oddly translucent against the white sheet with the IV tube taped to his wrist. Suddenly Chet was at her side, pulling her away.

  "I've got my car out front. We can go--"

  A sob rose in her chest, so painful that it threatened to erupt into a wail. Ben supported her on one side, Chet pulled on the other. "No, Chet."

  Maggie didn't bother to worry about Chet's pained expression as he said, "I'll meet you there then."

  "No...no, Chet. I've told you before and you wouldn't listen. I hope that this time you'll take what
I'm saying to heart. I don't want to see you again."

  Before he could protest, one of the paramedics tossed a bag to Ben. "Here's the personal effects. We'll meet you there."

  Personal effects? Maggie strained to understand. Ben patted her hand. "Well, we are the closest thing the boy has to family, so that's what I told `em. You come with me. We'll leave this fellow to the police. They'll want to find out exactly how this fall happened." He glared at Chet as he helped Maggie to his car.

  She was belted in and halfway down Highway 10 before the weight of the bag in her lap drew her attention. Ben glanced toward her when she opened the plastic.

  "Not much there considering." His comment came out in a choked gasp as he blinked at the road ahead and clutched the steering wheel tighter.

  Not much, considering he was an ancient and powerful jinn. Considering how much he meant to all of them. Considering how much he meant to her. The paramedics had cut the leather cord from his neck. Somehow, she knew it was the same silver collar that had tortured him so. From this at least, he'd found release.

  The mass of keys were a mystery. One of them to Mrs. Hanson's house. Had he ever returned the key Mother gave him when he helped paper the upstairs hall? One was labeled Summers, probably for meeting Andy when his mother couldn't make it home for the school bus. A dozen others she didn't recognize. She hadn't realized how many people trusted Tom. She wondered if he knew.

  A dollar bill and some change. Tom never was much for money. Always seemed to get along without it. A red rubber ball and a deck of cards, probably left over from his magic show.

  The familiar shape in leather at the bottom of the bag startled her. A billfold. Someone must have given it to him, not realizing he had nothing to put in it.

  "What's that you got there," Ben asked.

  She held it up for him to see, not trusting to use her voice yet.

  "Open it up," Ben said. "Never know, the boy may have been holding out on us."

  Maggie didn't think one more thing could happen today that would shock her, but she gasped.

  Ben swerved at the sound and pulled to the side of the road. "What?"

  Maggie said nothing, just removed the card and held it up for Ben to see.

  Tom had a Connecticut driver's license.

  Ben took the card from her and squinted in the uncertain light. "Tom has a last name, and you'll never guess what it is."

  Chapter 14

  TOM FOUGHT back panic. He knew why his leg was raised and attached to the pulley, but understanding didn't make the feeling go away. He was trapped.

  "How are you feeling today, Mr. Rawley?"

  "Fine." His response sounded clipped to his ear. He'd been trying to match his accent to those around him without much success. The doctor's crisp, clear words hurt his ears.

  "I reduced the pain medication yesterday."

  "My damn leg hurts." Tom growled the words. His doctor insisted on honesty. Tom wasn't certain why the condition for their relationship irritated him so. "I didn't sleep well last night, felt like pacing." He rattled the traction chain that held his leg.

  "We'll be getting you in a walking cast this morning when we're through here. Then you can be on your way to becoming an outpatient."

  Tom's interest peaked when a young lady entered the room, but when he looked in her eyes he fell back against the pillows. She wasn't the one. He shifted uneasily in the bed. Even his own thoughts seemed odd. What was he looking for? What trait did this petite woman with the nervous smile lack?

  "This is Miss Lunder. She's the social worker assigned to your case."

  "Why?" Tom demanded. Social worker held no meaning for him. He was angry but not certain why. If he didn't remember the word that must mean he had no need for one in Connecticut.

  "Because you don't have any immediate family that we know of, Mr. Rawley." Miss Lunder spoke in a small voice while she consulted her notebook. "You do, however, have a great many friends here in Minnesota who expressed the desire to help. Returning to your usual environment can be an important part of your recovery."

  Tom crossed his arms over his chest. He was more interested in getting dressed and out of this place. Where he would go wasn't important.

  The doctor began flipping through records of his own. "I agree. It would be best for you to remain here rather than return to your apartment in Connecticut, where you do not appear to have any close friends."

  Here, the land of Connecticut, what did it matter?

  "Your only connection there seems to be a part-time housekeeper who has sent clothes and a lawyer who knows something of your background. According to him, last year you walked away from your job as a graduate assistant at Yale sometime over the Christmas, New Year holiday and no one heard from you until last week when you showed up here in the emergency room with an insurance card."

  Yale. It was a word that meant something to him. "Yale is a school where they teach history."

  His doctor smiled, making Tom nervous again. "History among other things. Do you remember anything about your time in Connecticut?"

  Tom shook his head. "Yale is in Connecticut. It is a simple question in geography. That is all I know. Was I born in Connecticut?"

  A faint memory stirred then, strong, comforting arms cradling him.

  "No, you were born in New Delhi, India. Your father was British, your mother Indian. They apparently met at the embassy in India where they were both assigned."

  "They are dead," Tom added.

  "Yes," the social worker said in her soft voice. "We spoke of this before, Mr. Rawley. Do you remember coming to the hospital?"

  Tom shook his head. His parents were dead. It meant nothing to him, and he knew it should. Children loved their parents. Why didn't he?

  The doctor spoke again. "Well, Tom, you might not have made a lot of friends out East, but we've had a lobby full of them from Rawley. Do you remember your friends?" The doctor flipped through his records again. "A Mr. Ben Johnson and Miss Margaret Yates came with you when you first arrived. They took turns sitting with you until you regained consciousness. Do you remember them?"

  Tom shook his head again. What did he remember? Little snatches from the day before. "Yesterday I had pancakes for breakfast."

  "This is normal for head injuries, Tom," the doctor said. "Memories of your hospital stay, some of it, should return to you. When we spoke before, you remembered much of your time here in Minnesota."

  "Yes," breathed Tom, relieved to have something to say besides he didn't remember. "I washed dishes at the diner, sometimes ran the movies at the theater, and I played with the children at school. It seems I'm not what you would call an overachiever." His mocking laugh hurt his ears.

  "Before you came to Rawley you were a successful scholar and businessman. Your lawyer will be contacting you soon. You have an estate to support you. Perhaps that's why you didn't concern yourself with employment here in Rawley."

  "But I didn't remember that, did I? I was sponging off people. If I was such a success out East, why did I walk off without a word? Why did I forget everything about my life there? Why did I come to this place with the same name as my own, when I didn't even remember my name?"

  "We can't answer that, Mr. Rawley, but maybe you will some day, given enough time. The trick is not to worry about it. You have memories enough to function. You can speak, read, and write. Your general knowledge of the past is detailed. You have a lot to be thankful for."

  Thankful. The word didn't sound right. "It's just my own past I can't remember."

  "Maybe you remember all you want to know, or all you need to. You remember enough of your life in Rawley to be comfortable there, for the time being, and you have people who care about you, who are eager to help. People, I might add, who know nothing about your having any resources to pay them for their efforts. That's a lot to be thankful for right there. As for your past, before you arrived in Rawley, can you remember anything today?"

  Tom shook his head, tired of having to m
ake the gesture.

  "How about when you were a child, Mr. Rawley?" the social worker asked. "Do you have any childhood memories?"

  Before Tom could shake his head again, the image came to him, brief and painful. "I was sitting around a fire with friends. My neck hurt and I was hungry." He stopped himself from rubbing his neck. The bruises no longer hurt where a nurse had said a leather cord he'd been wearing had injured him.

  "That's a start," the doctor said, closing his notebook. "We aren't going to just send you home, you know. Your friends will bring you back for follow-up appointments on your leg and your head injury. This type of injury requires a long recovery period. You've made a lot of progress in the last two weeks."

  "I just don't remember, huh?"

  "I think our Mr. Rawley has had enough of us for this morning." The doctor stood. "Your orthopedist will be along soon to get that new cast on your leg, and I'll be seeing you again before you check out. I'll be giving you instructions then. They'll be all written out so you won't need to worry about forgetting anything."

  Forgetting. It seemed to Tom that he must have spent his entire life forgetting. Why else did so little remain? A circle of faceless people around a fire. The scene dripped with pain and sadness. Some day in the recent past the doctor had asked about scars on his back and Tom had panicked. Where had they come from? Who had wanted to hurt him so badly? Only assurances that the wounds were old had calmed him.

  Nothing else remained of his life until Rawley, which consisted of scattered fragments, flashes of scenes, and a feeling of warmth, despite the snow.

  Yes, he had arrived in snow. Snow filled the streets outside his window now. Next week would be Thanksgiving, a major holiday from what he'd gathered. Why did the word mean nothing to him? Had he never shared a Thanksgiving feast? Hadrian's Wall and the Garden's of Babylon were words embedded with meaning, but not this simple family holiday.

  The aching in his chest told him nothing. Perhaps he had always been this lonely and the tears that threatened now had fallen many times before. He had to make a new life for himself and all he had to build it on were fragments of a tortured past and people he did not know.