The Wizard Page 15

  What kind of spell could he say to make Ellie well? Or to catch whoever was trying to kill him? He had a feeling he needed to learn more, quick. If he was a damn wizard it was time he started acting like one.

  22

  The fire engine was there a few minutes before EMS pulled up. They sprayed down Ellie’s car and the nearby trees in a white foam that made everything look momentarily like winter in Wisconsin.

  Ellie had regained consciousness, but he didn’t know her condition. He watched as the ambulance took her away, wishing that someone would tell him something. Instead, both the police and the fire department had plenty of questions for him.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have any answers.

  Although he’d gotten plenty of death threats at the paper, the people who wrote those rarely did more than mail a letter or send an email. They blustered and fussed. They didn’t sit in the woods and try to pick him off like a partridge. Nor did they blow up his car. No, this was something else. It wasn’t magic, however. Someone was out to get him, but it wasn’t a wizard or a witch. This person used bombs and bullets, not incantations and spells.

  Once the police released him — although they were still at the scene — he went back to the house, got his car keys, and drove to the hospital.

  Nobody at the reception desk would tell him what Ellie’s condition was. He debated lying about their relationship, then decided against it. Had anyone called her family? They wouldn’t tell him that, either.

  He thought about contacting someone on the paper to see if they would have any more luck when the double glass doors parted and Grace walked in, heading directly for him.

  “I thought you couldn’t see me,” he said as a greeting.

  She frowned at him, making him feel seven years old when he’d questioned some orthodoxy at Sunday school.

  “I didn’t see you. I saw Ellie. How is she?”

  “I don’t know. Is she a member of NASACA?”

  Grace reached over and patted him on the arm. “We’ll talk about that later. How is she?”

  He glanced over at the reception area and then back at Grace. “I really don’t know. Nobody will tell me anything.”

  She patted his arm again before turning and striding toward the curved desk.

  When she got there she placed both hands on the counter, palms down. She didn’t say anything for a moment, but neither did the older woman seated on the other side of the desk. When Grace finally did speak, her voice was low, a soft and oddly compelling monotone.

  “Emily Hunt. How is she?”

  The woman who had been so intransigent with Derek tilted her head up and looked into Grace’s eyes.

  “She’s stable. The doctors expect her to make a full recovery. She’s out of surgery. Her family is waiting to see her.”

  Grace smiled and said to the woman, “Thank you very much.” She peered over the counter and read the woman’s badge. “Maria. Thank you very much, Maria. Could you tell me which room she’ll be in?”

  The woman nodded slowly. “Room 301.”

  “Maria, I think we should keep this between us, don’t you?”

  Maria smiled at Grace. “Thank you, and you have a nice day.”

  “How the hell did you do that?” Derek asked as they walked away from the counter.

  “Derek McPherson, you know better than to use such language around me.”

  “I apologize, Grace, but you didn’t answer me.”

  “You could’ve done the same thing, Derek.”

  He glanced at her.

  “You have natural talents. I’d be willing to bet that you’ve experienced them numerous times in your career.”

  “What talents are those?”

  “The ability to persuade, to convince. Haven’t you gotten a lot of interviews with people who’ve never given interviews?”

  “You’re telling me that it’s my being a wizard and not my natural charisma?”

  She turned and walked toward the elevators and he fell into step beside her. She ignored his question for one of her own. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know that, either,” he said. He told her about jogging, the shots, then Ellie careening over the hill.

  “And you didn’t see anyone shooting at you?”

  The police had asked the same question in the same tone. He answered her as he’d answered them.

  “No. After Ellie hit the trees I expected the shooting to continue, but nothing happened.”

  “This is not good, Derek. This concerns me a great deal.”

  He looked at her. “How do you think I feel?”

  She punched the elevator button and stared at the closed doors. When the car arrived less than five seconds later he wasn’t unduly surprised.

  “Did you do that?”

  She laughed. “No. Why use magic when technology will do?”

  He wasn’t sure he believed her. No one else joined them in the elevator which he suspected was another rarity.

  “I don’t think this was a magical attack,” she said.

  “Neither do I. Why use magic when technology will do?” he said, repeating her words. “What would a magical attack look like?”

  She glanced up at him. “I’m not entirely certain in your case. If you were a witch and you’d disobeyed the Elders, they might take away your speech, your sight, or your hearing for a number of days. They could give you an acute case of diverticulitis or cause your appendix to burst. In the worst case they could stop your heart.”

  He stared at her, unable to think of a response. Maybe a week ago he wouldn’t have believed her, but he did now.

  “Why not in my case?”

  “Because you’re protected. First by Breanna’s work and now mine. I am not an inconsequential witch, Derek. I have power of my own.”

  He didn’t doubt it. He decided not to pursue that line of inquiry. Instead, he reverted to what she’d said earlier.

  “So you think if I concentrate, I can improve my powers of persuasion?”

  “Bottom line, yes. You have enough natural power that you should be able to accomplish a great deal simply through your will. Did you ever think that whoever was shooting at you stopped because you wanted it stopped?”

  Every time he was with Grace he left with things to think about. This conversation was no exception.

  The elevator doors opened and he stepped back, allowing her to go first. She seemed to know exactly where Ellie’s family was without asking directions. She nodded at a few doctors, smiled at a nurse or two, and led him to a small waiting room.

  She opened the door, entered, and went immediately to an older man sitting beside a middle-aged woman. The woman had auburn hair while the man’s was bright red like Ellie’s. Derek could see the resemblance to Ellie in her parents and the other three people in the waiting room, probably her sister and brothers.

  Grace placed her hand on the man’s shoulder. “Caleb, all will be well.”

  The man slumped in his seat, bent his head, and stared at his clasped hands.

  “I hope you’re right, Grace.”

  “You didn’t understand me, Caleb. All will be well.”

  Caleb looked up at her. “You know this to be true, Grace?”

  She nodded. “I promise you. And you, Lily.”

  Lily’s eyes were filled with tears as she grabbed Grace’s free hand and kissed the back of it.

  “Oh, thank you, Grace. Thank you. How can I ever repay you?”

  “There is no payment necessary, Lily. Ellie is a lovely young woman. She deserves only good things happening to her. As do you and your family.”

  “Thank you, Grace,” Caleb said.

  No one noticed Derek standing by the door. Instead, they clustered around Grace as if she were someone special. An oracle of healing, perhaps. That’s what it had sounded like when she’d said, all will be well, with that inflection in her voice.

  Just how much power did she possess?

  Grace didn’t say anything else. Nor did she
introduce him. She turned and walked out the door, glancing at him in a wordless command. He followed her back to the elevator.

  “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

  “As I said, I’m not an inconsequential witch. All they needed was a little reassurance that Ellie would be fine.”

  “And you could give that to them? How?”

  “Medicine is an imperfect science, Derek. How do you think people survived before doctors and technology evolved?”

  “Witches?”

  “Magic, Derek,” she said, punching the button. “Magic is responsible for a great many wonderful things in the world. Have you never heard of the power of prayer?”

  “Are you saying that magic is prayer now?”

  “How do you think religions got the idea? Like-minded people, all with the same goal in mind can achieve miraculous things.”

  “So you’ve started a prayer group for Ellie?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, punching the elevator button again. “Or perhaps I’m powerful enough to achieve a miracle or two on my own.”

  “Why the hell couldn’t you save Breanna?”

  His question shocked her, he could tell. She didn’t say another word in the elevator. When they left the hospital he half expected her to turn and upbraid him, or at least lecture him on proper language.

  She didn’t. She did face him, however. The pain in her eyes was uncomfortable to witness.

  “I might have been able to save her had I known what was happening. I didn’t.”

  “More white static?”

  “Exactly. I think someone wanted me to remain ignorant.”

  She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “That’s what scares me so much. Something is happening now, and I can’t decipher what it is. It isn’t simple. It isn’t easy. There is more than one villain in this scenario, Derek. Either there is a two pronged attack on you or possibly two disparate groups have joined forces.”

  “Lucky me.”

  She frowned at him.

  “I don’t understand. If I’m this powerful wizard, wouldn’t people be afraid of me?”

  “Yes. If you were completely trained. If you knew how to use all your powers. Right now you’re like a puppy pitted against a powerful mastiff that’s had years of practice in biting.”

  He wasn’t fond of her metaphor.

  “Then how do I get powerful, fast?”

  She looked like she was considering the matter, but he knew better. He suspected that Grace had already given the subject serious consideration.

  “I’ll teach you,” she finally said. “The quicker, the better. In the meantime, do you have a gun?”

  “Yes, and a concealed carry permit.”

  “It might be a good idea to keep it with you.”

  They made arrangements to meet the next day. Grace turned, looking toward the valet parking kiosk. The young man in the blue vest nodded to her. Grace’s car was the next one brought to the front of the hospital.

  She drove off without another word.

  Once Grace got home she did something she vowed never to do. She lit three candles, one scented with magnolias. For some reason magnolias always came to mind when she thought of Jeffrey. She sat behind her scrying bowl, placing her hands palm down on the table on either side and concentrated on the water. It shimmered as it felt her energy, then smoothed to a glasslike surface.

  “Show me Jeffrey,” she said softly. “Show me.”

  She had never once been tempted to see him, because she knew how dangerous it would be. Their attraction had been immediate and explosive. Even now, all these years later, she could remember the excitement, the exhilaration of falling in love with him.

  At first she’d thought that what she was feeling had something to do with magic, but then she realized it was simply the man. He had tempted her beyond her morals, her beliefs, and her values. Yet she wouldn’t have changed anything. She’d known what it was like to love deeply and well. She’d also been forced to sacrifice that love, to feel the pain of it, and pay the price for doing what was wrong.

  The water shimmered, the color changing to a dark, almost midnight blue. She tried not to gasp, but it was difficult. That shade only appeared in dire circumstances. Hours earlier the bowl had summoned her, showing her that exact color before revealing the sight of Ellie, wounded.

  Grace had managed to restrain her shock on seeing Derek at the hospital. She hadn’t known why the bowl had shown her Ellie, but once she saw Derek she understood. The bowl had shown her a dangerous situation around her son.

  “Jeffrey.”

  He was powerful enough to prevent her from scrying him. Calling him by name, however, might incite his curiosity.

  The bowl remained dark.

  She sat there for nearly an hour before admitting defeat. She’d reached out to him and he’d rebuffed her. Had she expected anything else? Yes, especially if he was out to destroy their son. He would have been curious, if nothing else. Yet his silence didn’t reassure her, either.

  A few minutes later she walked into her bedroom and went to the bottom of her dresser, reaching for a silk pouch. She brought it back to the bed, sat, and unwrapped it with a sense of reverence. Only once before had she looked at Jeffrey’s gift to her and that was on the day Derek was born.

  The small leather bag was inscribed with a Latin phrase, one taken from a love spell. They hadn’t had a need for any spells, though. She opened the drawstring and removed the talismans he’d given her: clippings of his fingernails, some of his hair, a small vial of his blood. All items she could have used to destroy him. She’d been overwhelmed by this sign of his devotion and his trust.

  She’d never used them. She’d never thought to use them until now. The situation had changed, however. She bent her head and asked forgiveness from a merciful God before taking the items back to her bowl.

  To her shock, none of them worked. The bowl remained dark, which could only mean two things: Jeffrey had fooled her all this time, giving her clippings, hair, and blood belonging to someone else.

  Or he was dead.

  23

  Derek drove home, wishing that he didn’t feel responsible for Ellie’s injury. The fact was, she’d nearly been killed by someone aiming for him. The problem was that he didn’t know who, even though he suspected he knew why.

  Either it was because he was a wizard or a reporter. Pick one, neither made a hell of a lot of sense.

  Nothing felt right.

  Breanna had lied to him, to the extent that he was questioning everything about their lives together. Paul was a witch as Angie had been. The woman he’d thought was his sister-in-law was nothing more than a well-crafted lie. Even Ellie had been acting oddly.

  How many other people were frauds?

  His life had taken a decided turn for the weird. And dangerous.

  Someone wanted him dead, either because of who he was or what he could do. If they only knew he didn’t know how to do anything but throw beer bottles, maybe they wouldn’t come after him.

  He needed answers. Maybe then he could make some sense of what was happening. Who made up the membership of the NASACA Meriduar? Was there a list somewhere? Who were these mysterious Elders? He wanted to know exactly who he was dealing with and he had a feeling that, up until now, he’d been woefully naïve and dangerously ignorant.

  Is that what Breanna had thought? That he was a mark ripe for the plucking? Had she laughed with Susan — whoever the hell she was -– over her assignment? Had she been proud of herself for convincing the gullible ass that she’d fallen in love with him?

  One of the worst things about this entire situation was the disillusionment he felt about Breanna. He’d believed that he was in love with her. He’d thought that she felt the same for him, that their life together was good. No, great.

  Now he simply didn’t know. He didn’t know if he was only a pawn to her, a way to prove her loyalty to the Elders.

  He made his way through the kitchen to t
he back stairs and to the secret room on the third floor. Once he was inside, he closed the door and locked it behind him, feeling an odd compulsion to do so. He wasn’t certain why, especially since he was alone in the house.

  For a few minutes he stood in the middle of the onyx floor, trying to decide what he should do first. Read through Breanna’s diaries? Search the rest of the trunks?

  He decided on the cabinets on the walls.

  The unlocking spell was short, only three lines. He spoke each Latin word with precision as he stared at the double doors. He didn’t hear a click, but when he crossed the room and pulled on the handle one of the doors opened with ease. The spell was faster than his talent at lock picking.

  Inside were a dozen drawers with brass pulls. He opened each one slowly. One drawer held a collection of black candles, some that looked used. Another drawer held smaller candles, but a brass seal next to one of them clued him in. Who used sealing wax anymore? One drawer held stationery, the paper scented with something that smelled like a cross between onions and roses.

  The second half of the cabinet yielded an altar cloth similar to the one he’d found earlier, only in black silk with crimson symbols embroidered on it. A small door at the bottom of the cabinet was locked. He recited the unlocking spell again and heard the click of a lock.

  The book inside was nearly a foot thick with an incised leather cover. He couldn’t read the title, but he knew that it was old from the musty smell the book gave off, one that made him want to sneeze.

  His fingertips tingled when he touched the leather, startling him. It wasn’t static electricity. Instead, it felt like a warning.

  He brought the book to the chest in the middle of the room and placed it on top. After he was seated, he opened the front cover. Inside was a name that startled him. Lionel Adams.

  His original assessment was correct. This volume was old, so old that the pages felt brittle. As if a forceful breath would make each one shatter into dust.

  The tingling sensation increased as he turned one page after another. This didn’t look like Latin. The words reminded him of Gaelic.