Missing Magic

by Karen Whiddon

  “I can’t see where he is,” she muttered. “I don’t know what direction we should run.”

  They were trapped.

  Unable to flee, their only option was to fight back. But how? Cenrick tried to think. He couldn’t use magic here, surrounded by so much metal machinery. And, against bullets, his crystal dagger would be useless.

  “Stay down.” Dee grunted. “Damn, I wish I had my gun. I left it in the glove box.”

  “If we stay low, maybe we can make it to your car.”

  “Maybe. But first, I’ve got to figure out where the shooter is hiding. And pray no one else wanders into his line of fire. There are a ton of tourists – with kids – out here today. I don’t want any of them hurt.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. Shifting his weight, he cursed an ancient curse. “Haven’t enough innocents been harmed? They keep destroying Fae lives. Why harm any humans?”

  “Most likely this guy is a hired gun. Natasha probably paid someone to come after us. Either that or,” her voice was grim. “Somebody in the police department decided they hate me enough to kill me.”

  Startled, he looked at her crouching next to him, so beautiful, so tiny, so fierce. He couldn’t let them harm her. “Let’s make a run for it. I’ll shield you with my body.”

  She made a strangled noise low in her throat. “If anything, I should shield you. Metal bullets will hurt me, but they’re poison to you.”

  “No. They can kill you just as easily.” He pushed himself up to see if he could spot any sign of the shooter.

  Immediately, their assailant fired again. This time, the bullet ricocheted off a concrete pillar behind them.

  “Ooomph.” Dee jerked and grabbed her side, staring down at her abdomen in surprise as blood spread over her shirt and hand. “I’ve been hit. In the stomach.” She gasped again. “Gut shots are never good.”

  Desperately, he looked around for something, anything, some kind of weapon he could use. He found nothing.

  Dee moaned with pain. He grabbed her, trying to staunch the flow of blood. As she slipped into unconsciousness, going limp in his arms, he heard footsteps, moving closer.

  The shooter, coming to finish them off.

  He did the only thing he could. Despite the metal all around him, he grabbed Dee’s shoulder. Quickly, urgently, he spoke the words of the spell to take them to Rune, and prayed it would somehow work.

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN THEY materialized in Rune, Cenrick let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank the Goddess.”

  As he stepped onto the path that led to the palace, he saw that Mort waited as though he’d been expecting him. “She is hurt.”

  Mort gasped as he saw the blood.

  Carrying Dee in his arms, Cenrick strode past the Mage, hurrying towards the castle. Above, Tinth screeched as she circled.

  Mort hurried to keep up.

  Once they’d gained the steps to the castle, Cenrick turned to look at the older man. “Can you save her?”

  The Mage looked from Dee’s unconscious form to the hallway which led to his quarters. “Bring her to my room, and let me try.”

  Try? “Trying is not enough. You must save her.” Cenrick was already moving forward, making the seemingly endless journey down twisted, deserted hallways, until he reached the Mage’s double-paneled door.

  Mort threw the doors open. Inside the room, a hearth fire burned merrily to banish the chill. “Place her on that pallet near the hearth.”

  As Cenrick complied, gently arranging a still-unconscious Dee on the pallet, he squinted at the older man suspiciously. “One might almost assume you were expecting us.”

  Mort’s expression was grave. “As when your brother brought Carly here, after that explosion which nearly took her life, Tinth came before you, warning me to make ready. My hawk told me of the metal bullet which pierced Dee’s side.”

  Moving the bloodstained material away from the wound, Cenrick nodded absently. All his life, most of Rune had wondered at the Mage’s communication with his hawk. For now, Cenrick had to worry about Dee.

  She moaned and he froze.

  “Moving the cloth pains her. But it must be done.” Mort placed a basin of warm water near the pallet and handed Cenrick a cloth. “We must clean the wound so I can remove the bullet.”

  Gently, he washed away the blood, turning the water red as he wrung the cloth. “The wound still bleeds, but it’s as clean as I can make it.”

  “Then leave us.” Slipping on his gloves, Mort waved a hand. “I must get the bullet out.”

  “No.” Dropping the cloth into the water, Cenrick dared the mage to argue. “I’m staying.”

  “Then hold her hands, in case she wakes. I can’t have her moving when I’m inside her skin.”

  Heart in his throat, Cenrick did as Mort requested. Her small hands were cold and lifeless, which terrified him.

  He kept his gaze on her face while the Mage searched for the bullet.

  “I found it.” Triumphant, Mort held up the bloody piece of metal in his gloved fingers. “Now I will disinfect this and sew her up. She should be good as new.”

  Good as new. While the mage worked, Cenrick thought of the shooter. He wanted to go back, right now, and find the one who had done this to her. And when he did…

  Suddenly, he remembered the envelope. Did she still have it? He remembered she’d slipped it into her back pocket. He glanced at Dee, still unconscious. Perhaps whatever was inside would reveal clues to their enemy’s whereabouts.

  “Finished.” Satisfaction rang in Mort’s voice. “You can let her go now.”

  Cenrick placed her hands at her sides. Then, gently, he slid his hand under her backside, locating the brown envelope and pulling it from her pocket.

  “What is that?” Mort regarded him curiously.

  “This is what we were retrieving when someone shot at us.” Peeling back the flap, he opened the envelope.

  Inside, he found several photographs. The first one was of some kind of machine, the second showed the blond woman – Natasha, standing next to it, her expression cold and triumphant. In the third, Mick had joined her, looking solemnly worried. And the fourth – oh, the fourth – showed the Fae man known as Galyeon, strapped into the machine and screaming.This man had been among the Oracle’s Soulless.

  “How long before Dee wakes?”

  “I don’t know. But I promise to make certain she feels no pain.” He indicated his stock of medicines. Something he saw in Cenrick’s face must have alarmed him. “You cannot wake her now. She will suffer too much.”

  Looking at her, so pale, so still, Cenrick knew the Mage was right. “I know.” He took a deep breath. “But as soon as she is able, I must show her these.”

  “May I?” Mort held out his hand.

  “They show the machine that steals Fae souls.” Cenrick handed him the envelope.

  Pouring over them, Mort grunted. When he’d finished, he looked at Cenrick, eyes glowing with determination.

  “It is this machine which you must find and destroy.”

  “We,” Cenrick corrected. “Dee and I.”

  “Time is of the essence.” Mort glanced at Dee, still unconscious. “She will not be capable of movement for many days.”

  “Say you that I should go without her? The Oracle said it will take two of us to vanquish this thing.”

  “True. You have no protection without her.”

  “Yet each moment I delay, more Fae souls are lost.” Cenrick shifted restlessly. “I must try. I see no other alternative.”

  “But what if it takes you? Rune cannot lose you now.”

  “That’s a risk I’ll have to take.” Cenrick shrugged. “This must be stopped. I’ll go alone. When she’s well enough, I’ll come back for her.”

  “No.” Dee, her voice weak, raised her head. “I’m part of this too. No way are you leaving me here.”

  Cenrick crossed to her side, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You must heal. This will take more
than mere hours.”

  She gaze up at him with eyes bleary from pain. “Time,” she croaked. “Change time.” Then she lapsed once more into unconsciousness.

  Mort shook his head. “If she awakens again, we must give her this draught to ease the pain.”

  “She has a point.” Cenrick dragged his hand across his face. “When you send us across the veil, you can control the time of our arrival.”

  “True. I can arrange your arrival so no time is lost.”

  Nodding, Cenrick pulled a chair up to Dee’s side, taking her hand. “Then that settles it. We’ll stay here while she heals. Then you can send us back to the same time, same place, and only minutes while have elapsed since we left.”

  “I don’t know…” Mort didn’t sound happy. “What about the shooter? He could be there, waiting to finish you off.”

  “Do you want this machine destroyed?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then do as I ask. Once Dee is healed, return us to right after she was shot.”

  “Time travel is still an imprecise skill,” Mort warned, his brown creased with worry. “While I can usually nail it within hours, I don’t know about minutes.”

  “Do the best you can. I’m sure an hour will be fine. Your best is all I can ask.”

  Dee moaned, stirring restlessly. Smoothing the hair from her brow, this time Cenrick didn’t hide his emotion from the Mage. He couldn’t stop touching her, reassuring himself she still lived.

  “She sleeps peacefully,” Mort said. “Let her rest.”

  Reluctantly, Cenrick forced himself to remove his hand from her hair. Watching her chest rise and fall with her every breath, he hated to take his gaze off her, even for a second. “I’ll wait here by her side until she’s better.”

  “As you wish.”

  As he looked from her to the Mage, he surprised an anguished look on the older man’s face. “Mort? What’s wrong?”

  “You are like a son to me.” The simple explanation touched Cenrick’s heart. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  “You won’t. Dee will be with me.”

  “True, but I couldn’t live with myself if by manipulating time, I place both of your lives in danger.”

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take. The Soulless Ones need our help.” And Cenrick settled down to watch and wait.

  Dee healed in record time – if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d dreamt the entire shooting episode. But this was Rune, a world full of Magic, and Mort was apparently a wizard of great skill.

  To her though, it seemed she went to sleep one night and when she woke in the morning, the gaping wound in her side had nearly healed.

  “How did you do this?” She asked, amazed at the healthy pink skin where before had been a bloody hole. Puckering edges of new skin surrounding her wound. As far as she could tell, there were no stitches, nothing to hold the damaged parts together to heal.

  With a shrug, Mort smiled. “Magic, of course.”

  The chair beside her bed was empty.

  “Where is Cenrick?”

  “He refused to leave you and has spent many nights in that chair. I finally forced him to seek his own bed and rest. I promised to wake him when you woke, but he needs his sleep. He’ll need all his wits about him to fight this enemy.”

  “Oh.” Oddly disappointed, she shifted in her bed. “Did he say anything about the envelope we retrieved?”

  “Yes. He left with you, here.” Mort handed her the manila envelope.

  Pulling out the photos, she began looking through them. “Has Cenrick seen this?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “So that’s the machine.” She tapped one photo with her index finger. “And there’s that woman scientist, Natasha Klein. She’s behind all this.”

  At the next photograph, she froze. “Mick,” she said softly. “He’s only in this one picture. At least there aren’t any showing him strapped into the machine like this poor man.”

  “Galyeon, poor thing. He’s with the Oracle now.”

  Soulless. The word hung between them, unsaid.

  “What do you think Natasha is doing with their souls once she takes them?”

  Mort’s silver eyes were troubled. “I don’t know. I’m thinking she’s somehow found a way to extract the magic and use it for herself.”

  “But she’s human, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how is such a thing possible.

  “That my dear,” Mort’s expression grim, he kissed her cheek. “Is for you and Cenrick to find out. When you’re well, of course.”

  Experimentally, she raised herself up on her elbows, bracing against pain. Nothing. Not even a twinge. Even when she pushed herself to a full sitting position, she experienced absolutely no discomfort.

  “If only real life could be like this.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, absurdly shaky. “I’d like to try standing.”

  Mort made no move to help her. “Go ahead. You’re perfectly capable, now.”

  And so she was.

  After taking several wobbly steps, she turned to look at the Mage. “How long has Cenrick slept?”

  He looked perplexed. “A few hours now. Why?”

  “Please take me to him. It’s time. I’ve had enough resting and recuperating. I want to go home.”

  Nodding, he led the way.

  Cenrick slept on his back, arms flung out and only his lower body covered by a sheet. Such a rush of emotion struck her when she saw him, she staggered.

  “Are you all right?” Mort watched her closely.

  She nodded. “Let me wake him.”

  With trembling fingers, she brushed the hair from his brown, tracing the shape of his jaw.

  “Dee?” His eyes opened, surprise chasing away the sleep. “You’re here? I’m not dreaming?”

  With a little laugh, she kissed him. “No, I’m really here, all healed and ready for action.”

  He lifted a brow. Too late, she caught the double meaning and blushed.

  “Let me see you.” He sat up, running his hands down her sides tenderly. Lifting her shirt, he studied her wound, touching the slightly raised area with a gentle touch. “You are healed!” he exclaimed.

  Then he pulled her close for a long, deep kiss.

  Too late, she remembered the Mage. But when she broke the kiss and raised her head to look for him, she saw he’d left.

  An hour later, they found Mort in his chamber. Dee could feel her color rising as he studied them, his silver gaze giving nothing away. “Are you ready to return?”

  “Yes.” Dee gripped Cenrick’s hand. “Hopefully, we’ll hit the right time.”

  Mort spoke a few words, and the tingling started.

  Holding tight to Cenrick, Dee felt the rushing of time.

  They materialized in the parking lot in the aftermath of the shooting, twenty feet from where they’d been shot. Dee’s blood was still a wet puddle on the ground.

  “Yuck,” she said, eying the crimson stain and self-consciously touching her freshly healed side. “I wonder if the gunman’s gone.”

  “Come on, let’s check.” A thorough search of the lot turned up nothing, other than ordinary shoppers returning to their cars.

  “I’m guessing no one heard anything?”

  “He had a silencer,” Dee pointed out. She winced as they walked past her bloodstain. “Double yuck.”

  “I thought blood didn’t bother police officers.” Cenrick took her arm. “I was guessing you’d be used to it.”

  “Normally, we are. But it’s different when it’s your own.”

  “Check your watch.” Still holding her, Cenrick continued to search the parking garage. “Do you remember what time the shooting occurred?”

  “Hell, no. I was taken totally by surprise.” Lifting her wrist, she peered at the silver dial and frowned. “It’s a bit past ten-thirty. The mall opens at ten. We haven’t been gone long at all.”

  In the distance they hea
rd sirens approaching.

  “Great. Someone must have called the police.”

  “Come on.” Pulling him along with her, Dee headed for her car. “That would mean our assailant is gone for sure. I’d like to get out of here before any of my former co-workers arrive.”

  They’d reached her car and started the ignition when several police cruisers, lights flashing, pulled into the lot. Several more blocked the exits.

  “I bet they’ve sealed off the place. It’s what I would do.”

  “Now what?”

  “We have no choice.” She shrugged. “We sit tight and do as we’re told.”

  “Out of the car.” A loud, distorted voice ordered. “Keep your hands above your heads.”

  “Bullhorn,” Dee said. “Do as he says.”

  Hands up in the air, they emerged from the car.

  Two cops approached, one from each side, with weapons drawn and pointed at them. One of the cops was Officer Lieber, the one who’d come to her apartment.

  “You again,” he said, disgust evident in both his voice and his expression. “What’re you doing this time, running drugs?”

  “Officer Lieber, that is uncalled for.” A different voice, this time belonging to another man. “Put down your weapons, people.”

  “That’s Lieutenant Cowell,” Dee said. “My boss and,” she looked at Lieber. “His.”

  Reluctantly, or at least it seemed so to Cenrick, Lieber lowered his pistol.

  “What happened here?”

  Stone-faced, Dee shook her head. “I don’t know. My friend and I just finished shopping at the mall. We were about to leave when you guys showed up.”

  “We had reports of a shooting.”

  “A shooting?” She shot Cenrick a look of disbelief. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Cenrick could only pray no one asked him a direct question. Fae were unable to lie.

  Lieber glared at them, his mouth twisted as though he’d swallowed something rotten.

  Lieutenant Cowell stepped forward, his gaze on Dee. “Officer Bishop, with the investigation into your alleged misconduct still ongoing, need I remind you of the advisability of keeping yourself clean?”

  She gave him a suitably chastened look. “No sir. But honestly, I didn’t see anything.”