Wilder Mage (36 page)

Even with the dangers in front of him, Bert still didn’t have respect for the consequences of magic, and that troubled Justus.

He shook his head. That would have to keep for now.

Where was Sable? And Tiarra?

“Don’t you know what you can do?”

Even now, the words tore through him, and he spiraled into the memory.

Dead was dead, whether they found a body or not. After six months, his dad wasn’t coming back to help him with his homework, wrangle over the best football play, or tell him when he messed up.

He was sixteen, and his dad was never coming back.

The house he had lived in since infancy sold quickly, and nearly everything was already packed when the accident occurred on that late spring day, the green of the pastures and lawns just beginning to brighten in the sun. School was out for the year, and Justus was apprehensive when his father said they were going to travel for a few years. Though nervous and excited, he was sorry to leave his envious friends, but was ready for adventure. By the time the house sold, their belongings gone or stored, Justus was ready for some serious road time in their massive new camper, his new home. But life—or death—interrupted.

His father left for work that last day to inspect the support cables of the bridge he’d helped engineer, leaving Justus asleep in his nearly empty room. Everything but the bed and a large luggage bag sold or stored.

The construction crew reported a loud sizzling noise, like an electrical charge hissing, then a cry from his dad. They watched in horror as his body dropped nearly four hundred feet into the Mississippi River and disappeared, making no other sound. Even the muted splash was nearly inaudible, witnesses said.

They knew there was no hope, but the searchers labored through the cool spring day and into the night. After several days of looking for his body downstream, they gave up and got back to their lives.

Hope can be an evil companion, giving aid and comfort when the outcome is unlikely to be positive.

They never found his body.

After the empty-casket funeral, his mother continued with their original plans, to leave the joyless area and find something to fill the void that at least gave the appearance of contentment. People said it was too soon, that his mother’s reaction was typical, but she should wait before following their decision to leave so abruptly after their loss. His mother listened politely to the advice and then made her decision; they would go the day after the funeral.

His mother methodically prepared to leave without fanfare, without histrionics. Often times, she reached out to grasp his shoulder or hand, as if to console, focusing intently on his face.

She dealt with grief her way and Justus in his, mostly by staring out the window of the pickup and trying to hold onto the small things that reminded him of his dad. He fingered the mottled stone around his neck, thinking of the day his father gave it to him, with his face so oddly intense.

Justus saved the tears for the dark of night.

After several months of traveling from state to state, never staying in one place very long, they found themselves in Illinois again. Justus sat on a cold bench in the middle of Chicago’s Lincoln Park. He wrapped his arms around his chest and looked down at the pavement scraped dry of the latest snowfall. His mother’s home schooling program kept him abreast of his studies, and he was well ahead of comparable age groups in the public school system. That should have made him happy, satisfied. He looked forward to college. But after six months of traveling, the lure of living without a fixed address had long ago lost its charm. His birthday had come and gone. He was seventeen. And he missed his father.

The trails through the park were empty of people, which made it the best place to be alone. No one to ask questions and bother him with strange looks.

It was the best place for private meetings, and he waited for her now.

He had met her while walking the empty paths through the park, one of his lonely hikes on the cold days of November, when he had no desire to talk with anyone. He didn’t even want to look at anyone, acknowledge anyone’s presence. But a young woman changed that. She stopped him, her hand on his arm as he started to move past her.

“Excuse me. Can you tell me where the Grant Memorial is?”

Her words were soft and she was pretty. Sometimes, he’d caught her looking at him strangely since their chance meeting three days ago, but Justus had shrugged it off. Her manners were gentle, her voice sweet. And he took pleasure in the company of the beauty who decided he was interesting.

And so, after the first day when they’d walked the nearly empty trails in the snow-covered park, she’d asked to meet him again the next day and the day after that. He’d agreed.

One odd thing... When she introduced herself, Justus couldn’t reciprocate. He started to give her his name, but his mouth said something different. She nodded and repeated it, as if to fix the bogus name in her mind. But then she took his arm and the moment passed as she laughed over something else.

He sighed, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. The air was chilly, but the sun warmed his eyelids.

“My oh my, what have we here?”

The soft feminine voice startled him out of his peaceful doze. He stumbled to his feet, astonished by the appearance of the young woman standing in front of him.

She laughed. “I am sorry. Did I surprise you?”

“I didn’t hear you. Guess I was half-asleep.” He smiled down at her.

She was older than he was, Justus knew, but not by more than a few years. She stood in front of him and waited for him. As always, she was neat and glamorous, her long nails polished in a rich dark color. Her lips were the same color as her nails, and now they curved into a tiny smile. The top of her head came just to his shoulder, and she stood now looking up and down his body.

As if thinking about trying me on for size,
Justus thought. It made him uncomfortable, but in the next instant, he scolded himself for that uncharitable thought.

She had no jacket. A long-sleeved blouse of silver and blue clung to her figure, and she shivered in the cold wind. He offered her his coat. Her smile was as warm as the sunshine when she shook her head.

“No, I am all right,” she said, her voice low for a woman. But she took his hand in hers, and it was his turn to shiver when the warm fingers curled around his palm.

Justus had dated a few girls when he went to his high school, but he wasn’t a party-scene kind of guy. His buddies liked to trumpet their conquests to any who would listen, but it made Justus uncomfortable. Experience in romance was not something he could brag about, or the lack of it.

Now this strange woman looked at him with warm eyes, and something turned over inside Justus.

Why not?

He walked with her, and they talked about small things, the weather, and the park. She kept her hand in his, sometimes rubbed against his arm, and then ignored the sound of his gasp.

She led him to an imposing gray, stone-block building. He did not resist or even ask about the blankets in one of the alcoves. It was cold, and there were no people.

She turned to face him, running one hand up his arm and then around to the back of his neck and pulled him down to her insistent mouth. Her lips were hot, and he tasted something of candy on them. For a moment, his mind resisted. Then she pressed against him and all thought fled.

“You must know I want you. All of you. And it is time.” Her voice was husky and low.

He gasped and started to question, to speak of responsibilities and consequences, but her mouth covered his again. Her tongue darted into his mouth, and a moan began deep in his throat.

Her hands slipped under his coat and around his back, pushing her fingers into the straining muscles. His coat fell to the cold stone floor, and her fingers tugged at the waistband of his jeans, then moved to the front. He groaned and jerked as she cupped him. Her movements intensified, and she pulled him down with her to the prepared blankets.

Lights swirled around him as if the stars had come down to earth. His panting breaths kept time with his limbs, shaking his body and wits. Her blouse followed his coat and jeans, and she fastened her mouth on his. Her arms pulled him to her.

Shadows and glittering colors formed behind his closed eyes, revolving like a spinning top. Her movements, sure and experienced, guided him. Her deep, throaty moan joined his, and then her body urged him with increasingly savage motions. Nails dug into his hips and the lights exploded, and he collapsed on her body for a brief moment.

Hands on his chest shoved him hard and made him roll away from her in surprise. She sat up, her breasts bouncing with the abrupt motion. With hard eyes on him, she didn’t try to cover herself as he smiled nervously.

“Are you all right?” Justus asked hesitantly. He started to reach for her, but she slapped his hand away. Her eyes never left him.

The sun sparkled off the myriad of quartz crystals in the granite stone around them, reflecting off her skin and his. In the distance, he heard a low roar of traffic. And thunder.

Thunder? In winter under a clear sky?

“Who are you?” Her voice was guttural.

“I-I’m…” His stuttering shocked him, but not as much as the sudden closing of his throat. Air trapped in his lungs and he felt strangled. He couldn’t pull in enough air to respond.

She had scrambled to her feet, clutching her blouse to her chest. In one swift motion, she leaned over him where he sat and slapped him hard across the mouth.

“Who are you? You will tell me.”

He stared up at her, then got to his feet, his eyes never leaving her raging face. He found his clothes by touch and put them on. When he bent to pull on his jeans, the muddy-colored stone swung from his shirt. The woman started when she saw it, her eyes wide. It shocked him when she let out a shriek and tried to grab the pendant. He dodged out of her reach, stumbling back against the stone column.

Now she stood eying him, not with anger, but with something more terrifying to him. As a prize, an acquisition. She cocked her head to one side, gazing at him while he slipped on his coat. The rumble of thunder grew closer, and a burst of wind swirled bits of paper into the air. It looked like a miniature cyclone, what the Midwesterners called a dust devil born of hot air and summer sun. But this was winter, and the whirlwind grew, picking up loose snow and last year’s leaves. The roar of thunder and earth-sounds grew until it was all around him.

“Come here,” she said, as if expecting him to obey her instantly. Surprise shone in her face when he stepped away without answering her.

Something else tugged at him now, the fear of something terrible, of the unknown, of a noise in the dark of night or a scream from an animal. It filled him, spoke to him.

Told him to run.

Run.

Justus backed away, but she was faster. The woman reached out one slim hand and stroked his neck, her face expectant. Her fingers left a trail of flames across his skin like a white-hot nail.

And he felt a collar form around his neck as tight as any leash. Instinctively, he tried to pull free, but it held as he struggled.

“Easy, little one. Don’t hurt yourself. I don’t know where you came from or how you hid yourself from me, but now, you are mine. Don’t fight it.”

Truly frantic, Justus wildly tried to break the hold on him. It twisted his neck, tightening until his lungs began to labor to pull in enough air to stay conscious, holding him, and roughing his throat into a mass of flames. His hands met nothing but air around his neck as he scrambled to find a purchase on whatever was binding him. But there was nothing there. Nothing. Nothing but…

Air
.

He wanted free. He wanted to break free. Now. And with that thought, the means to do it came to him.

His pendant burst into what he thought was fire. It was as though the sun had settled on his chest. The hollow sound of an enormous gong sounded from somewhere in his head, and his arms and skin felt like swarms of bees were crawling, buzzing there. Justus cried out as he stumbled back, thrown free.

She screamed, her mouth framed by the burgundy lip-gloss. She snatched her long-nailed hand back from his neck and held it away from her body, and a sudden violent gust of wind blew and she fell backwards. She held up her hand. The talons were black with char and the skin blistered. She rolled and stood quickly.

He turned and ran.

Her footsteps followed him for a short way, but the ground heaved under them and he heard the sound of her body hitting the frozen ground. Then her loud, warbling scream of rage.

“Don’t you know what you can do?”

He ran faster than he thought possible, stumbling often, but always regaining his feet. There was a sound of someone whimpering, and when he realized it came from him, he put his fist into his mouth, biting his flesh to stop the sound.

Colors swarmed around him, as if comet or rocket tails had taken on life and followed him, playing in the afternoon sun.

And it was only afternoon. Not even two hours had passed since he had sat on the bench in the sunshine of a cold winter day. And the strange woman had pulled him to her and kissed him.