A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  He had to warn Veronica. He launched a strong mental sending: Veronica! Guard Les! Carl has me. He wants Les. He—

  Trevor’s head spun. “No more messages,” Carl said.

  Trevor tried to speak, but his head was heavy, his tongue thick. Carl’s face blurred; his vicious laughter swept him into oblivion.

  Les explored the room, examining the odd objects hanging everywhere. The avid curiosity he’d felt earlier was gone; he was only trying to divert his mind from worry over Trevor. He found himself wondering about each object whether it would aid in helping Trevor, dismissing most things as useless for that purpose.

  He wished he knew how much time had passed since Trevor’s disappearance. How long had it been since Veronica went after him? The windowless room offered no clue to the time of day—or night. He climbed to the outer door and tried to open it to look outside, but it was locked, and the lock refused to yield to his efforts.

  The place was acquiring the feel of a prison. What could he do if neither Trevor nor Veronica returned? He cursed his powerlessness. A gifted person could find or make a way of escape; he was trapped.

  He returned to the magical door and glared at it, angry that its secrets were hidden to him. Veronica should have returned.

  On another tour of the room, he selected a sturdy metal table with a round top on which rested an astrolabe. He removed the instrument, set it carefully on the floor, and carried the table back to the door. Holding it by its wrought iron legs, he swung the dinner-plate-size top against the door.

  It thudded against the wood with a force that jarred his bones and sent a wave of pain smashing through his arms and shoulders. He put the table down and, rubbing his upper arms, examined the door. The wood was undented, the lock undamaged.

  He picked up the table, braced himself, and swung again. Again the agonizing jolt, again no visible damage to the door.

  “Once more,” he said grimly, hefting the table and throwing all his strength into the swing.

  The iron table passed into and through the wooden door, and both table and door vanished in a flash of light. Unbalanced by the absence of the expected resistance, Les sprawled forward. His hands hit the floor, and he yelped with pain. When he picked himself up and examined his palms, he saw red and blistered flesh where the iron table legs had burned as they dissolved into nothingness.

  He had succeeded only in destroying the door. He sank back on his haunches and stared at the place where the door had been, unable to think of anything more he could do.

  A moth dipped down and fluttered in front of his face. He grabbed for it, only to see it dart beyond his reach. Driven by the need to vent his frustration, he jumped to his feet and lunged for the moth. His fingers brushed its wing.

  It spiraled down and landed on the floor near his feet. He lifted a foot to stomp on it.

  It shimmered, and as he blinked his eyes, Veronica took shape before him.

  Caught by surprise, he fell backward and sat heavily on thick fur. “Y-you were the moth?” he asked, so stunned he found it hard to form the words.

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said, gazing sharply around the room. “My consciousness was riding in it. My body was safely hidden in a place only I can reach.” Her dark eyes fastened their gaze on him. “And you, don’t you know better than to touch things you don’t understand?”

  “I’m s-sorry,” he stammered. “I—I was worried about Trevor. When you didn’t come back, I—”

  “You panicked,” she finished for him, too accurately.

  He bowed his head and nodded, jerked it up again as his wits returned. “Where’s Trevor?”

  Her frown cut deep furrows into her round face. “Not where he should have been. I found tracks. As I might have guessed, he didn’t follow my instructions. He wandered far out of sight of the door. Got himself into a good bit of trouble from the signs I saw, but he managed to stay alive. He managed something else, too, and I’m not sure how, but I’d bet he had help.”

  “What? What did he do and where is he?” Les struggled to his feet and stared down at her.

  “He got himself out of the place I sent him. Or someone else got him out. That’s more likely, who’d have the power?” Her face wrinkled even more, its folds almost hiding her eyes. She fell silent, lost in thought, as though she’d forgotten Les’s presence.

  “Well, but can you find him?” Les asked. “There must be something you can do.”

  She sighed and walked to the astrolabe Les had left on the floor. “Careless,” she muttered, stooping to pick up the instrument. “Where am I going to put this? I’ll have to replace the table you demolished.”

  He strode to confront her. “I’m sorry about the table, but it’s not as important as finding Trevor.”

  “I’ve half a mind to let the young scapegrace find himself,” she sniffed. “He’d likely learn more that way.”

  Les wanted to shake her. “He’s in danger. Isn’t that what you said? You’ve got to help him.”

  She ignored him and wandered from table to table until she found one with enough space for the astrolabe. Only then did she turn back to him. Her face had smoothed out as though settling the astrolabe into its new location had brought her peace.

  “Trevor isn’t helpless, you know. He has considerable talent, but he must learn to use it wisely. He’ll learn nothing if someone bails him out of every trouble he gets into. Relax. I imagine you’re hungry. We’ll have supper.”

  “I’m not hungry. I can’t eat while Trevor’s lost somewhere.”

  “Well, you won’t be much use to him if you’re weak from lack of food.” She bustled about, unhooking a kettle from a cord, untying a bunch of herbs from another string.

  Regardless of Veronica’s advice, Les could not set aside his concern for his friend. He started through the maze of tables, halted abruptly when Trevor’s voice shouted in his mind: Veronica! Guard Les! Carl has me. He wants Les. He—

  The shout cut off. Les ran toward Veronica, heedless of the tables, knocking one over in his rush. “Did you get that?” he demanded. “Carl has him. He does need our help!”

  Veronica stood on tiptoe and slammed her palm against Les’s cheek. “Calm yourself!” she ordered. “Of course I heard. Settle down. Go pick up that table you pushed over. Hope you didn’t break anything.”

  “But Carl! Carl is the guy who drugged and robbed us. Do something.”

  “Silence!” Her voice crashed over him, freezing him in place.

  “I’ll keep you like that until you get hold of yourself,” she said. “I am doing something. I’m fixing supper.”

  She went back to gathering items from tables and cords while he stood helpless. Her activity carried her behind him where, unable to turn, he could no longer see her, though he heard the clatter of pots and the clang of a spoon stirring something. After a time she came and stepped in front of him.

  “Listen to me. We’re going to have company in a short while. Someone looking for you. Remember, Trevor said Carl wants you. He was warning of danger to you, so be careful when you talk to this person. Understand?”

  Suddenly he could move. He nodded. “But you’ll be here, won’t you?”

  “I’ll be nearby, but I think it best that you talk to the visitor alone. You might want to invite her to supper.” She motioned toward the side of the room.

  Following her gaze, he saw a larger table, which certainly had not been in the room earlier, set with steaming bowls of vegetables and a platter of sliced meat. Two places were set, and two chairs had materialized along with the table.

  “You use power to get your food?” he asked, amazed.

  “No, of course not. I have meat and vegetables delivered by the market boy, and I cook it myself the normal way. I did use power just now to arrange the table because time is short. I don’t waste power on everyday tasks, unlike some in the Community. Now get ready to receive your guest.”

  Still staring at the mouth-watering spread, he asked, “Where did t
he table and chairs come from?”

  When he heard no answer, he turned. Veronica was gone. A moth fluttered among the dangling cords.

  Someone knocked on the outside door. He hurried to it before remembering that it was locked and he could not open it. Still, he put his hand on the latch and lifted. The door swung open.

  He was not prepared for the sight of the frightened girl standing on the doorstep; he must have stared at her for several minutes before she said in a shy voice, “Are you Les? Trevor’s friend?”

  “Yes,” he said, suddenly aware of the dirty clothes he was wearing, the only things he had to wear since Carl had stolen the carryalls.

  “I’ve come to take you to Trevor,” she said.

  A moth swooped past his face. He raised his hand to brush it away, remembered Veronica’s warning of danger. But when Les saw the ugly bruise on one side of Miryam’s face, he felt an impulse to protect her.

  “Won’t you come in?” he said, stepping back so that she could descend. “I was about to have supper. Perhaps you’ll join me?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” Her hand fluttered to her throat, its motion reminding him of the moth.

  “Please,” he urged, smiling encouragement. “I haven’t eaten all day, and I’d be glad for your company.”

  Slowly she stepped inside and let him lead her down the stairs.

  CHAPTER TEN

  FRIEND OR FOE?

  Les escorted the girl to the table, helped her into a chair, and sat opposite her. She looked around the room in bewilderment, her gaze lingering on some of the more mysterious items. Perhaps she understood their purpose.

  “You live here?” she asked with evident awe.

  “No,” he said. “I’m a guest of the owner.”

  “Where is the owner?” With anxious eyes the girl scanned the room.

  “She went out for a while.” Les didn’t like to lie. He cast a guilty glance at the moth flitting overhead. Hurriedly he picked up the platter of meat. “May I serve you, uh—I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Miryam. I’m not hungry. Give me only a small portion, please.”

  “Miryam. That’s a lovely name.” He placed a slice of meat on her plate, went on to serve her vegetables and bread before filling his plate.

  It had been a long time since he’d had a decent meal; his stomach demanded filling, but his appetite deserted him. His attention fixed on Miryam, he scarcely knew what he was eating.

  Veronica had said he was in danger, and Trevor had implied the same, but he found it hard to believe that Miryam would lead him into a trap. He watched her as she picked at her food, her eyes downcast.

  He gathered courage to say, “Miryam, I know Trevor’s in some trouble. What about you—what kind of trouble are you in?”

  She sighed, set down her fork, and met his gaze. Her eyes held a desperation that reminded him of the foal they’d seen from the train when the condor had swooped down on it. “I know Trevor mindcalled to you and told you he’s with Carl. Carl is my half brother. He sent me to find you. I—I was able to locate this house from images I read in Trevor’s mind. He didn’t realize. He doesn’t want you to come back with me, but I think you should. Carl wants to use you, but he’s more likely to hurt Trevor than you. He’ll keep Trevor tied to a chair until you come, and I can’t promise he won’t do worse to him if I don’t bring you back with me. The only way to protect Trevor is to do what Carl wants.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He wants to use the letters of introduction he stole from Trevor to gain entrance to the Gifted Community,” she said. “He intends to impersonate Trevor, but because the letters give detailed information about you, he feels he can’t succeed without your cooperation.”

  “He must be crazy if he thinks I could help him convince the gifted that he’s Trevor. They’d never be fooled. Their talents would spot the deception immediately.”

  She shook her head. “They might. But Carl believes he can use power to convince them. My power,” she added bitterly. “Don’t underestimate what he can do.”

  Les pushed his plate away and dragged his chair around the table to sit beside her. Unsure what to do, he wished Veronica would rematerialize and give him advice. After an awkward silence he asked, “Why should a rogue like Carl want to get into the Community, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.” She dropped her hands into her lap, stared at her interlocked fingers. “He hasn’t told me what he intends. I’m sure it’s a plan for getting more power or wealth or both. Those are the things he cares most about, though he also enjoys getting away with things like cheating and swindling people. He even makes me work in a café where I can spot marks for him.” Her voice was low and bitter.

  “Why do you help him? What hold does he have over you?”

  “He … It’s a long story.”

  “I’m willing to listen.” He kept his gaze fixed on her, waiting for her to look up.

  Instead, she pushed her chair away from the table and rose as if in sudden panic. “I can’t. I’ve already delayed too long. Carl will be furious. He may take his anger out on Trevor.”

  Les kept his seat, though he wanted to jump up and comfort her. “What will he do if I don’t go with you?”

  “Oh, please!” She knelt beside his chair, placed her hands on his arm. “He’ll torture Trevor. Maybe kill him. And he’ll force me to help. Please, I can’t bear that!”

  Tears spilled from her eyes, washed over her cheeks. Awkwardly he tried to wipe them away. Her skin was soft, and he let his hand linger on her cheek. Their eyes met. “I’ll go with you,” he said.

  He stood, lifting her to her feet at the same time. Although she was taller than he, she seemed frail and defenseless. He was torn between the desire to take her in his arms and the need to hurry to Trevor’s side.

  She has power, he reminded himself. She read Trevor’s mind. Who knows what she’s picking out of mine? The thought made him step away from her. He looked for the moth, couldn’t spot it anywhere.

  Yet surely Veronica would stop him if he’d made the wrong decision. After all, she’d set up this meeting, had practically forced him to invite Miryam to have dinner with him. Miryam would not have been able to enter if Veronica had not willed it. Likewise, if Veronica did not will it, they would not be able to leave. With that assurance he accompanied Miryam up the stairs that led to the door.

  He grasped the latch, was surprised when it swung open. As he hesitated, peering into the darkness, Miryam pushed past him. How late was it? He’d lost all track of time. Deciding it didn’t matter, he shrugged and followed Miryam out into the night.

  She led him confidently through dark and deserted streets. Light, music, and a strong odor of liquor spilled out of occasional doorways, and twice they overtook small groups of men weaving along, shouting and laughing in drunken glee. Les tensed, fearing trouble, but Miryam glided past the revelers without so much as a glance. No one took note of their presence.

  Every patch of light they passed through Les scanned in vain for the moth, hoping that Veronica had not abandoned him.

  They reached an apartment building only marginally nicer than those surrounding Veronica’s home. Miryam took a key from her skirt pocket and unlocked the door, led him into a corridor and up a creaking stairway to the second floor. Two doors opened onto the stair landing; she knocked at one of these. “Carl,” she called softly, “I’m back.”

  Trevor! Wake up, boy. Hear me. The insistent voice buzzed in his ear, dragging him out of fogged sleep. He tried to sit up, but his head swam, and he let it fall back onto the bed.

  Bed. He was stretched out on a bed, not tied to a chair. Not tied at all. That discovery took precedence over the voice. He needed to sit up and see where he was.

  Trevor, listen to me. I haven’t much time.

  He shook his head, trying to banish the annoying voice. The movement flooded him with waves of dizziness. While he waited for them to subside, the voice persisted. Tre
vor, Miryam will be here with Les any minute. You must hear me.

  It was Veronica’s voice, he realized. And as the import of the message penetrated his drugged mind, he struggled again to sit up. Les was coming! He had to think straight, had to get ready. Couldn’t let Carl get Les in his clutches.

  By the Power-Giver, you are the most stupid, stubborn, aggravating young man I’ve ever had to deal with. You don’t deserve your talents. I’ve half a mind to strip them from you, and don’t think I can’t. If you don’t lie still and listen to me, I may do that.

  The angry outburst seared his mind. He sank back on the bed, helpless to do anything but listen to the infuriating woman who’d invaded his brain.

  Hmmph! Now, then. You must agree to go along with Carl’s plans. He’ll do Les no harm so long as you and he both cooperate with him.

  That’s ridiculous! Unable to speak the words, he thought them with all the force he could muster.

  Quiet! Don’t you dare send. You have absolutely no sense of focus. Carl and everybody else will hear you.

  Get out of my mind, he sent, heedless of her warning.

  I’d cheerfully let you get yourself killed, but I’ve taken a liking to Les. With that comment, the voice ceased. He felt its absence in his head and breathed a sigh of relief. Now, to get his wits together and get ready to defend Les against Carl.

  A moth fluttered toward him, growing larger as it descended in slow spirals. He thought he was hallucinating when he saw it blur, and suddenly Veronica stood by his bed.

  She placed her hands on her ample hips. “It’s dangerous for me to be here, you young fool. Don’t know why you can’t listen to reason.”

  He tried to open his mouth to protest and discovered that he could neither move nor speak. He could only glare at her.

  “Your power’s no match for Carl’s,” she went on. “If you act rashly, Carl can destroy both you and Les. I could get you both safely away from here, but doing so wouldn’t stop Carl or solve Miryam’s problem.”

  How did she know about Carl and Miryam? Why did she think he’d care about their problems? Unless she was in league with them!