Wild Magic (34 page)

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Authors: Ann Macela

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Suspense

BOOK: Wild Magic
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He gave her a what-kind-of-idea-do-you-have-now look. “What?”
“I touch your center, and you touch mine.”
“What will that do? I don’t think I could survive another experience like the last one so soon.”
“Dad can transfer his energy both across space and by touch. Maybe, since you’re not technically a Defender, you can only use physical contact. Every time we exchanged energy, when your center woke up, and when we worked with the merged lightballs, and when we bonded, it’s been through touch.”
“Okay, I guess it won’t hurt.” Although he still looked dubious, he turned to face her and placed his right hand on her center.
She put her left hand on his center. “I can feel your center vibrating. It feels like it’s purring.”
“I feel yours, too, and it’s warm.”
“Try sending me some energy, like you did when we were holding hands.”
He stared off into space for a few seconds. “Okay, here comes some, I hope.”
Power poured from his hand directly into her energy well. “Oh, oh, oh. Great. Can you slow it down a little?”
He squinted his eyes and concentrated. The rate of energy flow decreased and stopped altogether. “I think I slowed it first and stopped it. I’ll have to work more on modulation.”
“Yes, the flow did cease. Don’t worry about putting me on overload. I can only take so much at a time when I’m not sending it out my sword, but when I am, I’ll need a lot more. We don’t want you to expend energy needlessly, either.” She took her hand off his chest.
“Okay.” He looked at his hand and smiled like he’d made a discovery. “Speaking of expending energy ... He moved it over to cup her breast.
Damn, the man’s touch sent little lightning bolts flying through her, no matter what. She leaned over and kissed him, and one thing led to another—without the total combustion of the previous time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
 
The next morning while they were eating breakfast, Whipple, came to call. He accepted a cup of coffee, scrutinized them both up and down, and got straight to the point. “Excellent! You’re soul mates and bonded. I’m glad that’s settled. Can you transfer energy?”
Jim looked from him to Irenee, who shrugged.
“Why are you so sure?” Jim asked.
“The happiness in the room is so thick,” Whipple answered with a grin, “I feel like I’m swimming through chocolate pudding. What about the energy? Did you try to make an exchange, uh, ‘independently’ of anything else?”
As a vivid memory of the “anything else” ran through his brain, Jim hoped he wasn’t blushing for the first time in his life. He concentrated on the question. “Yes, we did. We tried it both touching and not touching. It appears touching is the only way I can transfer energy to her.”
“We’ve both gone up a level, me to thirteen, and Jim to eleven, from what I can tell by the colors of our lightball, Irenee said.
“Splendid! You two practice today. Several of us are going to visit Bruce Ubell this afternoon, whether he wants to see us or not. We’ll meet later to report the outcome.” With those orders, the big wizard left.
After cleaning up the dishes, Jim and Irenee called Johanna, told her of their progress, and met her in the Defenders’ building in one of the underground rooms.
Jim blinked when they went into the large flve-sided space. “Whoa. Much stronger spells. What goes on here?”
“It’s a Sword room, where we practice by destroying tiny, relatively weak evil items,” Irenee answered while she put on her black robe. “If we were actually destroying an item, we’d put it in the crystal bowl on the pedestal in the middle.”
“We’re not going to destroy anything today,” Johanna said, also donning her Sword garment. “We need to get an idea of your strength and the flow-through from you to Irenee and out her sword.”
Jim put on his gray novice robe and joined them next to the pedestal. “What do I do?”
“I’m going to activate a protective pentagon,” Johanna answered. “It won’t let uncontrolled energy in or out. You stand behind Irenee with your hands on her waist. She’ll draw her sword and send a beam out the end and into the bowl to expend energy. You start transferring your energy to her, and we’ll see how it goes from there.”
“Okay,” Jim said. He wasn’t totally certain of his ability—after all, they had clothes on now, where their previous transfers had been skin to skin. He shrugged mentally; he wouldn’t know if he could until he tried. Funny, he seemed to be coming to that conclusion a lot lately.
They got into position, and Johanna cast castellum. Glowing multicolored walls extended to the ceiling. Jim squinted and concentrated on Irenee. As he did, the glow faded to a manageable level.
“I’m going to draw my sword,” Irenee said. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it. I’ll have it at a very low level, but it can hurt you just the same.”
Standing behind her, Jim put his hands on her waist. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
She brought her hands together in front of her in what looked like an interlocking golf-club grip, little finger on her right hand hooked between her left index and middle fingers. Through the robe, he could feel her energy moving. It was swirling around inside her without a real direction.
Whoa.
He blinked when suddenly she held a glowing sword in her hands. The blade was about two-and-a-half feet long, and it was red.
The sword hummed and shimmered with live magic power. Jim knew he was looking at a fine, hand—or rather
mind
—crafted weapon, beautiful and deadly at the same time. For her, it had to be like holding a live electrical line, and she held it in her unprotected hands. One slip and who knew what could happen? A cold chill settled in his bones. The obvious and inherent danger to her was not pleasant to contemplate.
“Not so tight, Jim,” Irenee said.
With an effort, he took a deep breath and loosened his fingers, which he had gripped harder without realizing it. He told himself to relax. She was calm and in control of her sword. She knew what she was doing. There was no threat here.
Why then, were his antennae wiggling?
He had no time to consider a nebulous hunch. She pointed her sword at the pedestal, and a red beam of energy shot out the end into the bowl.
“What can you feel, Jim?” Johanna asked.
Ah, now her internal power had direction. “A little stream of energy is leaving her center, going out her arms to her sword. Uh . . .”
He dropped his hands from her waist when he realized what he was seeing.
“What?” both women asked.
“I can see an aura around you, Irenee. It’s still there, even though I’m not touching you.”
“What color is it?” Irenee looked back at him over her shoulder.
“Violet ”
“Well, it sure took long enough for your ability to kick in,” Irenee said.
“Let’s keep going,” Johanna instructed.
Jim returned his hands to her waist. “I’m ready. I can feel your energy moving.”
“Good,” Johanna said. “Irenee, increase the power.”
The sword’s colors changed to orange, to yellow, to green, and the beam matched the shades.
“I can feel her using more energy,” Jim said. “The stream’s bigger and faster, and there’s a sort of vibration inside her. It’s like what you feel if you put your hand on a microwave when it’s cooking.”
Irenee laughed. “I never thought of it that way. Start transmitting.”
He took a deep breath and concentrated. The power moved up from his center as he directed, down his arms and out his hands, directly into her body.
“Reduce the flow a little,” she said. “Move your hands more to my back, right behind my center.”
He followed her instructions, and they played with placement for several minutes. She was finally satisfied with the transfer when his hands were inverted so his fingers pointed downward. Because of their height dif ference, the position was more comfortable for him also.
They practiced, varying the flow from none all the way up to Irenee’s new level, until lunch. Then they ate like they were both in the defensive line of the Chicago Bears and went back to her condo for a nap. Johanna had suggested they get some rest, and Jim was happy to go along. He was exhausted.
Irenee had a couple of calls to make—yeah, she was used to the magic stuff and had energy to burn while he was still a wimp—so he stripped to his underwear and flopped on the bed. Sleep, however, didn’t come immediately like it usually did. His hunch antennae gave a wiggle every once in a while. Try though he might, he couldn’t figure out what their problem was.
When she came to bed, he pulled her into his arms. Everything quickly got a lot better.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
 
“There are some people here to see you, Mr. Bruce,” Sedgwick said from the doorway of the study, his voice shaking. “They’re Defenders, I think.”
Bruce looked up from the financial newspaper he was reading. It was about time they showed up. “Who are they?”
“Only one gave his name, a Mr. Fergus Whipple,. When I explained you weren’t receiving visitors, he told me they were here on official practitioner business and you’d want to see them. He emphasized the word want. What shall I tell them?”
Bruce put the paper aside. At first he’d thought about receiving the expected delegation in the living room, but soon discarded the idea. The study was a much better place. Not only because his grandfather was “watching over” the proceedings. Alton—the idiot—had actually cast with his Stone here. The residue from his foolhardy actions would mask emanations from Bruce’s own Stone below in its secret room—if there was the slightest leakage.
The old man had really done a magnificent job shielding the Stone’s hiding place and its use. Bruce, however, wasn’t about to take chances with Defenders in the house. He’d choose the time and place for a battle—and he knew there would be one.
What kind of heavyweights would the Defenders send? He’d heard of Whipple. Who else? “Show them in here, Sedgwick. We won’t be having refreshments.”
The butler nodded and left. Within a minute, he ushered four people into the study.
Bruce rose, came around the desk, and shook hands with them as they introduced themselves: Fergus Whipple, Sword; John Baldwin, Sword, member of the Defender Council; Miriam Chandler, president of the Defender Council; and Rachel Goldfarb, member of the High Council.
Bruce smiled to himself; heavyweights, indeed, but no one he and his Stone couldn’t handle.
He offered them chairs around the rectangular conference table he’d had placed in the corner, right over the floor safe where Alton had hidden his Stone. If one picked up even a whiff of either his or his cousin’s item, none gave any indication. Good. He’d play the complete innocent and give them no grounds for a preemptive search. When all were seated, he asked, “What can I do for you?”
Whipple began the interrogation with no preliminaries. “What’s the prognosis on your cousin?”
“Not good. Nobody can decide what caused his collapse. All the doctors have diagnosed is some sort of brain seizure. They won’t predict when he might return to consciousness.” He kept his expression completely sad. What a great mourner he made.
Whipple, responded with scorn. “Oh, come, Mr. Ubell. We’re all aware of what happened to Alton Finster. He had in his possession an item of evil magic. We confiscated it as is our right and duty, and when we destroyed it, its death also damaged him. In its place, we left a notice of confiscation. Do you expect us to believe you don’t know any of this?”
“What? An evil item? Alton had it? Oh, my God! No, I didn’t know a thing about it. Where was the item? When did you find it? How?” Bruce sat back in pretended shock and then forward in fake concern. He really ought to take up acting. He was giving a performance worthy of an award.
“That’s bull, Ubell,” Baldwin stated. “You were with Finster when he collapsed. The item was in the safe right under this table.”
“What? What safe?” Bruce leaned to glance under the table, shrugged, and, shaking his head, resumed his upright position. He met Baldwin’s unfriendly gaze.
“The only safe I have seen in this room is the one behind my grandfather’s portrait. The night after the gala, or more accurately in the early morning, Alton called me at home and said to come here quickly. He sounded ill. I came and found him collapsed on the floor right there.” He pointed to a spot in front of the desk.
“Alton was in no shape to speak at all, certainly not about a safe or a magic item. May I remind you, this isn’t my house. I don’t know all its nooks and crannies or what Alton may have hidden here.” Bruce made sure to speak clearly and forcefully, without so much as a tiny quiver in his voice. It wasn’t difficult. After all, he wasn’t afraid of these people. They couldn’t hurt him.
Miriam Chandler, a six-foot-tall woman who looked like she could bench press three hundred pounds without the aid of a strength spell and lead an army to victory at the same time, spoke with a soft voice. “In that case, you have no reason to deny us permission to search the property”

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