The Wizard’s Shield

Chapter 3-2

“This looks like enough to feed me and three

other people.”

The woman smiled and shook her head. “Just

eat what you can.”

Unless she’d been doing more magic than

normal, Ilene usually had only a piece of toast with jam for

breakfast, but the rumbles from her stomach reminded her she hadn’t

eaten since lunch yesterday, and that had been only a quick

sandwich. Even if she hadn’t spent the energy trying to counteract

the spell battering her car, she’d be needing the food.

After finishing all of the eggs and bacon, a

respectable amount of the rest, and two cups of coffee, she pushed

herself up from the bed and stumbled over to the bathroom. One look

in the mirror made her shudder. Not that she was trying to attract

anyone here, of course, but she still hated looking like something

the cat had dragged through the mud and over gravel before

depositing on the doorstep. She turned on the shower.

The hot water streaming over her body felt

heavenly, loosening tight muscles and relieving the ache of

bruises. By the time she’d washed, shampooed, dried off, and

wrapped herself in the towel, she felt almost human again.

Moments later, the room door creaked open and

the housekeeper peeked in. “How are you feeling? I brought some

clothes. The Crossetts’ daughter is about the same size as you, so

I asked them to lend me some things.”

“What time is it?” Ilene asked, looking

around for a clock and finding none. She’d worn a watch for

traveling but someone had removed it. Probably broken anyway.

“Quarter to two.”

“Good grief. I’ve slept half the day

away.”

The woman smiled. “Your body needs it to

heal. You look better now than you did this morning.”

Ilene nodded, realizing she did feel better.

Her ribs still ached when she moved, getting into the clothes, but

it was bearable. Her head was clearer and her energy returning,

along with her sense of purpose. She had a job to do here and the

sooner she got it done, the sooner she could leave.

“Come along to the kitchen for lunch,” the

housekeeper offered. “Michael thought it would be good for you to

try to move around some. The place is a bit of a maze until you get

used to it.”

“Yes, please.” Ilene followed her to the door

and out into a long hallway.

“This is the guest wing of the house,” Mrs.

Wendall informed her. “You have the nicest of the rooms, at the

back, overlooking the ocean, but there are several others.”

At the front of the house, a wide staircase

led up from a reception area and two other arches opened from it.

The scent of magic hung in the air, seemingly infused in the walls

and furnishings of the house. Strongest was the sandalwood aroma of

Michael’s, but other threads wove into it. A light, pleasant hint

of rose and peach felt more feminine, where Michael’s was

indisputably masculine.

There was another, stranger smell that wasn’t

part of the house, but drifting in. Darker and deeper, it held an

edge of menace or danger. It reminded her of the magic that had

pushed her car off the road. Ilene reached to follow it to a source

or even get a direction, but it was too vague and wispy. Still, it

seemed to be growing or gathering. Might be trouble brewing. She

sighed. More than one kind.

And who was that other magic-user—the one

who’d left the feminine imprint? She must have lived here a while

to stamp a remnant of her power on the place. Had Michael married?

That wasn’t in any report she’d seen. More likely he’d had a lover

with some talent.

“Does this go all the way up to the top of

the tower?” Ilene nodded toward the staircase they passed at the

front of the house.

The housekeeper moved between her and the

steps, blocking it off. “No, it just goes to the second floor and

the attics on the third floor. Michael uses the tower for his lab

and workroom.”

Ilene almost laughed. It was such a cliché,

the mad, old wizard in the tower laboratory of his dark, gloomy

mansion. Except Michael wasn’t old and he wasn’t mad—she hoped. The

big old house might look gloomy on the outside, but it wasn’t at

all on the inside. Recent, extensive remodeling turned the interior

into a series of light, airy spaces with gleaming hardwood floors,

pristine white walls, and sleek furniture. If he still had any

vestiges of the seventeen-year-old’s sense of humor, Michael no

doubt got a kick out of the irony.

“Is he here?” she asked.

“He’s in his quarters. He doesn’t like to be

disturbed when he’s working.”

They walked through a spacious, beautifully

decorated living room that looked out toward the road, away from

the ocean, and into an enormous kitchen, updated with every

convenience imaginable. At the far end, a glass-enclosed sunroom

doubled as a breakfast nook.

A rattle sounded on the door that should lead

to a side yard, if she hadn’t completely lost orientation. It

squeaked open to admit a solidly-built, weathered man probably in

his late forties.

He nodded to Mrs. Wendall and looked at

Ilene. Though he eyed her with curiosity in passing, he didn’t say

anything but walked by and out of the kitchen. Mrs. Wendall turned

to watch him for a moment. “Jim’s doing some repairs on the

windows,” she said.

A phone rang back in the main hall. While the

housekeeper went to answer it, Ilene slid aside a door from the

sunroom that opened onto a wood deck. She walked across to the

railing. She hadn’t realized the house was so close to the ocean.

The beach was just on the other side of a low dune maybe fifty feet

away. A fresh breeze carried the salty tang of the sea and a

heavier, sort of peppery aroma mingled with burnt coffee that

reminded her of the magic that had battered her car.

The waves roared into shore in smooth, almost

glassy curls, sporting white foam at their peaks, and then tipped

over into a froth of bubbles and sand. The sound swelled each time

a wave broke, and waned after it rippled into shore. A few shouts

and whoops of beach-goers floated up over the dune.

Something didn’t feel quite right. Nothing

struck her as threatening about the families playing or resting on

the beach or the children splashing in the shallows. Gulls circled

and screeched overhead. A line of brown pelicans flew in formation

above the water. All that was picture-perfect right. It was

something closer—in the house or around it, a sense of something

gathering…pressure building… It seemed to come from outside and

surge inward toward the building.

The aroma of peppers wafted to her again.

Stronger. She couldn’t discern what menace it might portend, but it

made her uneasy.

A distant rumble of thunder drew her

attention toward the mainland. Dark clouds gathered to the west. A

storm approached, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year. But

given the pepper smell growing at the same time… What came with it

might not be normal. She went back inside and closed the door.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, but the heft

and clomp of them led her to expect the re-appearance of the

handyman when she turned to look. The man nodded again as he

crossed the kitchen, but he stopped in the middle of the room.

“Miss?” His voice was deep and rough. “Not my

place to give advice, I know.” He shrugged and his mouth twisted

into a wry smile. “But you really don’t want to stay here any

longer ’n you have to. Not a good place for a visitor.”

Ilene studied his face for a moment, noting

the chagrin and shadows in his muddy hazel eyes. “Here, the island,

or here, this house?”

Another shrug lifted a shoulder. “Both. Not

healthy for—”

Lighter footsteps heralded the return of Mrs.

Wendall. The handyman turned and headed for the door, but not

before giving Ilene a hard, meaningful glance and a nod that

contained so much warning, it verged on threatening. Jim left,

letting the door slam shut behind him.

Mrs. Wendall shook her head as glass-fronted

cabinets rattled with the force of it. “Don’t mind him. He’s good

with his hands but he’s a strange one. Showed up a month or so ago

on the island, looking for odd jobs. Michael hired him to do some

repairs. He does good work, but he keeps to himself and doesn’t

talk much. Not sure what’s going on with him all the time.”

Ilene nodded at the woman but made no

comment. The handyman’s words and attitude puzzled her,

nonetheless. What was he warning her about, and why? Perhaps she

could catch him alone later and question him. Maybe he knew

something of what Michael was doing.

It wasn’t just the handyman’s words making

the fine hairs on her arms stand up and her skin prickle,

though.

“Den’s over that way if you want to watch

TV,” Mrs. Wendall said, pointing to a room off to the left.

“Michael spends a lot of his time there. Soup or a sandwich?” She

rooted around in the refrigerator and found a package of sliced ham

and another one of cheese.

“Sandwich is fine.”

Just as the woman finished putting together

the slices of bread with cheese and ham, a long, low roll of

thunder made the house vibrate. The lights blinked.

“I’d better go bring in some things from

outside and shut the windows,” Mrs. Wendall said. “Here. Sit and

eat.”

Ilene did as directed, but after devouring

the food, she got up and went to the front of the house again,

unsettled by the growing pressure of magic. Though the walls

provided some barrier to the power gathering around the house,

windows and other openings allowed it entrance. The pepper smell

had intensified. She still couldn’t identify the signature of the

power, and given the amount of it that seemed to be accumulating,

that worried her.

Surely Michael was aware of it, too. What was

he doing in his tower rooms? Developing some kind of device that

might be able to channel magic in a new way? That was what the

Council had heard, what had them so upset they’d sent her to check.

If it worked, if it was even possible, such a thing could have a

disastrous effect on the delicate balance of powers the Councils

helped maintain.

The background information she’d been given

said Michael had earned a Ph.D. in Physics at the University of

North Carolina. He held several patents, a few of which had been

licensed to major companies. No doubt that explained how he could

afford the recent, expensive remodeling of the house.

A sharp crack of thunder shook the building.

Within the sound, riding on its waves or surrounding them, another

power surged.

The rush of a sudden, fierce wind outside

drew her to a window to watch the shrubs and palm trees flapping

wildly. Sand blew over the pavement and splattered against walls

and trees. Dead leaves, loose papers, and other debris danced in

the air. A livid, purple-tinged darkness turned the day grotesque.

Tendrils of indigo-shaded power floated along with the dark storm

clouds.

A flash of lightning seared its way from sky

to ground just beyond a row of houses across the street, followed

closely by a crack of thunder that rattled the windows.

A man and woman hurried three small children

along the boardwalk that led over the dune from the beach to the

street. They toted coolers, bags, boogie boards, and buckets. The

youngest trailed a towel flapping behind him in the wind. More

lightning zig-zagged from sky to ground, not far away. Ilene sucked

in a sharp breath.

The father looked up and flinched. Fear

tightened his muscles as he dropped a cooler and turned around to

snatch up the straggling toddler. His voice carried over the

rushing wind. “Get to the van. Quick!”

He nodded toward a vehicle parked down the

street. His wife and two older children raced on ahead.

Ilene’s hands clenched into fists. Too much

energy crackled in the air. It wasn’t directed at the family, but

that didn’t guarantee they wouldn’t get hurt by it. Collateral

damage. Some of the more ruthless mages cared little for who else

was affected by their activities.

Two flashes hit nearby, one right after the

other. The child let out a frightened wail as his father, bent low

over him, dashed off the wooden walkway and down the street. Even

they could sense the danger building.