The Wizard Page 14

  Great. That meant her assignment had just gotten more difficult. What was she supposed to do now? Knock on the door of Derek's house and demand to be let in?

  She shut down her computer, grabbed her purse, and slunk out of the office before anyone could waylay her, heading back to the Crow’s Nest. A half hour later she drove up the winding drive. The Porsche wasn’t visible so she could only assume that Derek had pulled into his garage.

  She sat there thinking about the assignment the Elders had given her. They might know everything there was to know about magic, but they were idiots when it came to relationships. Nor did they know much about Breanna and Derek.

  It was obvious to anyone who’d seen them together that they were deeply in love. It wasn’t feigned or forced. Undoubtedly, Breanna had the ability to convince anyone of anything, but there was something natural and poignant about the two of them. Maybe what they shared was kind of magical, too. They had the same sense of humor. They had many similar interests. They sometimes even finished the other’s sentence.

  More than once Derek would stretch out his hand without looking as if he knew that Breanna was close to him. She would always put her hand in his or find a reason to touch his arm or shoulder. It was like the two of them were magnets around each other.

  That kind of love didn’t simply stop at death. You probably always felt the loss and the pain remained with you regardless of what happened in the future. The person you’d been when you were with the one you loved was gone. Somehow you had to figure out who you were now. How did you cope? How did you go on from day to day?

  She would try to get as close to Derek as she could, but she was under no illusions. He hadn’t noticed her when they worked closely together. He wasn’t going to notice her now when he was grieving. Nor was there going to be any romantic entanglement, however much the Elders hinted at it. She didn’t know anyone at NASACA who could devise a spell that powerful.

  Perhaps she had seemed protective in her reports. She couldn’t disagree with that, but what the Elders didn’t understand was that she respected Derek. She admired him.

  Her sister said that her problem was that she was over empathetic. She cried when she saw a character cry on a TV show. A sad news report could make her sob with abandon. Her family gently teased her about the trait, but it could occasionally annoy her.

  She thought she might have been born fifty years too late. The newspaper business was failing. Everyone knew it. She couldn’t be the kind of reporter she’d always wanted to be. She would have better luck starting a blog and getting a readership there.

  The Herald would’ve folded years ago if it hadn’t been for NASACA. It paid all their salaries and the operating costs for the paper. She wasn’t supposed to know that and the only reason she did was because of something Diane in the accounting department had let slip during a girl’s night out. A little surreptitious research and it wasn’t hard to figure out that the Herald was a wholly owned subsidiary of NASACA.

  NASACA was always flush with money. There were millions of witches in America, Canada, South America, and Central Africa and they contributed their monthly dues to NASACA. It was one bill you didn’t want to skip. NASACA had the money to manipulate anything they wanted, even buying a newspaper.

  At first she’d thought NASACA had purchased the Herald because they wanted to control the flow of information to civilians. It was only later that she realized what the true purpose of the newspaper was: to give Derek a job. To create a position for him where they could oversee his day-to-day life.

  How was she going to get closer to him? Too bad the Elders hadn’t offered her any brilliant ideas. Telling him the truth was out. Maybe she could go up to the house and ask for advice on a column she was writing. Heck, she didn’t even know if he was home. He was on compassionate leave. He could have gone back to Austin for all she knew.

  She couldn’t call him and ask him where he was. She was just going to have to handle this the old fashioned way - with magic.

  21

  Once he was back at the Crow’s Nest the first phone call Derek made was to the SAPD. Lt. Mills was his contact, a man who’d appeared compassionate and helpful the first time Derek met him.

  “If there’s anything I can do,” he said after informing Derek of Breanna’s death, “please give me a call.” He’d left, but not before pressing his card into Derek’s numbed hand.

  He’d been in Austin, staying at the hotel he used when he had an early morning interview or one that had lasted long into the night. He hadn’t expected the knock on his door or the appearance of a middle aged man with kind brown eyes.

  All he could remember of those moments was the sense of unreality, as if he had been plucked from his normal life and put into a fog shrouded world. He tried to be as polite as possible to the guy, but a part of him had wanted to pummel Lt. Mills, throw him to the ground, and then kick him a few times for good measure. Something along the lines of killing the messenger.

  Had Mills known?

  After being directed three separate times, he finally reached the lieutenant. He was prepared to identify himself but Mills startled him by remembering him at once.

  “I was wondering if you were able to make any progress into my wife’s accident. Did you ever find the other driver?”

  “Why would you be asking now, Mr. McPherson?”

  The question was odd. Why now as opposed to a few days earlier? Why now compared to a month from now?

  Before he could ask Lt. Mills exactly what he meant the other man continued. “We arrested the van driver this morning. Damnedest thing, really. The guy just walked into the Northeast Substation and turned himself in.”

  “What happens now?”

  “I wish I could tell you that he’s going to jail for a long time, but that might not necessarily happen.”

  Derek didn’t have the police beat, but he knew enough about the system to know that, in this case, justice would probably not be served. Yet putting the guy in jail for thirty years — while it might make Derek feel better — wouldn’t bring Breanna back.

  “Was he drunk at the time?”

  There was a pause before Mills spoke again. “We’ll never know for sure, but he says he wasn’t. He said the whole thing felt like a dream to him, like someone was making him do it. That’s why he turned himself in this morning, too.”

  The chill Derek was feeling began at his feet and traveled up his body. It had nothing to do with reason or rational thought and everything to do with the idea of spells and incantations.

  They talked for a few more minutes before Derek hung up.

  He sat where he was for a little while, staring out the window and not seeing the view. Instead, he saw the mangled wreck of Breanna’s car and the blood on the windshield. Then the broken shards of a beer bottle on the kitchen floor.

  Once upon a time he would’ve said that it was impossible to make someone do something as improbable as crashing into a car. Now he knew it was not only possible, it was probable. Plus, he had the identity of Breanna’s killer. Not the poor schlub who turned himself in, but the power behind the act itself.

  Know thine enemy.

  He opened the top drawer of his desk, reached inside, and pulled out the green book that Grace had given him. The Beginner’s Guide to Magic.

  He had to start somewhere.

  The spell Ellie used was a simple one, a location spell she learned when she was twelve. She’d used it mostly to find her dog but it worked with people, too. In this case, Derek McPherson.

  All she had to do was close her eyes, concentrate, and say the words. If she was lucky she would get a clear view of where he was. If she wasn’t, and what she got was garbled, she would have to do the spell more than once.

  She leaned back, put her head against the headrest and her hands on the steering wheel at ten and two. Although she tried to empty her mind of extraneous thoughts, a little worry seeped in. If she failed in her mission, the Elders weren’t going to be ha
ppy. If she succeeded, she’d feel like she was betraying Derek.

  The Elders would probably not do anything to her if she didn’t establish a closer relationship with Derek. After all, she hadn’t been guilty of breaking any rules or refusing to abide by the craft. Instead, she would simply be labeled as incompetent. That would be a difficult burden to bear for the rest of her life.

  She closed her eyes, speaking Derek’s name softly in the silence. Then she added, “Show me where you are.”

  The vision was as clear as if she was in the room with him. She saw a desk, a series of bookcases, and a tufted leather couch she thought was called a Chesterfield. He was sitting on an office chair and in his left hand was an open book. His right hand was in the air, his fingers pointed toward something she couldn’t see.

  She’d never been able to hear anything in a location spell, but she’d always wished she could. Never more so than now when Derek was frowning, consulting the book, then speaking at something she couldn’t see.

  It looked as if he was saying an incantation.

  She opened her eyes, feeling shaky. Her face was clammy and the metallic taste in her mouth made her wish she had a Diet Coke. She closed her eyes again, this time concentrating on her breathing. Drinking something sweet was the fastest way to banish the nausea. Otherwise, time was the only thing that worked.

  A location spell might be simple but it wasn’t easy.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if the Elders knew that Derek was practicing. What had they said? That he’d learned of his powers. Of course Grace had told him. Had she given him some lessons as well?

  This was not a good development. What was she supposed to do now? Let the Elders know? They probably already knew. She remembered the phone call she’d gotten earlier. They were probably watching her watching Derek.

  NASACA was not averse to using technology to enhance their magic. In fact, some of the most talented practitioners of the craft worked in IT. They combined their electronic knowledge with their abilities in magic to create awesome systems.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the interior of her car. Had one of them planted a listening device? Or a camera? Had they done the same in Derek’s cars? Or were they simply tracking them by satellite? She wouldn’t put it past the Elders doing all of that and more.

  Derek was in the black house on the hill. Now all she had to do was figure out how to connect with him, or as the Elder said, establish a relationship.

  She wished one of them had given her some advice on how to do that, exactly. Barring that, a spell or two would be helpful.

  Derek turned to a random page in the book. A forgetfulness spell. He would need a subject for that. Perhaps Mary when she next came to clean.

  A great many of the spells relied on having a target for them, ranging from love spells to a better employee review. Too bad he hadn’t known about his power when he was interviewing some recalcitrant state representatives. Just think what he might’ve been able to do with one of the shifty state senators. Or the governor, for that matter.

  He practiced two other spells that he considered miscellaneous. One was changing the color of an item. He’d made one of his sneakers blue and the other red and found that he could do so without much effort. One spell was dedicated to finding things and since he hadn’t lost anything lately — other than his mind — he couldn’t really give that a full workout.

  He performed a few more of the incantations in the green book, from unlocking his file cabinets to moving his stapler to various positions on his desk. He sure as hell didn’t need a spell for more money. Nor was he interested in any fertility incantations.

  There were some spells that didn’t make sense to him, like the ones for intuition and releasing. He already had enough intuition and it was screaming at him to be doing something more impactful with his time than this. And the releasing spell? He didn’t know what that applied to, unless it was something to do with having bad thoughts, getting over anger, that sort of thing.

  He decided to put the green book away for an hour or two and go for a run. He hadn’t been running lately, ever since he’d pulled something in his left knee three months ago. He’d taken it as a warning not to push himself too hard. Yet the idea of leaving the house now appealed to him. Maybe exercise was what he needed to calm his mind a little.

  The sneakers, from a discount store, weren’t his usual running shoes, but he wasn’t planning on a marathon right now. Just a short run to get the kinks out and get his mind on something, anything, other than Breanna’s death, magic, and the feeling that nothing in his life was real.

  He left the house by the back gate, following the gravel path down and around to the beginning of the woods that bordered the property. His property now. He owned the damn house which meant he didn’t have to live there ever again. He could sell it at a loss and walk away and never care, except for the fact that Breanna had loved it. It was irrational, incomprehensible, but there it was. The Crow’s Nest had meant something to her and because of that it now meant something to him.

  The path led around the lake and he babied his knee as he descended the incline. It was easier going up the hill than it was down. At the lake he took a moment to walk to the end of the dock. They had often come down here on a summer evening with Marshall. They’d dangled their feet in the lake while Marshall chased fireflies springing up from the tall grass.

  He shouldn’t have come here. So much for getting a change of scene.

  His heart felt like it was being squeezed by memories. Good ones, soft and blurry ones as they sat close to each other, laughing. Funny, bittersweet moments, minutes of pain as they shared feelings about the loss of a parent, a friend, or mourned their beloved dog.

  She’d been everything he’d ever wanted in a friend, companion, and lover. He, who’d been a loner for most of his life, had recognized it almost immediately.

  He started running again, this time away from the memories. He wanted to keep running until exhaustion overcame him, until he could barely make it back to the house and there was no question of sleeping tonight. He would fall into his bed still damp from his shower, and meet sleep on the way down.

  It had been months since he’d taken this route and he might have overtaxed his knee, a thought that came to him first with the twinge and then the ache on the inside of his leg. He bent to massage his knee and heard the whistle of a bullet close to his ear.

  He fell to the ground, flattening himself behind the tall grass edging the lake.

  It wasn’t hunting season. There wasn’t anything to hunt in northern San Antonio. Someone was shooting at him.

  Who the hell wanted him dead?

  Ellie heard the first shot and knew what it was immediately. Her father and brothers were marksmen, involved in regional and national shooting events. When she was little her father had taught her how to shoot, telling her that she should be comfortable around guns. She might not have magic to save her sometimes.

  Consequently, she knew what a firearm sounded like. In this case, a rifle. She sat frozen for a minute, uncertain what to do. Was someone shooting at her? She turned the key in the ignition and eased the car forward, looking over her shoulder at the same time.

  The air seemed funny, almost heavier, as if it were laced with dust motes. It could simply be that it was the heat of the day.

  Or she was seeing magic.

  She knew why she hadn’t gotten a vision of this happening. Her precognitive ability didn’t happen that way, and rarely when she was involved. It didn’t seem fair that she couldn’t use her own magic to save herself, but she was the source. It would be weird if the power of the magic doubled back on her.

  There wasn’t much of a curb on this road and she slid over the grassy hill and down the other side. The second shot was closer and this time she instinctively flinched, scooting down in the seat to make herself less of a target. She could still see well enough to recognize that she was heading toward a wooded area.

  Derek
was there.

  How she knew it, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a residue of the location spell. She pressed down on the accelerator just as the third shot rang out.

  The pain was a surprise. She slumped even further in the seat, but this wasn’t a conscious choice. When the car hit the trees her last thought was that her insurance rates were going to go through the roof.

  Derek pulled out his phone and got to the first 1 in 911 when he heard the sound of a car. He stared at the blue Ford barreling over the hilly ground like it was a Jeep or a Land Rover.

  Ellie was aiming straight for him.

  He wanted to yell at her to take cover, but he didn’t get a chance before he heard another shot. Several things happened at once. She careened wildly toward him and the car came to a stop less than ten feet away, its nose buried in a venerable oak.

  After the last shot he hadn’t heard anything. Nor did he want to wait to check on Ellie. He kept to the trees until he reached the Ford. The driver’s side panel was crumpled, so he went around the smoking engine, pulled open the passenger door and entered the car.

  She was unconscious which wasn’t a good sign. Nor was the blood pouring from her left shoulder. After releasing her seat belt he pulled her to him. A basic first aid course he’d once taken came to mind. Don’t move an accident victim. He might be excused in case of someone shooting at her and the car catching fire.

  He looked toward the line of trees and wished the shooter to hell and back.

  Ellie wasn’t short and petite, but he didn’t have any problem carrying her through the trees until he was reasonably certain they weren’t targets. He lay her down on a nest of pine needles and called 911 again, giving them directions to the service road closest to the trees.

  While he waited for the police and the ambulance he applied direct pressure to the wound on her shoulder. The bastard who’d shot her might have killed her instantly if the bullet had struck her a few inches to the side.